He wondered if he and his wife might have benefitted from such an approach. Who was he kidding? She always liked to know what he was up to. Even now, after their divorce, she made a point of checking on his progress, either through their children, or on those unavoidable occasions when they needed to communicate about some shared issues, when she attached a personal question to an email. Was he eating well? Getting enough sleep?
He suspected there were times she hoped to get news that he was suffering a painful, if non-life-threatening, medical condition. But she also just liked to be in the know, and would have been quite unable to cope with Sam and Jonathan’s silent approach. That was the thing about taking logic to the extreme: sometimes it could make the brightest people seem a bit daft.
Chapter 16
Roper was leaning back in his seat, his feet on the desk and eyes firmly closed. He’d been like that, unmoving, for the last half-an-hour. Hooley winced as he thought about trying the same thing. His back would probably implode.
Finally there was movement. Roper swung his feet back to the ground and looked slowly around the office. He was giving every indication that he wasn’t quite sure where he was.
“Welcome back,” said Hooley. “Am I right in thinking you’re been checking out your Rainbow Spectrum?”
“How could you possibly know that?” Roper looked annoyed.
“Trust me. I’ve worked with you long enough to know the signs. Feet on the desk, eyes shut, unmoving. I don’t need to be a detective on that one.”
Roper still looked disgruntled but Hooley shrugged. It was what it was. “Don’t get side-tracked by me guessing what you were doing. More importantly, have you made any progress? I could tell you a lot about Yebedev but nothing that links him to any crime.”
“You were right. I have been using the Spectrum, and for a while I was worried that something was going wrong.”
While he had never fully understood how Roper used the Spectrum, Hooley had come to think of it as a method that never failed. Now he knew why his colleague had become oddly defensive when he had raised it.
“Are you still having problems? Maybe it’s just something that you need to give time to.”
“I’ve worked it out,” said Roper and, as he spoke, the DCI noticed that he was visibly relaxing, with the deep frown slowly disappearing.
“I was looking at it the wrong way. You know I see things in colours so I can assign the same colours to different bits of information. That’s what lets me see links that aren’t obvious. It’s not something I can always control - it just sort of happens.
“I’ve been digging around in some Russian archives using some translation software to help me read them. I found lots of little bits that fit into different colour codes but I couldn’t get everything to link up and point in just one direction.
“Then I added in what we got from MI5 but, again, it just gave me little bits. There’s nothing solid out there, other than he seems well-liked on the social circuit and gives quite a bit to charity. We already knew that.
“I was getting a little frustrated but drew up a profile of him anyway, based on what I had. Then I ran it through my Rainbow Spectrum to see what emerged. There was nothing, and I was about to give up when I realised that actually told us quite a lot.”
Hooley grinned. “Classic. I’m looking forward to hearing how nothing is a lot.”
“Don’t you see? There is nothing about his life in Russia before he gets rich. Then nothing emerges about any ongoing links to Russia, or other Russians afterwards. Don’t you think that is a bit odd?”
“You’re saying it is as though he suddenly appeared,” said the DCI, who was starting to think he knew where this was headed.
“I think he might be the ultimate sleeper agent. His cover is buried so deep that even he may not be aware that is what he is. He might have gone his whole life without being activated but now I am certain that is what has happened.”
“And are you thinking that is bad news?”
Roper gave him an approving nod. Hooley smiled. He could put up with a bit of patronising in return for demonstrating he had a few little grey cells of his own.
“It’s very worrying. While I was at GCHQ I had some pretty intensive training on espionage tactics. Using sleepers is a bit old school, and rarely used, because normally people like to get quick results.
“But if you have a sleeper asset and then activate it, you clearly have a purpose in mind. We know that Yebedev met a Russian nuclear expert so I didn’t need to put that into the Spectrum to know what it meant. There is a plan and it almost certainly involves a nuclear weapon.
“Just to be sure, I ran everything through the Spectrum anyway and got something strange.”
Hooley looked quizzical.
“The answer came up in a colour I’ve never seen before. It was a sort of muddy red, as though two colours had been mixed together but you could still see both. Normally you just get the one colour.”
“Sounds like a John Le Carre novel,” said Hooley. Listening to Roper, he was starting to realise that, wherever this case was heading, it was going to be beyond a bit of straightforward policing. What Roper said next confirmed this view.
“One of the things I learned at GCHQ is to always try and talk to the people who put the original reports together. You can get a lot more background information and insights - the sort of stuff that often gets left out.
“I’m thinking that the Russian scientist behind our suspected suitcase bomb emerged in the 1980s, so we should be able to find people who were directly involved and can fill in some of the missing details.”
“Good idea. Let’s go and find one of our Cold War warriors.”
Chapter 17
Bill Nuffield sounded genuinely pleased to hear from Hooley, and, after listening to the request, said he was confident he would find someone who would be willing to talk to them.
“Let me ask around and find out who might be happy to talk to you. Old spies can be a little paranoid - I guess it goes with the territory - so a lot will say no because they will think you are trying to set them up in some way.
“The Soviet Republic may have collapsed in 1991 but for a lot of people, who are still around, the Cold War never ended. They argue that the FSB is an awful lot like the KGB it was supposed to replace, and that it would be a mistake to underestimate them. The old KGB saw the writing on the wall very early on and was ready for change.”
A low chuckle came down the line. “I suppose I’m starting to sound like a ‘Cold War warrior’ myself. What I’m trying to explain is that people on our side would be suspicious of being approached by people they don’t know.
“I’ll probably need to work through intermediaries but that’s no problem. I think most people will accept my bona fides and some of them may well be aware of you guys anyway. As soon as I get something I will be back to you.”
◆◆◆
It took a week, but Nuffield proved true to his word - although it was Julie Mayweather who confirmed the meeting when she appeared in their office.
“I’ve had the Commissioner’s office on. They’d been asked to confirm you two are who you say they are. Which, as far as I know, you both are. So, a Sir Robert Rose will be coming here, tomorrow at 2pm.”
She was dressed in what she referred to her civilian outfit: a dark grey trouser suit of a classic design that complimented her slim physique without being too showy.
Realising that the DCI was about to protest, she said, “Sorry Brian, there was no negotiation. If you need to talk to this man, then you will have to cancel anything else. It’s 2pm tomorrow or not at all. Apparently, he’s off on a trek through the South American jungles so won’t be around for a month or more.”
“He’s one of the names I’ve been checking out,” said Roper. “He was one of two deputy Director-Generals in the 1980s. He had a reputation for being extremely competent and was regarded as one of the most successful people they had, as well as being well li
ked by the staff.”
Mayweather folded her arms. “Not a day goes by that you don’t surprise me in some way. I’m not complaining, but how come you’ve been looking into him? I have to admit that I don’t recall his name.”
“I’ve been doing a bit of background on who might be willing to talk to us. I guessed they wouldn’t put us in touch with a real-life agent, and it seemed pretty obvious that it would need someone senior enough to handle our questions and understand what could and couldn’t be discussed without getting special clearance.
“Once I worked that out it was fairly easy to find the names of people who would fit that profile. Sir Robert was top of that list, so I looked into him. If we ended up with someone who was very anti-KGB, we’d have had to take that into account against what they told us.”
“Do you mean that type of person would be more likely to believe there was a suitcase bomb, for instance?” asked Hooley.
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. They might see us as meddling in stuff we don’t understand so they would make it hard for us to get to the truth. But someone like Sir Robert has always been seen as very calm and very organised. He would be much more likely to stay neutral and give us good information.”
Mayweather went to leave, then stopped in the doorway and gave Roper a thoughtful look.
“I’m glad you’re on our side, Jonathan. I wouldn’t like to think how it would turn out if you ever joined up with the bad guys.”
Chapter 18
They were going in at night, with everything hinging on the most unpredictable element: a crying baby. Since the couple had returned from her mother’s house, the infant had taken to waking at all hours of the night and taking time to settle down. Anne Hudson had established a pattern of taking her daughter downstairs and getting comfortable on the sofa. More often than not, both would also fall asleep.
Once that happened, two teams would move in. One would grab the sleeping Hudson; the other would race upstairs to subdue her husband. He might not have been able to put up any resistance, but he could shout.
There was no certainty about when the baby would start crying. Sometimes it started before midnight or sometimes any time up to 4am. Last night she hadn’t made a sound, sleeping peacefully until just after 6am.
The Courier glanced at his watch again - just after 2am. He stopped himself from sighing as he didn’t want his jitters to infect the operation. Twenty minutes later he jumped as the sound of the little girl starting to cry filled the speakers.
The watchers were always impressed by the speed with which mum responded. She was up and heading downstairs before her husband had shown any signs of realising that something was amiss.
For the next half an hour they watched intently as Anne Hudson soothed her baby, offered her milk and cuddled her close. She went quite still. They waited five minutes to be sure both were asleep.
The snatch squad was dressed in black and merged into the shadows. The closest street lights had been sabotaged days earlier, and the team had pinpointed local CCTV. One camera had been sabotaged by having thick grease smeared on the lens.
The lock proved no barrier and the door was opened with minimal delay and the gang slipped into the house. Barely visible in the gloom, they moved in on the sleeping pair. The leader gave a chopping gesture with his hand: the gesture to move.
Men on either side pinned her arms and legs, a powerful hand was clamped over her mouth and the fourth person picked up the baby and held her with surprising gentleness. The incapacitated mother was injected with fast-acting tranquilliser and bodily lifted into the air.
The baby, miraculously still asleep, was carefully placed back on the settee, surrounded by cushions to keep her stable. Anne Hudson took moments to go under and she was already being carried out by two of the men. Another two raced up the stairs.
The pair with Hudson waited inside until they heard a van draw up. Moving fast, they transferred her into the back of the vehicle. They didn’t expect her to wake up but were taking no chances. She was expertly gagged and zip-locks secured her arms and legs.
Back inside the house a third team of two was grabbing the surveillance equipment. In less than five minutes they had everything apart from the cameras and microphones in the couple’s bedroom.
The wife had left the door open when she went downstairs. Tony Hudson was snoring loudly, knocked out cold by the liquid morphine he swallowed at bedtime. Ten minutes after breaking in, the job was done and two vehicles carrying the gang and their victim were on their way.
Most of the snatch team piled into the first van and the team leader was picked up in a second van driven by the Courier. As both vehicles moved off, there was no-one to hear the baby take a breath to indicate she was about to start howling.
They headed for the A3: the normally busy stretch of road linking London and the south coast. Even at this hour there would a steady flow of traffic. Driving carefully, the Courier kept a few hundred yards back. Up ahead the first van braked as traffic lights went red.
Waiting patiently, they moved off again when the signal changed. The first vehicle was halfway through the junction when a car, moving at high speed, appeared from the right and smashed straight into it. The force of the impact moved the van 20 feet, the car embedded in its side.
The harsh noise of the impact was replaced by a strange silence. Then the Courier became aware of lights coming on in buildings all around the junction. The massive crash had clearly woken people up and they were looking out of their windows.
He needed to act fast if there was to be a chance that anything could be salvaged from this disaster. Shouting at the men in his vehicle to get ready, he ran to the scene. He was greeted with carnage. The men in the back were lying in positions that would have been impossible for anyone alive, and the woman was crunched awkwardly in one corner, bleeding heavily from head wounds; it looked like she had a broken arm.
The operation was over. In this state Hudson would be rejected by the client. His only option was to clean up and get out of here as fast as possible.
He grabbed the still unconscious woman by her feet and pulled her towards him, then taking her head in his hands he gave it a savage twist, breaking her neck instantly. The action gave him a momentary sense of satisfaction.
Walking to the front of the van he saw the driver was alive but trapped in the wreckage. Getting him out was not an option. The man didn’t flinch as he had his neck expertly broken. He knew his family would be well taken care of.
He waved the surviving gang members back into his vehicle and drove away to distant sound of police and ambulance sirens. He was careful to stay within the speed limit.
Chapter 19
Brian Hooley was looking forward to meeting Sir Robert Rose. Roper had given him a dossier on the retired spy chief which made it clear he had been a hugely influential figure in his day. Not just in the UK, but also working with the CIA back in the days when it was the most powerful US intelligence organisation.
The man had enjoyed a ringside seat for some of the most extraordinary moments since World War II. The DCI had an image in his mind’s eye of Sir Robert in the type of handmade suit worn by Prince Charles.
Instead he was introduced to a very fit man in his mid-70s. He came across as mildly eccentric in a good way. He radiated good humour and this was reinforced by his choice of clothing: an electric blue jacket teamed with oversized black trousers and a pair of very expensive shoes that were firmly in the category of “having seen better days”.
Sir Robert quickly took control. Retirement had done nothing to dilute his natural air of command.
“You two are getting quite a reputation,” he said, settling into one of the chairs in Mayweather’s office which had been borrowed for the interview.
“As you know, my side can be a bit sniffy about policemen, but there is more than a grudging respect for you two; you seem to make quite a team, and the threats we face have blurred the lines between the ways we all opera
te. I give you a terror leader; you show me a master criminal.
“Everyone is fascinated by Mr. Roper’s Rainbow Spectrum. It sounds like the codename for some sort of undercover operation that we used to run back in the 1960s. I can quite imagine Michael Caine playing the lead role in a film.”
The retired spy chief tugged at the sleeves of his shirt and carried on. “I gather you are interested in what I can recall about Maria Vasilev?” He sipped at the coffee the DCI had poured for him, then looked at the cup with raised eyebrows.
Hooley correctly interpreted his reaction. “I’m afraid that Jonathan and I have developed a shared passion for strong coffee. I forget that it’s not to everyone’s taste. Would you prefer something else, or can I make a weaker version?”
Sir Robert dismissed his concerns with a smile and wave of his hand. “Not to worry; it’s at the top end of my tolerance, admittedly, but it will keep me sharp for the next hour or so - and I suspect I am going to need that with you two.
“Oddly enough, Vasilev is one of those who has stuck in my memory. At the time you imagine you will recall everything, but it’s surprising how many people and events slip the memory. She appeared in the 1980s as one of many young Soviet prodigies.
“She was assigned to their nuclear weapons programme and before long there were rumours that she was making some sort of progress. We didn’t know what that progress was, but it was clear that her bosses were getting excited.
“I don’t think it’s any secret that by that stage we had quite an insight into their operations; a lot of Russians could see the writing on the wall and were making decisions to improve their own situations by making a little money from us.
(Jonathan Roper Investigates Boxset Page 50