by David Archer
“Hello, Catherine,” said the queen, smiling from her seat at the table. There was no one else in the room, so she pointed at the chair nearest her own. “Come and join me, it’s only the two of us.” She picked up the tea pot and poured a cup for her guest.
Catherine took the offered chair and accepted the cup. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said, but the grand old woman waved a hand.
“We aren’t in public, dear,” she said. “I’ve come to think of you as a friend, Catherine, so it’s only Lilybet. That’s what my friends call me.”
Catherine smiled, but her face flushed. The thought of taking such familiarities with the queen was nearly anathema to her, but one did not brush off such a thing. “Thank you—Lilybet,” she said with only a slight hesitation.
Elizabeth noticed, but only a slight smile betrayed it.
“So, what is on your mind, my dear? You sounded as if you might have some news for me on the current situation?”
“I do, Your—Lilybet, but it is not the kind of news I wish to deliver. I’m certain you were already briefed on the developments of yesterday, regarding Mr. Prichard’s confrontation with Tushar Balakrishnan?”
“I was,” said the queen. “From what I’ve been told, that one is a dreadful man who seeks to destroy us and everything we hold dear. Mr. Lambril seems to believe that he’s planning some sort of terrible act.”
Catherine nodded, cringing inside because the queen did not seem to know that she herself might be a target. “That is so,” she said. “In fact, we suspect that he may plan to attack during the investiture ceremony.”
The smile on the old lady’s face didn’t waver. “Yes, Alex mentioned that as a possibility. He even suggested we might change the date and venue, but I simply can’t disappoint everyone. Do go on.”
A quick sigh of relief escaped Catherine. “We suspected you might feel that way,” she said. “Your—Lilybet, it’s been suggested to me that we might be able to draw this Balakrishnan out if he believed he had a contact that would be able to get him or someone else into the investiture. There is a man who is loyal to our country, but who is very well known in the Islamic communities. He has done many great civic services for our country, so it’s been proposed that he might be invested as a substitution for someone who will not be present. We know that you have accepted substitutions in the past, and it would put this man in the position to be valuable to Balakrishnan. We hope that it will lead us to an opportunity to arrest him.”
“Arrest him? I should think we should hope for an opportunity to put him down. A man like that, he’s no more than a mad dog. He brings no value to the world, no benefit to society. I believe you and I spoke of this recently, did we not?”
Catherine blushed. “Of course, Your Majesty, and I did exactly as you requested. Our friends from across the ocean are here and actively assisting us in the situation. I merely meant that we hope to get Balakrishnan into a position where he is accessible. At that point, of course, my associates will do what they have been asked to do.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I was sure that’s what you meant,” she said. “Very well, get the name of the man to my secretary, and we shall announce his investiture before the day is over.”
Well, that was terribly easy, Catherine thought. She picked up her cup and took another sip of the tea, which was excellent, as always.
FIFTEEN
Unlike the private investigators found in books, most of them spent the majority of their time either sitting and waiting or doing an awful lot of walking and searching. After five hours of looking around more than a dozen business parks scattered around the Tower Hamlets area, Sam was feeling right back at home. This was what real PI work felt like, not sitting in an office and waiting for reports from an entire team of special investigators. As much as it made his bad hip hurt, there was something about it that felt like he was finally back in the game.
“How many more on our list?” Denny asked him.
“Only three more,” Sam replied. “I didn’t really have a lot of confidence in this idea, anyway.”
“Yeah, but we never know until we try. You drive, this time.”
“You must have a death wish,” Sam said. “I’ve never driven on the wrong side of the road before.”
“First time for everything, old friend. It’s not as hard as you might think. After all, that’s what I thought when I first came to the States. All you buggers drive on the wrong side, you know.”
“I guess it depends on where you’re from. Okay, which way?”
“Turn east,” Denny said. “About three kilometers, straight ahead.”
Across the borough, Noah and his team were having the same results. They had checked out more than a hundred commercial buildings, but any that were not currently occupied turned out to be completely empty. No one was hiding inside them, and there had been no sign that anyone had been there recently.
Noah took out his radio. “Anybody having any luck?” he asked.
“None,” Jenny replied. “This is getting pretty boring, Noah.”
“No joy over here,” Marco said. “Closest I’ve come to finding our bad guy is running some kids out of an empty warehouse. They seemed to think it was their private club, they had music playing and their own little bar set up.”
“They can be glad it was you that found them, then,” Noah said, “instead of the local police. I think they get pretty serious about underage drinking in London. Sam? How about you guys?”
“Nothing, not a thing. We are on our way to Badlington Business Park, to see if we have any better luck.”
“Roger that. All right, everybody keep going. He’s out here somewhere, and we’re going to find him one way or another.”
Noah had just put the radio back into his pocket when a burst of static came out of it. “This is Albert Lingenfelter,” they heard. “All of you, come on in. We have a new plan, but I want all of you in on it.”
“Yes, sir,” Noah said.
“Hallelujah,” Jenny said. “I was about to go nuts just looking into windows on empty buildings.”
“Roger, coming in,” Marco said.
Sam came through the radio last. “Heading back in,” he said. “Hope you guys have come up with something good.”
* * * * *
They made it back to SIS headquarters in a little over half an hour, all of them pulling in around the same time. Sam and Denny were the last to enter the conference room, mostly because of Sam’s limp. The rest were all sitting around the table, and Catherine Potts was occupying the seat at the head of the table.
As soon as everyone was seated, Catherine cleared her throat. “All right, I’ve just returned from meeting with the director, after an earlier meeting with Her Majesty. We’ve come up with a plan, thanks to Charlie over there, and we think it may have some serious potential.”
She drew in a deep breath. “Here it is in a nutshell. We believe that Balakrishnan may be hoping to target the investiture that’s coming up this Sunday. Charlie came up with the idea of putting another name in for investiture, something we can do because a number of the originals who were nominated have declined. Her Majesty can then accept substitutions, and Mr. Lambril was able to arrange the nomination. Our nominee is Rashad Ibrahim, who has done many good things since coming to our country more than a decade ago. He is rather wealthy and is a philanthropist in his own right, but he is also a Muslim. For this reason, we believe that Balakrishnan may reach out to him when the news is announced later today that he will be invested into the Order of the British Empire. As the only Muslim to be in the current investiture, we believe that the suspect might see him as an opportunity to get into the event, or to arrange for someone else to do so.”
“That’s a bold move,” Noah said. “If we lose control of the situation for even a moment, it’s going to put the queen and everyone else at the investiture at risk.”
“Which is why we shall not lose control,” Catherine said, glaring at him. “Her Majesty has per
sonally agreed to this plan, which probably does not surprise you, Mr. Wolf. After all, you have met her.”
Sam looked at Noah with a new respect. “You met the queen?”
“Indeed he did,” Catherine said. “Mr. Wolf and his friends were instrumental in saving the lives of the Prime Minister and Prince Charles. Her Majesty, while unable to reward them publicly, chose to do so privately.”
Sam nodded, but didn’t say anything else.
“I know I agreed to this,” Albert said, “but I’ve got to say it worries me. Charles and I have discussed the situation, and decided that it would be best not to have any further contact with Mr. Ibrahim at this time. He will be notified via Royal Courier today that he has been nominated as a substitution in the investiture, and been accepted. The news agencies will be notified at the same time, and we’ve already begun monitoring all of Ibrahim’s communications. Telephones, email, everything, and we’ve even got his cell phone hacked, so we can record every sound around him. If he is contacted by Tushar, we’ll know it as soon as he does.”
“That’s probably smart,” Noah said. “As soon as the news is out, Tushar is going to be suspicious of him. If he sees any sign that Ibrahim could be working with us, it could put the man in danger.”
“Agreed,” Catherine added, nodding. “Our analysis team is watching everything, so we’ll know within moments if there is contact. Until then, we can continue to work other leads. We’ve got the police on notice to contact us over any suspicious deaths, and we’re going over all the security footage from the airports, maritime ports and every other method of entering the country. We hope to find exactly when and where Balakrishnan entered the U.K., and that it might be possible to trace some of his movements.”
“He’s got to be using some form of identification,” Sam said. “It’s just about impossible to go more than a few days without having to produce ID of some kind anymore. If we can get any kind of line on that…”
“Which is why we are trying to find out when and where he entered. He would’ve had to produce identification at that point, and we might be able to use that to track him down.”
“I doubt it,” Noah said. “This guy referred to himself as a chameleon, right? He’s going to have more kinds of identification than we can ever hope to track. He’s a pro, he’s not likely to use one of them more than once or twice.”
“What about his background? Do we know anything about where this guy came from?”
“I’ve actually been looking into that,” Angeline piped up. “There’s absolutely no mention of him prior to about five years ago, but I found a history of someone who disappeared around that time, and the general description is about the same. Tushar Balakrishnan was originally known as Abbas Rafiq, a Punjabi soldier from Pakistan. Rafiq vanished during a clandestine incursion into India, and it was assumed that he’d been captured. However, I found some recorded communications that mention him as having survived and living in deep cover in Mumbai. Those were from about the same time as Tushar Balakrishnan began making a name for himself.” She tapped the screen of a tablet she was holding, and a photograph appeared on the overhead screen. “This is Rafiq, the best of the photos that I found of him.”
Sam’s eyes went wide. “That’s the guy,” he said. “You said he was Punjabi? He sounded like a native Englishman when I spoke to him. Almost no accent of any kind that I could detect, anyway.”
“I caught a hint of an accent,” Denny said. “I’ve got to agree with Sam, however, this is a man who sounded like he’d been educated here in the U.K. His English is perfect, with a large hint of Liverpool in his accent.”
“That’s because he lived in Liverpool for the first eight years of his life,” Mildred said. “His father was a British soldier, who married while he was stationed in Pakistan and brought his wife home with him. Unfortunately, the marriage ended after ten years, and the boy and his mother were sent back to live with her family. He spent the rest of his youth there.”
Catherine was staring at the picture. “Let’s get that out to all police,” she said. “Even with his ability to disguise himself, we might get lucky and catch him moving about once again in his own face. After all, he was not disguised when Sam and Denny saw him.”
“That’s true,” Sam said. “On the other hand, he hadn’t considered himself a target or suspect at that point. Now that he knows we’re onto him, I’m sure he’ll be a lot more cautious.”
Catherine set her lips in a thin line. “Even the most cautious can make mistakes,” she said. “And we shall be waiting when he does.”
* * * * *
Rashad Ibrahim was in his office, taking care of some of the seemingly endless paperwork that was required when one was in the business of renting residential properties. His secretary, Marsala, softly tapped on his door and made him look up. “Yes?”
“Forgive me for interrupting, sir,” she said, “but there are some men here to see you. They are from the Honors and Appointments Secretariat, they say, and insisted on speaking with you immediately.”
Ibrahim’s eyes went wide. “Then, by all means, show them in,” he said.
Marsala stepped aside and three men entered. All three were smiling, and one of them reached out to shake his hand as he stood.
“Mr. Ibrahim,” the man began, “my name is Walter Lehman, and I am an undersecretary for Honors and Appointments. It is my pleasure to inform you, sir, that you have been selected by the queen for investiture as an Officer of the British Empire. The investiture shall take place in two weeks hence at Westminster Abbey, and you are allowed to bring up to seven guests to bear witness to these honors.”
Lehman handed him an envelope, and Ibrahim stared at it for a moment before opening it. There in his hand, delicately engraved with gold leaf and beautiful calligraphy, was an official invitation signed by the queen. His eyes grew even wider as he read it, and then he looked up at Lehman again with a smile.
“I am overwhelmed,” he said. “Surely, I am not deserving of such an honor.”
Lehman smiled at him. “Now, surely, sir, you wouldn’t disagree with Her Majesty, would you? I’m told that the mayor nominated you to fill one of the vacancies, and that she was most happy to approve.”
Ibrahim stood silently for a moment, just staring at Lehman, and then slowly nodded his head. “Then it shall be my honor to accept,” he said.
Lehman explained to him a bit about the procedures that would be involved in the investiture, and then he and his companions departed. Marsala came rushing in as soon as they were gone, sharing her boss’s excitement at the wonderful news. It took them a couple of moments to regain their composure, and then Marsala got Mrs. Ibrahim on the phone.
Even as he told his wife about the terrific honor, Ibrahim knew that it had something to do with the meeting he’d had with Charles that morning. Obviously, since Lehman had told him that the appointment would be publicized by the news services that evening, Charles had found something to dangle as bait for Tushar Balakrishnan.
Now, all Ibrahim had to do was wait. If Balakrishnan contacted him, then he would have to figure out how to let Charles know, but until then, he would avoid any contact with his friend at SIS.
* * * * *
Tushar didn’t bother with television, but he was dedicated to following the events happening in the news. After all, he thought, that was the way to know which way the wind was blowing. Things he had picked up by following local news in different countries had given him terrific ideas of how to mold his plans for world domination. As a result, he had developed a habit of checking the news at least once every couple of hours on his laptop computer.
The announcement of Ibrahim’s upcoming investiture took him by surprise. Despite the fact that London now had a Muslim mayor, the U.K. was still decidedly unfriendly to Islamic immigrants. To see a man such as Ibrahim being honored by none other than the queen, herself, struck Tushar as an almost miraculous opportunity.
Of course, he had to consider th
e possibility that it was some sort of trap, but if there was one thing he had learned to do, it was to turn traps against those who set them. On more than one occasion already, he had willingly used his opponents’ ploys against them, and he was confident he could do so again.
Surprisingly, the investiture had not yet crossed his mind as an opportunity to strike against England, but the opportunity that suddenly showed itself seemed too good to pass up. It didn’t mean he would alter his original plans, which would bring an end to the dominance of the Western world, but that was already in play. It might, however, be difficult to pass up the opportunity to strike at such a marvelous event.
He picked up his phone and dialed a number. “Hassan? What do you know about Rashad Ibrahim? Yes, that one.” He listened for a moment, then nodded his head. “Yes, I should like to speak with him, but without anyone else knowing. Can you arrange it? Yes, this evening would be perfect. Just tell me when and where.”
He hung up the phone and waited, but it rang again less than five minutes later. “Yes?”
The man on the other end, Hassan Saeed, was a moderately successful marketing agent, and had a talent for public relations. He spoke quickly. “I convinced him to meet with me to discuss how we might use this to his advantage,” he said. “He agreed, but he has many friends coming to his home tonight, so it has to be quick. I am going to pick him up now, and we shall be at my office in thirty minutes.”
“Excellent, my old friend,” Tushar said. “I shall meet you there.”
He ended the call and got up from his chair, told Martin that he needed to go out for a bit and left him in the company of his soldiers. They would ensure that the man didn’t try to leave, although he seemed quite content since Tushar had made his earlier offer.
There was no time to bother with a mask. Tushar put on a hat and glasses and hurried out to his car. Saeed’s office was only a couple of miles away, but traffic would probably be heavy at this particular time, so he wanted to get there as quickly as he could.
He actually arrived a few minutes early, and sat in his car as he watched the entrance to the building. Saeed and Ibrahim arrived on schedule, and Tushar waited until they had stepped inside before getting out of his car.