DeSantos glanced at his watch and turned away, waving a hand in the process. “We’ll deal with this later. The one that got away may circle back. And if he does, and we’re still here, he’ll know we’ve got their stuff—”
“And their plans,” Uzi said, studying the screen.
“You should’ve called Karen and Uzi, warned them. As soon as you lost the guy. What if he came back here and they had no idea he was on the way?”
“If it was me,” Fahad said with a shrug, “no way would I come back. You gotta consider the flat compromised.”
“Depends,” DeSantos said, “on what he left behind and how important it is. Remember, risk is not an issue for them. A lot of these guys are suicide bombers.”
Fahad’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need reminding, Hector.”
“I think you do. Because we can’t afford fuckups. And so far I’m not too impressed with your performance. If we’re going to trust our lives to—”
“Another time,” Vail said. “We need to get our shit together and get out.”
DeSantos shook his head in disgust. The sun was beginning its rise, the sky brightening—which meant they did not have much time.
“You two go take positions outside, one out front, one out back. You see the asshole come back, let us know.” DeSantos gave Fahad a hard look. “Think you can do that?”
Fahad stared back but did not answer.
“Karen, anything that doesn’t look kosher, ring us.”
“Right.” They left as Uzi continued clacking away at the keys. “Quick and dirty sit-rep?”
“Two got away, two dead. Did the best to dispose of the bodies but like I said, they’re going to be found. Matter of time.” He pulled out the phones. “But I got photos and prints. You?”
“Hacked the PC. Close to decrypting some of their documents. I have a feeling we’ll get some good intel.”
DeSantos went about printing the latents on the phone screens, then sent the data to Meadows along with the images of the two deceased men. He had no idea if they would get a hit, but he asked Meadows to check with Interpol as well. He hoped they were in the system somewhere, for something illegal. When dealing with foreign countries, the results were less certain. In some places, bribes were paid; in others, police work was inconsistent.
DeSantos packed his duffel and went through the flat, removing signs of their presence. “How much longer?”
“Got one decrypted. Reading it now—” Uzi leaned in close to the screen and cursed. “They’re planning something all right. On MI5, with osmium tetroxide.”
“What?” DeSantos came up beside him. “Osmium tetroxide isn’t stable. MI5 got wind of an attack several years ago. It never got off the ground because the stuff was very expensive and they couldn’t find a way of stabilizing the chemical.”
“Looks like they solved that problem. And unless we do something about it—” Uzi checked his watch—“they’re going to launch an assault on MI5 HQ in fifty-nine minutes—just after everyone’s arrived for work.”
“Can you decrypt the rest on the fly?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Pack up whatever shit you need. We’re outta here in two minutes, no more.”
DeSantos pulled his phone and texted Vail and Fahad, told them to meet at their cars in three minutes, and he’d brief them en route to their destination.
“Destination?” Vail messaged back.
DeSantos ignored it as he gathered up his duffel, gave a final wipe-down to Uzi’s keyboard, and shut the lights. They walked out the door ten seconds later.
40
“We’ve got fifty-five minutes,” Vail said as she fastened her seatbelt. “But do we have a plan?”
Uzi tapped away at his laptop keyboard. “The plan is to prevent the attack on MI5.”
“And how are we going to do that?”
“Haven’t gotten that far.”
A moment later, DeSantos pulled up alongside their car. “Follow me.”
“And do what?”
“We’ll figure it out on the way.” He rolled up his window and headed off down the road.
Vail followed a safe distance behind. “I think we should call Buck.”
Uzi leaned closer to the screen. “Can’t. You heard what Knox said.”
She ruminated on that a bit. Buck was not a likely ally, but faced with intel of an imminent attack on the security service’s headquarters, he would have to take action, right? Maybe not. He had not listened when Knox told him he had credible information that Qadir Yaseen and Tahir Aziz were on UK soil. Or had he? Perhaps he did check it out and could not verify Knox’s claims. What would Knox have done if the situation were reversed?
“I think we should tell him.”
Uzi shrugged a shoulder, still pecking away at his laptop. “Call Santa, make your case.”
Vail dialed DeSantos, no longer concerned about driving while holding her phone. She got through her first sentence before he cut her off.
“Too risky. If our intel is bad, we’re really in the shit. Do I have to remind you what happened last time we were here? We may not get out of the UK again without serious prison time—not to mention their new terrorism laws. Can’t take the chance.”
“There are a shitload of people working in those buildings. If it’s a legitimate threat, we can’t just let the attack go down without doing something.”
“We will do something. I just haven’t figured out what yet.”
“What about Reid and Carter?” She was referring to two MI5 agents, Clive Reid and Ethan Carter, who partnered with Vail and DeSantos when they were on an island, literally and figuratively, on the run from law enforcement.
There was silence. She figured DeSantos was working it through, weighing the potential problems—she could think of a few herself—against other options, which, likely, included doing nothing.
“Obviously, since you’re suggesting it,” he said, “you feel pretty confident they won’t try to screw us over. I mean, I got to know them, but you knew them a lot better.”
“I know Reid and yeah, I think he’s a standup guy. He knows what we were up against, that we were trying to do the right thing.”
Uzi looked up from his keyboard. “No one can guarantee the actions of another. You sure about this?”
Am I sure? If I tell them no—which would be the truth—they’ll back off. But I can’t sit by and not do something. She glanced at the clock: forty-three minutes left.
“Yes.”
“Fine,” DeSantos said. “You still have Reid’s number?”
“I can get it.” She hung up and turned to Uzi. Can you get me a phone number?” She told him which Metropolitan Police station she needed to call—the one that Vail temporarily worked out of when she first met Reid. A moment later, he was reading her the string of digits.
She rang through and got a duty clerk who sounded as bored as he probably was. Doing her best to speak in a regional British accent—but saying as little as possible because she knew the more words she spoke the greater the risk her faux dialect would be laid bare. “I need to reach Inspector Reid. Problem with his nephew Brant. He’s in a spot of trouble. I’m the headmistress here and he said I should call his uncle, a copper by the name of Reid.” She chuckled. “He said he’s a detective chief inspector. As if I believe that.”
The clerk cleared his throat. “Well, right that, he is. Can you wait while I put the ring up on hold?”
Uh, I have no idea what you said. “Of course.”
“He’s in the building, I think. Just started his shift.”
“That I can.”
Uzi gave her a look. Clearly, he was not as impressed with Vail’s efforts as she was.
A moment later, the muffling of a phone receiver, a muted, “What? I don’t—” He stopped, then into the handset, said: “This
is DCI Reid. Who’s this?”
“Reid, it’s your old buddy, the one you can never seem to face straight on. You always see me in profile. Know what I mean?” She didn’t want to say any more over an open line.
“What are you—hang on a second, let me get some privacy,” he said, pronouncing it with a short “i.” After the sound of a door opening and closing, he continued. “Where are you? I thought—well, I thought I’d never hear from you again.”
“That makes two of us. But let’s just say it was necessary. And I’ve got something you should know about. Do you trust me?”
“Well that’s as stupid a question as I’ve been asked since—well, since you were here last time.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Listen, we’ve come across some intel—”
“We? You’re not alone?”
“We’ve come across some intel in a …” She did not want to use the term “terrorist” in case the Brits’ GCHQ, or government communications headquarters, was monitoring calls and sifting for key words. “A tango’s flat. Believe me when I tell you this is credible information. My friend hacked the subject’s computer. There’s an attack planned on MI5 headquarters in—”
“What kind of attack?”
“We’re still decrypting files we found on the hard drive—” She turned to Uzi—“You find anything else?”
“Blueprints for the building, but I’m having to decrypt each document separately. Key thing you’ve got to know is that they’re planning to use osmium tetroxide.”
Vail put the phone on speaker. “What’s osmium—osmium hydroxide?”
“Osmium tetroxide,” Uzi said. “An extremely poisonous chemical. Even small concentrations gets into the airways, it’ll destroy the lungs. It’s got a chlorine-like odor, but you wouldn’t think it’s deadly and wouldn’t even know you’ve been infected until hours later when you suddenly can’t breathe and start coughing up blood. And die. The stuff is so caustic it has to be stored in glass because it eats through plastic.”
“They were going to use it against us ten years ago in the tube,” Reid said. “We had a snitch, found their stash before it went anywhere. Some of our chemical weapons blokes didn’t think it would’ve worked because it’s unstable and because the blast would’ve dispersed the toxin before it could be inhaled.”
“Even if true,” Vail said, “ten years is a long time. They may’ve found a better way to deliver it. Are you willing to take the chance it won’t work?”
Reid groaned. “No.”
“Here’s the bad news.” Vail found the dashboard clock and hoped it was accurate. “Whatever they’re planning, it’s going down in thirty-five minutes.”
“Shite.”
“My thoughts exactly. We’re on our way—but honestly, we have no plan for when we get there. What about CO19?”
“If this were a preplanned infiltration, a specialist firearms officer unit would go in. But yeh, I can get CO19 there and the hazardous materials division. Maybe an SAS antiterrorist team too, but that’ll take longer because they go through COBRA, the crisis management command center. There just isn’t time.”
They heard Reid giving orders to what sounded like a nearby colleague.
“Hang on a sec,” Uzi said. “Reid—it’s not MI5, it’s Two Marsham Street. That’s the Home Office, isn’t it?”
“Home Office, yes. But there’s also a block of residential flats, shops, and restaurants there.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the target.” Uzi struck several keys and then turned to Vail. “The government, that’s what they’re after. There’s an analysis of the building, how and why the release of osmium tetroxide gas was the best method to use for the most casualties—without anyone suspecting a thing.”
Vail looked at the screen. “It’s in Arabic.”
“No shit. I can see that.”
“I mean, how good are your language skills? Are you sure of what you’re reading?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
Vail looked at him.
“Very sure. Look, I’m telling you. That’s what it says here.”
“Did you hear that?” Vail asked Reid.
“Got it.”
“This is obviously written by a chemist. I don’t understand most of it—I mean, I get some of it, but … they’re talking about using osmate salts and osmium trichloride hydrate to oxidize it to osmium, and tertiary amines to cause a ligand acceleration—”
“You made your point,” Vail said. “About your Arabic skills.”
Uzi looked up. “Sounds like they know what they’re doing. This attack is a legit threat.”
“So the Home Office is the target?” Reid asked.
“Best I can tell, yeah. There are several more docs here that I have to crack. But from what I’ve read, they begged off Thames House in favor of the Home Office.”
Vail followed DeSantos’s car as it turned left onto a wide road. “Remind me what’s in the Home Office?”
“Lots of people,” Reid said, huffing a bit. He was no doubt on the move while they were talking. “Immigration, passport office, DNA database, surveillance office, police national database, lots of research labs for biometrics, chemical profiling of illicit drugs, counterterrorism—”
“I get it,” Vail said. “It’s an important government law enforcement building and it’ll be a huge blow if they kill a lot of people in those departments.”
“I’m begging off,” Reid said. “I need my phone to make some calls. And then I’ve gotta figure out how I know about this. Because they’re going to ask.”
Vail shrugged. “Anonymous tip. It’s true, right? We never gave you our names.”
Reid chuckled. “I’ve missed you guys. Life’s been rather mundane.”
“Not anymore.”
“Right. Wish me luck. We’re gonna need a bushel of it.”
Vail disconnected the call. “Okay, so if you were doing this, how and where?”
Uzi sat back in his seat and thought a moment. “There are a number of options. It could be something low-tech or fairly sophisticated. If they’ve got inside help, it’d be more toward the sophisticated end of the spectrum, like releasing it in the ventilation system. If not, maybe a truck bomb that can be driven through a wall and then detonated. We know they’re not afraid to die. Given their MO, that scenario is more likely than not. But there could be a dozen other approaches, just as effective if not more so.”
“But one of the docs said something about the chemical being the best to use because no one would suspect a thing.”
“Right. So you’re saying no bomb.” He stopped working the keyboard and thought a moment. “An insidious release. Ventilation ducts.”
Vail handed her phone to Uzi. “Text that to Reid. Tell him what we think and why.”
But just as he began typing, Vail’s phone rang.
“It’s Reid,” Uzi said as he pressed a button.
“Put him on speaker.”
Uzi hunted for the right key and then pressed it. “Reid? Just about to send you a text.”
“Hold that. We just got an order to evacuate Thames House.”
“I know what I read,” Uzi said. “That plan was changed. It’s the Home Office.”
“You said you hadn’t finished opening all the documents. Maybe it was changed back. Or someone senior superseded the change.”
“We can sit here and guess,” Vail said, “but that’s not going to get us anywhere.”
“Who gave the order to evacuate? Based on what?”
“Anonymous tip came in to the service.”
Uzi returned to attacking the keys, but stopped abruptly and looked up. “No. That anonymous call is a ruse. Don’t evacuate. There’s a sniper, he’s gonna pick people off as soon as they leave the building.”
“A sniper? Are you sure
about this?” Reid asked.
“No, I’m not sure. I’m—I’m just trying to take what we know and put it together, try to think like them. In New York, they drew us to a crime scene where they’d stabbed a woman in the middle of Times Square. As soon as we got there, we were right in the middle of the plaza when a sniper opened fire on us.”
“But who’s the target?” Vail asked. “Anyone and everyone who works for the security service?”
“Could be Buck,” Reid said. “The director general pushed hard for the new counterterrorism legislation. He said some bloody inflammatory things during his testimony before Parliament, not exactly challenging the terrorists, but fairly close. The PM was miffed, almost cost Buck his job. But it could’ve made the bloke a target. For that matter, same goes for the Home Office. They were closely involved in that legislation.”
“Secure both buildings,” Vail said. “They could be going after one or both. We think they’re rigging the Home Office’s ventilation system.”
“And from what I can see online,” Uzi said, viewing what looked like commercial property listings, “there’s about 500,000 square feet in that building. It’s huge. That’s a lot of dead people in a very short time.”
Reid sighed audibly. “You sure about this?”
“Stop asking that,” Uzi said. “We’re sure of very little of this. You’re getting our best guess.”
“If I had time, I’d run it up the ladder, cover my arse.”
Vail slapped the steering wheel. “The Clive Reid I know does what he thinks is right and doesn’t worry about the consequences.”
“So what you’re saying is that yeh want me to stake my career on a guess. And yeh want me to take it to my guvnor and my guvnor’s guvnor and yeh want me to dae all this—and safely evacuate two massive buildings in twenty-five minutes.”
“That sums it up pretty well,” Uzi said.
“You know your accent gets more pronounced when you’re stressed?”
“Shite.”
Vail genuinely felt sorry for him. And she hoped to god they were right. “Good luck, Mr. Phelps.”
The Lost Codex (OPSIG Team Black Series Book 3) Page 25