Sleeper Cell Page 4

‘Do we have any leads on who she is?’ Thorne said.

  ‘We haven’t got a face,’ Ross said. ‘Nothing in any of the databases shows anything linked to PX, known active cells or unusual passport activity that ties up with what little we know of her so far.’

  ‘Forensics are testing body fragments,’ Lawrence said, ‘but so far she seems to be a clean skin.’

  ‘GCHQ have also drawn a blank,’ Keith Butler said. He ended his call and slipped the phone into his pocket. ‘There have been two minor surges in chatter in the last month. The first was after the announcements that the government were in discussion with Aaron David to establish talks in London. Again when the tabloids leaked photographs of Abu Queria here last month. It was not much more than a ramping up of the usual background. Nothing that led to any heightening of the threat. In fact, a lot of it seemed to be garbage – just noise, only louder. Another spike in the last two hours is similarly vague. Nothing we can tie to a name. GCHQ are combing the data with whatever filters we can give them from our end.’

  ‘There’s also been a video posted online of the explosion, but so far it hasn’t yielded any direct clues,’ Ross said. ‘It was taken from the roof of a building opposite the hotel and a little way along the road. It’s under renovation. Uniforms are interviewing there.’

  ‘Anyone know who filmed it or uploaded it? Thorne said.

  ‘That’s a longer-term goal. It’s all heavily cloaked. They knew what they were doing and right now everything points to it having been routed through companies and jurisdictions that are less than forthcoming with intel. Digital forensics are taking the video itself apart.’

  ‘Are we still thinking there’s a link to Harakat al Sahm?’ Thorne said.

  ‘On the surface of it, yes.’ Keith Butler opened a file of notes and scanned them. ‘Problem is, they’re still all surface. They make claims of allegiance to ISIS, but there’s no concrete intel that substantiates them. SIS are looking into it on the ground.’

  ‘Anything from the Palace?’ Leila said.

  ‘The royal couple have been helicoptered out,’ Thorne said. ‘They’re going to Windsor tonight. HRH is flying to Australia tomorrow. There’s no indication this was aimed at them. Why?’

  ‘The PM’s daughter’s there. Probably not relevant, but something to keep in mind. Her personal security was assisting S and R.’

  ‘Good. DS Butler, follow up on the al Sahm leads with SIS. The rest of you: the PM wants this tied down within the next twelve hours. Name, motive, arrests imminent. So keep focussed. DS Reid, DCI Lawrence, my office.’

  Commander Thorne led them into a side office.

  ‘Sit, please,’ he said. He sat on one side of a huge desk; Reid and Lawrence sat opposite him. ‘So why are you here, DS Reid?’

  ‘DCI Lawrence thought you needed me.’

  ‘And do we?’

  ‘I think you’ve got a much bigger investigation here than you realise. I don’t doubt you can find the cell, but I can do it more efficiently. And with the talks due to start on Friday, I think you need efficiency. This isn’t over.’

  ‘Why do you think there’s something else coming?’ Thorne said. ‘Nine-eleven, seven-seven, Madrid, Paris, they were all linked clusters. If further attacks had been planned, they would have happened by now.’

  ‘Only if they were a linked cluster,’ Reid said. ‘I don’t think they are. I think this was a prelude – a signal if you like – to a specific, bigger event.’

  ‘And that’s where you come in?’

  ‘It’s what I do,’ Reid said.

  ‘Maybe.’ Commander Thorne looked Reid in the eye for a long moment. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘talk me through your reasoning.’

  Leila leaned forwards and rested her forearms on the desk. ‘It was a PX car bomb, but a car bomb like this could have done much more damage than this. ISIS – if that’s who is behind this, and I’m on the fence with that – has got the means and the cash to source military grade explosives; they’ve got the planning to get it into place without leaving a trail, without arousing suspicion. But they’re also ruthless. Their aim in everything they do is to terrify the enemy. So why did they just demolish part of a hotel, and at the quietest time of day for guests? Why kill a few people when they could have parked in the middle of Bond Street and caused carnage?’

  ‘Because this particular hotel was next to the Israeli Embassy,’ Lawrence said. ‘Isn’t that obvious?’

  ‘Only to someone who’s not been there. They barely scratched it. That bomb was not meant for the Israelis.’

  ‘So who was it meant for?’

  ‘Us.’

  ‘The police?’

  ‘Counter-Terrorism Command specifically. We’ve got the entire department focussed on this one event like it’s all that’s going on.’

  ‘Well so far, you’re the only one who thinks it’s not.’

  ‘Then let me find the cell, and we can find out for sure. But let’s make it quick. I’m certain these people have a plan, and so far you’ve done nothing to derail it.’

  ‘OK,’ Commander Thorne said, ‘let’s say I am prepared to bring you in… you’ll work with a partner; you’ll be the brains, but you won’t run the show. I’m not risking you compromising another operation.’

  ‘No, Sir. You’ve got a team out there willing and able to do the leg-work, follow the rules, go through the grind. I work on this independently. No partner, no plan other than what I make up as I go along. If I mess up, kick me off the force properly this time, but if I’m getting results, let me do it my way.’

  ‘You follow procedure.’

  ‘I follow the evidence, but I’ll do nothing that might compromise a trial. I report back to DCI Lawrence, I get updates from him. Don’t put me on the Joint Operations Team, because I can’t stick to a schedule.’

  ‘I take it you’ll want official police accreditation.’

  ‘Only so I can do my job. That shouldn’t be a problem: I’m still a fully qualified CTC DS. And I’ll need a gun. My training’s still up to date.’

  ‘But your MI5 clearance isn’t. Your only source of internal information will be DCI Lawrence.’

  ‘That’s all I’ll need. Thames House are looking at what’s already happened to cover their asses because they didn’t see it coming; I’m looking for what’s going to happen. It’s up to you to decide whether you believe I can.’

  ‘DS Reid, no one doubts your ability. It’s your methods that are of concern.’ He looked at her for a moment. ‘But against my better judgment, I’m prepared to let this play out for a while. If you think you can get us anywhere near the identity of the bombers, go ahead. I suggest you start with the mystery woman on the CCTV feed. Walk the route, get inside her head…’

  ‘I know how to do my job.’

  ‘Then you’ll also know I only want a name or a probable location. You don’t approach the suspects, and you don’t talk to anyone. You’re on probation, one step at a time. From now on I’ll be split between the Executive Liaison Group and COBR meetings at Downing Street. You’re answerable to DCI Lawrence, and he’ll keep me in the loop. Use your old desk while you’re here; anything that comes in while you’re in the field will be left there for you. And know this: I’ll pull you out if you step out of line so much as an inch.’

  ‘I’ll find your bomber.’

  ‘Good. Mark Ross will give you all the files you need. I’ll authorise a gun and warrant card while you’re with him. Collect them on your way out. And Reid?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t let me down.’

  8

  Richard Morgan stared at his face in the mirror as a little light powder was applied to his forehead and nose. The press conference would be brief and to the point. Or, more accurately, brief and evasive about the point. It would go out live on the national six o’clock news programmes and although the bombing had been six hours earlier, there was still not much he could tell the country. The only thing they knew for sure was that the death
toll was ticking upwards and looked certain to rise further over night. MI5 were working on leads; the Met were interviewing witnesses and raking through files, but no one really knew anything. By now they should have had a very public claim of responsibility, but so far no one was taking credit.

  He stood, took a deep breath and walked out through the front door of Number 10. Cameras flashed and journalists pushed forwards against the temporary barrier. Siobhan Wiley, his press secretary, was standing behind a lectern placed incongruously at the edge of the strip of tarmac that was still legally a road. Only in England would the most powerful man in the country address his public from the gutter. Only in England would no one even consider it strange.

  He tried to compose his face into something that was both reassuring and compassionate. All he could think about was that he had still not heard from Ruth. Since noon he had barely had two minutes to himself, and those minutes had always coincided with Gavin Byers’ phone going to voicemail. Kensington Palace security confirmed that she had been expected there for lunch, but could tell him no more than that she had not been with the royal couple when their helicopter left for Windsor at three. He had no rational reason to worry: it was impossible that Ruth had been the target of this morning’s events, and yet…

  As soon as the press conference was over he would get one of his SO1 men to make enquiries. He had tried to avoid bringing yet another layer of confusion to the day’s already chaotic events, unwilling to be seen to care more about his own family than he did about his ‘people’, but the time had come. There was probably a good explanation, but right now he knew he needed help to find it.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the press,’ Siobhan said into the microphone, ‘The Prime Minister, The Right Honourable Richard Morgan.’ She stood aside and Richard took his place behind the lectern. He paused for a moment as flashbulbs illuminated the scene.

  ‘This morning,’ he said, ‘London was once again touched by tragedy. My personal condolences, and those of my colleagues of all political colours, go out to the families of the fourteen people now confirmed to have lost their lives, and the hundred and eighty-eight who are being treated in hospitals throughout the city.

  ‘It’s particularly barbaric that this should happen just forty-eight hours before two people who know more about war and terrorism than most meet here in London to discuss a lasting peace in the middle east. I can assure you, and whoever planned this morning’s tragic events, that such outrages will not stand in the way of that settlement. If anything, this has made us more determined than ever to find a way forward for the overwhelming majority of people who simply want to live in peace regardless of religion or nationality.

  ‘Our security services, both here and around the world, will stop at nothing to find the people who did this, and bring them to justice. There can be no excuses, and there will be no hiding place for those who believe violence is the answer to their grievances.’ He paused and glanced down at his notes. He didn’t need to remind himself of the words, but needed a moment to compose himself.

  ‘You will,’ he went on, ‘see a greatly increased police presence on the streets of cities throughout the UK, and the military has been deployed at ports and airports. However, it must be stressed that so far no group has claimed responsibility for the bombing of the Park Hotel, and I urge you all to be careful not to jump to any conclusions until the authorities have had a chance to do their jobs.

  ‘We must also remember that what makes our city one of the greatest on earth is the tolerance and compassion of the people who call it home. The police have my government’s explicit instructions that no acts of vigilantism, racism or violence against any communities within our city will be tolerated. We must stand together at this time, opposed only to that minority among us who seek to undermine our freedom and cohesion.

  ‘Together we will get through this, and emerge stronger and more peaceful than before.

  ‘Thank you. I will take a few questions, but am unwilling to speculate beyond anything that has already been released to the media by the Metropolitan Police in their last statement.’

  A dozen hands went up and Siobhan pointed at a familiar face in the front row.

  ‘Prime Minister; Colin Redman, Sky News. Does today’s attack signal the start of a new phase in terrorist activities in the west?’

  ‘Our security services are following up a number of leads. We have no specific claim of responsibility yet and as such we can not be certain this is even the work of an organised group. There is no indication that other attacks are in the planning stage, and we have not felt it necessary to raise the current threat level. We can be confident that London is as safe now as it was yesterday, and we urge everyone to remain calm but vigilant. These people had luck on their side this time; next time, if there is a next time, we will be ahead of them.’

  Siobhan pointed at another journalist.

  ‘Kate Mawson, BBC. Have you spoken to Prime Ministers Aaron David or Abu Queria?’

  ‘I have assured both our guests that this will have no effect at all on our meeting. If anything, such acts should be an inspiration to all those concerned to make the talks work. As you know, my government has worked for two years to bring the Israelis and Palestinians together to forge a new understanding for a new generation of people in the region. We will not turn our backs on the middle east because of the views of a tiny number of extremists. If indeed today’s events are in any way connected, which at this time, we have no evidence that they are.’

  ‘Are you linking this with Harakat al Sahm?’

  Richard tried to see through the sudden burst of flashbulbs. He could not see the face of the man who had asked the question. TV cameras and microphones were turning towards the shabby journalists who always lurked at the back of such press conferences, picking up scraps, scavenging for a juicy story to spin into a lurid headline.

  ‘Please,’ Richard said, raising his hands. Most of the cameras turned back towards him. ‘Please. Speculation is the most dangerous avenue we can go down at this stage, so I would ask all of you to ignore rumour and propaganda and turn your attention to helping us discover the truth. Thank you.’

  Quickly he turned and walked away from the barrage of questions. The heavy front door closed behind him and the voices became muted.

  ‘How the hell did they get hold of that?’ he said. His press secretary marched along the corridor behind him.

  ‘No one outside of COBR and the security services knows about al Sahm,’ she said.

  ‘Well someone leaked it! This could be a PR disaster. The public are going to think we’re hiding something and God only knows what the Israelis are going to make of it. Get me Jim Thorne on the phone and draft a rebuttal statement in time for the Channel 4 news. And find me the person that leaked this!’

  He stormed into his private office and flung the briefing notes onto the desk. The pad on which his speech had been written slid onto the floor.

  As he stooped to pick it up he noticed that in his haste to get away from the baying press mob outside he had also picked up the dummy notes that were always placed on the lectern prior to any address. They were there to make it look less blank and vacant, to give the impression that even the furniture was well-informed.

  That he had taken it was of no consequence in itself, but as he picked it up to drop it into the bin he noticed that at the foot of the page was a tiny handwritten note. Maybe whoever had set the lectern up had been testing a pen, maybe one of the duty policemen had stood there to assist with lighting or sound checks. It was not of great importance, except…

  What had been written made his blood run cold.

  There was a mobile phone number and two words: ‘Call Bunny.’

  Bunny was what they had called their daughter between the ages of about two and two and a half, when she had been inseparable from her pink rabbit romper suit. No one outside of the family knew. No one had uttered the word in years. Only someone with direct access to her, and t
he leverage to extract such specific information, could know that name.

  Ruth wasn’t at the Palace. And wherever she was, she was in serious trouble.

  9

  Richard Morgan dialled the number.

  It was answered almost before it had rung at the other end.

  ‘Prime Minister,’ a voice said. Richard tried to pinpoint the accent but came up blank. Well-bred English, standard received Eton perhaps, or maybe just someone who had decided that was about the easiest one to fake. The voice had none of the inflection of the Middle East or South Asia, but that meant nothing. Over a fifth of US Islamist terrorists were white and American-born. Britain was catching up fast in its ability to radicalise its own.

  ‘Let me speak to my daughter,’ he said.

  ‘In time, Prime Minister. We have something to discuss first.’

  ‘The police are tracing this call,’ he said.

  ‘No, they are not. You’re calling on your personal cell, which you have not declared to your security team. I too am using an unregistered pay as you go cell. Geolocation would yield nothing of use, and not in the time you have. Don’t play games, Prime Minister. Time is short.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Your cooperation in a simple matter.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The exact details will be revealed to you tomorrow.’

  ‘Why not now? If the matter’s that simple, it can be sorted out tonight and I can get my daughter back.’

  ‘Tomorrow’s better for us.’

  ‘Have you planted more bombs?’

  ‘We’ve already proved we can strike wherever and whenever we choose. Bombing’s not our mission. It was merely a way of focussing your attention, showing you that we’re serious and capable.’

  ‘More so than kidnapping my daughter? You people are animals!’

  ‘Everything has a purpose, Prime Minister. Now that we have your full attention, our purpose will become clear.’

  ‘I want to know that Ruth is still alive.’

  ‘Should we mail something to you? Something warm?’