The Maggie Bainbridge Box Set

by Rob Wyllie

  'We're running both family recognition and cell synchronisation here. What you see is the number of any mobile device they're carrying, and if they are likely to be related to our reference subject. Red border and a low percentage says they are not. That will be most of the subjects here of course.'

  Maggie's eyes widened with astonishment. 'So Eleanor, are you saying that this can pick out whether any of these people are related to Khan? That's mental.'

  'Yeah, exactly, like why not? Family members usually share some likeness, don't they? Three-point-four just turns their facial characteristics into data to make a digital match possible.'

  'Bloody hell, look at this one.' Jimmy was pointing at a woman who had just entered the scene. 'She's got a green box above her head.'

  'Green, yeah, that's a match. Awesome. That's a score of twenty-seven percent. Could be a cousin, looking at the age of her.'

  'Christ's sake, this is scary and incredible at the same time,' Frank said. 'It's like bloody big brother, and I don't mean the TV show.'

  'This is big brother two-point-zero,' Eleanor said. 'Awesome, isn't it? Like I said, your Dr Khan is one clever dude.'

  At that moment, an older man wearing traditional Pakistani dress wandered into view. Suddenly Maggie blurted out 'The mosque. The mosque.'

  'What?' Frank said.

  Maggie's voice was crackling with excitement. 'Eleanor, can we see the location of any mosques in the area?'

  'Yeah, 'course.' She punched an instruction in to the keyboard and a large-scale map of Blackburn town centre appeared. 'There we go, Blackburn Central Mosque on Mary Street.'

  'Can we see it on CCTV?'

  'Sure. These green dots, they're cameras hooked up to the national online CCTV network. Red ones are stand-alone. We can still get the footage but we need to ask for the DVD.' She clicked on the green dot nearest the mosque and instantly the building came into view.

  'Live?' Maggie asked. 'I mean, pseudo live?'

  'Yep. Look, trees swaying in the breeze.'

  Frank could see Maggie's mind was working overtime.

  'What are you thinking?' he asked.

  Her eyes were blazing with excitement as the words tumbled out in a torrent. 'Listen to this guys, see what you think. So tomorrow's Friday. That's when the males of the local Muslim community will gather in the mosque for prayers. I'm right, aren't I?'

  'Friday prayers, that's right,' Jimmy said.

  'So what if we run three-point-four tomorrow on that camera before and after Friday prayers? I guess it's a long shot, but we might be able to find at least one or two of Dr Khan's relatives, maybe more if we are lucky. Because I think if he's hiding in the area, it's pretty likely that someone in his family will be helping him. We get their phone numbers, give them a call out of the blue, and one of them might panic and spill the beans. What do you think?'

  'You know what,' Jimmy said, speaking slowly. 'I think this might just work. Definitely worth a shot.'

  Frank anticipated that Eleanor might object to the scheme if the proper procedures weren't followed. Deadpan he said, 'Aye, it's a great idea, but I'll need to run it passed DCI Smart first. She'll probably have to get a warrant or something from a judge. But I'll sort it before tomorrow.'

  It seemed to satisfy her.

  'Yeah, awesome, I'll set it up. Sweet.'

  Now they had a plan.

  ◆◆◆

  Up until now Plan B had been executed flawlessly, but this situation had now become very concerning. Khan had always been at the epicentre of the whole affair, so it was obvious in hindsight that he should have been taken out right at the start. Instead, they had waited to see how events unfolded, and now he had gone into hiding. Inconvenient, to say the least. He was proving to be a very clever guy, and for three and a half weeks he had outsmarted them. But no matter, they were playing the long game. Mrs Khan loved her husband and he loved her, and eventually they would be able to bear the agony of separation no longer. Chances are they had equipped themselves with burner phones, and sooner or later Mrs Khan would be compelled to switch hers on so that she could hear her husband's sweet voice once more. Or maybe drive to a remote pay-phone and call him from there.

  An asset had been stationed such that movements into and out of the Khan's modest semi could be monitored. It was a bonus that the police seemed to be taking the threat to Mrs Khan less seriously than they perhaps should. This kind of thing didn't normally happen in Gloucestershire, and they didn't like the fact that it was disturbing their routine. So it was that whilst their chief constable had promised the Met twenty-four-hour surveillance, in reality there was a half-hour gap in the schedule around five-thirty when the afternoon shift knocked off. The asset had observed that most times, the evening shift didn't turn up to about six o'clock, sometimes more like six-thirty. Sloppy.

  Naturally the distinguished member had been both pleased and relieved to get the message that finally the target was on the move. One afternoon, Mrs Khan had waited until the surveillance officer had been gone a few minutes before slipping into the family Corsa and racing off. Soon she had joined the Tewkesbury Road heading north-east, the asset, name of Kareem, following undetected three or four cars behind. After four miles, she had swung left onto a minor road that headed towards the Coombe Hill canal and in a few hundred yards pulled up onto a grass verge. With his powerful binoculars Kareem had maintained observation from a safe distance, simultaneously booting up the portable Scanner-Pro cell phone detector to ensure he was ready. He hadn't had long to wait.

  Blackburn, Lancashire. That was going to be a nice day out.

  Chapter 31

  The operation was scheduled to launch around eleven thirty that day. Not only had Jill Smart given her approval, but she had signed off the requisition to allow Frank to drive to Blackburn the previous evening and check into a faceless business hotel on the ring-road. Jimmy and Maggie were there too and in separate rooms, but not on the public purse, although they had suffered the four-hour drive north with him in the Mondeo. Back at Atlee House, Eleanor Campbell was all geared up to run three-point-four's awesome search capabilities.

  A team from Lancashire Constabulary's anti-terrorist response squad had been rounded up into a brightly-lit conference room, where they were now listening to the incident commander giving his briefing. Maggie and Jimmy sat quietly at the back, being introduced by Frank as psychological profilers seconded to the case. The commander had accepted the explanation without comment. He probably thought every cop in the Met travelled with at least one of them.

  'Guys, this is DI Frank Stewart from the Met. Department 12B isn't that right Frank? Best not to ask what goes on in that unit, I'd imagine,' he joked. If only he knew.

  Frank got to his feet and smiled at the room. 'Thanks Commander. So, to cut to the chase, our profilers here think there's a good chance that our Dr Khan could be hiding in perfect sight right here in Blackburn. But as you guys know, conventional enquiries have got us nowhere. We've talked to his wife, we've talked to his father, we've talked to his known associates and got nowhere. Everybody's doing a good job of keeping schtum, but we still think it's likely that he's being helped by a family member, maybe a cousin or someone who's not on our radar. So this is where this stuff comes in.' He pointed to the large screen behind him which was displaying the video feed from the mosque. 'Back in the smoke, we're running some new real-time surveillance technology which hopefully can tell us if any of the attendees at Friday prayers are related to him in any way. We will also get their mobile numbers if they are carrying a device, which of course is highly likely.'

  The expressionless faces around the room betrayed their scepticism, but up on the screen a few early worshippers had wandered into shot, their heads trailed by a red box filled with numbers. 'You see, red says these guys aren't related to Khan, but for most of them, we are getting a mobile number. So what do you think to that, eh? Awesome.' It was fast becoming his favourite word. On screen, they saw a member of the public stop,
take out his mobile and stare at it, in the way you did when you did not recognise the incoming number. Tentatively, he raised it to his ear. 'He-llo?' The distorted voice echoed around the conference room. A young detective shook his phone in the air and laughed. 'Whoa, this stuff really works.'

  'Told you,' Frank said. 'So, we just sit, watch and take notes. Can't say I'm confident, but you never know.' As twelve o'clock neared, the street in front of the mosque became increasingly busy. Many worshippers were dropped off directly outside, their faces invisible to the CCTV, and many more came from the direction of town such that their backs were to the camera. Soon the last few stragglers were making their way up to the front door, but still they had registered no positives.

  'Let's not get too despondent folks,' Frank said. 'We'll have a much better chance to clock them on the way out.' An hour or so later, members of the flock began to emerge. Red, red, red, red, red. Every box was red. 'Doesn't mean it's not working, just hasn't registered a match yet.' They all hoped to god it was true.

  A grizzled DC who looked at least ten years past retirement age piped up. 'This is a friggin' waste of time. I don't know why we don't just send a team up there and question everyone as they're leaving.' The younger woman DC sitting beside him voiced what everyone was thinking. 'Genius John. That would be brilliant for community relations. A squad of coppers swarming all over the mosque.'

  'Let's just be patient,' said another, 'not even half of them have left yet.' More than three-quarters of an hour later, there were still no matches. You could almost taste the mood of despondency that seeped through the room, tinged with no little schadenfreude. 'Load of shite, I knew it was,' DC Grizzle said, not quite under his breath. 'Met wankers, they're all the same.' Frank decided to let it pass. This time. The commander was more diplomatic, but it was obvious he shared the opinion of his outspoken colleague. His manner was condescending.

  'A bit of a waste of time I'm afraid Frank. We rely too much on new technology these days in my opinion.'

  'What, like DNA profiling and CCTV and mobile call records sir? Aye, bring back old-fashioned policing, magnifying glasses, bobbies on the beat, all that stuff.' His bitterness was driven by disappointment, but even he recognised he might have gone too far. 'Sorry sir, I didn't mean to be disrespectful.' Although he did.

  'Ok, I think we're done here,' the commander said sharply. 'Now if you don't mind, could you take your... your profilers or whatever they are and let us have our conference room back. You should be able to find a couple of desks in the general office if you have more work to do.'

  'Thank you sir.' He beckoned to Jimmy and Maggie to follow him. No way was he going to face the scorn that would be heaped upon them in that cauldron of naysayers. Technology? They'd only just got colour telly up here.

  'Starbucks is it?' Maggie said.

  'Pub more like. Come on guys.' Jimmy gave a thumbs up and followed them to the front door.

  The pub was dull and depressing, and deserted too, a function as much of local financial deprivation as to it being three-fifteen in the afternoon. In the corner, a large TV blared out Sky Sports News. Jimmy had just got to the bar when his phone rang.

  'Hi Eleanor, nice to hear from you.'

  Frank pulled a face. 'Eleanor? Why's she calling you?'

  Jimmy shrugged and covered an ear with his cupped palm. It was apparent he was having difficulty hearing her above the din of the television. 'Sorry Eleanor, you need to say that again. Frank, can you get them to turn that bloody thing down.' There was no-one serving. Frank banged his fists on the bar and bellowed 'Service!' Eventually a bored-looking barmaid appeared, chewing gum.

  'What can I get you?'

  'Maybe you could turn that thing down.'

  'The customers like it,' she said, unsmiling.

  'Sorry love but we're the customers and we don't.' Reluctantly the barmaid picked up the remote and pointed it at the set.

  'Thank you.'

  'You're welcome.' She didn't sound it.

  'That's better,' Jimmy said, returning to his phone-call. 'Eleanor, I'm going to put you on speaker phone. Don't go away.'

  They found a table by the window and sat down. 'Ok, go ahead.'

  'Hi guys.' She sounded excited.

  'Hi Eleanor,' they replied in unison.

  'So the reason I'm calling you guys, did you know that mosque thing had a back door? Like, you know, a fire escape or something.'

  'No, we didn't...' Frank's heart began to race.

  'Yeah, so there's a camera covering the back of the place. We missed the live feed, but I found a hack that let me download a recording. It's like awesome how quick it gets onto the servers. They must have a shit-load of tin in that datacentre.'

  'Awesome,' Frank said, being rewarded by a scolding look from Maggie.

  'So I ran three-point-four against the recording and holy shit, within minutes the alerts were going like mental. I saw seven hits just as a bunch of these guys in nightshirts were all coming out together.'

  'Wow!' Maggie was now struggling to contain her excitement. 'And did you get all their phone numbers?'

  'Shit to that. So, like in the middle of this group is a guy wearing a funny little hat and dark glasses and a scarf over his mouth and nose. Thinks he's in some sort of disguise or something but three-point-four only needs eleven reference points for a hit. Bang, a big dialogue box fills my screen, bang, bells ringing everywhere, and bang, a message tells me we've got a one-hundred-percent match.'

  'Holy shit!' Jimmy exclaimed. 'Did you get his...'

  'Number? 'course. 07835 098871. And then we triangulated him to 78 Granville Street. He's there right now. Oh, and I've messaged you the directions.'

  ◆◆◆

  'That's just three minutes away,' Jimmy shouted. 'Come on, let's get our arses round there now.'

  'What, without back up?' Frank said. 'Not a good plan.'

  'Well why don't you head back to the station to pick up the car and phone in on the way,' Maggie said. 'Jimmy and I will go and hang around outside the house until the teams arrive. We can't risk missing him, not when we're this close.'

  'Aye all right then, but please don't try anything stupid. Wait for us to arrive, is that understood?'

  Without answering they tore out of the pub, Jimmy's eyes fixed on his phone, Maggie blowing heavily but determined to keep up.

  'It's just at the top of this street,' he shouted back. 'We'd better go carefully when we get there in case we're spotted. I'll wait for you up there.'

  She gave a breathless thumbs-up, gritting her teeth and trying in vain to ignore her burning thighs. Granville Street turned out to be a classic northern industrial-era thoroughfare, the narrow street lined on both sides by well-kept two-up two-downs terraced properties which once would have been the crowded homes of mill workers and their families. The mills were long gone, and the homes were now almost exclusively occupied by members of the town's long-established Muslim community. They may have been here since the sixties, but that didn't mean that community relations were always good, so much so that the local council found it necessary to run a large team of 'community integration officers' to maintain an uneasy truce.

  Maggie finally caught up with him, panting as she placed her hands on her hips, head bowed. 'I need to get fitter Jimmy, I really do.'

  He gave her a sympathetic smile.

  'The house is just along there on the left, according to my google maps. Should have a blue door if this Streetview shot is reasonably recent.'

  She was beginning to catch her breath. 'So are we going to wait for Frank and the cavalry to arrive or what?'

  'Don't see any reason to, do you? It's not as if Khan's going to be surrounded by armed guards or anything. I say we just wander up and knock on the door, see if he's in.'

  Cautiously they crossed the deserted street and edged towards number seventy-eight, located about two hundred yards ahead. The street was lined on both sides by residents' parking bays, the majority unoccupied on thi
s work-day afternoon, save for the occasional white van belonging to a visiting tradesman. Suddenly there was screech as a black Mercedes S-class powered out of a side road, clipping the wing of a parked van in the process.

  'Bloody hell, he's in a hurry,' Jimmy said. Their eyes followed the car as it sped past them, then with another screech of brakes, pulled up right outside the blue door. Jimmy sensed the threat immediately.

  'Maggie, you wait here and don't bloody move ok? Get on to Frank and tell him we've got a situation developing. We need an armed response team fast.'

  Two men had emerged from the Mercedes and were now standing at the front door, a finger jamming on the doorbell. Even from a distance, Jimmy recognised the deadly outline of the weapons they were carrying. AK-47s. These guys meant business. They waited a few seconds for a response and then with practised synchronization, applied their boots to the door, bursting it open with little resistance. A few seconds later came a gunshot, causing Jimmy's heart to sink. Damn, we're too late. The last man standing has now been silenced. But then unexpectedly, the two gunmen emerged through the door dragging a third man by the scruff of his neck, an automatic shoved into his face in case he had any thought of escaping. As they reached the end of the short path, one of the men stopped and then with a sickening thud, smashed the butt of his assault rifle into the face of their captive. Satisfied that he was subdued, they bundled him into the back of the car, leapt into the front seats, and with a roar of the big vee-eight, accelerated violently away from the kerb.

  Jimmy sprinted after them without a thought of what to do if he caught up. He'd figure that out when he got there, just playing it by ear as he had done so many times in the army. Except this time he wasn't in an armoured personnel carrier and there wasn't a comforting helicopter gunship hovering overhead.

  But then suddenly and without appearing to look, a vehicle pulled out of another side road immediately in front of the escaping Mercedes. It was a white parcel delivery van, the driver proceeding at a snail's pace as he peered at the house numbers, straining to locate the address for his next delivery. The assailants blared their horn to no effect, white-van-man continuing to dawdle along, blocking their path, oblivious to their presence. That was going to prove to be a mistake. Without warning, the passenger door of the car flew open and a gunman leapt out and ran towards the driver's side of the van. He yanked opened the door and gestured for the driver to get down from the cab. Maybe he hadn't seen the gun, but evidently the driver was not in any hurry to comply with the request. That was his second mistake, as a bullet shattered his ribcage and smashed out through the roof of the van. The gunman dragged him from his seat and threw him to the ground, not caring whether he was dead or alive.