by A P Bateman
The closest officer kicked the Walther further out from the man on the ground. He kept his weapon aimed on King.
King stepped around the man and kicked the 9mm round down the drain. He lowered his hands and, ignoring both armed police officers, walked towards the approaching officers. “This man attacked an MI5 building. Three MI5 employees were killed and this man killed his wounded accomplice before fleeing the scene.”
“It’s true,” a man walked over. He was tired looking and scruffy, dressed in a crumpled suit. “I’ve just had a call from Commander Anderson over at Special Branch.” He looked at King and Caroline in turn. “I’m DS Mathews. I’m part of the Metropolitan Police task force assigned to MI5 for the investigation,” he paused. “I’m sorry about your boss.”
Caroline nodded. “So am I.”
The two armed officers had cuffed the man and rolled him onto his side. He was coming round, tersely complaining about his treatment and injuries.
As a certified weapons officer, one of the armed officers donned a pair or rubber medical gloves and made the Walther safe by unloading it and leaving the slide locked backwards. He placed it in an evidence bag and handed it to one of the CID detectives. “Two rounds fired by the looks of it,” he said. “Mag takes sixteen. There’s fourteen there and the empty case from the bullet discharged here.”
Sergei Gulubkin groaned and looked up at them. “Bastard pigs,” he mumbled. “I’ll have your jobs for this.”
King looked at DS Mathews. “I need to speak to him,” he said. “Once he enters the system, he’ll clam up.”
“I don’t know,” Mathews said. “These things tend to have a habit of biting us in the arse. Later in court.”
“Just ten minutes, until the ambulance arrives.”
Mathews looked at the armed officers, who were now standing and chatting.
Caroline nodded. “We’ve got multiple personnel down, twelve missing. We need to know.”
“Five minutes,” Mathews relented. “It’s cold here and the suspect looks to be in shock. Put him in your car until the ambulance arrives. I’m going to make a call.” He walked a few paces away and took out his mobile phone.
Gulubkin was stiff and in pain, battered and bruised, but nothing seemed broken as he limped, supported by both King and Caroline, to the BMW. King pushed him into the rear seat and sat down beside him.
“You’re looking at life.”
“That’s not my pistol.”
“It’s got your prints on it. And gunpowder residue on your fingers. And DNA on the butt and trigger.”
“Fuck you.”
“As far as people are concerned, you killed Mohammed Betesh. ISIS fighter and Islamic activist. Many people would want to make you a saint. But this is Britain and if you’re guilty of murder, your guilty of murder. You’ll go to prison and one of those Islam extremist boys in there will cut your throat with a shiv.”
“You know shit.”
“I’ve been inside. I know what I’m talking about. They’ll hold you down and do it slow. They’ll saw down to the bone and then some.” King pulled down the man’s collar and looked at his neck. “You’ve seen a lot of cell-time. You’ve got the tats. Siberian gulag?” Sergei nodded. “Our prisons are still tough here despite what hardened convicts like you may think. Sure you get three hots and a cot, but the people are exactly the same. And for committing an armed attack on MI5, being caught up on CCTV buying a sedative that was used on four MI5 agents before they died and possessing an illegal firearm you’ll do close to life. That’s without all that DNA, powder residue and upstanding eye-witness accounts of a cold-blooded murder. You’ll go away forever. But like I said, they’ll get to you first.”
“But I didn’t kill anybody!” he snapped. He did not want to go back to prison, King could see it in the man’s eyes.
“I’ll do a deal,” King said.
“Bullshit!”
“Right here, right now.”
“What deal?”
“You bought the drugs that were used on the agents murdered at the pier.”
“You can keep me out of jail?”
“You get us to that missing warhead and I’ll give you my word.”
“Really?” He looked at Caroline.
“We haven’t really seen you kill anybody,” she paused. “I’m sure we can swing you getting off an abduction and possession of a firearm charge. But we need all you’ve got.”
“Protection?”
“Naturally,” said King.
“And I won’t go to jail?”
“No jail,” King nodded.
“I do not know where the warhead is. I promise,” Gulubkin paused. “It is still on route here.”
“What route?”
“Estonia.”
“To where?” Caroline held her iPhone up, recording everything. “And by what means?”
“Fishing boat. Or small freight ship.”
“Where is it coming in?” King asked.
“I do not know. Zukovsky has gone to meet it.”
“You’ll have to do better than that.”
“I do not know,” he paused, then added, “But I know where the prisoners are.”
“Where?” Caroline asked. She looked up, the ambulance had arrived. “Tell us, this deal expires in less than a minute.”
“A fisherman. Joseph Arnsettle. He runs a large fishing boat out of Lowestoft. I do not know the name of the boat, but I gave him his initial payment. I went there and paid him the cash, recruited him.”
“To Lowestoft?” Caroline checked.
“Yes.”
“Where are they going?”
“Norway. They are being met there and taken to a secure location. I do not know where.”
“What for?”
Sergei Gulubkin frowned. “For revenge, why else?”
“Revenge for what?”
“You do not know?”
“No,” King looked at the approaching ambulance crew. They were being led by DS Mathews.
“I thought everybody knew,” Gulubkin smirked. “You know Zukovsky is behind this?”
“Of course.”
“Then you know what he plans to do,” he sneered.
“What?”
“To kill them.”
“For revenge?” Caroline looked bewildered. “I don’t understand.” She glanced up at the approaching detective and the two paramedics. “What does he want revenge for?”
Gulubkin looked at her and smiled. “You can’t cut me a deal,” he sneered. “You’re stuck for time and reaching out in the darkness.” He laughed. “You are pathetic! I’ll take my chances with the police, I think. I recon I’ll cut a deal with them just fine.”
“You’ll enter the system and never leave,” King commented flatly. “Even if you tell them all you know and they find the warhead, you’ll still do some serious time.”
“And if they don’t find the warhead?” Caroline continued. “Well, you won’t know anything about it because you’ll be in the blast radius.”
“Or will you?” King stared at him. “What is the target?”
“Fuck you!” Gulubkin glared back. “You know, I think I will be all right in your liberal, weak-willed system. A few years inside a holiday camp you call prison and I’ll be back in Russia.”
King punched him hard in the face. The man recoiled and looked at him in astonishment. King punched him again and he slumped forwards.
“Oh great!” Caroline snapped. “We’re out of time and he’s bloody unconscious!”
King got out of the car, nodded at Mathews as he reached the passenger side. “I’m sorry detective sergeant,” he said.
“Sorry for what?”
King walked around to the driver’s side, looked at him over the roof. “I need more time.”
“Wait.” Mathews stepped forwards, then froze when he saw the pistol.
King rested it on the roof. Casually, but the noisy end was facing the police officer. “I don’t know how much you know, d
etective. And we’ll cross paths again soon, I am sure. But we need a few hours with this man and if enters the system, we can forget about getting the right answers.”
“I can’t let you take him,” Mathews said. The two paramedics were already backing away. “Don’t do this.”
“Don’t you do this.”
“You won’t shoot a police officer.”
“I’ve done worse,” King stared at him, his cold blue eyes unwavering. “A few hours, that’s all.”
“It’s not worth it,” Mathews took a step forwards, but stopped when the weapon came up to aim.
“Speak to your boss. There is a nuclear device on route to this country and this man has answers.” King looked at him and shook his head. “Walk away. You’ll get a call telling you where to find him.” He got into the car and started the engine.
Mathews grabbed at the passenger door handle, but froze when he looked into the muzzle of the SCAR rifle in Caroline’s hands. She shook her head at him and he stood back as the BMW roared off and swung a tight right at a row of graffiti covered garages. Within seconds it was gone and all that could be heard was the building sound of engine revs, before it just as quickly trailed off to silence.
48
Detective Inspector Hodges scribbled in his notebook with a pencil. He was old school and used reporter’s shorthand. He listened intently, interrupting occasionally to clarify the man’s account.
Rashid was tired and weak but he wanted to get everything out. He had been undercover for more than a year and the experience of being discovered, of being back on the grid was proving cathartic, he shook as he spoke and looked close to tears at times.
Hodges had been informed about Forester’s death and had been saddened. He did not care for many of the people he had met from the intelligence services, but Forester had been different. The man did not seem to have an agenda or ulterior motive. He had wanted the death of his agents investigated and had freely admitted that the police, and in particular Hodges was best placed to do so. Hodges continued to question Rashid as Forester had called and asked him to, but he expected to be pulled off the case as soon as the security service reconvened and somebody else was brought in to replace Forester and take over the investigation.
“Can you describe where this place was?” Hodges asked.
Rashid nodded. “I had my mobile with me,” he paused, pointing at the bedside unit. “If it’s in there, you can take a GPS reading of both the bunker in Epping Forest and the warehouse.”
“Perfect.” Hodges opened the cupboard door and took out a clear plastic zip lock bag containing a phone, belt, wallet and some loose change. “Now we’re talking. Give me the warehouse address.”
“Fleet business park in Newington,” Rashid said slowly. “A building still registered and signed as DDS Distribution Ltd. They went bust, Zukovsky has it on a short lease, I understand.”
Hodges scribbled madly on his pad. “So who gave you your orders, Vladimir Zukovsky?”
Rashid sipped some water and rested his head back against the stack of pillows. “Iman Mullah Al-Shaqqaf supplied me, if you will. Both Khalil and I. Zukovsky has something planned with Al-Shaqqaf, but I have no idea what. At first I thought it was going to be a series of random attacks, but as soon as we hit the safe-house I knew it was a government building.”
“And you didn’t think to try and apprehend them?”
Rashid shook his head. “Deputy Director Forester told me if I got in to the Islington mosque and close to Al-Shaqqaf, then I was not to break cover at any cost.”
“Including taking innocent lives?”
“I bought the GHB, but I did not know what for. That was Marvin, Alesha and Sergei who killed those agents. I did not know what was happening at the safe-house until it started. I didn’t fire a shot, and I got Khalil down the alley and away after he was wounded, instigated a retreat.”
“And you didn’t know about the agents at the pier?”
“No.”
“What about the warhead.”
“Warhead?”
“You don’t know about the warhead Zukovsky acquired in Russia?”
“No,” Rashid replied emphatically. “But at the bunker, those lead flasks had radio-active labels on them. I thought they were planning a dirty bomb. I knew I would have to break cover, but they were on to me, that’s when they confronted me.”
“And they tried to kill you.” Hodges said flatly.
Rashid nodded. “They were going to cut my throat. I fought them off.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Zukovsky and Marvin had already left. They had what they came for. Al-Shaqqaf is a coward, he ran.”
“Figures,” Hodges sneered. “Talks kids into wearing suicide vests, taking up jihad, then runs away himself at the first sign of a fight.”
Rashid nodded. “I don’t know how they found out about me. I had been so careful. I was so embedded in Al-Shaqqaf’s organisation, it wasn’t until the attack on the safe-house, or when they challenged me in the woods that I seriously had to remind myself who I really was,” he paused. “It’s weird how being deep undercover affects you. My biggest fear is a single slip up word or sentence, or talking in my sleep.”
Hodges nodded. “So Al-Shaqqaf runs away. Who else?”
“Malik, his main bodyguard. I stabbed him in his arse cheek with the knife that I got off of Suad. He was Al-Shaqqaf’s spiritual enforcer. Malik was in a quandary, but chose to take care of Al-Shaqqaf.”
“Suad?”
“Small man, lethal. He is, or was as extreme as they get. He was the man who would whisper in the Iman’s ear. He was all too ready to kill me.”
“But you killed him?”
“Stabbed him then slashed him, yes.”
“And then what?”
“That just left John. A Brummie. He was a big guy, but he fooled me. I was stupid. He said he’d had enough, that Al-Shaqqaf was going too far. Then he stabbed me. I got him though.”
“You killed him?”
“For sure.”
“And these bodies will be there, in the woods?”
“I imagine so,” Rashid said. “Can’t imagine Al-Shaqqaf returning, but maybe someone did. They were going to dump me down the bunker. If someone cleaned up, then the bunker would be the best bet. You’ll have to get somebody there soon though, Khalil is down there and there’s a shed-load of AK47s, pistols, ammo and who knows what else. Oh, and the lid is booby-trapped with two grenades.”
“We’ll need to get you checked out for radioactivity. And get a HAZMAT team over there. The Russians are not famed for their health and safety. I’d hate to think what was in those flasks.”
Rashid looked worried. “Send the doctor in when you leave.”
“Can’t just go telling him about radioactive materials,” Hodges said. “I suggest you speak to your MI5 debrief team when they get here. Should be any minute now.” He turned away from Rashid and answered his mobile phone which had vibrated on its silent setting. “Hodges.” He listened, nodded and started to pace around the tiny room. He read out the address of the warehouse in Newington, told the person to get over there, then ended the call.
Rashid watched him. “Problem?”
“You could say that,” he paused. “Your friend Sergei Gulubkin has been arrested.”
“He’s not my friend,” Rashid glared. “I am an SAS soldier on secondment to the Security Service who has been long-term deep-cover. Don’t you mix it up in your head Inspector Hodges. I’m one of the good guys, and don’t you ever fucking forget it.”
Hodges nodded. “Alright, fair enough. I’m sorry. But I’m not used to working with ‘Box, and you spooks have unravelled a whole load of shit for me to clear up. You do all your James Bond shit in the woods and I’ve got two more murders on my hands.”
“Self-defence.”
“It’s still got to go to the CPS, still got to go to court. I can’t just lose bodies, a
nd wouldn’t anyway. Now I’ve got my sergeant phoning me and telling me that two MI5 agents have taken my prisoner. Just upped and drove away with him. It’s all too irregular.”
“Well, Inspector, you mentioned a warhead. And there’s some radioactive shit in a lot of flasks. Perhaps there isn’t time to go by the book. Perhaps those days are over.”
49
Professor Orlev was panicked. He had not dealt with the Islamist group previously and had been viewed with suspicion. The men had taken the flasks, but they had been undisciplined and smoked and talked, laughed and joked all through the task. He had received instructions from Zukovsky in the early hours, but had been drinking heavily and had spent the night with a prostitute. He thought he had more time, enough opportunity to move the flasks, but had not banked on a number of things – falling asleep after his assignation, and Al-Shaqqaf’s men being so delayed in turning up and so slow in their efforts in moving the flasks. Orlev still had to bleach everything they had touched during their time in the warehouse and take the computers away to dispose of in the river.
The bleach had been watered a little, but as long as a film of the solution coated the surface, then DNA would be destroyed, as would hair fibres become discoloured, enough to be inadmissible in an investigation or court. It sounded a relatively inane task, but Orlev had not realised how time consuming it would be, nor how many possibilities of detection there were. As he cleaned and wiped, he remembered that the rubbish they had disposed of still lay in the bins outside. He would have to empty those also. His heart raced, his nerves getting the better of him. Rashid had got away and he knew of the warehouse. It would only be a matter of time before the police or MI5 knew about their primary location. Orlev looked at his watch. He had been cleaning for nearly an hour. He dropped the cloths in a plastic rubbish sack, but kept his rubber medical gloves on. He would get the computers, the router and printer and load them into his car. There was still so much to clean and think about, but he could not risk being here any longer.