by Mike Gilmore
In the open space, the group took a closer look at the screens. Constance pointed with her left index finger to what she was describing. “As I said, the main group of screens in the center shows most of Central London and the immediate surrounding area. You can see we go west to Warwick Road, west of Kensington Palace. The northern boundary is the A-40 Highway, Westway Road, which becomes Marylebone Road and then continues east to become City Road. We go farther east to Shoreditch High Street where it meets with Commercial Street and the intersection where the A-11 and A-13 come together. The east screens show White Chapel and the Tower of London, crossing the River Thames on Tower Bridge. We show Druid Street and most of Southwark down to the intersection of New Kent and Old Kent Roads. We go west to the intersection of Battersea and Latchmere Road and then back north to Kensington Gardens.”
She pointed to the sides of the large screen array. “Some of the other individual screens show locations far away from Central London that we want to monitor but will not fit on the larger center screen. As I said, we can bring any of the images into the center screen if we need to enlarge a particular image.”
She allowed them to process that information and then continued with her explanation. “We are watching this from the Earth satellites, but we can change the image to any of the hundreds of CCTVs. Traffic cameras or security cameras are inside buildings like Charing Cross Station or any of the underground tube lines. It’s all very sophisticated.”
Marion pointed to the screen. “What do the orange circles and blue and white dots indicate?”
“Oh yes. The orange circles are the locations indicated in the notebook recovered from the suspect who got away from the senator. Those areas are high-priority locations. The blue dot represents a uniformed bobby, and the white dots are plainclothes officers. We can track them by the GPS chip in their radios.”
She moved to one of the desks where a young man dressed in a long-sleeve white shirt, blue striped tie, and dark pants was sitting. His fingers were moving across the keyboard at his desk but stopped when Constance approached. “Erik monitors all the security personnel at every location so we know what assets we have available to respond to any situation.”
She pointed to Trafalgar Square on the center group of screens. “Eric, who do we have at Trafalgar?”
Eric entered a few keystrokes on the keyboard, and one of the side screens changed to show Trafalgar Square. The background image of the square was lightly shaded, but the blue and white dots glowed more brilliantly. A list of names for the supervisors of the security people assigned to the square appeared off to the right side of the monitor.
From the smile on Constance’s face, it was obvious how proud she was of the amount of information at their fingertips. “Now … you can see we have four officers on the immediate square. Three are plain clothed. The other one is a uniformed bobby. You can also see we have a few more around the surrounding streets, close enough to respond to any situation within the square itself.”
Randy pointed to the screens. “What if you need more support than these dots represent?”
Constance’s smile grew a little bigger. “That’s a good question, Senator Fisher. Eric, change the screen to show the armed forces we have ready to deploy.”
Eric quickly tapped the new set of instructions into his keyboard. The entire center screen changed to show a dim background of Central London with a series of green dots. Again, off to the side were the military unit numbers and the type of personnel available. “This doesn’t give us individual names, but we know what unit is there and the type of equipment they have.”
She stepped a little closer to the screens and moved her hand to indicate several of the units. “We keep them out of sight from the public. Some are located at the Agar Street Police Station or inside one of the bays of a fire station or a public garage— any place that is close to where we want them to be but out of sight of our terrorist.”
Deputy Commissioner Shepard came out of the corner office. He caught sight of Randy and Marion and the two CIA operatives and diverted his path. After a round of handshakes and introductions to BookReader, he looked at the screens.
“I see Constance has given you a tour of our War Room. It is quite similar to what Churchill had during the Second World War with maps of Europe and Africa, but with all the electronic tools at our disposal today, we have real-time imaging. Its real name is the Command Room, but people working here simply call it the War Room when we are facing a possible terrorist plot.”
He continued to look at the screen for several more seconds before turning back to the Americans. “Well now. Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll give you an update on the current situation”.
They followed him back to the largest of the three offices. It was nearly ten feet in depth and fifteen feet along the outer wall. There was a basic government-issued steel desk and swivel chair, along with two steel-framed straight chairs in front of the desk. In the corner to their right as they entered was a smaller round table for four people. Two chairs were at the table. Another two were stacked in the corner.
Shepard indicated that Marion and Randy take the chairs near his desk. BookReader settled in the two chairs at the table. Shepard walked around the desk, dropped into the padded swivel chair, and released a little sigh between pressed lips. He dropped some papers and used his feet to pull the chair closer to the desk. “Well now. Let’s see what’s happened since last evening.”
He picked up a spiral-bound notebook with letter-size sheets of paper and flipped a few pages back and forth. Randy noticed it was of better quality than a typical office supply brand, where the side of a notebook had the normal wire curved into a spiral and woven through the miniature holes along the edge of each sheet of paper. When the writer removed a sheet from the notebook, the holes in the paper were torn and small bits of paper remained inside the coil of stiff wire. Sometimes the ribbon of paper was almost the length of the sheet of paper. Other times, many little paper remnants fell out of the notebook onto the desk surface or floor.
In Shepard’s notebook, the coil of wire wove through the network of holes, but each sheet also had a small perforation about one-half inch from the edge of the paper sheet parallel to the line of holes. A person could hold a finger down on the edge of the perforation and carefully tear the sheet out of the notebook without creating a mess with little bits of paper. From Randy’s seat, he could not see any paper remnants, so he assumed Shepard would use the line of perforations to remove sheets of paper.
Shepard finally located where he wanted to start his briefing. He unconsciously started his sentence with the same two words. “Well now. We have had no increase in signal intelligence before your incident with the man on the footbridge or afterward. History shows an increase in e-mails or cellular phone traffic from suspected sites before an operation commences and then a drop-off and finally complete silence just before they start the campaign. Everything so far is quite their normal routine.”
Randy spoke up quickly. “Are you assuming this might be a false alarm? Are you downgrading your efforts to locate the men?”
Shepard looked at Randy for a few seconds longer than comfortable. “No, Senator. Not at all. Her Majesty’s government still considers this operation a high priority. We have sufficient information to continue on for another day or two.”
He went back to his notebook and ran his right index finger down the page. “Well now … Where was I? Oh, yes … Nothing from signal intelligence. Well now, we have been watching the airports, bus stations, and the underground very closely for any persons fitting the description. Of course with this being London, we have many assets down by the docks and at every major place along the Thames. If your men, Senator Fisher, are still in London, they are keeping their heads down until they are ready to make their move.”
Marion shifted in the chair as he spoke up. “This is your city, Deputy Commissioner.
When would be the best time to strike to get the most out of their efforts this time of the year?”
In the outer War Room, all the windows were frosted. The window in DC Shepard’s office was clear. Perhaps it was a sign of his rank. He rotated his chair and looked out the window at the December weather. The sky overhead was heavy and dark for the time of the day. There would be no sunshine coming through the heavy cloud cover; it appeared the rain could fall again at any minute. Randy remembered from the morning report on the hotel television that the local weatherman predicted the temperature was to drop throughout the day and bring in rain mixed with ice, possibly heavy at times.
Shepard turned back to face his guests. “Well now. The weather is in our favor for keeping the tourist numbers down. I would think we are rather safe until this weather front blows through and the temperature and sunshine return to more favorable conditions to bring out the numbers. I say we need to watch this thing at least through the weekend. Then we will probably reassess the latest information and issue new instructions.”
Marion looked at the deputy commissioner but kept his thoughts to himself. He glanced at his wristwatch. “I appreciate your taking the time, Deputy Commissioner, to bring us up to speed. I’ve got an appointment with some people over at MI6, so I need to leave.”
He rose from his chair and offered his hand to the deputy commissioner. He turned to Randy, who was just getting out of his chair. “Randy, are you staying here or coming with me?”
Randy looked at the Englishman across the desk and then at his friend. “If DC Shepard doesn’t mind, I would like to stick around here for the time being. I would like to look through the information we have on the personal effects found in the suspect’s backpack.”
Shepard gave a little shrug. “You’re quite welcome to stay here in the War Room or down in the evidence room. Wherever you feel comfortable, Senator.”
Randy made a quick decision. “I think the evidence room would be best. I do not want to be in the way here. This must be the busiest room in the building.”
Shepard wanted the Americans out of his way but remembered his manners. “No problem at all. Perhaps the evidence room would be best. I’ll have one of the lads escort you down.”
Randy turned in time to see the sorrowful look on Agent Reader’s face. The beautiful Constance Langhorne would not be walking with them.
Outside his office, Shepard got the attention of another young man and ordered him to take Randy down to the fourth floor to the evidence room next to the CSI laboratory for their unit. He wished them a pleasant day, shook hands all around, and returned to his office.
Once outside the War Room, Randy asked their escort to stop before they reached the elevator. He pulled Marion and BookReader off to the side. The two agents stayed a few feet away and kept a watch on the traffic in the hallway so their boss and the senator were not disturbed.
Randy looked in his friend’s face. “Do you agree with Shepard’s opinion about the risk of an attack being low until the weather clears up and more people are outside?”
Marion looked around to ensure no other person was within hearing. “No. If I were a terrorist, I would use the lousy weather to cover my activities. Maybe the kill ratio would be lower, but the chance of a successful mission would be higher. I would strike now.”
Randy was in full agreement. “All right. You head over to MI6 and put your head together with their analysts. I will stay here. I still want to look over the physical evidence. Something is bothering me about it, but I can’t put my finger on it just yet.” He looked at BookReader. “Why don’t you take BookReader with you? They would probably be of more help to you than me.”
Marion shook his head. “Sorry, Randy. You’ve had your lot of excitement on this trip.” He looked at the two men and then back to his best friend. His expression changed to a look of slight confusion. “BookReader? Whatever you call them, they stay with you until you step on a jet back to Washington.”
Chapter 32
London
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
9:30 p.m.
Randy stepped out of the shower and used the thick towel to dry his hair and body. He had turned on the exhaust fan to keep the mirror from fogging over so he could see his reflection. The scar from the bullet wound inflicted by the terrorist in Columbia was still visible through the thick mat of layered chest hair. The red around the wound was long gone, and he thought the rough scar tissue was a little smoother than before.
The scar was an everyday reminder of how close he came to death slightly over three years ago. He rubbed his left shoulder to ease the slight pain that developed on cold and rainy days. The local weatherman had nailed it. Just after the lunch hour, the rain and temperature began to fall. When it got into the low thirties, small pellets of hail mixed with the steady rainfall. It was nasty weather for the balance of the day.
He stepped closer to the mirror and ran his right hand over his cheeks. He decided to wait until morning to shave again. He had a thick beard pattern and many days he would shave twice. His eyes went from the whisker stubbles to the two butterfly bandages above his right eye. They needed changing, and he opened his toiletries bag and rummaged inside for two fresh bandages.
He carefully removed the old ones so not to pull off the scabs that kept the wound from reopening. The deep cut was healing. Maybe after another day or two he could go without the small bandages. Finished with the wound, he checked out the deep abrasion on his right wrist just behind the outer pad of his palm. The large gauze pad needed changing as well, and he once again dipped into the small bag that contained his electric shaver and other toiletries. The new gauze pad was the last one provided by Officer Davis at the Agar station. He would need to find a drug store tomorrow and purchase some new medical supplies.
Finished in the bathroom, he walked into the living room of his suite and put on a clean set of undershorts and a pair of cotton jersey pants he normally wore in their apartment in Alexandria, along with a T-shirt. He went to the mini refrigerator and removed a bottle of London Pride beer. He twisted off the cap and tossed it into the nearby trashcan. He took a sip from the bottle and walked over to look out the window. His top-floor suite gave him a good view of the next buildings. Off to his right the lights of Trafalgar Square allowed him a view of most of the square. The hotel building prevented him from seeing Nelson’s Column.
As he looked out the window, he decided the day had not been a complete waste of his time. From the War Room, their escort took them to the evidence room on the fourth floor of the twenty-story building. He discovered he could only look at photographs of the evidence. The actual items were tagged and bagged and could not be touched by anyone except the CSI personnel and case investigators. Otherwise, Randy might contaminate the evidence and make it unusable for criminal prosecution if they captured the men and brought them to trial.
Looking at photographs all day was brutal. He took pity on BookReader and told them they could move about the building. He promised the two security agents he would not leave the small unused office off the evidence room provided to him for anything except to use the restroom down the hallway. Booker told him they would compromise; only one agent would stay with the senator. They would switch off every hour to stay vigilant and fresh.
Randy took the file folder of pictures and arranged them on the desk in two rows. The top row was the items he had seen handled by the suspect. The second row included photographs of the other items discovered inside the backpack. The top row documented the backpack, knife, and cell phone, along with copies of all the pictures taken with the cell phone. The bottom row photos showed each page inside the notebook, the handkerchief, the map of London, British paper money in various denominations, and a single bottle of water.
He started with the items he had seen handled by the terrorist and carefully looked at the photos. He forced himself to look at each part of each item.
The backpack photo had two long rulers on two dimensions to provide the size. It was fifteen inches tall and ten inches across. The depth probably averaged seven or eight inches. The color was basic black, and the manufacture’s logo was located on the top right side. It appeared to be a lightning bolt. No name was visible. Two shoulder straps, slightly wider at the top, attached at a horizontal seam and continued down the back of the bag. The straps were sewn to the top of the backpack about three inches apart but turned outward at the bottom, where a cross strap was attached to keep the two larger straps from flopping around too much. Once placed over the shoulder, snap clips attached the cross strap to the larger shoulder straps.
Another photo showed the backside where the top flap came over, sealed shut by a plastic snap clip. The bag’s interior padding prevented any sharp objects from sticking into the back or sides of the wearer. Randy spent nearly twenty minutes looking at the two photos of the backpack before he set them back down in their top row position.
The next item was the knife. As knives go, it was not as nasty looking as those used by members of the Armed Forces. As an MP in the army, Randy had carried a knife as part of his standard equipment package. He had now faced the wrong end of a knife twice in his life and would be happy never to repeat the incidents.
The experts described it as a Browning Titanium Gray Red Acid Quick Open knife. The wooden handle was red oak with a downward tip at the end to ensure it would not slip through the closed fingers of the user. The front part of the handle had an indentation where the spring release mechanism was located. After depressing the metal release, the knife would spring open and lock into position. The user would have to press the spring release a second time to release the locking mechanism and fold the blade back into the closed position. The maker manufactured the blade from titanium for its ability to hold hardness and to retain a sharp edge. The blade ended with a very sharp point. The Browning logo and name were etched into the hardened metal. There was no doubt in Randy’s mind the knife was of quality material and construction. Again, he spent almost twenty-five minutes looking at the photo, but he discovered nothing to ease the nagging suspicion still bothering him. There was something that he was seeing but not recognizing. What was it?