Empire State

by Henry Porter

  Dolph highlighted the area with his mouse and made a couple of keystrokes. ‘Who the fuck is that?’ he asked as the picture sprang onto the wall.

  ‘That,’ she said, withdrawing the photograph from her envelope and slapping it against the wall, ‘is Youssef Rahe, otherwise known as Yahya or Yaqub. Take a look for yourselves. ’

  Dolph got up and peered at the two pictures. It took him a few seconds to understand the significance of the match. ‘Isis, you’re a bloody marvel. He’s the main man.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Everything that’s happened this morning with Spelling and Vigo is because you knew that already. You were expecting to find Rahe here - or at least you were looking for him.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Fuck my Aunt Ethel’s goat.’

  They all approached the wall and made comparisons between the two pictures. ‘And look here,’ she said. ‘The scrawny one with the beard. I’m pretty sure that’s Sammi Loz.’

  ‘If you say so,’ said Dolph. ‘ Is Khan there too?’

  She examined each face in turn. ‘No.’

  Dolph’s shrewd eyes sought hers again. ‘How did you find out about Rahe?’

  ‘The bookstore,’ said Sarre. ‘You got something that night, didn’t you?’

  ‘Christ, you’re a piece of work.’ said Dolph. ‘How long have you known?’

  ‘Since this morning we have known that Rahe was not killed in Lebanon. The body belonged to someone else.’ She explained about the samples she’d sent to the laboratory and the recording of Sammi Loz talking to Khan which gave her the name of Yahya.

  ‘So all the crucial connections took place in Bosnia,’ said Lapping.

  ‘Yes, which is why we need to work out who these people are.’ She jabbed her finger on the faces of the other men. ‘We should get all the shots blown up, each face digitally enhanced.’

  ‘But I can tell you now,’ said Sarre, ‘that none of these men came through Heathrow that day. I know their faces off by heart.’

  ‘And that is rather the point,’ said Lapping.

  ‘Behold, ladies and gentleman,’ said Dolph, ‘the viscous matter that passes for Joe Lapping’s brain is at last on stream.’

  ‘But you didn’t get there Dolphy,’ returned Lapping. ‘Isis left you in a cloud of dust.’

  ‘Fuck you Joe, just because every hooker in Sarajevo tried on Mummy’s Christmas pyjamas.’

  ‘I hate to be a dampener,’ said Herrick, unable to laugh, ‘but we don’t have time for this. We have to find out who these people are. If necessary, bring the photographer to London and fly that woman Guignal from Skiathos. We need all the help we can get. Anyone who was there - journalists, aid workers, soldiers. Get the Security Services to pull them in and give them a slide show. And we will need to compare these men with all the photographs we have on file.’

  ‘What’s the ticking clock?’ asked Dolph.

  ‘We don’t know,’ she said.

  The three men exchanged looks, unnerved by the urgency in her voice and the undisguised command in her manner.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  The operation to arrest the nine suspects would begin in the early hours of Wednesday morning, giving the security forces across Europe about thirty hours to prepare themselves. Vast amounts of surveillance detail, much of it merely proving minor crimes and association, was already hurtling from the Bunker to intelligence services in Paris, Rome, Copenhagen, Stockholm, Budapest and Sarajevo. With this went the names, addresses and photographs of the members of the helper cells. In its final hours, everything RAPTOR had hoarded and secreted was unloaded with abandon.

  By the time Herrick went with Colin Guthrie to the Chief’s office late on Monday afternoon, ninety-four people, including twenty-three female helpers, were on the arrest list. The Chief informed them that local agencies were gradually taking over the job of monitoring the suspects, though in some cases it was clear they were already familiar with the routines of the suspects as well as their Anglo-American watchers. The surveillance equipment installed by Collection and SIS was kept running so that each country could tap into the live feeds still flickering twenty-four hours a day deep underground at Northolt.

  The US President and the British Prime Minister had been seized by an unusual spirit of international cooperation. RAPTOR would now be presented as an initial inquiry into what one diplomat termed the ‘morphology of terrorist cells’, an exercise whose purpose was to benefit all Western allies. To disguise the unwavering focus on the men who had passed through Heathrow, it was decided, principally by the French, British and American governments, that the dragnet should also include suspects who were not members of the Heathrow group. For this reason the Dutch, Belgian and Spanish governments were brought into the operation and asked to arrest people they had been observing independently of RAPTOR. The Spanish government which, with the French, had in the past mounted among the most successful operations against al-Qaeda and associated North African groups, said it would arrest three men living in La Rioja; the French opted for a man in Marseilles; the Dutch and Belgians had any number of suspects who could be hauled in for questioning, if not actual arrest.

  All hope of a publicity blackout had quickly been dropped. The number of people was far too large to contain the news, so it was decided they should make the most of the situation by issuing a joint statement by the Americans and major European governments about the unprecedented cooperation between intelligence services. The Russians were informed on the grounds that the Syrian suspect in Copenhagen, Hafiz al Bakr, had served in Chechnya and was connected with a group who had planned an attack against a Russian embassy.

  ‘It’s interesting how these things turn out,’ said the Chief. ‘You know, it’s my firm belief that the idea of keeping this to ourselves was just as much ours as the Americans. A bit of sucking up.’

  ‘Walter’s bid to get back in the saddle,’ said Guthrie.

  ‘I suppose,’ the Chief mused, without sign of malice. ‘I must say he made a bit of a fool of himself with Youssef Rahe, given that he never acquired much from the man. Of course we’ll need to debrief Vigo as soon as possible. Before we move on the bookshop.’

  ‘You’re going to search Rahe’s shop?’ asked Herrick.

  ‘Yes, before the other arrests, sometime tomorrow evening. But I don’t want the scene fouled up by a lot of heavy-handed Special Branch. I’ve arranged that you will go through the place the moment the police move in. But first I want you to see Vigo.’

  ‘What about the photographs from Bosnia?’

  ‘We’ll hold off on that until tomorrow morning. For the moment it’s enough that you’ve established Rahe was in Bosnia. We’re ninety-nine per cent sure he is the man referred to as Yahya and you’ve got a picture of him from the period. That’s not a bad day’s work, Isis.’

  She nodded, aware that the energy was suddenly draining from her.

  The Chief noticed the expression in her eyes. ‘I know you’ve had a time of it, but I need you for at least the next six days. Try to get some sleep before tomorrow. Don’t spend more than an hour with Vigo.’ He handed her an address in Holland Park. ‘Take Harland with you. He knows how to handle the bugger.’

  ‘Harland?’

  ‘Yes, he should be at Brown’s by now and I’ve asked him to help out.’

  ‘Harland?’ she said stupidly again. ‘What’s he doing here? I thought he was in the Middle East.’

  ‘No, he’s here.’ The pale eyes narrowed slightly. ‘You’re not there to parry with Vigo. Just tell him we need a complete account of his relations with Rahe. If he proves difficult, mention that one way or another we will press for a prosecution. ’

  Normally Herrick would have relished the return match, but she left Vauxhall Cross without much enthusiasm and only when she found Harland in a jaunty mood in the hotel bar did her spirits lift slightly. It had been a matter of days since she’d seen him climb into the little boat on the Nile, but it seemed like weeks, particularly as Har
land appeared so different. She asked why he was looking so pleased with himself.

  ‘I’m not,’ he said, ‘It’s just that life seems suddenly full of possibility.’

  ‘I know you were on the road to Damascus. Did you get God or something? What happened?’

  ‘Nothing I’m going to tell you about, and you needn’t look so bloody sour, Isis. Let’s have a drink. You’re looking a bit part-worn.’

  He turned and ordered two Soho Cosmopolitans and just in case the man needed reminding, rattled through the ingredients. ‘One measure of citron vodka, one measure of Stolichnaya oranj vodka, cointreau, cranberry juice, fresh lime juice and a twist of lemon. Plus two very cold glasses.’

  They drank the cocktails with ceremony. When they’d finished, Harland said, ‘And now for bloody Vigo.’

  They took the Tube to Holland Park with perspiring office workers and walked up Holland Park Avenue. The evening was warm. Harland removed his jacket and hooked it over his shoulder with one finger. Herrick noticed how young he was looking, even though his hair seemed more grey than brown in the early evening sunlight.

  They approached the impressive entrance to Vigo’s double-fronted house. Harland pressed the bell for several seconds. The buzzer sounded and they were let in to find a nervous but perfectly attired middle-aged woman in the hallway.

  ‘Davina, this is Isis Herrick,’ said Harland. ‘We’ve come to see Walter.’

  ‘He’s expecting you,’ said Davina Vigo. ‘He thought you might like drinks in the garden.’

  Vigo was sitting in a slice of sunlight underneath the boughs of a spreading chestnut tree. He regarded them with a baleful look and limply gestured them to chairs. Herrick noticed that Davina remained standing in the French windows with her arms folded apprehensively. He offered them a Pimms cup which they both declined.

  ‘Isis is here to ask you some questions.’

  ‘And you Bobby, why are you here?’

  ‘Because I am.’

  ‘But…?’

  ‘But nothing, Walter. As far I’m concerned, you should be in jail. If you’d been prosecuted for the last business, none of this would have happened. You’re within an inch of being arrested now, so…’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘Aiding and abetting a burglary of Isis’s house, for one thing. But that’s only a start. They want your blood, Walter. What we need are straight answers to our questions and, more than that, we need you to volunteer everything in your mind, every tiny scrap of information, every faint suspicion that you possess about Youssef Rahe, also known as Yahya.’

  Again the slow-motion blink. ‘Yes, of course,’ said Vigo. ‘Where do you want to start?’

  ‘How did you meet him?’ asked Herrick.

  ‘At a sale of early Arab manuscripts. Rahe was there to look at them before they went into private hands. I saw him at the preview. We talked.’

  ‘Who made the first move?’ asked Herrick.

  ‘I forget.’

  ‘In the light of what you know now, do you think you were targeted?’ asked Herrick.

  ‘Well, obviously,’ he said disagreeably. ‘But at the time I thought he might be useful in understanding the GIA - the Groupe Islamique Armé. The Islamists had taken their fight to France. We felt we were looking at the Islamic equivalent of the Cambodian massacre. He seemed to know quite a few people involved.’

  ‘Sure he did,’ said Herrick. ‘He’d been in Bosnia with all of them.’

  Vigo sighed. ‘It’s easy with hindsight to say that, but our job does involve taking calculated risks about people.’

  ‘And as you got closer, he began to open up,’ said Herrick, brushing the remark aside. ‘Did he give you anything worthwhile? ’

  ‘Yes, there were names - names that were useful in the round-ups after September eleven.’

  ‘And you plugged in and heard about the people passing through his shop, people asking for help in London. That sort of thing?’

  ‘Yes, the information was always accurate.’

  ‘How much checking of his background went on?’

  ‘As much as was necessary. The story about his upbringing, his job, where he lived in Algiers, all that seemed to tally.’ Vigo’s manner was now markedly less cowed.

  ‘And you got his brother and family out?’ said Herrick. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘In England. They were granted asylum.’

  ‘Did you meet the brother? Can you describe him? Where does he live?’

  ‘In Bristol, under the name of Jamil Rahe. He’s younger than his brother. Tall, a little overweight, an engineer by training.’

  Herrick took out the envelope from a bag and dropped a selection of shots of Rahe and Sammi Loz in Bosnia into his lap. ‘Is the man you know as Youssef Rahe here?’ Harland looked at the picture but said nothing as he registered Sammi Loz.

  Vigo pulled a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and examined the picture a little wearily. ‘Yes… I see Rahe.’

  ‘Anyone else?’ said Herrick briskly.

  He looked through the pictures and then handed them back, tapping the top image. ‘That’s the man I know as his brother - Jamil Rahe.’

  Herrick glanced at the figure in a balaclava, pulled out her mobile and phoned Dolph, who said Jamil Rahe would be added to the arrest list.

  ‘Let’s wait,’ she said. ‘This may concern a murder charge, as well. He’s important.’

  She snapped the phone shut. ‘A man of very similar appearance coordinated the switch at Heathrow, having come to an arrangement with a washroom attendant in Terminal Three named Ahmad Ahktar. Ahktar and his family died in a fire after the switch. The point is that we have witnesses who saw him watch the planes that day. Also, he appears to have shown interest when Norquist’s escort left the airport.’

  Vigo said nothing.

  ‘About Youssef Rahe,’ she said. ‘In the last twelve months, what kind of information was he passing to you?’

  ‘Much the same as before. Things he heard from the Arab community in Bayswater and Edgware Road areas. Useful material about mosques - who worshipped where, the financial support of certain charities, here and abroad. It all helped. Then he was approached by a group, mostly Saudi and Yemeni in origin.’

  ‘And you encouraged him to be recruited?’

  ‘Naturally. It seemed a very good opportunity.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Summer of 2001.’

  ‘And he told you about the website, the screensavers that contain a daily message?’

  Vigo nodded. ‘That’s what you were looking at in the shop, I assume.’

  ‘It would help if you’d just answer my questions,’ she said. Vigo stared back at her and she became aware of something stir in the shadows of his personality.

  ‘I wouldn’t take that tone with me, if I were you.’

  Harland got up and crouched by Vigo’s chair. ‘Walter, you should know that I’m here on the off-chance that I get to beat the living shit out of you. Otherwise I would not waste my time. Now, answer Isis’s question, or by this time tomorrow you’ll find yourself on remand in Wandsworth Prison.’

  ‘The screensaver,’ she said. ‘You were monitoring the messages coming in each day?’

  ‘You forget, I was no longer part of the Service by then.’

  ‘So who was?’

  ‘GCHQ and the Security Services.’

  ‘But there was something different about the information on Norquist’s travel arrangements?’

  ‘I gather it was in a double encryption,’ replied Vigo.

  ‘We know the Israelis had access to this particular service,’ said Harland. ‘How long had it been going?’

  Herrick wondered how the hell he knew that, but let Vigo answer.

  ‘Two years or so. I’m not sure. You have to remember that once I had handed over Rahe to SIS, I had very little contact, although I did see him on the book-dealing circuit.’

  ‘When the tip about Norquist came in, you w
ere asked to check it?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, I called him and he phoned me back on the day of the switch. Before he left for the airport.’

  ‘Tell me about him,’ said Herrick. ‘What kind of man is Youssef Rahe?’

  ‘Very able,’ Vigo replied. ‘A true scholar in his own field. A good father and husband too, I would guess. He has none of the obvious appearance of a fundamentalist. He goes to the mosque infrequently, doesn’t pray five times a day, is relaxed and liberal in his attitudes.’

  ‘Where do you think he went?’ she asked.

  ‘Beyond Beirut? Naturally, I have no idea.’