by N C Mander
‘In London? Gurbuz croaked, his mouth dry.
‘Yes.’ Kat watched him carefully.
‘I … I … I don’t know what to say …’ He swallowed hard and licked his lips. Kat handed him a bottle of water that he sipped gratefully.
‘You had absolutely no idea that the three men living at Brooks Road—’
‘Three men,’ he interrupted her, ‘at Brooks Road? But that property has been empty for nearly a year. They found asbestos in the roof, and Murat assured me he was dealing with it. He was finding it hard to secure a contractor for the work.’
‘Mr Gurbuz, where did you say Mr Yousuf had travelled to?’
‘I’m not entirely sure. Most likely he’s visiting family in Turkey.’
‘And when did you last see him?’
‘What are we now? Thursday? Exactly a week ago. That was when he was last in the office.’
‘How long have you worked with Murat Yousuf?’
‘He joined the business about a year ago. This really does not make any sense. Why would you ask after Murat? I’m sure he knows nothing about all this? Maybe these men, the terrorists,’ he spat the words out, stood up and quickly took another sip of water, ‘were squatting. What proof do you have that Murat is involved?’
Kat changed tack. ‘How often do you check on the accounts for the business, Mr Gurbuz?’
‘The accounts? Are you suggesting these men were paying rent?’ He was becoming more agitated, and Kat was worried she wouldn’t be able to keep him here too much longer.
‘Please, just answer the question,’ she said calmly. Hakan, who had been pacing back and forth in front of her, sank into one of the armchairs, deflated.
‘I can’t believe this,’ he muttered, holding his head in his hands. ‘I just can’t believe it.’
‘Mr Gurbuz, the accounts,’ Kat pressed.
A pair of sorrowful eyes rose to meet Kat’s. He shook his bald head and clasped his hands together. ‘I don’t think I have looked at the business accounts since just after Murat joined the firm. He seemed to have everything under control.’
‘Do you have a home address for him?’ As Gurbuz scribbled an address in Palmers Green onto a piece of paper, Kat’s thoughts flew to Natalie. She hoped that she had given her enough time. She escorted Hakan Gurbuz back to the car, and they drove in silence back to Wood Green. As they turned onto Westbury Avenue, Kat was relieved to see Natalie, examining her nails, waiting nonchalantly at the bus stop as they had agreed.
Kat followed Gurbuz into the letting agency, watching carefully for any sign that he might have spotted the intrusion. He laid a shaking hand on the door that led up to his flat above the shop.
‘You will call me if you hear from Yousuf.’ Kat held out a blank card with a number on.
Gurbuz nodded. Kat turned her back on the old man and went back to the car.
*
‘Did you put the tap on the line?’ she asked Natalie as soon as she slid into the passenger seat.
‘Yep.’ Natalie dialled a secure connection into Thames House. Colin picked up. She put him on speaker. ‘Anything on the tap?’ She had spent her time in the offices of Barinak Holdings, methodically installing bugs in the front office, a smaller room at the back, packed with a flimsy desk and filing cabinets, and the bedsit upstairs.
‘Not a peep,’ Colin replied.
‘Nothing through on the mic either?’
‘No, and he definitely hasn’t left the flat.’
‘He was about as genuine as they come,’ Kat pitched in. ‘I think I seeded enough doubt in his mind about his business partner that I’d have been very surprised if he had been straight on the phone to Yousuf.’
‘What did you get from the files, Natalie?’ Colin asked.
‘I managed to clone their hard drive, but judging from the size of the files on there, there’s very little digital record keeping going on. The office had three massive filing cabinets, thankfully pretty well organised. There are only three properties that aren’t currently occupied. The property at Brooks Road. Another in Hackney on Danesdale Road, just off Victoria Park, I think, and one in Stratford on Carpenter’s Road.’
‘Colin, get those addresses out to Mo straight away.’
‘On it.’
‘Anything else of interest?’
‘Yeah, one thing. There were a couple of photographs on the walls. One of Yousuf and Gurbuz shaking hands. It’s weird, but Yousuf looks really familiar, but I can’t put my finger on why I recognise him. I took a snap of the picture.’
‘We’ll get it up on the board as soon as we’re back and see if anyone else thinks they know the mysterious Yousuf. Colin, you still there?’
‘Yes, I’m all ears.’
‘Gurbuz thought that Yousuf had gone to Turkey to visit family. Can you run a scan on departures for the last week? Cross-reference facial recognition with the picture Natalie’s sending through.’
‘Sure. Will get onto that too.’
‘Thanks. We’ll be back on the Grid in half an hour.’
Kat hung up and cursed as they ran into a traffic jam and crawled back to Thames House.
Chapter Fourteen
2130, Thursday 6th July, Thames House, Westminster, London
Jock McDermid had worked for the domestic Security Service MI5 for more than a quarter of a century. He was recruited in the early 1990s when his computer science degree set him apart as special, and the appeal of a career at a tech firm wasn’t the distraction it was now. He had skilfully enlisted a gifted team of technical whizz-kids over the years. Such talent was proving more and more difficult to secure as big salaries on London’s Silicon Roundabout beckoned.
Three years prior, he’d convinced Natalie Freeman to turn down an offer to work for an up-and-coming social media start-up in favour of protecting the country, with a role in the surveillance team at MI5. ‘It may pay significantly less, but you’ll be adequately compensated in job satisfaction,’ he’d told her in her final interview. ‘You just won’t be able to tell anyone about it.’
She’d laughed and accepted the job without a second thought. Even when the start-up, in which she would have had a stake had she accepted the offer, was sold to Facebook for an eye-watering sum of money, Natalie didn’t regret the decision she’d made.
Natalie and Jock loaded up the panniers on Jock’s motorbike with the technical kit they needed for their night’s work. From their vantage point, they could just see the clock of Big Ben peeking over the top of the Houses of Parliament. It told them it was nine thirty in the evening. They would reach the shopping centre at Elephant and Castle shortly before ten.
‘Punters should be safely out of the way. Parked in the pub for the evening, I hope,’ said Jock. Despite thirty years in London, his Scottish accent hadn’t diminished. ‘Got some insight from a friend of a friend who’s on security there. He reckons, but for a few people still floating around the bowling alleys, it’ll be pretty deserted by this time of night.’
Natalie nodded and tucked another set of router intercept devices into the top of the panniers. It was a source of constant amazement for her the web of connections Jock had managed to weave around London. She wondered how she would ever achieve the same.
Jock zipped up the front of his biker jacket, ‘Good to go?’
‘Let’s do it.’ Jock laid his hand out, and Natalie brought hers down in a low-five gesture that marked the beginning of an op. It was a tradition that Jock observed with religious levels of superstition, and he’d taught her the ritual on her very first day in the job.
Jock threw his leg over his motorbike, Natalie pulled on her helmet and positioned herself behind him. Jock released the throttle, and they roared away in the direction of Lambeth Bridge. They swung left across the river and along a deserted Lambeth Walk. The bike sped past the Imperial War Museum, looking majestic in the evening gloom. At the shopping centre, Jock parked the bike in a back road. Natalie unclipped the top of the pannier and retrieved the rucks
ack she’d stashed in there. Jock shouldered another bag, and they walked silently toward the shopping centre.
Their appearance was carefully considered to be as innocuous as possible. Both wore jeans. Jock wore a baseball cap in addition to his casual leather jacket. Natalie had her long auburn hair loose about her face and had her chin buried in a voluminous scarf. At the entrance to the shopping centre, Jock greeted one of the security guards, a young man, not much older than twenty, in an oversized uniform. ‘We good to go?’ Jock asked him. A look of fear crossed the young man’s face. ‘It’s ok, nothing to worry about,’ Jock paused and added, ‘for now.’
The security guard swallowed hard. In a faltering voice, he said, ‘He left two hours ago. All clear.’
‘Thank you.’ Jock smiled at him as he and Natalie set off across the shopping precinct.
‘Why was he so afraid?’ Natalie whispered.
‘Always good to have a little leverage when you’re asking people for assistance,’ Jock replied, a glint in his eye. He stopped opposite the darkened shopfront of the Continental Internet Café, adopting a pose of practised nonchalance, his nose buried in his phone.
‘What’s your leverage?’
‘He’s got a criminal record,’ Jock muttered, not taking his eyes from the mobile handset. ‘Pulled up for carrying a concealed weapon when he was sixteen. Needless to say, he didn’t disclose this in his job application.’
Natalie felt a brief pang of guilt at such manipulative tactics. She looked back to the slim figure of the security guard who was casting occasional furtive glances in their direction. ‘Who does he think we are? Police?’
Jock nodded. He slipped his phone into his pocket and pulled out a keyring, loaded with bits of wire and skeleton keys. ‘You’re on lookout,’ he told Natalie as they approached their target.
Natalie positioned herself in front of Jock as he jiggled wires in the Yale lock. The precinct was deserted, but Natalie’s heart pounded loudly in her chest. Moments later, the door swung back, and Jock breathed, ‘Bingo.’
He produced a pencil-thin torch from his pocket and crossed the darkened shop floor. Expertly, he disabled the alarm. He had visited the café earlier in the day under the guise of a customer. He had been grateful to discover a standard model of intruder alarm and no evidence of any closed-circuit television. The extensive digital security Colin had reported did not extend to the café’s physical boundaries.
The pair worked quickly by the light of their torches. Natalie pulled out the tools they would need and handed a small drill to Jock. He stood up on one of the counters and made a tiny hole in the wall, right by the ceiling. Into the hole, he threaded a camera. At the counter, Natalie checked the picture and sight lines on a laptop. She gave him the thumbs up, and he repeated the operation in the back office. Finally, Natalie fixed a bugging device to each of the computers and another to the Wi-Fi router. They would not know how successful they were until the following day when the systems were fired up.
Jock stood back, satisfied. ‘No matter where on the web they’re working, that should tell us what they’re up to.’
They were both in the back of the shop, packing up, when they heard a noise. Natalie froze. Jock indicated for her to move toward the door. She stood on one side of the doorway and pressed her back against the wall. Jock did the same on the other side. Someone was moving about in the shop. A broad torch beam swept across the floor. ‘Who’s there?’ a gruff voice demanded. ‘Police,’ the voice went on. ‘Show yourself, hands where I can see them.’
Natalie saw Jock’s head fall back in exasperation. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ he mouthed at her then jerked his head indicating that she should follow his lead.
‘All right officer,’ Jock said, he waved both his hands in the empty doorway and walked out, squinting in the glare of the uniformed policeman’s torch.
Natalie did the same, shaking violently. She’d completed dozens of this type of operation and never had there been a confrontation like this. The policeman looked at them both. ‘Don’t move,’ he said then reached for his radio.
‘Officer,’ Jock said, standing still in the torchlight, he spoke with an urgency that made the policeman look up before he’d pressed the radio’s transmission button, ‘we are members of the Security Service. Please do not radio this in.’
The policeman looked taken aback then he sniggered, ‘Pull the other one.’
Jock went on in a stern voice, ‘I am deadly serious. This is a matter of national security. You can call Chief Superintendent Harrington-Smith in Counter Terrorism for confirmation.’
Jock’s urgency of tone and the mention of a highly ranked counter-terrorism officer had the desired effect, and the police constable dropped his radio. ‘Don’t move,’ he warned them and pulled out a phone. He stepped out of the shop and out of earshot. Jock and Natalie watched from the darkness of the shop as he made a call and spoke briefly, glancing up at the two MI5 officers.
‘You’re to come and wait in the car with me,’ the police constable told them when he returned.
‘I’m going to secure the shop,’ Jock told him in a tone that couldn’t be argued with. He grabbed the few remaining tools still strewn on the counter. Next, he reset the alarm system and once all three of them were outside, he pulled the door closed and locked it.
‘Come on,’ the policeman said, grumpily. ‘Superintendent Harrington’s on holiday apparently. Superintendent Colchester is on his way. I’m to wait for instructions in the car.’
‘Shit,’ Natalie heard Jock mutter under his breath.
The trio was walking toward a squad car that was parked behind the shopping centre when the policeman received a phone call. He listened, nodding and making affirmative noises, as a voice on the other end of the line dished out instructions.
‘I’m to let you go,’ he said to Jock and Natalie once he’d hung up.
Natalie couldn’t help but release a long breath that she felt had been trapped in her body for the last twenty minutes. The police constable looked deflated. ‘You don’t look like spies,’ he said as Jock and Natalie walked away.
‘Best not to in our line of work,’ Jock replied with a wave.
They rounded the corner and Jock volleyed off a stream of expletives. ‘They’re not going to be happy on the Grid. I’d better call Kat.’ He pulled out his mobile to discover an incoming call. He answered it.
‘Jock,’ it was Colin. ‘Everything ok? All hell’s broken loose here.’
‘We’re fine. Tell me the worst.’
‘Tanya’s on the rampage. Apparently, Colchester called her at home. She’s on her way in. I think he’s coming too.’
‘Shit.’
‘Exactly – it’s really hitting the fan. You need to get back here.’
‘On our way.’
‘What went wrong?’
‘Nothing. Just really bad luck.’
‘Ok, see you both soon.’
Colin hung up and Jock looked at Natalie. ‘Brace yourself,’ he said. They both mounted the motorbike and sped back to Thames House.
*
1123, Thursday 6th July, Thames House, Westminster, London
Jock and Natalie arrived at Thames House. Although night had fully descended on London, the fifth floor was ablaze with lights and activity. Kat intercepted Jock as he made his way across the floor. ‘Tanya’s on her way in,’ she said, steering him by the elbow to a corner of the office.
‘I heard.’
‘And Colchester’s on the rampage.’
‘I heard that too.’
Over Jock’s shoulder, Kat saw Tanya appear behind the glass doors that separated the open-plan floor from the lifts. She was looking harassed. Behind her, loomed the imposing figure of Michael Colchester, wearing a face of thunder. She pushed through the glass doors, Colchester tailing her as if, if he gave her an extra inch, she might give him the slip. She was saying loudly, ‘I’m sure we can get to the bottom of this.’
Colchester blustered
about ‘proper process’ and ‘full cooperation’ in response.
‘Kat, Jock,’ Tanya snapped. ‘My office.’
They exchanged looks and followed the police superintendent and their boss. Tanya held open the door as everyone filed in and then turned to the main office, addressing no one in particular, ‘Could someone sort out some coffee?’
Colin and Natalie had been watching from a safe distance. ‘I’ll do it,’ said Colin, getting up from his desk. Despite the late hour, the floor was busy with analysts, almost all were working the periphery of HAPSBURG. They were ploughing through the investor list or scanning border control itineraries to spot Yousuf’s departure or analysing intelligence reports for hints on the attack location.
In Tanya’s office, Jock and Kat hovered near the door. Tanya threw herself into her high-backed chair at the conference table. Colchester took the seat opposite her, positioning himself to maximise the feeling of confrontation. He glowered, ‘What the hell was your team doing, bugging an internet café at Elephant & Castle?’
Tanya raised her eyebrows and turned to Kat, ‘Can you enlighten us?’
‘Routine surveillance. We discovered a link to our investigation yesterday.’
‘What link?’ Colchester growled.
Kat shifted from one foot to the other. ‘It’s possible our targets are moving money through the Continental.’
Colchester’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Why wasn’t I informed of this new information?’
‘Probably for the same reason you didn’t advise us of the death of Jack Fleming,’ Kat shot back without thinking.
Colchester bristled but didn’t reply.
Tanya intervened. ‘Kat, please could you brief the Chief Superintendent in full now.’
Kat swallowed hard and provided an abridged version of their discoveries, the use of Jamie’s account on git hub to manipulate the coding history, tailing Jamie from the bank the previous day and his possible involvement in diverting funds out of Penwill & Mallinson into the account of Barinak Holdings. She didn’t mention Edison. She concluded with, ‘We felt it necessary to monitor any further traffic coming through the internet café.’
