“After that, it becomes erratic.”
Mansour wasn’t concerned. That was more than enough for their purposes.
“How long will it take to fit the attachment?”
They told him it would take less than two hours. “I want you to go out and test them again with the smoke canisters attached. Let me know if it affects performance.”
The plan was a simple one. The four men would launch the helicopters close to the Palace of Westminster and guide them over the building, where the canisters would release their contents. The yellow smoke would be interpreted as a chemical attack, causing the triggering of the building’s defences. Those inside would consider themselves safe from harm, but in fact they would be the only people exposed to his virus.
At the same time as the building was being locked down, he would have his note delivered to the security services, letting them know the fate of those inside.
And what a fine collection they would be. The Queen would be delivering her speech at the State Opening of Parliament, where the Prime Minister and his entire government would be in attendance.
This single strike would be the greatest victory in Al-Qaeda’s history, bigger and bolder than anything the organisation had ever attempted, cementing his reputation for all time. Once Al-Asiri was gone, he would assume control of the organisation, and few would dispute his right to lead the struggle towards ultimate victory.
The only part of the plan remaining was to hand the inhalers to the BBC cameraman who would be filming the event, and Mansour would do that personally the following day.
Chapter 14
Wednesday May 9th 2012
The sun had barely shown its face when Andrew Harvey reached Thames House and took the stairs up to the office. He expected to be one of the first in but the place was already a hive of activity as the search for Abdul Mansour continued apace.
He took a seat at his desk and turned on the monitor, then entered his username and password combination to unlock the screen. He saw that the search he’d left running overnight had finished, but the number of matches was low.
Hamad Farsi arrived a few minutes later, armed with coffee and a sandwich.
“Any word from the street?” Harvey asked, but Hamad shook his head.
“No-one’s heard a thing. I’m beginning to wonder if the note was disinformation, just to get us chasing our own tails.”
“Or to see who we go to for answers,” Harvey offered. “Maybe they just wanted to see which cages we rattled so that they could spot those who’d infiltrated their operation.”
Hamad agreed that it was possible. “I thought with the CIA confirming his presence on UK soil it was a certainty, but he could have written that note anywhere in the world and had it flown in by a courier.”
Despite their own misgivings, and until told otherwise, they had to assume the threat was real.
“I’ve had no luck with the facial recognition. Closest we got was someone four inches shorter than Mansour, and that’s not easy to fake.”
Farsi walked round to Andrew’s desk and took the mouse off him. He clicked the filter option, selected zero percent for an eye match and ran the query against the current set of results. “Let’s see if Gerald’s idea pans out. If Mansour really did come through Heathrow, it’s likely he used countermeasures to fool the software.”
While the search ran, they pored over the chatter coming through the normal channels, but there was no mention of Mansour or a biological threat. Harvey was about to go and grab a coffee when a notification blinked in his taskbar and he opened it to see that the search had finished, producing just thirty-one results.
Farsi joined him as he flicked through them, seeing a blind male but discounting him because of his tender age. Another male was wearing sunglasses, but again, he was too short. Harvey came across a woman in a burqa and quickly moved on to the next image. One by one he went through the selection until he came to the end.
“Nothing.”
“Go back to the start,” Hamad said, and Harvey went to the first image.
“Okay, flick through them until I say stop.”
Harvey hit the Next button, then again.
“Stop.”
“Hamad, I know you don’t get out much, but that’s what we in the real world call a ‘woman’.”
Farsi ignored the jibe. “Got beautiful lips, hasn’t she.”
“How can you tell when she’s wearing...that...veil.”
Farsi clapped Harvey on the shoulder. “The boy cottons on fast,” he smiled. “Send me the arrival time and I’ll follow her through the airport.”
He returned to his desk and brought up the airport security system. He set the date and time to three minutes before the flight arrived and then started to fast forward until the passengers emerged from the gangway. While he watched the target make her way through the terminal, Harvey collated the details of the other veiled women in the search results and sent them to Hamad’s screen.
“I’ll start at the bottom of the list, you take the top.”
They studied the recordings for two hours before Farsi called Harvey over.
“Check this one out.”
Farsi rewound the footage and they watched the woman walk from the arrival gate through to the immigration area.
“Play it again,” Harvey said, and Farsi obliged.
“Definitely something not right in her gait,” Harvey noted. “If she gets to immigration and they don’t ask her to lift her veil, I’d say we had a hit.”
Farsi fast-forwarded to that point, and both were disappointed to see the woman’s companion lift the veil and the border guard study the face, comparing it against the passport.
“Damn!” Farsi said, throwing the mouse across the desk. “I thought we had him.”
“Me, too.” Harvey stood and checked his watch. “I have to go and check on our guests. Let me know if you get anything from the other possibilities.”
* * *
The resident security officer at the safe house looked at the monitor and recognised Harvey standing at the front door. She hit the door release and went to meet him in the hallway.
“Morning, Andrew.”
He approached the lady and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Morning, Linda. You’re looking gorgeous, as ever.”
The fifty-year-old gave him a coy smile. “Charmer.”
“How’s everyone doing?”
“Fine,” Linda told him. “Just finished breakfast and they’re washing up.”
Harvey thanked her and went through to the kitchen where he found Vick with her hands in the sink and Gray doing his fair share with the towel.
“Ready for your big performance, Tom?”
“Hi Andrew,” Gray said, almost dropping the plate he was drying. “To be honest, I’m crapping myself.”
Harvey laughed, unable to envisage Gray caving in under the pressure. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“I’m surprised it’s still on,” Gray said. “You said yesterday that something big was on the cards. I expected that to take priority.”
“I checked with Ellis on the way over, and she’s happy for this to go ahead. We’re at a bit of an impasse at the moment.”
Harvey poured himself a coffee. Impasse was an understatement, he thought. The CIA had decided it might be prudent to know what information MI5 had received and had suddenly been keen to share all they had on Mansour.
Their discussions had led to the drone being recalled while they figured out what was happening within Al-Qaeda. Until they could get a handle on what was causing the in-fighting, they thought it best to maintain the status quo.
“Any thoughts as to what you’ll do once this is over?” Harvey asked Gray.
“First thing is to get my money back,” Gray told him. “I checked the balance of my PNB account this morning, and it was cleaned out a couple of weeks ago. There was over half a million dollars in there, and Farrar is the only other person with access to it.”
&nbs
p; “I’m sure that once the government’s involvement in this is established, a suitable compensation package will be arranged.”
Gray shook his head. “I’m not going to take millions in taxpayer’s money. All I want is what’s mine, and Farrar to get what’s coming to him.”
“I think that last one’s a given.” Harvey said, finishing off his drink. “I’ll give you half an hour to get in position. Call me when you’re set to go and I’ll give Veronica the nod.”
Gray shook his hand. “Thanks, Andrew, for everything. I know you didn’t agree with what we did last year, but...”
“Yeah, I know,” Harvey said. “Look, I gotta go. Call me when you’re set.”
* * *
Farrar was just about to tuck into a chicken Caesar sandwich when his mobile chirped, and he wiped his fingers on a handkerchief before answering it.
“Farrar.”
“Hi, James.”
Farrar immediately lost his appetite, though he tried his best to be pleasant.
“What can I do for you, Veronica?”
“I know the operation is over, James, but we’ve come across some information that suggests there may have been more to the Levine and Campbell case than first meets the eye.”
“Really?” he asked, trying to remain calm despite the feeling of dread that accompanied every conversation with Ellis. “What would that be?”
“Something about an agreement they made with the government,” Ellis said, and Farrar almost dropped the phone.
How could she possibly have known about that? Had one of Gray’s cronies left instructions with a solicitor to leak the details if they died, or had one or more of them shared their little secret with a third party?
Whatever it was, he would have to nip it in the bud.
“Sounds interesting,” he said. “What kind of agreement?”
“I can’t tell you over the phone,” Ellis replied. “How about we meet up. Are you free in thirty minutes?”
For this, he would miss his own funeral. “Sure. We can take a walk along the embankment, just like the old days.”
Ellis agreed and hung up, and Farrar’s mind began racing as he considered his next move. Denying any knowledge was a starting point, but Ellis was tenacious, like a terrier with a tennis ball. The first thing he needed to do was find out how much she really knew and how much was speculation. Whatever she brought to the table, he would dismiss it as conspiracy theorists seeking their fifteen minutes of fame and get her to drop it. With Gray and his buddies gone there would be no-one to corroborate any stories, and the DA notices he’d sent to the media would ensure the public never got to hear about it.
Coming up with an explanation for the notice was easy: they had intelligence that a group was planning to claim Tom Gray was still alive in the hope of reigniting the debate on judicial process. This group had been threatening vigilante activity and the government felt it wasn’t in the country’s best interest to give them the publicity they craved.
He left his office feeling a little apprehensive, but with the i’s dotted, he just had to cross this final t to put the matter to rest. When he reached the street he opened his umbrella and sidestepped a few of the deeper puddles, then made his way to the Albert Embankment. Footfall was sparse, save for the few joggers who braved the elements day in, day out. That suited Farrar perfectly. The fewer people around to eavesdrop on their conversation, the better.
His watch told him he was seven minutes early, and he hoped Ellis would be punctual so that he could get out of the rain and back to his meager lunch. He walked slowly towards Lambeth Bridge, the murky, grey waters of the Thames on his left, the snarling traffic crawling past on his right. Coupled with the awful weather, he found the entire scene depressing and promised to treat himself later in the evening. Perhaps an evening in with a bottle of wine and the intern he’d been seeing on and off for the last two years.
Yes, an evening with Michael would cheer him up.
“Hello, James.”
Farrar spun but a hand gripped his elbow and urged him onwards.
“Keep walking,” Tom Gray said. “There’s a van ten yards ahead. I want you to get in.”
Farrar planted his feet, his jaw hanging open as he struggled to understand how a dead man could be standing next to him. Palmer had confirmed the kill himself, which meant the assassin had either been compromised, or he’d chosen to switch sides. Had Gray offered him more money not to complete the job?
“How…?”
Gray turned to face him. “Come with me and I’ll explain everything.”
Farrar tried to pull away but couldn’t escape Gray’s grip. “Don’t be stupid, James. You’ve read our files, so you know what Jeff Campbell can do with a sniper rifle at a thousand yards. Do as you’re told, or he’ll put a round through the base of your spine, and as you lie screaming on the floor, he’ll take out each kneecap and elbow. If you survive, you’ll be paying someone to wipe your arse for the rest of your life.”
Campbell was alive, too? The news just got worse and worse, and Farrar was overwhelmed by so many revelations in such a short time. One minute he thought the operation had been wrapped up, and now he discovered that his targets were alive and well, not to mention armed.
Gray could see Farrar was finding it difficult to make a decision, so he pushed him up against the embankment wall and pulled his collar mic up to his mouth. “Warning shot, please.”
A second later he heard the thwang as the 7.62mm round hit the top of the wall an inch away from Farrar’s back before ricocheting off into the river.
Farrar got the message and began walking, his mind still straining to come to terms with the situation.
In the car the surprises kept coming. Carl Levine twisted in the driver’s seat and smiled with a distinct lack of benevolence.
“Hi, Jimmy. Bet you didn’t expect to see me again.”
Farrar ignored him and turned to Gray. “So what happens now, Tom?” He tried to sound confident, defiant, but his voice dripped fear as the car set off.
“You’re going to record your confession and admit everything you’ve done over the last thirteen months.”
After a moment’s thought, Farrar began to relax. With the initial prospect of pain and death banished, his mind began to focus once more. He looked out of the window as the city flashed past, and a smile appeared on his face when he realised that once again he had the upper hand. He would play Gray’s game and walk away, if not totally unscathed, then at least with his life intact. It would require some clean-up work and a lot of political spin, but those mechanisms were already available and he would make best use of them.
“What’s so funny?” Gray asked.
Farrar looked him in the eye. “The irony,” he said. “Here we are, a year on, and you’re about to parade yet another hostage in front of the cameras. Not a tactic that’s worked well for you in the past.”
Gray ignored him and gave him a quick frisk search, being none too gentle in his approach. Farrar was unarmed, but Gray took his phone, cranked open the window and dropped it into the street.
They drove for another twenty minutes in silence, both men deep in thought.
Levine eventually pulled up at an old industrial estate in the east end, the businesses long since gone, each falling victim to the global recession. They pulled up next to the door of the last unit and Gray urged Farrar out of the car. He unlocked the chain securing the entrance and pushed Farrar forward, along a corridor and into what had once been the warehouse of a greetings card manufacturer. The fixtures and fittings had gone, but boxes and rubbish littered the floor.
Levine followed them in, but Gray stopped him near the door. “I’ve got this, Carl.”
“Tom, the guy’s a snake. I don’t trust him.”
“Nor do I,” Gray agreed, “but I can handle him on my own.”
Levine looked disconsolate. “I’ll be waiting outside,” he said.
“No need, Carl,” Gray said, pulling the Browni
ng from his jacket. “I’m armed, he’s not. Take the car back to the hotel and I’ll join you when I’m done.” Levine was about to protest again but Gray put a hand on his shoulder. “Go. I’ll walk back.” As an afterthought, he called Carl back. “If I’m not there by two, you know what to do.”
Levine threw one last, malevolent look at Farrar and left.
Gray waited until he heard the car start and pull away before waving to a chair, which was facing a video camera mounted on a tripod.
“Sit.”
Farrar obligingly took a seat, unbuttoning his coat and making himself comfortable.
“You know, there’s really not a lot of point in going through with this charade, Tom. No-one’s going to let this air to the public, and I mean no-one.”
“You seem pretty sure of yourself,” Gray said as he stood behind the camera, working on the focus. “What if I told you I had a British news channel ready and waiting for me to deliver this recording, eh?”
Farrar seemed less cocksure. “I don’t believe you.”
“Why not? Because of the DA notice you slapped on them?”
Gray watched his expression and smiled. “They were more than happy to help once they found out that the person who’d issued the notice would be the one confessing.”
Farrar went from uncomfortable to angry in an instant. “You’re wasting your time,” he snarled, getting to his feet. “You really think anyone will take notice of a confession extracted under duress?”
“They’ll listen,” Gray said. “They have to listen.”
Farrar took a couple of steps towards him. “You really are as stupid as you look, aren’t you? You’re a little kid playing a big boys’ game, and you don’t even realise how —”
Gray fired at the floor a few inches from Farrar’s feet, the sound of the shot echoing around the room.
“That was your last chance.” Gray pointed the gun at Farrar’s face and his demeanor turned sour. “You either sit down and answer my questions, or I find another way.”
Gray Redemption (Tom Gray #3) Page 20