Treasonable Intent

by C Shaw Hilton

  Louise was silent for a moment and then began to speak hurriedly. “That isn’t the end of the bad news. Our threat assessment now points heavily to the use of a weapon by the cell. We have identified the white truck used outside Gloucester. It picked up a shipment from Heathrow five days ago and drove it towards the south-west. Unfortunately we cannot be certain where, but probably the Avon and Somerset area. The shipment is a big wooden packing case, ostensibly machine tools for manufacturing farm machinery. Big enough, with shielding, not to leave a trace for a nuclear weapon. Possibly a dirty bomb. Possibly something more conventional like an air fuel weapon. Too big, we think, to be a nerve agent or biological weapon unless they really intend to wipe out half the country.”

  Alicia looked up. Her tears had begun falling but she retained control in her voice and sense of angry injustice at what had happened. “So they do intend a physical attack on Rose Garden.”

  Louise nodded. Alicia continued “Any idea which site?”

  Louise pursed her lips and furrowed her brow: “The tablet may help but until we have recovered it, the obvious one is Plymouth.”

  Fawzia looked at her earnestly; “Because Plymouth has the Cube and that machine gives the orders? How can that be allowed? Where are the fail safe systems?” She could sense she was displacing her anger on the whole Rose Garden set up, but it felt important to register the point.

  Louise looked indignant. “Of course there are fail safe systems. The target can only be selected and authorised by the Prime Minister. The two senior officers in the cube centre can pause any commands for review if they seem flawed or inappropriate. The centre at Corsham can halt an operation if it feels it is unjustified. That’s three sets of humans in the command chain.”

  Fawzia wasn’t that reassured but she was also anxious to embark on the helicopter to chase down her attackers on Exmoor. Alicia simply nodded.

  Louise became instructive. “Major you need to recover the tablet. Ma’am I could do with your help on reviewing our intelligence with the Brigadier before the next National Security Council meeting. We can then assess what steps we need to take but our priority must be finding this weapon before it can be used.”

  The major stood up. “I’ll get underway. I still don’t understand what blowing up the Cube would achieve for Benning. Something tells me they are after something else.” Louise just shrugged so, with a brief nod to the two of them, Fawzia headed out to the helicopter pad. There was a renewed urgency in her stride as she joined the assault team tasked with recovering her kit and capturing the attackers.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Kirstin Stamm had the unfortunate task of breaking the news to Fatima. “I’m afraid I can’t raise Nia Williams. I’ve tried the phones of Smith and Makele. No answer. No response to a coded message on text or e-mail. I have to conclude they may have been captured by the intelligence services.”

  Fatima Ali didn’t take either disappointment or failure well. She snorted in derision as if Stamm had concocted the whole story. “You have to conclude? There are many reasons they could have gone dark!” She glared at the young woman who simply stared back without emotion. “Well, as you have nothing else to offer I suggest you unpack the rest of our equipment!” Kirstin didn’t need to be asked twice to go elsewhere. She was beginning to loath the woman but was equally not going to try and take her on. She headed into the hall to grab the holdalls and steel cases.

  Fatima went in search of Daniel Walsh. He was in the front bedroom, which had been turned into a study. On the desk was Fawzia’s tablet linked to a tall, black stack of fileservers, connected in turn to a notebook and flat screen monitor. To his side were three open suitcases containing more computer hardware which hummed and glowed with a whiff of hot metal and audible squeaks as it crunched through the programmes. “Any progress?” she asked.

  He turned from the screen which was filled with flashing images of retina scans. “Some…” he paused as one image froze and lines of code ran across the screen before moving on three seconds later. “As you can see it is still rather laborious. Pity the Major didn’t leave her phone as well.”

  Fatima looked at the screen. “What are these?”

  Daniel tapped a few keys in front of him. The images sped up. “They are retina scans. We have tried to hack JCW Unit records, we have tagged any photographs on the net that feature the major to see if we can enhance them to that level. We have used a genetic map to identify records of near relatives… that drew a blank…anyhow our friends in the Ministry have passed on our request and TwoBitz are working on hacking past the authorisation system. “

  Fatima nodded. “Timescale?”

  Daniel shrugged. “Hard to say. I think conventional retina work might take days. However the team in Shanghai are pretty sharp on this stuff and have done a lot of recent work on micro molecular codes, ironically with the Americans and British. I think we are talking about hours…but how many I can’t say.”

  “Well you know the timescale. We are not in a position to delay. By 10.00pm this evening we have to be packed up and away.” Fatima left without elaboration. Daniel simply turned back to the screen. Little did he know that above him, his transmission stream to Shanghai had pinpointed their location to a watching British satellite. At GCHQ they were already working on decoding the messages and had identified the type of encryption as Chinese military. It was a stupid mistake to make and it offered confirmation of the location of the cell. A Sikorsky helicopter with sixteen members of the elite “Dark Squadron” and Major Wilkins were thundering towards them. On the ground the few country roads that passed through the area were suddenly a little busier than normal, as unmarked police cars took up position at every junction.

  Padraig had finished making sandwiches and coffees in the kitchen. “Grub up” he shouted. His own line of action had passed to Daniel once they couldn’t raise Nia Williams. He had busied himself with the domestics and now came through to see the pile of cases and holdalls being opened in the living room by Kirstin. He put down the tray of coffee mugs and went over to the first bag. Pulling the zipper he could see the guns and explosives packed amongst the boxes of ammunition. “Expecting a war?” he asked. Kirsten simply looked at him and said emphatically “Yes we are.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The National Security Council meeting took place in the Cabinet Office briefing room at 8.00pm. Those present included the Prime Minister and the Home Secretary along with Dame Maude and Sir Alistair. Four colleagues including Brigadier Fielding and Alicia were linked by video.

  The opening briefing was presented by Dame Maude although she had little to do with its preparation. Most of the detail had been marshalled by Louise at GCHQ. Sir Alistair was confined to updating on the formation of his special investigation team. The Head of Special Events reported on the hunt for Neville Benning and broke the news that he had been positively identified in Castleford in the company of three others. His officers were tracking an RV currently parked in Birch Services on the M62 outside Manchester.

  The Prime Minister had listened intently throughout. All eyes now turned to her as she finished writing notes on a paper pad. She carefully placed her pen down and clasped her hands together. “Thank you colleagues. I get a sense that we have begun to get a grip on this but the increased likelihood that they have a weapon of mass destruction is frightening.”

  Dame Maude inwardly smiled at the implied slight to her predecessor but maintained a grave expression.

  The PM continued; “Unfortunately we are still unsure about the aim of this increasingly elaborate plot. I would like you to concentrate your thinking on that so that we can act decisively against these people and whoever is behind them. Getting hold of this weapon will be easier if we are clearer about their intentions.” She looked around waiting for someone to respond.

  The first voice came from the audio speaker in the middle of the table. It was the Head of MI6. “I take it that we have now abandoned the approach of keeping t
he terrorists under surveillance in order to reveal their intentions.”

  The Home Secretary almost choked as she spat out the inevitable, “Yes we have. As soon as we catch up with them they are to be arrested and detained for immediate interrogation. I have instructed our teams in Manchester to apprehend Benning, once everyone is in place.”

  The Prime Minister thoughtfully added: “We will of course, be observing the rights of anyone held in detention.” There were several nods, notably not from Sir Alistair.

  It was the Metropolitan Police Commissioner who spoke next and then the Head of the Cyber Defence Centre. Both were worried that the focus on Rose Garden might cause people to overlook the significant value of the Centre as a terrorist target. Others joined in a largely speculative discussion of likely targets. Gradually, as points ebbed and flowed across the table it became obvious that the Prime Minister was losing interest. Sir Alistair chose his moment to recapture her attention.

  Speaking carefully and clearly, he conveyed a degree of certainty that the others had avoided. “The target is Rose Garden. The terrorist suspects are all positioned in the West Country within reach of the three key sites. Benning’s ring of traitors are all attached to his campaign against Rose Garden so that we know their motive. Our investigation of the activities of Lansing confirm the Chinese link and we know that the technology behind Rose Garden is a big development area for the PLA. That gives them the motive to finance and resource this plot through proxy agents.” He paused as much to gauge the reaction, as for effect. He had their complete attention.

  “A physical assault is, frankly, a suicide mission to little purpose. The Chinese would not countenance doing anything that could be taken as an act of war, so we can discount a nuclear, biological or chemical attack on these sites. I believe the idea of a weapon is a ruse. Another distraction for us to waste our energy on. That leaves us with something that exploits the technology itself, to either destroy or steal it. They may have already used Major Wilkins tablet to access the system from inside its cyber defences, although as yet we think their malware is dormant. I believe the aim is a cyber-theft of the Rose Garden technology, hidden behind a smokescreen of making it more publically accountable.”

  There were questions and a few rhetorical remarks but it was apparent the meeting was convinced. Even Dame Maude acknowledged the bold logic behind his analysis.

  The Prime Minister wrote more notes before interrupting the contributions. “I don’t hear anyone challenging that view. On that basis what should we do next?”

  The Brigadier spoke as if reading from a list. “All three sites are going through their systems to check if they have been infiltrated. The Dark Squadron and Major Wilkins are in the process of recovering and activating the tablet and detaining the cell on Exmoor. The RV being used by Benning is under surveillance. The occupants are in the cafeteria in the service station. In a few minutes the backup teams will be in place. In total thirty police and security officers will be on site to arrest them.” He paused for a sip of water from the glass in front of him. “There remain two gaps. The terrorist cell with the white truck have gone to ground. We have a massive operation in place searching for them but unless they try to move the truck, it is going to be a proverbial needle in a haystack. The other gap is Olsson. He took the Range Rover hired seven days ago by the agent Smith. We have him tracked as far as the village of Woodstock in Oxfordshire. He then abandoned it in a pub car park and disappeared. We have an arrest warrant out for him on suspicion of murdering six people. I’d welcome any other suggestions.” There were none. The discussion moved on to constructing a communications and media strategy and on reporting to key stakeholders including NATO. Half an hour later the meeting broke up, pledged to reconvene at 8am the following morning.

  Chapter Thirty

  The snap of the twig had been distinct. It was just after 9pm and darkness had fallen across the moors. Fawzia had decided to take position in a derelict barn. From there she could observe the cottage some 100 metres away up the gravel track. Now she sensed someone or something was circling through the trees and approaching around the back of the building. She quietly slid the safety off her pistol. The gap under the rear wooden panels afforded a clearer view of the track and she slid onto her stomach and peered underneath. For a minute she could see nothing and then slowly a dark figure detached itself from the trees and squatted by the low wall giving two flashes of a small hand torch.

  “Come on in Bob,” said Fawzia opening the door, “Nice touch with the twig.”

  “Can’t be sneaking up on you as a complete surprise,” came a Scottish accent in reply, “You might do me an injury.”

  Captain Bob Christie of the Dark Squadron was clad in all black fatigues and had a black hood and night goggles on. He held a torch in one gloved hand and in the other a C8 Carbine. On his back was a large rucksack and over his shoulder he carried a spare rifle. His fifteen troops were part of an elite unit attached to the military intelligence corps and based with the Special Reconnaissance Regiment. Uniquely drawn from special forces across the NATO alliance it could determine its own rules of engagement and was designed to operate at times of clear and immediate danger to the democracy of the United Kingdom. They were an elite within an elite and unlisted on official records.

  “Your men are in position?” asked Fawzia.

  “All set and ready to go,” was the Scot’s response. “Just waiting on your command.”

  “And the helicopter?” she asked.

  “It’s in place,” replied Bob, “but it will take four minutes to get it airborne if we need it.”

  The Captain slung the rucksack off his back and opened it up. “Stun grenades and spare ammunition plus ghost suits,” he declared, fetching out the contents. Each item was laid out on the plastic sheet which Fawzia had spread over the floor of the barn. “I brought another C8 if you want it? I take it the brass want you to keep out of the action but knowing you I thought I’d make the offer.” He smiled. She had served with him in Afghanistan and the two had been through some tough situations together.

  Fawzia took the rifle and out of habit, checked the 30 round magazine and action. “Lovely,” she said. “This is new ammunition you are testing?”

  Bob grimaced; “We are always testing new ammunition. Trouble is no one is ever happy because they want different things. This month its American ammo with heavier stopping power, next month it will be German with lighter and more accurate loads. Fortunately we still get to choose which one when the test ends.”

  Fawzia smiled. “I admire your candour.”

  Bob shook his head. Years of training to become one of the best tactical assault teams in the world and yet they were still dogged by bureaucrats trying to interfere in operational matters such as their basic equipment. He looked up from his weapon: “So how shall we do this?”

  “Okay, it goes like this,” She spoke in almost a whisper, “We need to get the tablet and not allow them to damage or destroy it. If that means killing them all, so be it. However to capture one or more would be a real prize.”

  Bob thought for a minute. “The team are pretty sure there are four of them in there. Looks like two women and two men?”

  Fawzia pursed her lips: “They seem unaware they have been tagged.”

  Bob smiled knowingly, “More fool them”.

  “Okay,” said Fawzia.” Let’s get this show on the road. We will suit up and strike the cottage in ten minutes.”

  They changed into their ghost suits. The textile fabric had a thin metallic overlay and was designed to render the wearer virtually invisible to infra-red detection by thermal image technology. Both put on night vision goggles, radio headsets and began to prepare for the assault. Walking in the dark they set off avoiding the trip wires linked to the stun grenades that Padraig and Kirstin had spent the evening setting out. The hope was that they could smash through the bi-fold patio doors at the back of the property having already placed plastic charges around them.
They planned to enter into the open plan kitchen just after stun grenades went into every window and through the door at the front of the house.

  The last minutes passed agonisingly slowly. Bob gave the final instructions through his throat microphone and heard confirmations in his earpiece. It was getting cold and a shiver ran down Fawzia’s spine. With the limited cloud cover she was glad it was only a new moon. It was 9.15 when she saw four soldiers moving through the field, parallel to the farm track. She whispered into her throat microphone, “Game on.”

  Seconds later there were blinding flashes at the front of the cottage as it was struck by the grenades. Then for two seconds nothing. No wild shooting or shouts. No sudden movements. “Very professional”, she thought.

  What happened next seemed to last for over a minute but, in fact, it was less than twenty seconds. The whole rear of the cottage was illuminated by the plastic explosive charges as the patio doors disintegrated and glass filled the air. Fawzia could see two figures inside with their hands clutching their ears. Bob was joined by four others from his team who emerged from the shadows and ran with him towards the cottage. She hung back as instructed. Bob fired his rifle twice and the nearest figure spun in the air before collapsing with a scream onto the ground. To his right the remaining terrorist in the kitchen started firing an assault rifle in his direction. Bob threw himself on the ground. The figure was advancing on him, firing continuously. Fawzia jumped up from her observation point by the side of the cottage and fired four head shots. Automatic fire seemed to spray everywhere. Then the terrorist fell to the ground, as if in slow motion, and pitched face forward into the pile of broken glass and stone at the edge of the patio.

  Silence fell again. Fawzia could see Bob up and moving with his men through the shattered kitchen. The squirming figure on the floor was pounced on and dragged out by two of them who began securing hands and feet. Shots suddenly rang out from the upper floor.