Meanwhile, the Nimrod aircraft tracking Golden Sundancer picked up Northern Rose as she headed northwards. The navigator spoke to the Ops Room and COBRA, and gave a predicted rendezvous between the trawler and Golden Sundancer north-west of the Pentland Firth, around 18:00 hours.
Dakka Dudayev, the terrorist who had caused all the carnage at Stratford, had evaded detection and left the industrial building in a sports hatchback. The team tasked with tracking Dudayev had become worried; he was thought to be making for North Walsham, but, an hour and a half after the Stratford attack, his precise location was still not known.
There were sighs of relief when he was seen turning off the M11 on to the A11. Dudayev motored up the A140 to Aylsham and on to North Walsham.
When Dudayev entered the industrial estate he saw smoke and flames coming from the industrial unit, two down from where he’d stored his Vektor mortar and the twenty high-explosive shells. Parked right in front of his factory were a fire engine and a police car. The whole area had been cordoned off. He didn’t hesitate. He casually turned his car around and headed for Great Yarmouth.
Those watching him were pleased to see him leave.
On the outskirts of the town, he slipped off the main road into a housing estate and headed for a lock-up garage. After swapping his casual attire for nondescript fisherman’s clothing consisting of a duffle coat and patched trousers, and his sports car for a moped, he slowly made his way to the ship repair yard.
At the docks, Dudayev left his moped a couple of hundred metres away from where Rosemarie was berthed. He walked calmly down the road, through the ship repair yard, past the dry dock, on to the dock side and stepped aboard Rosemarie as her mooring lines were being cast off.
At just after 4 p.m. Rosemarie motored out to sea, turned south on to a bearing of 1798 and ratcheted her speed up to an impressive fourteen knots. She, it was thought, was heading for the Straights of Dover, with a likely rendezvous point with Golden Sundancer somewhere beyond the Isles of Scilly.
A second Nimrod was on station to monitor Rosemarie’s progress in case she put into port to offload her human cargo.
In Scotland, the industrial property at Prestwick had been under surveillance by a special forces and MI5 unit since the early hours of the morning. Alistair Hartnell, Basel Talal’s number two, had been identified as a passenger on an internal flight from London Stansted to Prestwick the night before. Hartnell was lying low in the industrial property. He had been joined by an unidentified man late in the evening. His colleague, it transpired, was Kim Chindriani, the man responsible for running the offices of UKSOIL and recruiting potential suicide bombers.
Neither was viewed as particularly dangerous, but rather as two rats abandoning the sinking ship. Just before midday they were observed leaving the property in a small car and were followed to the dry dock and ship repair facility just up the coast at Troon harbour. They left their car in the ferry car park and casually sauntered across to the ship repairer’s quay where they boarded Highland Belle a whisker after 1 o’clock. A few minutes later, the trawler set sail and settled on to a course of 2338 at a speed of thirteen knots. She was heading for the North Channel. No doubt she would leave the Mull of Kintyre to starboard and head north-west out into the Atlantic to her rendezvous with Golden Sundancer in the early hours of the following morning.
On board the trawlers there was sadness that some of their colleagues hadn’t made it. The terrorists had been operating independently and had only been briefed on their targets, but had found out from the news channels that two of their colleagues had been killed at the scene of the attacks. The TV coverage asserted that their weapons had malfunctioned and this led the remaining terrorists to question how well the operation had been planned. However, the coverage was music to their ears. The combined effect of their attacks sounded devastating. The fires were still burning at Cruden Bay; dark plumes of smoke were coming from Aldermaston, Hartlepool and Heysham, and at Stratford they’d hit the jackpot.
The sheikh and Maryam were also being closely watched. MI6 had sent a team to find Miti Lakhani, but had no news of his location.
In Luxembourg, Maryam was acting as if it was a normal working day. She was due to remain there until Tuesday, when she was booked to fly back to the Gulf. The reports were that she was looking very pleased with herself.
The sheikh, likewise, was doing nothing out of the ordinary and had spent much of the day at his palatial home, sunning himself by the pool.
In silence, Kate and Rafi had left the Ops Room to get a coffee and something to eat. They weren’t feeling very hungry, but had missed breakfast and lunch. After a short break they ventured back. The commissioner saw them enter and walked over to speak to them.
‘I thought that you might like to know that we still have the three trawlers under observation and they don’t realise that we’re on to them.’ He looked at Rafi with tired and slightly bloodshot eyes. ‘I see that the weight of the world is on your shoulders. You should be congratulated and not feeling guilty! Only two out of nine attacks got through. Cruden Bay pumping station will be out of action for a number of months, but it will be brought back on stream.’
‘But we let Stratford slip though the net,’ said Kate.
‘It wasn’t your fault that the Stratford missiles got through – understand that! The information came in sufficient time. It was the system that screwed up and not you two – please remember that.’
He looked carefully at Kate. ‘Time the two of you got some well-earned rest. Rafi, your flat in its present state wouldn’t be very welcoming. My sincere apologies for turning your life upside down. We totally misjudged you. Perhaps we could put you up at a hotel?’
‘Thank you,’ he replied.
‘Have a rest. But then, I’d appreciate it if you could come back and listen to what your economics team has to say. They have a meeting scheduled with the PM and the Chancellor of the Exchequer this evening, followed by the Bank of England early tomorrow afternoon. If you could be back in action by, say, 6.30 p.m. it would be appreciated.’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Rafi.
Giles turned to go back to his allotted space on the central desk, when he caught sight of Saara, who was in deep conversation with the brigadier. ‘Your little sister is quite remarkable! For an unassuming person she packs one hell of a punch. Her understanding of things nuclear and her ability to decipher the experts’ suggestions is impressive. If your parents were around they would be very proud of you both. Kate, please look after Rafi. The outside world still views him as public enemy number one. He deserves some proper TLC. Remember, we need him fighting in our corner until all the terrorists have been rounded up and the financial gremlins have been slain.’
Rafi was ready to drop. His head ached and his eyes hurt. He was finding it increasingly difficult to take in what was going on around him. Kate gently tugged at his sleeve.
‘You’ve been working non-stop for nearly four days. Time to get some shut-eye. First, though, we need to pay a visit to accounts. They’ll arrange for the hotel to bill the station. Let’s sort out some accommodation for you.’
As they walked down the back stairs towards the accounts office, the prospect of being booked into a tourist or cheap business hotel filled Rafi with horror.
‘Are my credit cards working?’ he inquired.
‘Should be by tomorrow,’ Kate replied. ‘I’ll ask Jeremy to arrange for them to be returned to you as soon as is practical.’
They arrived at the accounts department. ‘Hi,’ said Kate. ‘Let me introduce you to Rafi Khan.’ Kate explained their requirements and the importance of confidentiality.
Rafi interrupted her. ‘What I need, please, is a comfortable hotel where I can pay the bill in a couple of days’ time. Unfortunately, my credit cards are still with MI5.’
Rafi thought for a moment. ‘Could you please book me into a suite at the Savoy?’
‘That’ll cost a flaming fortune,’ commented Kate.
/> He looked at her. ‘I’m exhausted. I could do with somewhere where I know it’ll be really comfortable and quiet, and the service will get whatever I want. The prospect of a soft, comfy bed and a luxurious duvet at the moment is worth its weight in gold. Don’t worry, as soon as you’ve got my credit card working again, I’ll pay for it.’
‘The Savoy shouldn’t be a problem,’ said the accounts woman. ‘Although I can’t say that we’ve ever used them before. Let’s give them a ring.’ She found the number, dialled and began talking to their corporate reservations department. In a matter of minutes she had everything lined up. To Rafi’s surprise she booked a two-room suite in Kate’s name. ‘It’s the Commissioner’s suggestion; he said you could both do with a rest and Rafi will need someone to vouch for him as, in the eyes of the public, he is still a terrorist.’
It slowly dawned on Rafi that he’d been oblivious to all the press coverage of the past week and the vilification he would have been subjected to.
‘Fine,’ said Kate with a gleam in her eye. ‘Good idea. Come on, let’s go.’
On their way to the rear car park, Kate picked up an old pork-pie hat and a scarf.
As they were getting into the car driven by Peter, Neil arrived on his way back from COBRA. He beckoned to Kate and Rafi. ‘What a bugger! We so nearly stopped them from doing any serious damage. Stratford will be a defining point in the history of this country. I’m willing to bet that people will soon be talking in terms of BS and AS – Before Stratford and After Stratford. Even in my book, the sheer scale of Stratford is mind-blowing. Sadly, though, I doubt if people will ever appreciate how much carnage your actions prevented. I was talking to a boffin at COBRA; he described what a thermobaric warhead could have done to a waste storage pool at a nuclear power station. In his words, “It would have made Stratford seem like a modest inconvenience.” ’ He gave Rafi a pat on the back, shrugged his shoulders and went on his way.
Part 6
Peter was waiting for them in the rear car park. Thanks to the curfew, the traffic was unprecedentedly light. On their arrival at the Savoy Hotel, Kate went in and sorted out the formalities, whilst Peter and Rafi waited in the car. She returned clutching a key card.
Rafi put on the pork-pie hat and wrapped the scarf around his neck and lower face. He felt a bit of a berk. They said their thanks and goodbyes to Peter and made their way to a separate door opposite the main entrance. The foyer in front of the lifts was quiet.
‘Are you very, very wealthy?’ Kate asked, as they were waiting for the lift. ‘One night here costs about the same as my monthly mortgage payment.’
Rafi was too tired to explain that he simply wanted comfort and was prepared to pay any price. The last week had been worse than anything he had ever known and he yearned to put it behind him.
They arrived at the door to the suite. Kate opened it. ‘Wow! This looks fantastic. Do you normally live like this?’
‘No, I have a two-bedroom flat in north London. This is the first time for me as well.’
Kate looked at him with a smile. ‘What makes you think that I haven’t stayed in a place like this before?’ Nervousness came over her. ‘I have a confession to make. I hope you don’t mind but I’ve changed our suite from a two-bedroom to a single bedroom, as this lets them give our booking to a displaced family.’
Kate looked at him anxiously, waiting for his reply. She felt as if she’d been caught doing something wrong at school.
He was too tired to care – he just wanted to get some sleep. He smiled at her as she opened the door. ‘Fine by me,’ he replied in a deadbeat manner.
The apartment was opulent; a modest entrance hall gave way to a spacious sitting room, with windows overlooking the Thames below and the Millennium Wheel down the river to the right. To one side of the sitting room was a door leading into a spacious bedroom containing the father of all king-size beds and a large en suite bathroom.
They were travelling light; they didn’t even have a toothbrush between them.
Kate went to explore the bedroom and bathroom and came back proudly clutching a sumptuous white towelling robe in one hand and a toothbrush in the other.
‘What more could a girl want?’ she said, eyes shining. Where she’d got her second wind from, Rafi didn’t know. He needed to crash out.
‘I’m ready to drop; let’s toss for who’s going to use the bathroom first,’ he said.
‘No need to do that,’ said Kate, ‘women and children first. In the meantime, will you order something easy to eat?’
Rafi looked at her. ‘I’m too tired for food; can we see what’s in the bar?’
Unlike other hotel rooms he had been in, this hotel apartment had its own bar area. He opened the refrigerator. ‘What would you like? Gin and tonic, fresh orange juice, wine, smart mineral water – you name it we’ve got it.’
‘Orange juice and a large gin and tonic, please.’
‘There’s some great-looking chocolate and the nuts look good; how about cashew nuts, crisps or chocolates with your drink?’ asked Rafi.
Kate took her two drinks, placed them by the side of the bath and returned for the chocolate and nuts.
‘I won’t be long,’ she said. ‘If I fall asleep in the bath, feel free to wake me. In the meantime, I suggest you make yourself comfortable and have a stiff drink or two.’
Rafi looked at her. ‘You can do the drinking for both of us.’
‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise you didn’t drink.’ And with that, she turned and walked off towards the bathroom. As she went, she unclipped her tortoiseshell hairclip and gave her head a shake. A mass of deep auburn hair sprang out.
It was the first time Rafi had seen her with her hair down. He gazed at her. She looked after herself well – her slight frame, though not curvaceous, was nicely proportioned and well toned. Her shoulder-length wavy hair looked soft and would undoubtedly be a stunning feature when washed and brushed. He was too tired to think any further.
Kate was smiling. ‘Thank you for all you’ve done. I hope when this is over we’ll be able to get to know one another better.’
What was that about? pondered Rafi. He was too tired to consider whether it was an offer of friendship or something more.
The sound of the running water stopped. Soothing splashes washed through the air. He poured himself a second, large glass of fresh orange juice and looked out of the window. London seemed calm and still.
He mulled over the twist of fate – this part of London had been spared the ravages of the explosion at Stratford. His mind wandered – had the wind been blowing in the opposite direction, it would have covered the City, and for that matter the West End of London, under a deadly blanket of radioactivity. Would the closure of the City of London have stopped the terrorist leaders’ from cashing in on their profits? Of course not; they would also have positions in Frankfurt and Chicago. His tired brain left it there.
Rafi drank his orange juice, just standing there gazing out over the Thames, enjoying the tranquillity. He heard the bathroom door open and turned to see Kate snuggled into a soft white bathrobe, clutching an empty glass in her hand.
‘This is my idea of heaven,’ she said.
Rafi looked at her approvingly and replied, ‘Mine too. Would you like a top-up?’
‘I think I can do that, thanks. You can have that bath you deserve and undoubtedly need,’ she said, holding her fingers over her nose like a clothes peg.
As he walked past her to the bathroom he smelt a sweet orange aroma and made a mental note to use the body wash.
The bathroom had the same smell, which now reminded him of her. He smiled as he discarded his scruffy clothing. He was looking forward to getting back to his normal clothes.
The hot, gushing water of the shower was wonderful. He eventually got out and, after wrapping himself in the luxurious towel, walked back into the bedroom. The room was peaceful; Kate had turned off all the lights except for the small lamp on his side of the large bed. She was sound as
leep, her wild damp hair framing her face against the background of the white duvet and pillow. Lying on the floor was her bathrobe. She stirred slightly; she looked beautiful – stunningly beautiful. She snuggled further under the duvet and continued her well-earned sleep. Rafi slipped off the bath towel, slid under the crisp duvet and turned the light out.
As he drifted off to sleep, he reflected that something good had come out of the worst week of his life.
Rafi awoke to find the curtains half open and noticed it was dark outside. Kate was sitting at a small table by the window in her bathrobe; her mass of hair was neatly brushed and resting strikingly on her shoulders. He looked carefully at her face and the splashes of freckles on her cheeks and across her nose – she had an innocent schoolgirl-like quality. Very gamine. That was the word he’d been looking for. He liked what he saw.
‘Late lunch is served,’ she said. ‘Hope you like my cooking! I’ve ordered a selection of things: a couple of starters – smoked salmon or pâté – followed by medium-rare steak or Dover sole, and a delicious-looking gooey chocolate pudding . . . And loads of fruit.’
Rafi opted for the pâté and the fish, letting Kate finish off both chocolate puddings.
Whilst they were eating, Kate thought about the person sitting opposite her. What was it about Rafi that made her want to be in his company? His inner strength? Perhaps they were soulmates? She hoped so. She worried that she had shown her feelings too soon.
‘I hope that was alright changing suites,’ said Kate, coyly.
Rafi looked across at her lovely face. He’d been working alongside her for almost four days and hadn’t fully taken in how beautiful she was. ‘Sorry I wasn’t more enthusiastic earlier. I didn’t know whether I was coming or going with tiredness.’ As an afterthought, in case his comment sounded less than enthusiastic, he added, ‘A nice move.’
She smiled and poured a cup of steaming coffee. They sat there, sipping their coffee and enjoying each other’s company.
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