by Ray Christie
Frank recently commissioned work on a large stained-glass window for the long gallery, featuring Robert standing proudly in front of a Queen Elizabeth Oak. Not a huge drop in Frank’s savings account but his love of antiquities and other artefacts from all over Europe and the Middle East have taken a large toll over the years. Two years ago, Frank was paid a visit by Europol as part of Operation Demetra. Twenty-three suspects arrested and forty million euros worth of antiquities were found. This raid and the surrounding gossiping in town caused huge embarrassment to Frank. Yet despite having no stolen pieces on his property he was careful to reorganise his personal collection. He stands and walks over to join Arthur so he too can enjoy the sight of Robert eating the dew-soaked grasses on the edge of his gardens. An area which he had the gardener plant heather and sedges, some of his favourite food. This allows an easy view of the ‘beast’, which Frank reckons must weigh close to two hundred kilograms. The taxidermist's number sits close by, for when Robert passes, he will then proudly be displayed in the back of the great hall. A few moments pass-by then Arthur snaps into life and swivels around grabbing his laptop he begins clicking the keyboard.
“Check this out Frank, I have been investigating a journalist working on the Albanian mafia here in England, she has been getting death threats by them, now she has changed her name and opened a new twitter account and various other forms of online accounts.” Arthur turns the keyboard towards Frank displaying a photograph of an attractive middle-aged bespectacled woman wearing a business suit standing in front of the European Court of Human Rights in Strasbourg. “Her real name is Anjeze Kokalari, from what I can gather she is no Mother Teresa and over the past few months has been seen in the Russian circles, now under the arm of the Sluzhba vneshney razvedki Rossiyskoy Federatsii, the SVR RF, your very own Russian counterparts.”
Frank studies the woman intently before probing Arthur to explain where he is going with this.
“Ok, stay with me on this Frank, this woman has been following crime within the Albanian diaspora since the nineties. Always trying to shift the blame on the British government for their treatment to her countrymen and woman. However, it looks like the Russians have tapped her on the shoulder and now she is putting pressure on the British government to round up, imprison or deport her own people.”
“Why would she do that and why are we interested in her anyway?” Frank enjoys working with Arthur, a brilliant mind like himself but always ahead of himself when explaining something. “Rewind a little Arthur and tell me where she fits into these shambles.”
Arthur flicks through various screens on his laptop showing pages and pages of code he has been working through. Then he points to a selection of telephone numbers in the middle of the screen. “You see here, telephone numbers and this decrypted data tells me the location of where the users made such calls and messages and to who, each time they went past cell towers we can trace their movements.”
The cyber expert that Frank was meant that he could read the code and understood it as much as Arthur, yet he simply remained silent, waiting for the younger man to explain each little detail. The ‘honey is coming’ he thought to himself.
Arthur copies the telephone numbers into a pad, then points to three numbers and numerous sets of data related to locations. “I am working on information from the mobile phones our guys took from the two Albanians over at Nanterre one is linked to Anjeze Kokalari’s as I can determine, she has a small home at Cowes in the Isle of Wight, the other may be the French woman giving orders.”
“And the last number?” Frank jumped in, his excitement getting the better of him.
“This my old friend is where it gets muddled, the location which I have calculated is on Old Broad Street, and both phones have been activated at various times from there.”
“I presume the phones are no longer in use,” adds Frank.
Arthur flicks through the screens once more, “Correct, dead and buried, new comms after each operation as standard.”
Frank paces back to his desk sits down and adds a few more scribbles down on his notebook. Much like the homicide detective Colombo in the television series Frank knows there will be something amiss, something which sticks out.
“Why if she is working for the Russians would she be directing the Albanians to go after our unit? I mean, how can she play the Albanians and French at the same time, how does that work?” Arthur asks a rhetorical question whilst again standing at the window. Robert has retreated back into the woodlands. Much like answers to his ever-expanding set of questions.
Frank moves towards his row of keyboards; he has built himself a command centre in this wing of the country home. From here he can access intelligence and field reports from the major nations around the world. Taking the middle keyboard, he hurriedly gets to work. Using a full-screen application across multiple displays he brings up a map of Old Broad Street. Accessing google street view he begins panning the camera focusing on each building. Trying to provoke an idea or memory of who may work in such an area. Someone in this street that would be well connected in such a way as to play a major role in the disruption of a secretive black operation that resulted in the murder of two policemen and one operator missing.
Running a blank he changes tact, “Ok, bring over those two phones,” orders Frank. He has just entered the GCHQ data system using his heavily encrypted backdoor. Connecting the phones using the cables linked to his powerful computer he runs a program that can mine for specific information. Frank wants to retrieve images, messages, numbers, and geolocation data.
Within seconds Frank concentrates on a section of the code, typing further questions to the highly intelligent program. Looking feverishly for a list of MI5, SIS, Military intelligence, or foreign officer personnel linked or associated to Old Broad Street. There in black and white is a list of names, with the one at the top leading the pack in the surveillance by algorithms design set by the program, which has once again done the job. He looks on in disbelief, what shocks Frank is the name produced as being a tenant on the only property in this precise geographical location. That is one Trevor Lloyd Cromwell. “Blimey,” Frank gasps, leaning back in his leather chair hands clasped together behind his head. Frank studies the photograph of Trevor and an image of a woman matching the one Arthur produces moments ago. The image is taken from the CCTV in the street, which has passed through the intelligence agencies data collection. Facial recognition searched for those connected to the numbers, based on machine learning, the artificial intelligence designed and employed regularly by the American and British spy agencies and their special operation units.
“We are thanking GCHQ I guess,” Arthur quizzes as he joins Frank to look at the results. “Ok, we have this lead, one Trevor Lloyd-Cromwell, I presume you know of him, Frank?”
Still looking at the fresh image of the man with whom he sat through numerous language schools. Thinking how they shared many bottles of fine wine in European bars as intelligence officers over the years. The timestamp on the photograph was only a week ago.
“Frank!” Arthur speaks with force, breaking Frank’s concentration. “You think he’s in on this? selling out our men so easily, could he have been used or forced?”
Slowly closing his eyes and filling his air with lungs holding it for a few brief seconds then slowly exhaling and gathering his thoughts. With a look of confidence, Frank replies calmly, “Trevor is our man, I cannot believe it, but the data is there, GCHQ programs cannot lie, anyway the motivation to set up retirement is there. I mean it’s lucky we got those phones, that was a peek through the keyhole.” Shaking his head, he concludes his affirmation. “To answer your earlier question, no, no one uses Trevor. He is one of the most calculating and intelligent men I know. He is in this so deep, so many good men have turned, this is bad, I mean really bad.”
A lump gathered in Arthurs's throat as he read the name of a man the software has now generated, another trusted man, someone they both knew well, that of Johnston, Jo
seph Johnston. “Are you serious, look, Frank, read what the AI has come up with, it has linked Johnston to Trevor as a first connection and Anjeze Kokalari as second, this is a triangle of mystery.”
“Holy shit, Johnston was in on it also, bugger, shit, shit, shit, ok let me think…shut down everything we have here immediately Arthur, get offline until we communicate with Jack and his boys, we need to figure this out. I know Jack is awfully close to Trevor, he almost looks to him as a father figure, I guess that Trevor has been using Jack all this time.” Frank then logs off and shuts down the computers he had been using, then disconnects all other machines from the complex system he spent years building.
“We can’t let Jack reach out to Trevor and we need to tell him not to look for Johnston, that will lead them to their death.” Send a message and tell them to lock themselves down, no comms until we meet them, ask where!”
“Roger that,” confirms Arthur as Frank continues shutting off from the grid.
“When you are done book me a flight to Paris Arthur, immediately, you stay here and dig deep and see what you can find out on Trevor and his plans, his movements, anything,” said Frank. With that, he reaches into his desk drawer and retrieves a fresh passport which he slides ceremonially across the desk towards Arthur.
Opening it Arthur reads the name and smiles, ‘Ulrich Maximilian Schweighöfer.’
TWELVE
Paris, France
A large plate of pâtés en croute, saucisse sèche, Comté mountain cheese and a bunch of dark red grapes lay untouched on the marble kitchen bench. Only the Bodum Chambord French Press sitting next to the various patches, cleaning rods, solvents and the necessary firearm disassembling tools have been used, the steaming fresh coffee flooding their bodies. Jack sat there doing a detailed strip, meticulously cleaning, and preparing the firearms to ensure their absolute working condition, failure of any mechanism is not an option. Trained by the best military gunsmiths in the business all the operators in the apartment will take the highest care of their equipment.
A sense of anticipation now fills the room as they go about their business while enjoying the sunshine flooding through the window on the top floor.
Their apartment on Avenue Foch is nestled within the 16th arrondissement, this allows them uninterrupted views across la Ville Lumière. The golden sandstone, grey zinc with black slate rooftops and wide boulevards of Haussmann architecture is one which would provide the keen poet or artist with many profound visions. On this morning, sitting high above the chestnut trees lining the one-hundred-meter-wide street Mark and Gordon switch positions as they carry out their surveillance of the street below. They all know killers are lurking, somewhere in the elegance, grandeur, the window boxes of purple irises and flocks of pigeons’, death is out there waiting for them.
Back inside, the large living area has had the furniture shifted to one side and the floor is now covered with weapons, ammunition, and pieces of high-grade military kit from the storage container. Joséphine, the residential housekeeper, tasked with cleaning the apartment and from time to time catering for the well-paying guests who stay there on a short-term basis, has been given time off until further notice.
Ben and Sam for the past few hours had been assessing the lay of the land. Using their years of military knowledge in reconnaissance around the most expensive addresses in the world. Starting from the Metro station at Porte Dauphine to the Arc de Triomphe and all positions of interest in-between. All have been assessed and reassessed from different angles, times periods, lighting, and traffic issues. Those points identified as potential ambush and surveillance locations graded and recorded on their maps. The outlying area is deemed safe and they no longer are required to hang around outside as the risk of becoming suspicious in such a protected area is counterproductive. As soon as the all-clear is provided by Jack they will approach the building from different entrances looking for anything that stands out. They will abort and fall back if something is amiss or deal with the threat directly and with terrifying aggression if required.
“Gordon, jump up and inspect the service and utilities in the roof space and garrets will you, then move around the fire exits to ensure nothing has been tampered with.” Jack begins to prepare for the team to congregate in this location. He wants to make sure the whole team can discuss confidently and openly their plans and can make a tactical escape if required; operational security is paramount for the whole team on what is about to play out. Jack knows a couple of hours earlier Mark carried out the same inspections, leaving nothing to chance Jack wants a recheck from a fresh set of eyes.
“I’m on it boss,” Gordon picks up the equipment used for the technical surveillance countermeasure inspections and selects a recently cleaned firearm from the table. Choosing a Sig Sauer P226 he easily wraps his large hands around the wide double-stack configuration pistol grip containing fifteen rounds. For Gordon, every weapon has a purpose, designed for every occasion, like a kid with a new toy he once again checks the mechanisms as he heads for the door. Jack makes a note of the time then himself and Gordon check their new comms before he leaves.
“I see Sam approaching from Rue Pergolèse, three mikes out, no signs of danger, check the downstairs cameras Jack,” Mark calls over from the window. A number of covert cameras have been positioned overlooking the streets leading towards their apartment. Small screens on laptops provide the high-quality definition required by intelligence operatives, these cameras show the pedestrians going about their business. Studying human behaviours is something which all the team members are professionally qualified in, everyone displays certain markers related to stress, danger, or carefree situations. Mark’s assessment of Sam views him to be relaxed but confidently alert, to any other person he simply looks like a man casually walking to work. Neither late or early and someone who is part of the area, just another Parisian. Carrying a bag of fresh croissants and a takeaway coffee from le Pergo café he walks towards the front of the building. Shortly after Sam is buzzed into the building with Ben also arriving from the back entrance. Waiting on Gordon to finish his round the men tuck into the fresh bread and begin working on the cold meats Jack sought earlier from Joséphine.
His cash gift of five hundred euros helps to ensure that Joséphine keeps him up to date on any strange guests within the building and cancels the famous French gossip in the area. All stories and innuendoes have no traction when the euro turns up. Jack knows Joséphine will allow him to conduct his business without further scrutiny, he chooses stock market trading. When originally quizzed about the nature of his work all the guys have their own cover stories. He learnt enough of the system and current lingo to bore her to tears and from that point on she never inquired any further. All she cares about is how beautiful the place looks, no mess, no parties, and gifts from time to time. Her appetite for the bistro life and expensive and overwhelming perfume allows Jack and the others to cater to her tastes. Jack told her as much during some of his frequent conversations with her in the beginning. Voicing his concerns on being informed of any unusual visitors or people asking about his apartment, laying these concerns towards the British tax office. Joséphine simply smiled at the tax fearing English boy.
After completing his checks of the building Gordon enters the hallway smiling at the sight of the four men tucking into the food. Standing casually on the highly polished mosaic hardwood parquet floors with a smirk on his face he remarks on the countermeasures he just applied. “I hope Joséphine doesn’t complete her round too vigilantly,” laughing to himself Gordon waits for the queries to begin.
“Ok, let’s have it, what did you do to the poor woman?” Ben, the only one with an empty mouth turns to face the giggling Gordon.
“I took the opportunity to screw shut the windows around the common areas, she wouldn’t really notice as I dabbed a piece of white paint on the screw heads, I also installed a listening device in the back entrance.”
“Ok, not sure what the bugs will pick up, but if she f
inds her windows are screwed shut, she will go mental, fire regulations would be broken,” Ben goes back to his food.
Gordon is not concerned with the fire regulations, the apartment is built to last, In the past forty years they had two fires, and both burnt out causing minimal damage. The windows never get opened; the only effect caused a dirty screw hole in the old wooden frames.
“In any case, I doubt any hitmen would be trying to climb in and take us out in close combat, they would be signing their own death sentence, what do you think boys?” Probes Jack to the hungry men. Sam is the first to reply, speaking between mouthfuls of cold slices of dry-cured pork sausage.
“If we were placed under heavy surveillance by a competent agency they would, of course, try to enter silently and install their equipment, that would be a deterrent for sure, but who here knows who is after us? I sure as hell don’t.”
“I’d love it if some dimwit gangster was slipping in through the window, like catching fish in a barrel, nonetheless we don’t want a warzone, I like this apartment, my wife loves the place even more so on our holidays here, would hate to lose it,” Mark offering nothing more, so he returns to his breakfast happy to listen to the analysis.
“So that was you two with your wild nights and raunchy screaming causing the neighbours to complain to Joséphine,” jokes Ben.
Laughing at this Marks adds “Neighbours love it.”
Sam started tapping the table to announce his input, taking a serious and professional stance he began the group investigation. “Think about it this way, Jack you were the last to see Johnston, tell us the events as you remember exactly, starting at your position when the first contact was received.”
Jack ran the guys through the operation as he witnessed it describing Johnston’s disappearance and then his own subsequent urban escape and evade tactics that he employed which led him out to Clapham Common.