‘No, he is not the same person,’
‘Then who is he? What’s his name?’
‘I do not know. I met him at a warehouse in the East of London. Apart from that, I know no more.’ Shafi gave another of his rehearsed answers.
‘What’s his nationality? What does he look like?’
‘He’s Egyptian, a tall man in his late thirties.’ Yet again, the Master had counselled him in what to say. A complete denial of anything related to the Islamic State would have been more suspicious than giving misleading facts.
Isaac Cook knew who the Master was and he knew that Shafi had lied.
***
Farhan Ahmed had intended to speak to Ed Pickles first about Sara Styles, but with his premature death he informed Frederick Vane and Andrew Martin instead.
‘Sara Styles’ original name is Sara Aslam. She’s a Muslim, born in this country.’
‘Our suspicions are correct,’ Frederick said. ‘She always seemed the most likely suspect.’
‘It appears that way, although how she came to be radicalised is unclear,’ Farhan said. ‘She had a good upbringing, attended a prestigious school, and by all accounts was a model student.’
‘What do we know about her family?’ Andrew asked.
‘She is the daughter of Faisal Aslam, the voice at the end of Shafi’s phone,’ Farhan replied.
‘What do we know about this Faisal Aslam?’ Frederick asked.
‘We know him to be addressed as the Master and that he’s involved in some of the bombing campaigns in the country.’
‘So why haven’t you pulled him in?’ Andrew asked.
‘Counter Terrorism Command hasn’t been able to conclusively link him with the Islamic State.’
‘Why don’t you pull him in at least for questioning?’ Andrew asked again.
‘It’d be best to ask DCI Cook that question,’ Farhan replied. ‘I’m a field operative, not a policymaker.’
‘Where is Sara Styles now?’ Frederick asked.
‘She’s staying with her in-laws down in Devon. We’re keeping a discreet watch on her,’ Farhan said.
‘Are you intending to tell Ray Styles’ parents about the person they are harbouring?’ Andrew asked.
‘You better ask DCI Cook that question as well,’ said Farhan. ‘I’d have thought it best if they don’t know at this point in time.’
‘But aren’t they in danger?’ Andrew asked.
‘It’s unlikely. They’re not of any strategic value. If Sara Styles, or Sara Aslam, is planning any further activities, it will be easier to monitor from down there.’
‘You’re leaving Ray Styles’ parents with a person involved in the murder of their son?’ Frederick asked.
‘It’s unfortunate, but it seems to be the best move at this present moment,’ Farhan said.
***
Clifford Bell, without the benefit of a senior adviser, had called in DCI Isaac Cook and Commander Richard Goddard.
‘What’s going on here? They attack the Houses of Parliament, New Scotland Yard, even take out a submarine, and so far I’ve seen no tangible results.’
‘We prevented York Minster from being destroyed.’ Richard Goddard attempted to defend his organisation.
‘And then they hit twenty churches! What’s so great about that?’ the Prime Minister asked.
‘It’s a difficult situation, but we remain confident of success,’ Commander Goddard said without any great conviction.
‘That’s what I say,’ replied the Prime Minister, ‘and I’m shouted down in public by the Leader of the Opposition and by my loyal deputy. You’re just giving me rhetoric with no substance.’
‘We’re still working behind the scenes,’ said Isaac Cook, leaping to the defence of his superior officer.
‘You lost one person as well, isn’t that correct?’ the Prime Minister asked.
‘Detective Inspector Ed Pickles. He was my partner,’ Isaac Cook answered.
Don’t you know who the leaders of this barbaric group are?’
‘We know some.’
‘Then why don’t you bring them in for questioning?’
‘It’s not conclusive,’ Isaac Cook said. ‘Then there’s always the risk that there are people behinds the scenes who will take up the baton and commit more savage acts of terrorism.’
‘More savage than what we have now?’ the Prime Minister queried.
‘Yes, of course. The deaths are relatively low so far.’
‘Relatively low? How can you say that?’
‘They’ve targeted areas with the aim to demoralise society,’ Isaac said. ‘They’re acting strategically. If they wanted to, they could introduce a disease, a virus, even poison gas and take out millions.’
‘Do you have proof this is a possibility?’ the Prime Minister asked.
‘Not as such.’ Isaac Cook’s boss, Command Richard Goddard, felt the need to enter into the conversation. ‘It’s pure conjecture.’
‘Maybe my honourable deputy is right,’ the Prime Minister said.
‘Right about what?’ Commander Goddard asked.
‘That this is a war and we should respond accordingly.’
‘She is right,’ Isaac Cook said. ‘It’s war and it’s going to get worse.’
‘What do you mean?’ the Prime Minister asked.
‘They’ve only disrupted the country so far. They still need to reduce it to its knees. They need to turn large sections of the country into Islamic State homelands.’
‘That’ll never happen,’ the Prime Minister stated. ‘We’ll not allow it.’
‘There are already parts of East London, Birmingham, Leeds and a number of other cities up north where a Christian cannot walk,’ Isaac Cook said.
‘I know that, but are you saying it will get worse?’ the Prime Minister asked.
‘It’ll get worse when the government in London is forced to officially declare those areas as Sharia, Islamic State,’ Commander Goddard surmised.
‘We’ll never do that,’ the Prime Minister said.
‘Prime Minister, with all due respect, it will happen,’ Isaac Cook said. ‘And then they will push the borders of those areas.’
‘DCI Cook, you should be here as my adviser.’
‘Thanks, but I’m fully occupied at the present moment.’
Chapter 26
‘My daughter, it is not necessary for you to commit martyrdom,’ the Master, Faisal Aslam, said on the phone to his daughter as she stood in the driveway of the Styles’ house in Devon.
‘I must. I have killed the man that I loved, and deceived his parents into accepting me into their household as their daughter. For me it is punishment.’
‘I have someone for you, a good man.’
‘I have no need of another man.’
‘Yasser Lahham, he is a brilliant man. It was he who broke the security at New Scotland Yard.’
‘Father, you do not understand. I do not want to be part of the future that you foresee. I am committed to the Islamic State, but what I have done can never be forgiven.’
‘I will mourn you,’ said the Master, ‘but I will also rejoice in what you have achieved, what you will achieve.’
‘Is all in place?’ Sara asked.
‘Yes, Durrani is preparing all that is needed,’ her father replied.
‘We travel to London in two weeks.’
‘All will be ready,’ the Master replied sadly.
***
Frederick Vane and Andrew Martin continued with their analysis, their postulating, their questioning of the events so far.
‘What do we make of Sara Styles? Or should we call her Sara Aslam now?’ Andrew asked.
‘She’s the most dangerous of them all,’ Frederick replied.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘She managed to pretend to be Hindu. She was able to seduce and marry a Royal Navy man and then force him to blow himself and his colleagues up on a submarine, and now she’s back in the bosom of his family.’
<
br /> ‘An impressive individual, would you say?’ Andrew asked.
‘Clearly, which begs the question, who and what is Faisal Aslam?’ Frederick said.
‘We know him to be a key figure in the Islamic State, but how key is he?’ Andrew questioned. ‘Could he be the mastermind behind all the bombings?’
‘Are you suggesting he may be the supreme leader in this country?’
‘It’s possible,’ Andrew added. ‘If he has managed to raise a daughter of such capability, then he must also be a person of exceptional talent.’
‘You almost sound as though you admire them.’
‘Admire, of course not,’ Andrew replied. ‘But you have to admit that, as terrorists, they’re true professionals.’
***
It seemed to Isaac Cook that he had been working forever. The fifteen, sixteen-hour days were the norm and the need for sleep, overpowering. It was late one night, when he was still in the office, that he received another of his regular phone calls from Anne Argento.
‘Isaac, I’m going to contest the leadership in the next two weeks.’
You’ll win,’ he said.
‘Thanks, but after Westminster was hit last week, even my approval ratings have suffered.’
‘You’ll still win.’
‘Yes, but I need to ensure that I have the full support of the public. You know what I intend to do after I’m elected,’ she asked.
‘You’ll commit the country to the action that the majority of law-abiding people are waiting for,’ he replied.
‘I need your help.’ Anne Argento spoke to him as a friend, although the help she wanted from him was as a policeman.
‘I’m not sure what I can do to help,’ Isaac replied. ‘The Prime Minister bawled me out the other day for our dismal results and he’s right. We’ve not achieved much.’
‘That’s an incorrect perception. He’s just feeling the heat, no idea where to go,’ Anne replied. ‘If you and your team – sorry about Detective Inspector Pickles, by the way – hadn’t been there, the numbers would be much worse.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, but the numbers have still been significant,’ Isaac replied.
‘Maybe, but have you got any idea who’s running the Islamic State here in this country?’
‘Yes, we’re fairly sure.’ Isaac had to admit that the evidence against Faisal Aslam was overpowering.
‘Then why don’t you bring him in just after I’m elected? Let me have the opportunity to cement my position, increase my approval ratings,’ she said.
‘It’s not that easy,’ Isaac continued. ‘We bring him in and then the assorted rabble of supporters will commit numerous acts of terrorism by way of reprisal in an attempt to force us to hand him back.’
‘Okay, then what can you give me?’ she asked.
‘We know who was responsible for the submarine.’ Isaac had only just received the information – not even told the Prime Minister, or his boss at Counter Terrorism Command knew – but here he was telling the Prime Minister’s deputy. He realised that his personal feelings were overriding his professional responsibilities.
‘How did you find out?’ she asked.
‘Vane and Martin came up with the idea and one of my people checked it out.’
‘Do you have a name?’
‘Get yourself elected and I’ll be under no confidentiality agreement to withhold information.’ Isaac had told her too much already.
‘Isaac, I told you before. There’s no issue with breaking agreements.’
‘It’s more than that. We need to let this person play out their current plan.’
‘You’re not going to let them blow themselves up?’ Anne asked.
‘No, but we need to be sure that we don’t give away what we know about this person and the organisation,’ Isaac replied.
‘I’ll leave it up to you,’ said Anne. ‘I’m looking to celebrate my victory. You’re still available to join in the celebrations?’ She continued to look for certainty that Isaac Cook would be her prize when she secured the top position in the land.
‘Yes, Deputy Prime Minister. Or should that be Prime Minister?’ he replied, knowing full well what she was referring to.
‘It’s Anne, at least on the night of my victory.’
***
Frederick Vane and Andrew Martin were also working some long hours. Apart from the occasional visit from Isaac Cook or their boss, the obsequious Bill Gardner, they were largely left alone. The question of Sara Styles concerned them greatly.
‘Why does she remain with his parents?’ Frederick asked.
‘There’s got to be a reason, a plan behind it,’ Andrew replied.
‘But what plan? What opportunity has she down there?’
‘That’s what we need to find out.’
‘Are there any commemorations, medal ceremonies that she may attend?’ Frederick asked.
‘Not that I know of, but it’s worth following up. We can check easily enough.’
‘The naval captain who helped with our analysis on how to take out a sub may know of something,’ Frederick said.
‘He’ll come here quickly enough if there’s a hotel laid on for him and a free rail ticket.’
Two days later and Captain Macintyre presented himself in Vane and Martin’s office.
‘What can I do for you?’ he asked.
‘We thought it’d be best if you came up here instead of us talking on the phone,’ Andrew said.
‘No problem, glad of another chance to visit the big smoke.’
‘That submarine that went down?’ Frederick asked.
‘The Ambush?’ the captain reiterated the name.
‘Yes, are there any events in commemoration of the boat and its crew?’
‘There’s one in two weeks. They’re presenting the immediate relatives with a medal for bravery,’ Captain Macintyre said.
‘Where is it going to be held?’ Frederick asked.
‘In London,’ replied Macintyre.
‘But where?’ Frederick continued.
‘Downing Street.’
‘The Prime Minister’s residence?’ Andrew asked. ‘Who’ll be there?’
‘The Prime Minister, senior politicians, top brass from the military,’ Captain Macintyre said.
‘Thanks, that’s all we need to know.’ Andrew Martin and Frederick Vane realised immediately as to why Sara Styles was still with her late husband’s family.
***
It had been assumed that the discreet protection that Isaac Cook had put in place for Frederick and Andrew would have sufficed. In the time since their cover had been blown, there had been no obvious response from the Islamic State. That changed after they had predicted the attack on a cathedral, and the potential attack on New Scotland Yard.
The police headquarters had been spared more damage than was forecast due to increased surveillance practices in place, although it had not saved Ed Pickles, two of his colleagues and another six people near the Chief Commissioner’s office.
It was Haji who had realised their importance after he had made a visit to the Office of National Statistics one morning, not long after the attack at New Scotland Yard.
He had seen them as they entered the building. He had confirmed their movements over a number of days, and realised that the plain-clothes policemen who were keeping a watch on them were both bored and poorly trained. Haji knew that Vane and Martin were two exceptional individuals who had successively been able to predict the Master’s planned activities with an uncanny accuracy. It was clear that they were a liability and they had to be removed.
The Master had given his approval. All he needed was another willing martyr and a busy lunchtime location.
The analysis experts were creatures of habit, and the café they frequented without fail every lunchtime Monday to Friday was ideal. Frederick Vane would always order spaghetti bolognese, Andrew Martin, a chicken schnitzel. It was so predictable that the waitress only asked them if it was the ‘sam
e.’
It always was and, at thirty-five minutes past midday, Amir El-Amin, another of the increasingly extensive list of martyrs that the Master had acquired, entered the café on Vauxhall Bridge Road, just twenty metres from Frederick Vane and Andrew Martin’s office. The Rocks Café was small, friendly and totally complacent when the suicide bomber walked in. The waitress, who attempted to take his order, was not so complacent when she asked for his order, only to realise that his English was rough and limited, due to predominantly speaking Arabic, although he had lived in the country for ten years.
It made little difference as he pressed the switch and demolished the café, the flat upstairs where Yasmin, a recent immigrant from West Africa, was breastfeeding her two-month-old daughter, and the newsagent next door which Benjamin, an avid supporter of Arsenal, fifteen years in the country from Zimbabwe, had purchased six months previous after a succession of demeaning jobs to generate the necessary capital. It was opportune that Frederick Vane and Andrew Martin had just concluded their meal and were heading out of the café, heading back to work early for a pre-arranged meeting with Isaac Cook.
Both felt the impact of the blast and were propelled forward towards the road. Andrew Martin narrowly missed a bus speeding down the road and only suffered a broken arm and a severe concussion. Frederick Vane was thrust head first into a red post box, just to the left of the café. His skull was crushed by the impact, his death instantaneous. The deaths in the café and the newsagent, and the flats above both the buildings, totalled thirty-five, with another fifteen injured.
The Master was pleased that at least one of the analysts was dead. Haji, however, was not so pleased that Amir El-Amin was not smart enough to have followed both of the men out of the café. Andrew Martin was thrown into severe shock at the senseless death of his friend and colleague of forty years standing.
It was Isaac Cook who had to convince Andrew Martin that his place was to stay and continue the good work that they had been involved in. ‘If you weren’t preempting them, they would not have aimed to remove you.’
Terrorist: Three Book Boxed Set Page 65