No Turning Back

by Freddie P Peters

  The Home Secretary set the scene and the squabbling started immediately. Pole observed the people around the table. Ferguson and his boss were facing MI6. Marsh had positioned himself a little off-centre but on Ferguson’s side. Pole found himself relegated far out, a place he felt comfortable with.

  “What do you mean, your asset is irreplaceable?”

  “Commander Ferguson,” the lean-looking man interrupted. “Infiltrating these cells is not easy. You know that as well as I do, so yes, our asset is irreplaceable.”

  “This cell is posing an imminent threat to the public,” Ferguson’s boss cut in. “We need to take them down now.”

  “I would agree if my undercover officer was warning me of an imminent strike, but his very reliable intelligence does not say that there is one planned.”

  “Nothing planned. How about the attempted murder of a key witness and a prosecutor in a high-profile case?”

  “You’ve done a pretty good job so far of stopping them.” There was a hint of humour in the thin man’s voice.

  “This is preposterous. We need to see your intel now.” Ferguson had raised his voice.

  “I can’t comment in the interest —”

  “Don’t give me that crap,” Ferguson growled. “You’re not the only one defending national security.”

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” the Home Secretary had raised her hands to calm the situation down. “This is not helpful.”

  “We are monitoring them closely. We will know if they try something else. In the meantime this operation has given us the opportunity to discover more about what we believe is a new terrorist organisation.”

  “You mean a new cell in London? We know that already.” Ferguson’s face only showed contempt.

  “I don’t think you heard me right, Commander. I said organisation not operation.”

  The room fell silent. Marsh looked at Pole, then at the Home Secretary. Ferguson and his boss exchanged a surprised look.

  The Middle-Eastern looking MI6 agent took over.

  “We still don’t know whether this is a splinter cell and new offshoot of Al-Qaeda but we are seeing fresh movement on social media, a new way of talking about the Jihad, more aggressive, more ambitious.”

  “And you think they are in the UK? Why?” Ferguson’s boss’s voice showed genuine interest and doubt too. This was far too big to ignore or rebuff.

  “The tactics for recruitment are different. They are prepared to recruit outside the traditional Muslim community.”

  “Can you substantiate that?”

  Both agents remained silent.

  “What do you need CT Command to do? Sit on our hands?”

  The Home Secretary intervened before anybody started arguing again.

  “You need to hold back until we position our asset. After that they are all yours,” the thin man said.

  “And dispose of them, which is what CT Command will do.” The Home Secretary left no room for argument. Ferguson and his boss exchanged angry looks.

  The MI6 agents savoured their victory.

  Marsh had not opened his mouth until this point, a wise move Pole had to admit.

  “How can the Met help?”

  “Let us have what you’ve got so far and we can all be on the same page.” The lean man had turned towards Marsh and Pole.

  Marsh turned to Pole. “And what do you think?”

  Seven pairs of eyes started scrutinising Pole. For a split second he felt like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

  “Perhaps you can liaise with Inspector Pole and keep me in the loop?” Marsh said irritated at Pole’s lack of an immediate reply.

  Pole simply nodded an “Of course”. They know already and they know I know. Pole caught the eye of the Middle-Eastern agent. The message had been received. A few moments to agree contact points and updates then people disappeared. The Home Secretary left first. She did not want to be cornered by anyone.

  Before they separated Ferguson’s boss turned towards Marsh. “I’d like to know how MI6 got wind of our operation so quickly.”

  Marsh shrugged it off. “That’s their job.”

  “Going home?” Marsh asked Pole as they were walking out of the Home Office.

  “Not yet, Sir. Going back to the Yard – a few things to tidy up.”

  “Right.” Marsh stood for a moment on the pavement. “You were very quiet in there.”

  “It’s really not my scene,” was the best Pole could think of.

  Marsh eyed Pole. “Ferguson’s right, of course. How did MI6 get hold of the information?”

  Pole raised his shoulders, hailed a cab and disappeared.

  * * *

  The smell of bacon made Henry’s mouth water. He did not take his eyes off the monitors. It was almost too good to believe. He had already started work on his Bloomberg screens. Pole was at his side in three long strides.

  “Morning Inspector. Peace offering?” Henry nodded towards the bacon sandwich wrapped up in greasy paper. Henry had almost forgiven Pole for being his MI6 go-between. He had pondered long and hard over the choice and had to admit Pole was the ideal candidate.

  Outsmarted. How annoying.

  “Morning Henry.” Pole handed Henry his breakfast. He took his usual position, half sitting, half leaning against the makeshift desk. He looked tired and perhaps nervous.

  Henry waited for an update.

  “What’s new on the market?”

  Henry cocked his head. “Really, Inspector. You’re not going to ask for my advice, are you?

  “Hey, I too have a pension.”

  “Equities. And more equities, in the US in particular. They are heading up for a new bull run and don’t be scared about the odd market retreat.” Henry grinned.

  Pole nodded. “Sounds good.” He put down his own coffee and took a longer look at Henry. “Any news at your end?”

  “What do you mean?” Henry was genuinely puzzled until the penny dropped.

  “You mean?”

  “That’s right.”

  Henry’s face grew serious. It was true; he had not had direct contact with Kamal and the current regime imposed by Belmarsh made it difficult for him to see any inmate.

  “Nothing. I am not allowed to join the others, even for dinner, and I leave before breakfast.”

  “But I am sure there are ways of communicating.”

  Henry remained silent. He recalled the message he had received two days ago.

  “Something springs to mind?” Pole kept prodding.

  “Not really. The food is as bland as ever although they have not thought of poisoning me yet.”

  “That’s the Bolsheviks, Henry, not Jihadists. They prefer the knife.”

  “I know but, hey, the Irish like the knife too.”

  Pole withstood the punch. Henry regretted throwing it as soon as it was said.

  “Where is Nancy?” Henry asked. He could do with someone to smooth the conversation between him and Pole.

  “She’ll be in soon.”

  Surely Pole could be more forthcoming.

  “When are you calling your contact again?”

  “I’ll try at 8pm this evening. It’s more likely the answer will come later though, but I’ll try.”

  “You’re sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “I know you think I’m an arrogant prick but yes, I am sure. I know too much about him so he has no choice.”

  A rhythmic knock at the door made them both turn their heads at the same time. Nancy’s elegant silhouette appeared in the doorway. They were all smiles.

  “Messieurs, I’m glad not to be walking into a match of fisticuffs.”

  “Never,” Pole and Henry chimed together.

  “Good news. The Super has decided that in the interests of the enquiry, ha ha, the SFO case being so high-pr
ofile etc etc, he will ask the Belmarsh governor and the Home Office to let you, Henry, stay at The Yard until midnight today.”

  “You’re the best.” Henry stood up but stayed back a little. Pole was in the way. He moved graciously back. Henry landed a small kiss on Nancy’s cheek, almost shy.

  “Marsh sounded a little frazzled, Jonathan. He gave me all I wanted with hardly any need to convince him.”

  Pole’s face managed to convey astonishment. Both Henry and Nancy were waiting for specifics. But he moved his hand vaguely – a no-idea gesture that failed to convince.

  “Shall we see where we’ve got to?” Nancy changed the subject.

  “Sure.” Henry called up a few documents he had saved in a protected folder specially created for him. “Aren’t we waiting for Marissa?”

  Nancy avoided looking at Pole. “She’s coming later.”

  Henry called up on screen a complex diagram showing all the layers of companies, trusts, foundations and partnerships that had accumulated, one on top of another. Panama to start with, then a trip around the world of tax havens and finally a box with a large question mark, the Ultimate Beneficial Owner. No matter how complex a structure was, and this one could have won a prize, there had to be an individual or individuals involved at the end of the chain.

  Nancy looked at the different boxes stacked together and colour coded to indicate the type of legal relationships they had. She was suitably impressed, certainly with the structure itself, but also with Henry’s grasp of the legalities surrounding the chain of ownership in this maze of international arrangements.

  “I too was a lawyer once, remember.” Henry smiled his naughty-yet-clever-boy smile.

  “Of course, Chase and Case. Was law not interesting enough for you?”

  “I was an Irish boy working in a very closed shop environment. They may eventually have made me partner but it would have been long after all my peers and I was too good at structured products to wait that long.”

  Pole moved to Henry’s side to look at the diagram as well. Henry nodded his approval. Pole had remembered that he did not like anyone standing at the back of his chair, a remnant from his days on the trading floor during which the head of investment banking would prowl the floor in search of a victim.

  “I’m still puzzled. How could compliance at HXBK let this go through?” Pole asked.

  “Because there was a disconnect. Some senior people, close to the Ultimate Beneficial Owner, did the review of the structure.”

  “If the UBO is linked to the state that bought shares in HXBK to support their capital during the 2008 crisis, then that is a problem. Circular transactions of that type are illegal.” Henry tapped the screen where the empty box lay.

  “My other question is what is this money being used for?” Nancy said.

  “Exactly. That should have worried the senior management.”

  “They are too keen to do business with the big oil producers,” Henry replied to Pole.

  “Your guy will tell us who the UBO is?” Pole still sounded dubious.

  “Yup. And he will tell me how we can track him down, too.” Henry crossed his arms behind his head and stretched his long legs underneath the table. He loved this. It was almost as thrilling as concluding some of the ridiculously large transactions he had the reputation of closing in his previous career.

  Almost.

  Unfortunately, in a few hours time, instead of celebrating his success in an expensive restaurant, guzzling vintage champagne, Henry would be heading back to Belmarsh.

  But just now, sitting between Nancy and Pole, Henry was enjoying the moment.

  Pole’s BlackBerry rang. He frowned, gestured an apology and walked out of the room. Henry relaxed a notch. It was good to be alone with Nancy.

  “What’s going through that great mind of yours?” Nancy turned on her chair to look at Henry.

  “I’m simply enjoying the chase.” Henry sounded playful.

  Nancy moved her hand to the side of her neck and rested her elbow on the back of the chair.

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  Henry sat at his screens looking away from her. Please let it not be the letter.

  “Nancy, you may not believe it, but I have learned to live for the moment and I am enjoying this particular one.”

  Nancy let it go. She was preparing a difficult question. Henry prayed again, please let it not be the letter.

  “I know you are expecting me to ask a difficult question.”

  “If it’s about that stupid letter?”

  “It’s not. It’s an unusual request.”

  Henry turned to face her. What could be so unexpected that he had not thought about it already?

  “Mark Phelps would like to meet you.”

  The bolt of fire that punched him in the gut drew a small intake of breath from Henry. Lost for words, Henry stared at Nancy. The sudden numbness in his limbs became unbearable.

  Henry opened his mouth, unsuccessfully. Was it a joke? Was Mark Phelps insane?

  Nancy let him be. She gave Henry space to understand the request was real. She got up, poured two glasses of water and handed one to Henry. He finished the glass in a couple of gulps.

  “Is this why – I’m not?” Henry closed his eyes, fighting back tears he thought he no longer had.

  “He needs to understand, to find some peace – and in order to carry on with the case, this is his request.”

  Henry dropped his head in his hands. He stayed silent for a while.

  “What can I say that will make a difference? That I’m a bastard of a terrorist, that I regret what I did?” Henry’s voice oscillated between pain and anger.

  He stood up, walked to the wall. He spread his hands over it, his forehead resting against its cold surface; he was fighting emotions, despair and …

  Shame.

  “And if I say no?” Henry spoke, still facing the wall.

  “He will almost certainly no longer be a witness in the case.”

  Henry turned his head slowly.

  “Does he want to …?” Henry was searching for the word.

  “I don’t think he wants to make you feel …” Nancy tried to find the word Henry was looking for. “Inhumane. He is not that sort of person.” Nancy had stood up as well. He felt her move in his direction. But he did not want to be approached. He moved to another corner of the room.

  “Let him, then. Let him tell me what a monster I have been. Yes, let him.”

  Nancy froze. Her kind eyes were on him, trying to soothe his torment.

  “You know this isn’t true. You are not a monster.”

  “To you Nancy perhaps, but others – and who could blame them?”

  Nancy was about to continue but Henry lifted a hand.

  “We don’t need to speak about this any longer. I will see him. Please go and tell him.”

  He needed to be on his own to prepare for what would be the most difficult conversation of his life.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The underpass smelt of urine and rotting food. Pole looked at his watch again. He had arrived a little early. He kicked a beer can that lay on the ground, the sound of it rolling on the rough asphalt reverberated along the walls. Almost too loud to bear.

  Hurried footsteps were coming his way, a man’s shoes. Pole was on his guard. Agent Harris turned the corner and broke into a slow jog.

  “Ferguson’s boss is wreaking havoc at the Home Office,” he chuckled.

  “You’re not concerned?”

  “Nope. What we’ve got is too big.”

  “I suppose it is.”

  “You spoke to Crowne?”

  Pole’s jaw clenched. He nodded.

  “Anything I should be aware of?”

  “Such as?”

  “Change of mind, change of mood – tr
ying to contact other people in the old IRA world.”

  “I am his go-between, not his confidante.”

  “But you’re talking to him to find out, right?”

  “As much as I can; it’s not my job to snoop.”

  Harris gave Pole a broad smile. He unwrapped a piece of chewing gum and popped it into his mouth. “Trying to stop smoking.” He kept grinning.

  “Is that it?” Pole looked at his watch again. He could not be away for long in the middle of this political minefield.

  “Got a message for Crowne.” Harris grew serious. His beady brown eyes darkened. It was time to do proper MI6 business.

  “My source tells me that it will happen in the next twenty-four hours.”

  “What if we don’t get the information we need to keep bringing him back to the Yard?”

  Harris shrugged. “Find a way.”

  Pole took a step closer to Harris. That was not the deal as he understood it. Harris carried on chewing his gum. Even in the shadow of a towering Pole he was relaxed.

  “I know it’s going to piss you and a lot of other people off but things are in motion and I don’t decide on the timing. I can only give you the heads-up.”

  Harris was right but Pole stayed close for a moment longer, restraining the urge to stick his fist into the other man’s face.

  “Would do you little good, Inspector. It’s not me you need to slam, is it?”

  Pole pulled back.

  “You and Ferguson will get the cell but first we need to let them do what they are planning to do with Crowne.”

  “People are going to get hurt,” Pole snapped.

  “We’ll try to minimise that.”

  “How?”

  “My problem, not yours.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “But it will have to do. You and I know what we’ve got is too big for it not to go through.”

  “What if Ferguson finds out?”

  “Why would he?” Harris had stopped chewing his gum and his eyes drilled into Pole – don’t even think about it.