‘It’s stopped moving,’ he said to Tom Gaines, who was sitting behind the wheel. They’d been tracking the suspect’s phone reception since leaving London that morning, and it had been on the move up to this point.
‘Where is it now?’ Gaines asked.
Manners changed the view on the handset to show the satellite image rather than the computer-generated map, then selected ‘Street View’ and looked at the location from ground level.
‘In a school.’
‘I’ll bet you twenty quid they dumped it and a kid picked it up. It’s going to be a waste of time.’
‘I agree, but we have to see it through. It could be a staff member.’
He entered the location of the school into the car’s satnav. He hoped Gaines was wrong, but deep down he had a feeling this was going to be a fruitless journey. The people they were up against tended to know a thing or two about covering their tracks, as the information they’d received from Harvey confirmed. The text message had been sent from the middle of a park, hundreds of yards from any surveillance cameras, and it would be impossible to check everyone who left the area. If it had been dropped, the chances of finding the person who’d sent the text were slim to none.
He called Harvey to inform him of the situation; unsurprisingly, the section lead had the same misgivings.
‘Park up outside the school and wait until the phone leaves the grounds. You’ll probably have to wait until after three, but we might get lucky if they take a lunch break.’
With his orders confirmed, Manners settled in for the rest of the journey. He kept an eye on the device, but the signal never moved, and ninety minutes later they had parked fifty yards from the school entrance.
Manners told the driver to take the first watch while he went in search of food. Ten minutes later, he came back with coffee, sandwiches and an assortment of chocolate bars. They chatted about upcoming holidays and their impatient kids until the red dot on the screen caught Manners’s attention.
‘The phone is moving,’ he said, noting the time for his report. It was 12:47, and they were fully alert. Kids began filing out of the building, heading in small groups towards the local shops, but the dot on the screen remained within the boundary of the main building. By the time one o’clock came round, it was clear that whoever had the phone wasn’t going out to lunch.
They resigned themselves to another couple of hours in the car, and Manners took the opportunity to contact the other two members of the detail. The last time they’d checked in, Rob Best and Tony Booker had been stuck in a tailback on the M40.
‘Where are you?’
‘Still stuck in traffic,’ Best replied. ‘Apparently there was a pile-up about five miles up the road. We won’t be going anywhere soon.’
‘Okay, let me know when you’re on your way.’
With half of the team out of action, Manners was going to have to deviate from normal procedure. Ideally, there would be two units, one trailing a suspect at a reasonable distance while the other hung further back. If the first unit got too close, they could peel off and hand the pursuit over to their partners. That was now out of the question. When the time came, they would have to take discreet to a whole new level.
Two hours later, Manners called Best again, but his colleague reported no change in their situation. ‘It’s just us,’ he told Gaines as he waited for the signal on the screen to indicate movement. Children were beginning to make the journey home, but the red dot remained stationary, even as the steady flow of kids reduced to a trickle.
‘Either the kid with the phone is in detention, or we’ve got a real player,’ Manners said.
Forty minutes after the school day had ended, he finally saw the signal heading for the exit. He picked up his camera and opened the car door.
‘I’m going to get some pictures. Wait for me here.’
Manners got out and jogged across the road to where bushes lined the inside of the perimeter fence. He found a spot that gave him a view of the school’s double doors, then checked the handset. The suspect would be out in a few seconds, according to the display, and he raised the camera just as a man opened the door and walked out into the sunlight.
Manners got a dozen head-shots and a few of the leather briefcase the subject was carrying, then waited to see how the suspect planned to get home. He saw the man pull keys from his pocket. The hazard lights on a silver Honda flashed twice.
Manners had seen enough. He strolled calmly back to the Ford and got in.
‘He’s Asian, mid-thirties to early-forties, driving a silver Civic,’ he said as he fastened his seat belt.
The car appeared at the gates, and Manners consulted the handset to confirm that they had the right man.
‘That’s him. Let him get round the corner before you set off. We can track him with this.’
Gaines waited until the Honda took a right at the end of the street, then started the engine and pulled away.
Manners connected the digital camera to his phone via Bluetooth and downloaded the pictures he’d taken, which he sent to Andrew Harvey with a request for ID.
‘Take a left up ahead.’
Gaines followed his directions and pulled onto a dual carriageway. ‘I see him, about twelve cars ahead of us.’
While traffic remained heavy there was every chance they would go undetected, but both were aware that things would get tougher once they reached residential streets and their cover thinned out.
They tracked the Honda for another mile before Manners saw it indicating to turn right. Gaines took the same route and stopped short when the suspect pulled up outside a police station.
‘What’s he up to?’ Manners wondered aloud, and his phone beeped as a message from Harvey appeared on the screen. ‘Pull in here.’
They watched the suspect enter the station, and while they waited for him to return to his car, Manners checked to see what Harvey had managed to uncover.
‘His name’s Syed Kahr,’ he told Gaines. ‘Been a teacher for twelve years, no known affiliation to any terror groups. Cleaner than clean, according to all records. He lives in Chapel Street, Aston, with a wife and eight-year-old daughter.’
Five minutes passed before Kahr emerged from the building. Gaines started the engine, but Manners told him to wait.
‘The signal says the phone’s still in the police station.’
Manners allowed the Honda to pull away, then got out and ran across the road to the station. Inside the reception, he saw two youths on a bench facing a young police officer sitting in a Perspex-fronted booth.
‘The man who just left. What did he want?’
The officer behind the counter looked Manners up and down, then returned to the report he was writing. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, sir.’
Manners had expected as much. He would have shown the man his ID, but protocol dictated it wasn’t to be carried in the field. Having tried the low-key approach, it was time to ratchet things up a little. He phoned Harvey to explain the situation, then hung up and waited.
Within two minutes, a senior officer burst through an internal door and walked over to Manners, his hand outstretched.
‘Superintendent Edwards. How can I help you?’
Manners walked him over to the reception desk. ‘A man came in a few minutes ago. I believe his name was Syed Kahr. I need to know what he was doing here.’
Edwards looked at the desk jockey expectantly.
‘I was . . . er . . . just finishing up the report, sir. He just wanted to hand in a mobile phone.’
‘Any particular reason?’
‘He said one of his students found it on the way to school this morning. Mr Kahr is a teacher, sir.’
Manners felt deflated. After more than six hours of waiting, it seemed Gaines had been right. A kid had indeed picked it up, but at least this one had been honest enough to hand it in.
‘What kind of forensic facilities do you have here?’ he asked Edwards.
‘Just the very basi
cs.’
‘Then I’ll have to take it with me.’
Edwards instructed the officer to hand it over, and it turned out to be a cheap push-button model.
‘I’ll need a receipt,’ the young policeman said.
‘No problem. Fill one out and I’ll sign it. I’ll also need your fingerprints, as well as those of Kahr and the student so we can eliminate them from our enquiries.’ He took out his phone and found Harvey’s details in his contact list. ‘Call this number when you have them, and preferably within the next two hours.’
Manners signed for the phone and had it placed in an evidence bag to preserve any prints, then called Thames House to tell Harvey about the find before returning to the car to update his colleague.
‘What now?’ Gaines asked.
‘Back to London. Harvey wants this in the lab ASAP.’
CHAPTER 22
Wednesday, 16 August 2017
Veronica Ellis once again marvelled at how ugly the building that housed the Home Secretary’s office looked. It had the same impression on her every time she had to visit John Maynard, and she wondered if it had been designed specifically to sap her morale before she set foot inside. The building was only eleven years old but looked like something out of the 1970s. In fact, she suspected the architect had originally proposed three designs, and then decided to incorporate all of them into one monstrosity.
She made her way to Maynard’s office, and was surprised when his secretary ushered her straight in. The Home Secretary normally liked to keep her waiting for at least five minutes, so she was immediately on her guard.
She closed the door behind her and walked over to Maynard’s desk, a regal-looking oak affair with polished brass trimmings. The man sitting behind it wasn’t so fancily attired. Maynard wore a white shirt open at the collar, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, and had the appearance of a man much older than his fifty-five years. His usually immaculate haircut was disturbed, as if he’d been out in a high wind.
‘I’m about to go and see the PM. He’ll want to know why you haven’t got your hands on the X3.’
And a good morning to you, too.
‘We’re following up every lead we have, but even with the extra resources, we’re having a hard time pinning it down.’
‘Then you’re not trying hard enough! You yourself told me they plan to use it on Friday. That gives you a day and a half to find it.’
It was the first time she’d heard him raise his voice, and it didn’t bode well. Maynard was unpredictable at the best of times, but in his current mood there was no telling what he might do. Removing her from her role as Director General of MI5 was his chief desire, as he had made clear on more than one occasion. For all his faults, though, he wasn’t stupid enough to have her replaced in the middle of a major incident, but she knew that wasn’t the only way he could make her miserable.
‘We’ve done everything we can, and all by the book,’ she countered. ‘The results will come, I assure you.’
‘By the book? By the book? I don’t call mollycoddling prisoners and sending valuable staff around the country on wild goose chases by the book!’
Ellis thought he was going to explode. His face had taken on a crimson hue, and he appeared on the verge of apoplexy.
‘Granted, Malika Ali was afforded certain concessions in return for her testimony, but it was because of this that we were able to focus our attention on Imran al-Hosni. As for the wasted journey, as you call it, we’re still waiting for Forensics to see if they can extract anything from the phone. We should know within a couple of hours.’
‘You haven’t got a couple of hours. Your inept handling of this situation has forced my hand. When you get back to Thames House, I want you to pull your people off al-Hosni. He’s my problem now.’
‘He’s our only lead to the X3. If we pull back now, we’ll never find it.’
Maynard sat back in his chair, the hint of a smile suggesting nothing but malevolence. ‘Your last report stated you had more suspects than you could cope with. Concentrate on those, but leave al-Hosni to the professionals.’
Ellis knew Maynard was trying to rile her, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. ‘You’re talking about black ops,’ she said calmly. ‘I thought that was a thing of the past.’
‘It’s no longer your concern. I suggest you return to your office and get your house in order. I want everything you have on al-Hosni sent to me within the hour, and I mean everything. After that, you can prepare for the inquiry into your handling of this matter.’
‘You’re making a big mistake,’ Ellis told him. ‘We’re so close, and whatever problems you have with me, you should let my people see this through.’
‘You’ve had more than enough time to find the agent. Now go back and bring your team up to speed. While you’re at it, it wouldn’t hurt to update your CV.’
Ellis wanted to tear the man’s throat out, but although it would make her feel much better, it wouldn’t help the situation. She turned and left his office, taking the elevator down to the ground floor.
Her calm outer shell masked the thunder that brewed inside her. Maynard was right to be concerned about the looming deadline, but taking away access to their main suspect was a ludicrous decision. It didn’t exactly paint a rosy picture for al-Hosni, either.
As far as she was aware, all black ops teams had been disbanded following the James Farrar saga, when a hit man had been sent to kill British citizens. That meant the only people Maynard could turn to would be E Squadron, a shadowy, hand-picked unit manned by experienced members of the SAS, Special Reconnaissance Regiment and Special Boat Service. The squadron primarily operated abroad on behalf of MI6, but Maynard clearly wasn’t averse to having them ply their trade at home.
One thing was certain: once Imran al-Hosni was in their clutches, she’d lose any hope of finding the X3 and claiming the credit on behalf of her team. She knew Maynard wouldn’t be satisfied merely with taking her scalp; he’d want a clean sweep to rid himself of anyone loyal to her.
Ellis half jogged the couple of blocks to Thames House, spurred on by the knowledge that the next couple of hours would be make-or-break.
Harvey was growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of progress. His team were working flat out, yet there was still no sign of the X3. To top it all, al-Hosni had cranked his social life into overdrive, visiting a dozen people in a single morning. Keeping tabs on all of them was proving harder each hour, and each person who met al-Hosni went on to meet a dozen others, the vast majority of whom remained unidentified. It was like a stone hitting a windscreen at speed. Al-Hosni was the epicentre, and one of the fractures led to the nerve agent. The trouble was, there were just too many cracks to follow, and the clock was ticking. Harvey had checked out the movements of the chemical engineer and come up empty, as had everyone else on the team. None of the people on their list had anything incriminating to say on the phone or over the internet, and apart from mingling in ever-larger circles, al-Hosni was keeping his nose clean.
He saw Ellis enter the office, shaking off her jacket as she headed to her glass palace, and decided it was time to revisit an earlier idea.
He followed his boss into her office and stood in front of her desk.
‘We need to rattle al-Hosni’s cage,’ he said.
Ellis dumped her handbag on the floor and flopped into her chair. ‘I just got back from Maynard’s office, and he’s told us to back off.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ Ellis said. ‘He’s assigned someone else to deal with al-Hosni, and I suspect it’s E Squadron. We’re still on the case, but we’re not allowed anywhere near him, effective immediately. We’re to call our people off and concentrate on our other leads.’
Harvey studied her and saw a hint of rebellion in her eyes. ‘I have a feeling that’s one order you’re in no rush to carry out.’
‘Intuitive, as always. I’d like you to personally go and tell the surveil
lance teams to wrap things up. If you just happen to stumble across al-Hosni while you’re there . . .’
Harvey was way ahead of her. ‘How long do you think we have?’
‘Hours, minutes . . . I have no idea.’
‘I’m on it.’
Harvey turned to leave, but Ellis called him back.
‘Be careful,’ she said. ‘We don’t know for sure who Maynard is sending, or how al-Hosni’s followers will react to your presence.’
‘Understood.’
Harvey went to Farsi’s desk to tell him he was leaving the office for a while.
‘What are you working on?’
‘Just getting a little background on one Muhammad Khan, imam at the Tower Hamlets mosque,’ Farsi explained. ‘I’ve got a meeting with one of my contacts in an hour. I told you about it yesterday.’
‘Oh, right. Well, don’t get too hooked up on what he tells you. We need to deal with al-Hosni first. Speaking of which, I’m about to go and meet him.’
Harvey called the unit tasked with keeping an eye on their prime suspect and asked where he could find them. They told him al-Hosni had just entered the mosque in Stockwell Green for prayers, and would be there for the next hour at least. Harvey was familiar with the building, and as it was a forty-minute drive, he had time to stop off at Sarah’s desk to see how she was getting on.
As he approached, he saw that she too had abandoned her assigned duties.
‘I thought you were comparing those entering that Birmingham park with facial recognition? Have you finished already?’
‘No,’ she said without looking up, ‘I handed that off. I want to know more about Malika.’
Harvey’s first thought was that it must have something to do with her outburst from the previous day. Had it been anyone else, he would have told her to drop it and return to her assigned duties, but once Sarah set her mind to something there was little he could do but let her run with it.
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