The Long Reach: British Detective (Jonathan Roper Investigates Book 3)

by Michael Leese

  Nuffield came out from behind the lectern and picked up a chair, placing it, so he could sit facing the two detectives.

  “Now here’s the first of the things that I am going to tell you that I shall deny ever saying if you repeat this to anyone outside this room. I’m also given to believe that your boss, Julie Mayweather, has already been briefed, but I haven’t spoken to her myself.

  “This concerns the CIA, which always believed there was more to Mr. Yebedev than he would like us to believe. As such, we have, from time to time, put him under surveillance. The CIA never made any attempt to share this information with any other intelligence agency.”

  He locked his gaze with Roper’s. “I know what you’re about to say. If we were spying on him while he was in the UK we were probably breaking the law. But sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do, and I am trying to level with you now.

  “I know it’s not an excuse, but you guys do it to us. In fact, as I understand it, there is some sort of SIS operation taking place in Los Angeles at the moment. I am sure that when the time is right we will be informed.”

  Roper eased back in his seat and Hooley was again impressed by the way Nuffield had dealt with what might have been an issue for Roper. The younger man hated any suggestion that people were lying to him, so being straight about what had happened was the only answer.

  “The next thing I am about to tell you is also strictly because you need to know. When Aaron Sopher first emerged, it shocked Mossad. They don’t get caught out, not on their own patch.

  “Anyway, it really got them going. They threw some of their best assets at it and got back some disturbing information. As you know, successful jihadist groups need lots and lots of money, and there are many ways of raising it.

  “One of the ways is through human trafficking and, in parts of the Middle East and Africa, the IS leadership has created the perfect environment. All the local conflict has millions of people on the move so grabbing a few is like picking cherries from a tree.

  “And that is quite a good way of describing it. The militants have their choice of the healthiest and youngest victims, so they have been able to demand top dollar for the people they send through the smuggling networks.

  “To make it even sweeter, the IS leadership started taking over the smuggling networks for themselves. They’ve been very successful and have thousands and thousands of people on the move. They are being taken all over the world, to wherever there is a market for buying slaves.

  “There are slaves being kept in appalling conditions in all the major cities of the world. Here in the UK, China, Japan, Saudi Arabia, Europe, Russia, Australia - if there’s money sloshing about there’s a market.

  “What’s got Mossad jumping about is that it seems Sopher has had no qualms about exploiting this situation as well and is even willing to work with jihadi groups. Just when they thought it couldn’t get any worse, they discovered the link between Sopher and Yebedev.”

  He got up to get a glass of water and started talking again as he walked back to his seat.

  “It opens up all sort of horrendous possibilities, not least the thought of new smuggling routes through Russian territory. But the one thing that is keeping a lot of us awake at night is another piece of information that has emerged.

  “We have it on very good authority that two months ago Mr. Yebedev had a meeting with a Russian scientist, Maria Vasilev, in Moscow. She is an expert on miniaturising nuclear weapons.”

  “You’re talking about a dirty bomb. You’re worried that someone is bringing a dirty bomb to London.” Roper had jumped to his feet.

  8

  The two men winced as they watched the live feed. The hallway camera was perfectly placed to capture the moment that Tony Hudson slipped on the staircase and landed with all his weight going through his left ankle, bending it an angle it wasn’t designed for. The sound was good enough to pick up a double crunch indicating at least two bones had snapped.

  It was a spare nappy that had done for him, left on the third step. He hadn’t been paying attention as he made his way downstairs for a cup of tea before setting off for work. Now he was lying on his side, panting heavily, and trying his best not to cry out since in his pain-addled state he was thinking that he might be able to walk once he’d caught his breath.

  He had made so much noise falling down that his wife was already awake and racing out of the bedroom to find out what was happening, her heart hammering as she feared her husband had run into burglars. Seeing him crumpled at the foot of the stairs, she almost fell herself as she rushed down.

  Twenty minutes later and paramedics were carefully loading him into the back of the ambulance for the short trip to the A&E department of the nearest hospital, Epsom General, where they would begin piecing him back together.

  It was a tearful parting as the husband had insisted his daughter get the priority treatment and that his wife should stay at home rather than come to the hospital. He had told her he would be fine as soon as he got there since they could provide him with proper painkillers. The A&E department was no place for a newborn. He said his medical insurance would allow him to get a private room and then she could bring their daughter in for a visit. His wife had covered his ankle while they waited, so neither had to look at it, but they both knew he was going to need an operation.

  Ten minutes after the ambulance departed two cars pulled up. The first to arrive, by just a few seconds, was a silver Fiat 500 that parked up and the woman’s mother, looking anxious, jumped out and hurried up to her daughter’s house. She was greeted with an emotional hug before stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

  Almost simultaneously a second car, a dark blue Ford Mondeo, dropped the Courier outside the rental house. He watched the scene over the road through the corner of his eye, guessing the older woman was the mother and wondering if she would be moving in for a few days to help her daughter out.

  The accident was both an opportunity and a set-back, at least as far as the Courier was concerned. He could seize the moment and, once Anne Hudson was on her own, grab her straight away. Or he would have to postpone, possibly by a couple of weeks, while the husband recovered at home.

  The Courier let himself into the surveillance house and was gratified that no one came to greet him. That meant they were concentrating on doing their jobs, and he wanted to know exactly what was being said in the house opposite.

  He walked upstairs and into the back bedroom where most of the equipment was set up. His two men were watching a live feed and wearing headphones as they listened in. One of the operatives raised a thumb to acknowledge his presence, but that was all. He went back downstairs to make a cup of tea and wait for one of them to break off.

  Forty minutes later, the older of the two men was talking him through what they had overheard.

  “The mother obviously knows a bit about these things and says if it’s a bad break he will need metal plates and be in hospital for about a week. Her mother and father live in a large house close to the hospital and they are suggesting daughter and baby come to stay.”

  “Did they decide what they’re going to do?”

  “Not for definite. Our woman is still in a state of shock but I’d put money on her ending up at her mother’s, at least for a while. They’ve sent her father up to the hospital to be with the husband and he’s going to ring in when he has some news.”

  The Courier closed his eyes, a signal that he wanted to be left alone while he thought. It looked like the first option was being taken away which meant he would have to put everything else on hold for a couple of weeks to see how things panned out.

  He was under no great time pressure as he was always careful to allow a generous margin, which in this case amounted to almost six months before he had to pull everything together. He quietly congratulated himself on planning for some unforeseen event like this.

  However, he had not given up all hope that it might work out in the short term. If Anne Hudson decided
she wanted to be at home, and if her mother didn’t move in, there would be a perfect opportunity to make the snatch. He admitted there were too many “ifs” in that plan but he would prepare for it anyway.

  The second operative appeared with fresh news.

  “They’re having quite the discussion. The daughter is arguing that the baby is sleeping well and she doesn’t want to risk that by changing her environment. She is also telling her mother that she doesn’t need to come and stay. That got her mother going on about what happened if she fell down the stairs in the night, but the daughter is having none of it.

  “She told her, ‘I’ll be really careful about keeping the stairs clear but, let’s face it, we’ve had all the bad luck we are going to get this week. What could happen that would be worse?’”

  9

  Hooley felt a chill down his spine as Nuffield’s reaction showed that was exactly what they feared. He’d grown up during the height of the Cold War when people were convinced that a nuclear war was inevitable.

  Then the worries had seemed to fade away, only to return with the rise of extremism, but now it seemed London was back on the target list. He had one straw to clutch at.

  “I was under the impression that suitcase bombs were one of those fantasy things that sound great in theory but are impossible in reality. I’m sure that the last time I read anything sensible about them you would have needed a suitcase the size of a London taxi cab.”

  “Unfortunately, the technology has leapt forwards in recent years. We have reason to believe that the Russians really are ahead of the field in this area so, while reducing a nuclear bomb to the size of a suitcase remains difficult, it may not be impossible.

  “The only consolation is that our scientists argue that such a device would be far too heavy to lug around. Imagine a suitcase that weighs in at north of two hundred pounds; even a weightlifter would struggle to stroll through Hyde Park with that. But there is a theory that you could break the weapon down into three component parts which would make it possible to carry.”

  “You’re not making me feel any better about all this,” complained Hooley. He could recall countless occasions when the Met had been placed on a bomb alert for London, but not once had he been told to prepare for a nuclear explosion. “What sort of damage would such a bomb do?”

  “It’s very hard to say. But at the very least, you might be talking about a blast area a hundred metres across or more, and then the resulting fallout affecting a much wider area, depending on the weather conditions. It would be one of those times when you would pray for London rain.”

  Roper chipped in. “If they could walk it in the terrorists could place it exactly where they wanted. Can you imagine something going off in Covent Garden at lunchtime?”

  Hooley was looking for lifelines to cling to.

  “Am I right in thinking you don’t think anything is here at the moment? You’d have the Army out if that was the case, and declare a national emergency; you wouldn’t be wasting time talking to the pair of us.”

  Nuffield rubbed his hands together in a sort of washing gesture. Hooley thought a psychiatrist might be interested in that.

  “That’s right. But we would like to know what a wealthy, London-based, Russian oligarch is doing talking to an obscure but brilliant scientist in Moscow, and to a major criminal man like Sopher.

  “MI5 suggested Mr. Roper would be the perfect man to get involved as it was likely to take a great deal of analysis and that is something he is famous for. In fact, if I have understood it correctly, his Rainbow Spectrum may be the ideal tool for dealing with what is likely to be a lot of apparently unrelated information. At the same time it was suggested I join MI5, on secondment, and help to brief you guys. I understand you come as a pair, so the feeling is that you would be the best team to work on this.”

  Hooley glanced over at Roper, who was frowning deeply, and he guessed it was because Nuffield had referred to the Rainbow Spectrum. He hated people he didn’t know having any knowledge of his unique mental filing system.

  He knew the best way to take his mind off it. “When will you have any information for us?”

  “I’m having some background material put together as we speak, and the main file is being redacted right now. There’s going to be a lot of blanked pages I’m afraid, but hopefully there will be something in there you can use.

  “Plus, you have my promise that I am doing my best to get information released to you - but we are talking about the highest classification of material, so it won’t be much, and it won’t be soon.”

  With that, he headed out, promising to be back in fifteen minutes with whatever was available. Roper took the chance to help himself to more coffee, knocking back three cups in quick succession.

  “If I did that the caffeine jolt would make feel all jittery.”

  “I don’t have control issues, so it’s quite easy.”

  Hooley waited. He knew there would be more eventually. He didn’t have long to wait.

  “I think a lot of the things are in the mind. Look at you in the pub the other night. You had no problem knocking back four pints of strong lager even though you only had a packet of crisps to eat.”

  “I picked up some food on the way home,” he said defensively.

  “Yes, and I bet it was fish and chips again. Well, that’s no good for you, as I have told you many times before.”

  “Yes, you have told me, many, many times. But as I keep telling you, life is too short to keep avoiding fish and chips.”

  “Your life will certainly be a lot shorter if you carry on.”

  Roper looked as though he was ready to pursue the discussion but at that moment Nuffield reappeared, carrying a slim, black leather attaché case. He held it up.

  “Everything I’ve got for you is in here.” He opened the case and produced a short, typewritten note that appeared to have some sort of stamp on it. “You will need this to get the documents out of the building. Without it security would arrest you on the spot.”

  “That reminds me,” said Hooley. “They’re a pretty grim lot here. They gave Jonathan a real going over when we arrived. What was all that about?”

  “I shouldn’t really be telling you this, but we had someone trying to hack into our systems earlier on today. They got past the firewall which caused a panic, and security were ordered to pay attention to anyone who looked like a hacker.”

  “But just because I’m not a youngster doesn’t mean I couldn’t have been the one you were looking for.”

  Nuffield grinned. “I don’t know if anyone has ever told you this, but you really do look like a cop. I can imagine you playing a part in some TV show and having a catchphrase, with a British twist, for when you were arresting the bad guys. Something like: ‘My old granny can punch harder than you.’”

  10

  In the face of intense lobbying by her mother, Anne Hudson reluctantly agreed that she would move in with her parents, at least until her husband was back home. She knew it was sensible to have the help while her husband recovered but she’d been enjoying life in her own home and knew her mum would insist on getting closely involved.

  As she started packing up, she reminded herself she was lucky that an over-helpful mum was her issue. The baby girl slept through all the preparations, which didn’t take long as Grandma had bought duplicates of everything that might be needed for overnight babysitting duties, including a cot.

  She couldn’t help smiling as her mother made a very poor job of pretending that she wasn’t excited at her son-in-law’s accident opening an opportunity for her to get her hands on her granddaughter. Five hours after her husband left in an ambulance, the two women set off for Epsom in a small convoy.

  The Courier was quite relaxed as he watched them leave. He had already ruled out any thought of grabbing the woman today, so her heading off to stay with her parents made no difference except in one crucial way: he would be losing key surveillance data.

  While he probably couldn’
t do much about the parents’ home, the hospital was a different matter, just so long as they were right that the husband was going to end up on a private wing rather than an open ward. He called up one of his team and explained what he was going to need, asking the man to meet him over at Epsom later that afternoon.

  *

  The Courier was on the third floor of the town centre car park when a white van drove past and pulled into a parking bay. He got out and walked to the rear of the vehicle where he climbed into the back, leaving the door slightly open.

  Sitting inside was another of the Courier’s team. On his way to this meeting he’d called in at the hospital where he’d stolen a security badge and was now creating a new pass with a grainy photo that might, or might not, have been the Courier.

  Half an hour later, the Courier was on the private wing and looking for the father, Tony Hudson. He found him in a room at the far end of the corridor and knocked once on the half-open door before walking in.

  Flashing his bogus credentials, he announced himself as “Martin, from patient services,” and asked permission to carry out a swift inspection to make sure everything was as it should be. Hudson had only just been given a dose of strong painkillers so was in no state to work out what was going on.

  Had he been more alert he would have been impressed that Martin was doing such a good job, taking time to check the underside of the bed, the visitor chairs and the bathroom. By the time he left, apologising for the disturbance, the Courier had left four tiny listening devices that he was confident would pick up any word spoken in the room. It was overkill but he was cautious man.

  Congratulating himself on a job well done, he walked out and nearly collided with a woman carrying a clipboard. He checked her badge and saw it identified her as “patient services”, so he mumbled an apology as he quickly pivoted and left the ward. Hudson, now firmly in the grip of the opioids, did not register that he seemed to be receiving special attention.