by Albert Able
Hassan stood up and pulled the card with Alex’s mobile number on it.
“Only in emergencies, remember,” Alex had cautioned.
“Well I reckon this is an emergency.”
Hassan punched the pre-programmed number.
***
In London, the Boss had been called to an urgent meeting with Sir Gerald Fisher at his offices in Whitehall.
Whereas the news about the Moscow terrorist bomb had been kept away from the press by their authorities, the Paris ‘nuclear bomb’ situation was blazoned across newspapers worldwide.
There was predictable reaction on stock markets around the world and almost all security forces were on to full alert. Ominously, however, there was still no indication as to where in Paris the nuclear bomb was to be detonated, or by whom.
“Are we certain this is the Syndicate and not just some fringe radical outfit?” Sir Gerald asked the Boss.
“No chance, if this were a genuine religious fanatic he would have detonated the device and sent us a video or something by now. So there is no doubt in my mind that we are dealing with the Syndicate again.”
The Boss frowned: “However, there is something unusual about the way they are operating this time, which suggests to me that for some reason they are not as well organised as they have been in the past.”
“How do you figure that then?” Sir Gerald interjected.
The Boss thought for a minute. “Okay so let me lay out the information we have and see if you don’t end up with the same feeling.”
The Boss sat back and in his usually precise and logical manner carefully outlined the facts.
“The Syndicate has always been diligent and thorough in all its organisational activity in the past, and if and when their projects have been nipped in the bud, shall we say, they always slipped away and licked their wounds in private. Although we may have anticipated it, in actual fact they have never entered into vendettas or any reprisal activity that I am aware of. This, of course, demonstrates the tenacity of their leader. So why now do we have Graham Watkins and Lydia Rowland murdered? Why the attempt on your life?” The Boss cocked his head on one side.
“Have you considered that it might be someone pretending to be the Syndicate?” Sir Gerald offered.
“I have, but that is not my opinion. Rather, I’m beginning to wonder if there could serious rebellion from within the ranks of the Syndicate.”
The Boss picked up a different sheet of paper. “This is also especially interesting: Hans de Wolf has sourced the origin of some of the signals which were tracing our mobile calls.” He passed the sheet to Sir Gerald. “We have identified the exact location and they’re coming from a computer in a Schloss in Austria, and guess who owns it?”
The Boss didn’t wait for an answer. “Only the President of SKY-SEC Corporation, one Carl Peterson!”
“Carl Peterson?” Sir Gerald exclaimed “but he is one of the most respected industrialists, a philanthropist and all that sort of stuff. Surely there must be some kind of mistake?”
“Maybe, but I am confident that if Hans de Wolf thinks the signals are definitely coming from his Schloss I have to believe it. And that is also another error - and so unlike the Syndicate we used to face.”
“It may of course be some clever relay that Peterson is completely unaware of?” Sir Gerald Fisher sat up and tapped the sheet of paper thoughtfully. “Somehow we have to check out that computer?”
“Exactly and we can’t just pick up the phone and ask. So somehow we have to get Hans into that castle!”
***
Paris, a city of some six and a half million people, had ground to a halt as millions of citizens rushed to get away from the bomb threat. The word ‘nuclear bomb’ had successfully spooked the whole community’ turning normal life - especially in the reported possible target zone, the city centre - into total chaos.
Within hours every exit route from Paris was choked with clamouring motorists and vehicles of every description. The Metro and surface rail trains fared better to start with because they were operating only in ‘out of town’ directions as the emergency plan, designed as part of a rapid evacuation plan prescribed. More serious problems developed later, as thousands of fleeing Parisians surged into stations and on to the platforms where numerous people were crushed or pushed on to the tracks. Many were killed and trains were prevented from operating.
There had been much advanced preparation for such an event and lists of probable strategic targets had been drawn up with evacuation and search programme rehearsed. Buildings such as the Louvre Museum, Sacre Coeur, Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, Pompidou Centre, Notre Dame and all the major railway stations were all part of the massive exercise. However, when the ‘real thing’ occurs, reality, inevitably, is not nearly so orderly.
In spite of the congestion on the roads as people fled the danger zones, the mass of traffic was gradually heading out of town so that but for the police and military vehicles most of the streets in the centre of Paris were soon deserted.
There had been a number of incidents where military and police personnel had protested about the risk of being exposed to a nuclear blast. “There is nothing about ‘nuclear fallout’ in our ‘health and safety clause’, the barrack room lawyers among them complained.
The harassed Commander shook his head in desperation and offered to release all family men and anyone else not willing to face the challenge.
To their credit, other than the initial complainers, very few accepted the offer and so it was that with considerable relief the Commander, together with a surprisingly large force of volunteers, personally commenced the orderly search for the nuclear bomb.
As time passed, Alex Scott was increasingly puzzled by the fact that the threat had not been followed up by any demands, threats or any other information from the Syndicate. This had also persuaded UCLAT to drawn the conclusion that in spite of the initial message identifying the bombers as the Syndicate, that it was more likely to be the work of some radical Islamic suicide group or individual bomber.
Consequently, when Hassan and Amir reported at the Prefecture of Police and asked for Commander Alex Scott, they were treated with the utmost suspicion and the Desk Sergeant, probably thinking to try and enhance his reputation, immediately escorted the two men to a nearby interview room. There he confiscated Hassan’s mobile phone as he volunteered to ‘clear it all up with one call’ and then pushed them roughly inside and locked the door.
“I’ve got a couple of Asian looking guys in there. Claimed they had an appointment with some ‘Roast Beef’ Commander - an unlikely story, I thought.”
The Desk Sergeant threw Nissan’s mobile into a drawer as he spoke into the telephone: “So I’ve secured them in an interview room till someone tells me what to do with them.”
“You did the right thing, Sarge.” A passing colleague gave a congratulatory pat on the Desk Sergeant’s shoulder. “I hear they’re hauling them in from all over town - Islamic, Muslim, Radical this and that. What a mess! I just hope we find the bloody bomb before whoever he is gets his appointment with all those virgins eh?” The colleague vanished down the corridor and the desk Sergeant returned to his desk.
Some distance away from the Prefecture in UCLAT’s ‘Ops Room’ Captain Aubin Le Grand, Alex Scott and several senior officers of the unit had been examining the current situation and agreeing their strategy.
Alex had repeatedly tried to convince the group that the threat was exclusively the work of the Syndicate and therefore dragging what were almost certainly innocent members of the Asian Muslin community in for interrogation was counter productive at this time. And so he was greatly relieved when he had taken Hassan’s call, not just because Alex knew that the young man was safe but because he could bring him to the meeting and hopefully help to convince all the others that the Muslims were on
the same side and prepared to help where possible.
“Random arrests of these people not only alienates the Muslim community but it is squandering the limited manpower available to search for the bomb,” Alex appealed to the group and looked anxiously at his watch again. “If we could just hang on until my colleague and this man Amir arrive I am certain we will be able to get a clearer picture of any involvement.”
“So where’s you tame Muslim?” one of the more sceptical officers scoffed.
Alex wished he knew, and looked at his watch yet again and tried calling Hassan’s mobile yet again.
Alex was becoming increasingly agitated something had to be wrong. Hassan should have been here by now - he had been only a few minutes away when he made his call.
“Unfortunately we simply can’t wait any longer, Commander,” Captain Le Grand followed up the question “so I am obliged to allow the squads to carry on bringing in and questioning the Muslim suspects.”
Alex Scott sighed. “With great respect that is a big mistake and I can tell you from experience it is exactly what the Syndicate would hope would happen. Namely create discord within this group.”
Alex looked around the room: “That, Gentlemen, makes it that much easier for the Syndicate to achieve its objective.”
There was a measured silence before Captain Le Grand spoke. “OK, Commander, ten more minutes then we move out to our individual assignments. Agreed?”
Alex nodded with relief. Several of the others muttered disapproval. In fairness they all wanted to see the bomb or bomber found and neutralised, but in reality only Captain Le Grande and Alex had ever faced an enemy in anger.
Maurice Bouchard nudged Alex “We’ve got the Eiffel Tower,” he said in a confidential tone, “ever been to the Jules Verne Restaurant up there?”
“No I haven’t,” Alex smiled. Good old Maurice, still thinking about food.
“A pity, maybe one of these days, eh?”
The ten-minutes was up and the order given to start the arresting of suspects.
It was over an hour later as Captain Le Grand’s secretary was passing Reception that the Desk Sergeant called out: “Christina, is the Captain still at you know where?” He didn’t want to call out UCLAT.
The secretary stopped. “No, he left over an hour ago, I thought you knew.” She moved closer. “He’s out there personally overseeing the whole operation. Was it something important?”
“It’s just that I left a message and no one called back. You see, I’ve got a couple of Asian guys locked in an interview room, claim they are mates of the ‘Roast Beef’ Commander. I’m going to have to do something with them soon.”
“You didn’t leave a message with me and those sound like the men the Captain has been urgently waiting for. Show me,” she demanded testily.
The Sergeant led the secretary to the interview room. Hassan and Amir were exhausted; they had been banging on the door and shouting for most of the time they had been locked up.
The secretary soon established the identity of the two men and apologetically escorted them from the tiny interview room. As they left the cells they passed close to the Sergeant and Amir, who was not a large or physical type of man, was on the verge of attacking the burly Sergeant. Hassan easily restrained the angry Amir, who none the less stopped and snapped at the Sergeant: “It is people like you who tempt people like me to believe the words of those Islamic radicals who preach death and destruction for the infidel non believers.”
The Sergeant, having realised the extent of his mistake, was now eager to restore his reputation. Collecting Hassan’s mobile from the drawer where he had thrown it, he held out the phone grudgingly.
Hassan wanted to say something but was so exhausted that he was lost for anything constructive to say. So he snatched the phone and simply glared at the Sergeant, who turned away wishing there was somewhere to hide. The secretary, already talking to the Captain on her mobile, hurried Hassan and Amir out to the Command Centre.
It still took some time for Amir to convince the Captain that the arrests, as Alex had also prophesied, would only have a negative effect on the problem. But finally, it was reluctantly agreed to stop the round up, although the Captain insisted on interrogating the suspects he currently held.
The hunt for a nuclear bomb went on for the next twenty-four hours. Every building on the prime target list had been crawled over by dozens of searchers using a multitude of metal and radiation detectors.
Amir also had an army of volunteers from his community assisting wherever possible.
The first explosion came at almost ten o’clock on the second evening when a car exploded in flames on the Champs Elysees. Two Asian youths were apprehended as they ran away from the inferno.
“Told you so, didn’t I? Islamic cooperation? Bull shit.” The sceptical officer replaced the telephone receiver after taking the message in the Command Centre. “Let’s see what that psalm singing Muslim’s got to say about this now?” He pointed aggressively at Amir who had just walked in with Hassan.
Amir walked across to Captain Aubin Le Grand who was already seated at the head of the table and handed him the notes he had made.
“What’s happened?” Amir demanded, ignoring the insult.
When the Officer finished explaining details of the explosion, Amir was silent for a moment. “Do we have any names?”
“Two youths aged fourteen and fifteen. Apparently refused to give any information.” The Captain dropped the sheet of paper on the table.
“Personally I don’t see any connection, do you?” Amir bluffed.
The Captain looked at Amir. “Well I think there could easily be one; I’d like to get their names. Where are they being held?”
“They’re being brought here so just give us a few minutes, we’ll get their names, don’t worry - and anything else you want to know.” The officer turned to leave.
“If I find those young men have been abused in any way I’ll pull my people out immediately,” Amir rose angrily.
“OK, everyone,” The Captain commanded, “nobody’s going to do anything to the suspects until Amir and Hassan have talked to them. Is that clear?”
The officer turned, his face flushed with anger. Nonetheless, he remained silent and resumed his seat at the table as the telephone rang.
The Captain took the call. “Good,” he nodded absently, “bring them up and put them in the meeting room next to us.’
It didn’t take long for Amir to learn the whole story from the two youths. It appeared that their father and uncle had been arrested as terrorist suspects that morning.
The boys, knowing their father and uncle were innocent moderates, were incensed by the violation of their family and so were easily persuaded to revert to the radical message constantly being preached to such young susceptible ears and to strike a blow for Islam.
“You see, Captain,” Amir started, “as I suggested, making all these arrests simply convinces some of the more vulnerable members of our faith that perhaps the radical preachers are right!”
Amir looked at each of the silent faces. “Every society has good and bad among its citizens and we all try to contain the bad ones for the benefit of the good. Yes?” Still no one spoke.
“Your society is exactly the same as ours, so when will you start to understand?” Amir raised his voice. He was trembling with anger and about to continue when the telephone rang, startling everyone.
The Captain lifted the handset “Where?” he demanded and made some notes as he listened. After a few more seconds he looked around the table.
“There’s been another explosion. More serious this time, I’m afraid. Looks like one youth is dead and another badly injured.”
“Oh no,” Amir slumped back into his chair. “Where this time?”
“The entrance to the Pompidou Cent
re. It seems they must have obtained a small amount of explosives from somewhere; unfortunately it looks as though two police officers were also killed.” The Captain bowed his head and sighed.
Other than the gasps of shock and horror no one else in the room spoke. Eventually the Captain looked up at Amir. “Mr Kahlie, I take your point and apologise. I will order the immediate release of all the suspects and we will accept that the Syndicate is the enemy in this incident.” He looked around at the others “Any objections?” he challenged.
All the former objectors’ heads were bowed and silent.
Satisfied, the Captain looked back at Amir. “Can I also ask you to get over to the hospital and see what you can learn from the survivor?”
Amir rose. “Of course, Captain. I will get back to you as soon as possible.”
Amir left followed by Hassan. “Mind if I tag along?”
***
Alex was at Montmartre helping with a squad of police officers to search the ancient Sacré Coeur when his phone rang. It was the Captain who told him about Amir and Hassan. “My apologies, Commander Scott, seems I misjudged the situation.”
“No need for apologies, all that matters now is that we find this wretched bomb. Incidentally has there been any more from the Syndicate?”
“Nothing yet, but you’ll be the first to know when we do.”
Alex cancelled the call and was about to put the phone back in his pocket when it rang again.
“Alex, it’s Maurice. I’m at the Tour Eiffel. Something strange is going on here. I know we cleared this place yesterday but I’ve just received a strange call suggesting that the bomb is here somewhere.”
“Any clue who made the call, any threats, anything?” Alex was suddenly alert. Was this the clue they had been waiting for? But why call Maurice? Something didn’t fit.
“Listen, Maurice. I’m going to call the Captain to see how he thinks we handle it.”
“No need to do that, I called him first. He is on his way and wants you to join me here.” Maurice was almost whispering: “I’m just outside the Jules Verne Restaurant on the first level, not exactly the way I wanted to introduce you to it, but...”