Aswan hadn’t considered that possibility, and for a brief moment he felt panic begin to claw at his chest. But something told him it wasn’t the imam’s style.
‘I’ve listened to enough of Khan’s sermons,’ he said. ‘He pushes the idea of martyrdom too hard to rely on a timer or anything like that. Having someone sacrifice their life makes more of a statement about commitment to Islam than planting a bomb and detonating it remotely.’
‘Then tell me who has it so that we can stop them. In particular, I want to know about eight people who showed up at the mosque yesterday at eight in the evening.’
That was news to Aswan. The building was normally closed at that time on a Wednesday night, which made these visitors highly suspicious. The trouble was, he had no idea who they could be.
‘If you show me their pictures, I might recognise some of them.’
‘If we had pictures, I wouldn’t be asking you,’ Andrew said, clearly annoyed with his answer. ‘All we have is CCTV of them entering and then leaving again a few minutes later. They were deliberately covering their faces.’ The agent shrugged and gave Aswan a hard stare.
Damn. Aswan felt as frustrated as Harvey looked. If MI5 couldn’t identify the men from the footage, though, it was unlikely that he’d recognise any of them.
Still, he had to try. If he could be seen to be helping, they might start believing the truth: that he had nothing to do with any attack.
‘Can I see the footage? There might be something about them that rings a bell.’
Andrew thought about it for some time, and just as Aswan was expecting to have his request denied, he looked over to the mirror.
‘Bring me a laptop.’
A couple of minutes later the door buzzed open and a woman placed a notebook in front of Andrew. He tapped at the keys, then turned it to face Aswan.
Aswan saw the familiar entrance to the building, and almost immediately the first figure entered the shot. It was soon apparent that Andrew had been right: the person on the screen was dressed for anonymity. More people appeared on the screen, but as with the first, there was nothing distinguishable about them.
It wasn’t until the sixth person arrived that Aswan had anything to go on. The man only entered the shot for a couple of seconds, but there was something about the hoodie he was wearing that struck a chord.
‘Can you rewind that bit?’
Andrew, who had been staring at him again – probably looking for tell-tale facial indicators – came around the table and moved the recording back a few seconds.
‘There!’ Aswan said. ‘Pause it.’
The screen froze, and Aswan leaned in for a closer look. ‘Can you zoom in?’
Andrew used the touch pad to enlarge the image, and Aswan was convinced that he knew the boy on the screen.
‘That’s Faysal Nejem. He never goes anywhere without that hoodie.’
Andrew panned out and restarted the footage. ‘Let me know if you spot anyone else.’
Aswan watched the feed to the end. He shook his head; nothing else stood out.
‘Tell me about Faysal,’ Andrew said.
‘He’s one of the kids that hangs around the mosque. There’s a few from troubled backgrounds, and Khan held private sessions with them most days. I don’t know what went on, but Khan said they were lost souls, and he was leading them back to the righteous path.’
Even as he spoke the words, the true meaning became apparent. He’d met some of the kids, and they weren’t the sharpest tools in the box. A couple came from broken homes, while Faysal himself had run away from an abusive father when he was fifteen. After being introduced to Khan and explaining his plight, Faysal had been given accommodation in return for attending regular religious counselling.
‘I want the names of all of them,’ Andrew said, moving the laptop over to his own side of the table.
Aswan listed as many as he could remember. ‘I didn’t meet all of them. They’d turn up for prayers, then go straight into their sessions with Khan. We weren’t exactly encouraged to talk to them.’
Andrew closed down the laptop, then carried it to the door, where he paused.
‘If I bring these kids in, what are the chances they’ll be as co-operative as you?’
Aswan shrugged. ‘Hard to say. A couple were happy to talk about their problems at home, but when I asked them about the private sessions, they clammed up. One said it was extra prayers, that’s it.’
Aswan heard the door buzz and then lock again a few seconds later, and he wondered if he’d done enough to end this nightmare.
Harvey took the lift back up to the office and swiped his way in.
‘I’ve got some names,’ he said, getting everyone’s attention. ‘First step, match them to addresses and use CCTV to see if they arrived home late yesterday evening. If they did, track their movements. I want to see if we can place any of them at the mosque at eight o’clock. Let me know the second you get a hit.’
He read off the names Aswan had provided, then went to fill Ellis in.
‘We’re making progress,’ he told her as he closed the glass door behind him. After a rundown on developments, he voiced his only concern.
‘We’re fast running out of time, and even if we bring them in, I’m not sure we’ll be able to get them talking before it’s too late.’
‘Something tells me you have an idea.’ Ellis frowned. ‘One I’m not going to like.’
‘The Home Secretary is happy to use E Squadron to interrogate prisoners. I suggest we do the same.’
‘Hand everything over to Maynard?’
‘God, no! I might as well resign now. No, I was thinking of using our own specialists.’
Ellis looked uneasy. ‘If you’re talking about Tom Gray, forget it. For one, we’d never get him here in time, and two, trouble follows him around. Nothing is ever black and white with Gray, if you’ll pardon the pun.’
Harvey knew Ellis wasn’t keen in involving Gray in any official work, despite the debt they both owed him. Gray and a handful of friends had risked their lives to free Harvey from Russian separatists, and although the man had a chequered history, he was as loyal as they came.
‘Not Tom, but a couple of his friends.’
‘Smart and Baines?’
‘The very same. You told me yourself that they had no hesitation in volunteering their services when I was stuck in Tagrilistan. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind taking part in a less dangerous mission a little closer to home.’
‘Oh, I’m sure they’d jump at the chance, but if we ask SO15 to pick up the suspects and drop them off at the offices of two men who were once the subject of a nationwide manhunt, someone’s going to start asking questions.’
‘What if I told you I had a way around that?’
Ellis sighed. ‘I was afraid you were going to say that.’
Harvey smiled, then let her know what he had in mind. Ellis picked a few holes in his idea, but after a few minutes, they had something both agreed was workable.
‘When you call them, use a clean phone. I don’t want this coming back to bite us.’
‘I’ll have to. Mine was destroyed in the blast. Still, I’d prefer to meet them in person. I’ll sound them out, and once we get a hit on a suspect we’ll get moving.’
When Harvey returned to the main floor, he learned that they had matched addresses to four of the six names, and the team had identified two of the hooded subjects entering their homes at just after ten at night. They were currently backtracking to see where they’d been that evening.
‘How did we get on with the earlier tracking?’ Harvey asked Farsi.
‘We lost all eight when they got on public transport. I’ve requested on-board CCTV coverage, but they want a court order before they release anything.’
‘You explained how serious it was?’
‘I did,’ Farsi said, ‘but the jobsworths have forms to complete and boxes to tick. We won’t be able to speak to a judge until tomorrow morning, then another couple
of hours to study the footage. It’ll be too late by then.’
‘Then forget it. If we lost them on public transport, it’s because they changed their appearance. You say we tracked two of them to their homes?’
Farsi nodded.
‘Then backtrack their journeys that night. Once you lose them, make a note of the train or bus they used and cross-reference it with the eight youths from the mosque. If one of those used the same transport, we have our match.’
‘You hope.’
‘It’s all we’ve got,’ Harvey said. ‘If that doesn’t work, we have to pull them all in and make them feel chatty.’
‘Even if we do get a hit, there’s no guarantee they’ll co-operate.’
Harvey smiled. ‘Let’s get a coffee and meet some old friends.’
Len Smart looked up from his Kindle as the door to his office opened and a short, blond man walked in and dumped himself in the chair opposite his desk.
‘Don’t you ever knock?’ Smart asked.
‘If I did, would you let me in?’
Smart briefly considered the question. ‘No, I wouldn’t.’
He returned to his e-reader, but Simon ‘Sonny’ Baines wasn’t about to give him the peace he desired.
‘Whatcha reading, boss?’
Smart still hadn’t got used to the title, and when it came from Sonny it somehow sounded like an insult. Even though Smart looked the part, with his balding head and bushy moustache – and, he had to admit, he felt comfortable in the suit and tie – he sometimes yearned for the days when he’d been up to his neck in mud or sand rather than negotiating international contracts.
Up until a couple of years ago, he’d been just another name on a long list of ex-soldiers doing security work for Tom Gray’s company Minotaur Logistics. After his name hit the headlines for all the wrong reasons, Gray had been forced to restructure his entire business in a bid to obfuscate his identity as owner. It had worked for a while, until a tenacious tabloid reporter dug deep enough to reveal Gray’s involvement. In the days following publication of the article, clients had jumped ship rather than be seen associating with a man who had once held five criminals to ransom. Gray had seen no alternative but to resign his position and dub his most trusted friend Len Smart the new managing director. Gray still had shares in the business, but these were managed anonymously by an overseas holding company, with Gray drawing a monthly salary that was paid via his solicitor.
Now and again, Gray would call to catch up and see how the business was doing, but for the most part, he left Smart to manage things. From what Tom said, the country life in rural Italy seemed to be fitting him and his young daughter well.
‘It’s called Wicked Game by Matt Johnson. It’s about an ex-22 who had a part to play in Operation Nimrod, and his past comes back to haunt him.’
Sonny snorted. ‘Those books are never realistic.’
‘It’s a lot more gripping and believable than the bullshit you use to pull women.’
‘Hey, those are all true stories.’
Smart cocked an eye. ‘Like the time you single-handedly wiped out an entire company of Revolutionary Guard during Desert Storm?’
‘I did so!’ Sonny objected. ‘Well, granted, the company had been reduced to just a couple of blokes by the time the American A-10s were done with them, but they put up a hell of a fight.’
‘I was there, remember? It was two guys standing in the open and firing in your general direction. Gray’s three-year-old daughter could have taken them down.’
It hadn’t really been that simple, and Sonny’s shooting had been exemplary, but Smart had learned long ago not to feed his friend’s ego.
Sonny, so named because he’d looked like a fresh-faced fifteen-year-old when he’d tackled the SAS selection process, despite being in his late twenties at the time, still retained his boyish countenance today. Smart marvelled at how kind time had been to him. While his own waist seemed to grow with each passing day, Sonny still looked like a fitness coach in his early thirties, though in reality they were both creeping up on their fiftieth birthdays.
Despite all the banter, Smart could not have wished for a better friend.
‘So what brings you here?’ he asked.
‘I’m a little short.’
‘You’re telling me,’ Smart said. ‘You’re the only man I know who had to use a step ladder to reach puberty!’
‘Ah, the old ones are the best. But seriously, my salary didn’t go in this month.’
‘Yeah, there was an issue at the bank, but I sorted it. The money should be in your account by the end of the day.’
The phone on Smart’s desk buzzed and Gill, the receptionist, announced the arrival of two visitors.
‘We’ve got company,’ Smart told Sonny, and his face lit up when he walked out of the room. ‘Andrew! Hamad! Good to see you!’
He gave them each a bear hug, then asked Gill to provide some coffee as he showed them into his office. Sonny likewise greeted them with a hug, then ushered them into chairs before sitting on Smart’s desk.
‘What can we do for you guys?’ Smart asked. ‘Is this a social visit, or have you finally come to arrest Sonny for crimes against my sanity?’
‘It’s business,’ Harvey said, as Gill arrived with a pot of Smart’s favourite roast and four cups. He waited until she’d left the room before continuing. ‘We have a delicate matter that needs to be kept off the books, if you know what I mean.’
Sonny smacked Smart’s desktop. ‘Count us in!’
‘Hold on,’ Smart said, raising a hand. ‘We haven’t heard the proposal yet.’
‘Whatever it is, it has to be more exhilarating than screwing up the payroll. We’re in.’
‘Len’s right,’ Harvey said. ‘You should hear us out first.’
‘If you insist, but you’re just prolonging the inevitable.’
Harvey spent the next five minutes briefing them on the current operation, then explained the role he wanted them to undertake.
‘Like I said, we’ll do it,’ Sonny said.
This time, Smart agreed.
They spent another ten minutes tweaking the plan, which entailed bringing in a third person, then Harvey stood and drained his cup. ‘Gentlemen, a pleasure, as always. I’ll be in touch when we’re ready to go.’
Smart walked them to the front door. When he returned, he found Sonny grinning like a Cheshire cat.
‘I don’t know what you’re smiling at. I’m not paying you overtime for this.’
They were ten minutes from Thames House when Harvey’s phone rang.
‘It’s Elaine,’ he told Farsi, who was driving.
He answered the call and listened while Solomon brought him up to speed.
‘Okay, put SO15 on standby. I’ll call you back.’
He told Farsi that they’d traced one of the mystery eight, Faysal Nejem, to his home. He looked up the address on a replacement phone he’d got from Gerald Small.
‘It’s near Armistone Park. Call Samir and tell him to text this guy for a meet there in one hour. That’ll give us time to get into position.’
Farsi used his hands-free kit to make the call while Harvey phoned Solomon back with detailed instructions. Once he’d done that, he checked the map again and used a burner phone he’d picked up to call Len Smart. The conversation was short, and ten minutes later Farsi pulled over near the entrance to the park. His phone beeped twice, and he checked the incoming text message.
‘Samir says Nejem will be here at seven. That gives us forty-five minutes to get everyone in place.’
With a quarter of an hour to go, there was a knock on Harvey’s window and he recognised Sergeant Bury from SO15. He was glad to see the man had followed his suggestion and changed into plain clothes.
‘I’ve got three men with me,’ Bury said when Harvey wound his window down. ‘Two are dressed as joggers and the other one is walking his German shepherd. We borrowed him from the Met’s dog squad.’
‘Good. Have t
hem standing by. Once the suspects arrive we’ll make ourselves scarce, then I’ll call you and you take them down when you’re ready.’
He’d already informed Bury that Samir was working on their behalf, but in order to protect the snitch, he would be arrested as well. It would mean, at most, a couple of hours spent in a cell before being released without charge. Samir also knew the score; for an extra couple of hundred pounds, he’d readily agreed.
Bury returned to his unmarked car, and the waiting began.
CHAPTER 30
Thursday, 17 August 2017
Faysal Nejem wore his hoodie up, despite the warm evening. It was something Khan had drilled into him, especially when he was due to meet anyone away from the mosque.
He took a bus to within two hundred yards of Armistone Park, then walked with his head down to defeat the gaze of the street cameras. Now and again he would stop to peer into a shop window, looking for any sign that he was being followed. He repeated the manoeuvre half a dozen times before he was happy that he hadn’t picked up a tail.
As he reached the entrance to the park, a Ford containing two men pulled away without giving him a second glance. Still, he scanned the area for anyone taking an interest in him.
All clear.
Faysal checked his watch. He was five minutes early, and he began to wonder what last-minute instructions Khan had passed to Samir. Of all people, he couldn’t understand why the imam would entrust a drug addict like Samir with anything more important than a shopping list, never mind instructions to be carried out in the event of his death. He’d seen the announcement on the news, and while it had saddened him, Samir’s text message had been a timely reminder that he still had work to do.
Faysal entered the park and saw Samir sitting on a bench a hundred yards away to his right. As he strolled towards him, he kept checking the trees and bushes but saw no hidden cameramen or snipers waiting to take him down.
When he reached the bench, he sat and took in the people making the most of the glorious evening. A couple with a young child were enjoying a late picnic on the grass, while a dog walker struggled with half a dozen hounds of varying breeds and sizes. Nobody looked out of place. Faysal began to relax a little.
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