No Turning Back

by Freddie P Peters

  “It was awful,” she eventually managed, eyes in the distance.

  “Pole has spoken to Commander Ferguson. They’ve increased the security around Mark Phelps’ residence,” Nancy said as if reading her mind.

  “Good,” Marissa managed to articulate. A knock at the door startled them both. It opened gingerly and Andy popped in his head with an apologetic smile.

  “Can I bring you anything?”

  Both women shook their heads with a thanks. The door closed with a small creak.

  “Do you know what I really need?” Marissa said in a recovered voice.

  “A bar of Belgian chocolate? A nice French patisserie?” Nancy teased gently.

  “No. I need Pole and Ferguson to catch those bastards and make them suffer.”

  Nancy stretched out her hand and squeezed Marissa’s shoulder.

  “I’m not quite sure about the suffering bit but Pole will catch them – he won’t rest until he does.”

  Marissa stood up, still uncertain on her feet. She grabbed the edge of the table. “I’m fine,” she said responding to Nancy’s concerned look. She closed her eyes, inhaled and released the air slowly.

  “Let’s go and meet Crowne. We have business to do.”

  * * *

  Henry had considerably advanced his review of the new batch of documents that had been left for him. The first instalment of files had given him a broad understanding of the construction of the fund that was receiving cash from HXBK. The second was giving him more details about the transaction itself.

  He had started sketching out diagrams of the corporate ownership, reconstructing the multi-layered levels of companies, partnerships and funds that made the structure challengingly opaque.

  A draught of fresh air. Henry recognised Nancy’s scent and lifted a smiling face. His smile dropped almost instantly. Nancy looked grave and Marissa at her side, awful.

  Henry’s stomach tightened. He did not want to ask the dreaded question. “Have the Jihadists managed to —”

  “Everyone is fine,” Marissa simply said.

  Henry stood up, hesitating. He arranged chairs around the table so they could all sit down. Nancy picked up the diagrams he had left on the table.

  “These are looking encouraging.” She nodded appreciatively.

  Marissa picked up the pages. “Let’s go through them together.” It was all about being business-like.

  “Good idea.” Henry clapped his hands and moved documents around, fishing out a piece of paper stuck at the bottom of the pile.

  “First of all, Bank X is one of the banks that did not join the UK government rescue programme. It found other means to survive its capital crisis and to buy another competitor that was defaulting, namely GL, my previous employer.

  Marissa lifted an eyebrow. “You know who Bank X is?”

  “I know which banks needed rescuing back in 2008. I know, or rather know what was, their management style. I can narrow down the number of banks that would have looked elsewhere to two – Barclays and HXBK.”

  Marissa almost laughed. Henry had received the files barely twenty-four hours ago. He had been locked up for the past four years in Belmarsh. “Did you already know about this?”

  “Nope … but I still read the news and I spent twenty years in that business.”

  “You think Bank X is …?”

  “HXBK of course. Their management team would never have stomached what RBS and Lloyds had to accept in order to receive the rescue package. The thought of having to agree to change the board composition to include government officials – never.”

  Both women remained silent, Nancy thrilled and Marissa amazed.

  “HXBK had to raise cash, first to survive and then to hoover up competitors that went under, as I said previously. They raised cash from their existing shareholders – about nineteen per cent. I checked this morning on Bloomberg. The rest was raised by selling shares to a number of financial institutions and sovereign wealth funds.”

  “You were still at GL when it happened?” Nancy asked.

  “Just about.” Henry shrugged. He had not known at the time his downfall was imminent. A pang of regret came and went. “I do recall the terms of the UK government’s rescue package.”

  “You think the terms were not generous enough?” Marissa asked

  “It’s not that, but HXBK wanted to buy the competition on its own terms, not to be dictated to by the government who to buy or not buy. They needed that deal.”

  “Though the price for GL was not astronomical. All is relative, but in investment banking terms I remember the price was around £700 million?”

  “Wow, Nancy, spot on.” Henry clicked his fingers. “On the ball as ever.”

  Marissa smiled. “Nancy is always on the ball.”

  “I’m flattered,” Nancy returned the smile, “but I still don’t see what difference it made. That is not such a large sum after all.”

  “Correct but remember HXBK acquired GL because of the large losses GL had suffered buying subprime assets.” Henry waited expectantly.

  “It needed to raise further capital to absorb the GL losses and satisfy the regulator.” Marissa was nodding her head.

  “Absolutely and remember, it did raise an additional £7 billion from its Middle-Eastern friends – namely the UAE and Qatar.”

  “That is your working assumption – UAE and Qatar as UBO?” Nancy asked.

  “Yup. I think we are going to find someone in one of those countries at the top of the complex corporate structure we are trying to unravel.”

  “Have you made any headway with that?” Marissa’s face had livened up. Thinking about the case she so wanted to bring to court energised her. It was the right thing to do and she would see it through.

  “I have.” Henry closed the file that was open in front of him. He placed it on the floor, next to several other files he seemed to have organised in his own way. He picked up another folder.

  “The loan by HXBK is not in itself a problem,” Marissa’s voice was trailing.

  “But it’s who the ultimate recipient of that money is – I get it,” Henry replied. He picked up a few pieces of paper, checked the data briefly and presented them to the two women.

  “The company that received the loan was incorporated in Panama. Nothing wrong with that as such but the disclosure rules when it comes to ownership are far less stringent than in the UK.”

  “That’s right.” Marissa moved towards the table.

  “The company’s shareholding is split between other companies and foundations by using nominee companies.” Henry was pointing towards numerous boxes he had drawn on his diagram. “The foundation that holds shares in the nominee companies is formed in Lichtenstein.”

  “And we are not going to know who the actual person is who holds the shares in the foundation because Lichtenstein does not disclose either,” Nancy added.

  “Correct.” Henry nodded. “If we find that person, I’m certain it will be yet another company.”

  “How could HXBK have run this through their compliance department successfully?” Marissa asked.

  “I think the Ultimate Beneficial Owner must have been disclosed but only to a very small number of senior people. The identity of that person is sensitive. Hence the limited disclosure, justified by the need to protect that individual,” Henry replied.

  “That is precisely what Mark said.” Marissa ran her hand over her face. “When he asked the question about the UBO, he was told to mind his own business. Senior management had given their approval.”

  Henry leaned back and crossed his hands behind his head, thinking.

  “I wonder.” He changed his mind and moved back towards the table. “I wonder whether Marsh will let me have a mobile phone?”

  “He’d better.” Marissa looked up. “Otherwise I’ll get the SFO direct
or on his back and Marsh won’t know what’s hit him.”

  Nancy had observed Henry’s reserve with her and she kept her eyes firmly on him. He met her gaze eventually. She wanted an honest conversation. Something Henry was not prepared to have – at least not yet.

  * * *

  “From Lambeth North to Waterloo then he disembarks and leaves the underground system.” Andy and Pole were following the slim silhouette in a dark hoodie which exited the tube carriage, walked up the stairs in no great hurry and left Waterloo Station, merging into the mass of passengers. Pole had kept his suspicions about the gender of the attacker to himself.

  “And then …” Andy switched to another CCTV camera installed on Waterloo Bridge roundabout. “He reappears along the embankment towards the National Theatre.” Andy switched to a CCTV camera near the IBM building. “I think I can pick him up again going towards Bernie Spain Gardens. Same hoodie but slightly different colour I think: he could have changed if the hoodie’s reversible. Then I completely lose him in the Gardens.”

  “How many cameras around the Gardens?” Pole was hunched over the back of Andy’s chair.

  “Not many, two.” Andy pushed his chair back and Pole moved out of his way. He grabbed a chair, sat down and rolled it towards Andy’s desk.

  “What did you see after he entered the Gardens. I mean around the area?” Pole had taken out his BlackBerry, spinning it around his hand.

  “Well.” Andy pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and speeded up the images: an old man with his dog appeared, a couple of youngsters fooling around, a woman with a pushchair.

  “On the other camera – a couple talking, finishing a shared cigarette —”

  “And having a snog.” Pole added with a smile. Andy’s cheeks had become a little pinker. He kept moving the images forward; more pictures danced their crazy bop. Pole had almost given up.

  “Then twenty minutes later a group of women, in niqab, leave together.”

  Pole straightens up. “Did you see them arrive?”

  Andy scrolled back to the time he had lost the gunman, then back a couple of hours before. “No, I can’t see them come in. At least not up to a couple of hours before the incident and not from the cameras we have.”

  Pole scratched the back of his head. “Are there other entrances to the Gardens not covered by CCTV?”

  Andy moves to another screen, a map of the area. “Yes, Guv – the lane from OXO Tower.”

  Pole nodded. “And where is the group of women going to?”

  Andy moves the images forward. “Towards Blackfriars – shall I …?”

  Pole’s phone buzzed. “Yvonne, what have you got for me?” He pulled his notebook from his jacket pocket and scribbled a few words, at an uncomfortable angle.

  “Great news, thanks. I’m with Andy; can I call you back in a couple of minutes?” He ended the call and turned back to Andy.

  “This is what I would like you to do please – track the women back, find out where they came from and how many of them there were when they arrived in the Gardens. How many of them left?”

  Andy was already working the cameras.

  Pole disappeared into his office, already on the phone to Yvonne again.

  “Well done Jonathan Pole.” Yvonne sounded genuinely impressed. “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t think Jihadists wore long hair, even plaited.”

  “You mean you nearly got her?”

  “Nearly is unfortunately the word.”

  “You must tell me more next time we meet.” Yvonne voice was ringing with excitement. “And you’re right, there is a difference in fingerprints between male and female, ridge density is indicative of gender difference. It’s not one hundred per cent but pretty close and is irrespective of origin or race.”

  “So the partial prints you found on the bullets at the Bank of England and in the cab that was driving Marissa are both female?”

  “Spot on. It didn’t cross my mind to check to be honest, since they were only partials, but hey.”

  Pole sat down at his desk, still processing the news. He was amazed.

  “The shooter is a woman.”

  “Don’t be so shocked. Women can be pretty lethal too. I open up cadavers all day.”

  “But at least they are dead, right.”

  Yvonne laughed. “Think about the Peshmerga too.”

  “You mean the Kurdish fighters?”

  “Yes, they are some of the most feared fighters in the region and they are all women. They fought alongside the US marines in Iraq in 2003.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “A story for another time.”

  “Aren’t the Jihadists different? I didn’t think Al-Qaeda used women, not as fighters.”

  Yvonne pondered. “That’s a point. Perhaps they are changing their tactics?”

  “Anyway, thanks for that. It gives me something to go on.”

  Pole ended the call. He was about to go back to Andy with a new set of instructions when he stopped. He stood at the door of his office and reached into his inner jacket pocket for Agent Harris’ burner phone. He took it out and looked at it, considering.

  Ferguson at CT Command would need to know. Harris could not ask him to hold back that information. But Harris had been clear – anything new about the terror cell was to come to him first. Pole swore and closed his door.

  He moved to the window and placed a call to the only number entered in the phone’s speed dial. The reply was almost instantaneous.

  “Pole here. You told me you were working on an Al-Qaeda cell presence in London?”

  Harris simply confirmed.

  “How likely are they, would you say, to use a woman sniper?”

  The silence at the end of the line pleased Pole.

  “What do you mean? A woman?”

  “Chromosomes XX. I’m sure you have heard of them.”

  Pole did not wait for a reply. He gave Harris the details of his discovery. The chase down to Lambeth North, the tracking to Waterloo Station, the long plait of dark hair, the fingerprints. As he spoke Pole could sense a deepening feeling of unease in Harris’ silent attention.

  “Keep me posted, even the smallest details, but particularly if you manage to track her location.”

  “What do you think it means?” Pole asked, doubting he would get an answer.

  “Give me a few hours – if there’s anything important, I’ll let you know.”

  Harris hung up. Pole sat down on the only free chair in his office. He was starting to see where this case was heading and it took the wind out of him. He thought of Nancy with a chill. He could not discuss this latest development with her, a great pity. How was he going to keep her safe without telling her everything?

  Andy knocked at the door, gesturing urgently.

  Pole waved him in.

  “Guv, I know where the women went.”

  Pole would not give Harris a few hours after all.

  * * *

  “Another burner phone,” Henry teased.

  “What do you mean another?” Nancy was still holding the much-coveted device.

  “I seem to recall you lending me something very similar a few months ago.”

  “Certainly not – not the same make or model, and hardly any roaming facility.”

  Henry laughed. It was a happy moment. In this dingy meeting room, situated underground, with prison officers waiting for him outside, all that mattered was that he was allowed time alone with Nancy.

  “They’ve limited the range to Panama?”

  “That was the deal. I tried to call the UK – engaged tone.”

  “No worries. All I need is Panama.” He was still in a good mood. He did not want to think ahead. Just live in the moment: a good cup of coffee, a close friend, possibly even his best friend, and do
ing what he excelled at.

  “I presume you will want to be on your own when you call your contact?” Nancy’s voice was kind.

  “Afraid so, yes. I need to make my contact feel comfortable and I don’t expect he will want to speak to me immediately.”

  “You have an agreed process for this type of …” Nancy was looking for the right words, “emergency contact.”

  “That’s the sum of it.” Henry nodded. He had always appreciated Nancy’s way of asking questions. Soon he would no longer have the benefit of her wisdom. He felt a cold trickle of ice run along his spine and shivered.

  “It’s almost 12pm in London and 7am in Panama. A little too early but not by much though. Another half hour and I’ll make the call.”

  “What makes you think he will talk?”

  “Because he will not want me to give his name and details to the UK police. He wants to stay anon – the John Doe of the Panamanian Legal System.”

  “So what’s next?” Nancy wanted to be clear about Henry’s strategy.

  “I get enough information to enable me to go back through the chain of ownership until I find the UBO.” Henry was rocking slowly on the back legs of his chair, a rhythmic motion that seemed to help him think. “I guess it will be a convoluted business that will eventually lead me to the Middle-East.”

  “Is that the reason why they have pursued Mark and Marissa?” Nancy sat on the chair next to Henry, her legs crossed at the knee. It was an inexplicably seductive pose and Henry could not help but smile. Pole was a lucky bugger.

  “No one knows what that money is used for and I guess someone wants it to stay that way.”

  “Strangely, I don’t feel threatened.” Nancy pouted; it sounded odd, she should.

  “Pole will be looking after you.” A shadow crossed Henry’s face that he hoped Nancy had not noticed. Pole would certainly do his bit but Henry had given an unequivocal message to Kamal. “Whether she is kafir or in your way, do not touch her – otherwise the deal is off.”

  “Do you think the case will go through?” Henry changed the conversation away from the danger zone that emotions always were for him.

  “You’re thinking about the BAE Systems debacle?”