‘Wow, indeed. Here, take a look-see.’
He slid the file of photos across the desk.
He’d rearranged them so they started with general shots of the farm. He watched the edges of her eyes tighten. When she glanced down at the time and date on the bottom right of the photo, the tightening moved to her jawline.
‘Do you mind if I dash to the loo, Mark? It was a long drive.’
‘I don’t think so — keep looking.’
Several more general shots followed, including the cloned Land Rover, and pictures of Mick, Craig and the girls. She flicked through them rapidly, her eyes taking in more than the images. Then came the coup de grâce, Alex embracing her.
Mark revelled in the sheer fear that exploded within her taut, teasing body. Her eyes remained fixed on the photo, frozen like the image she still held. He leant forward and took back the gently vibrating photo, placing it in the file with the others. Matt walked into the office and waited behind Mia’s chair while Mark stood and fastened his jacket.
‘Doctor Mia Langley, I’m arresting you on suspicion of attempting to pervert the course of justice and conspiracy to commit acts of terrorism. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned anything you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’ He held out his hand. ‘Your notebook and mobiles, Doctor Langley — both of them.’
She said nothing, but there was a slight tremble in her hands as she handed him the items. She reached for her attaché case, but Matt shook his head and picked it up. Mark walked around his desk and stood looking down on Mia’s bowed head.
‘Stand, please.’
He’d resisted handcuffs, but he kept hold of her left arm while Matt remained on her right. As they walked through the incident room everyone stood and stared. The silence was deafening. He glanced at her, but Mia’s eyes were focussed straight ahead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Law can fall silent in times of war.
Mia was driven away in the back of a blacked out people-carrier. The female DC sitting next to her had conducted a preliminary search. Matt was driving with Mark in the front passenger seat. No one spoke. She didn’t expect them to. They’d be doing everything by the book. The move was also to be expected. Bent coppers were never interviewed at their own station. That’s what the accusatory silence screamed at her — you’re bent, a traitor, scum-of-the-earth. It was a new feeling — one Mia supposed she’d better get used to.
She was expecting to be taken to Paddington Green, the terrorist’s Hilton, but they drove out of London. Perhaps she was being taken directly to the security services . . . for ‘enhanced interrogation’. She’d watched a documentary on waterboarding and wondered how long she’d last. The thought increased her desperation for the loo but she didn’t say anything. They’d just ignore her and it would give them the upper hand.
Mia felt real relief when they eventually pulled into the back yard of a non-descript but clearly signed police station. The silent DC remained glued to her side as they filed into the custody office through a heavy metal door. The custody sergeant, who had obviously been notified of their arrival, still looked rather flustered. She didn’t suppose they had many terrorists coming through the doors of this backwater station.
She tried to take control. ‘I’d like my phone call please, Sergeant.’
‘I’m afraid that’s not going to happen, Doctor Langley.’ His reply was quick, rehearsed. ‘You’ve been detained under anti-terrorism legislation and we can therefore delay notification of your arrest and detention.’
He turned to the DC. ‘I’ve authorised the strip search requested by DCS Johnson — take Doctor Langley to female cell three.’
Once in the cell the DC allowed Mia to use the loo, while she placed a large sheet of brown paper on the floor. It was to collect any ‘evidence’ that might fall from her clothing. As Mia removed each of her designer garments, the DC placed them into separate brown paper sacks in preparation for forensic examination.
Mia broke the heavy silence. ‘Tell Mark to save himself the trouble — he won’t find anything on them except expensive perfume.’
She tried smiling at the DC, who stared back at her with open hostility. She was from the incident room and they weren’t about to become best friends.
Mia knew that Mark had no intention of getting her clothes analysed; he was merely removing her armour. Dressed in a paper jumpsuit and canvas plimsolls, he assumed she’d feel more vulnerable. Well, if he wanted to play games she’d enjoy the challenge. Instead of feeling vulnerable, she left the cell feeling angry and determined to be mistress of the upcoming battle.
The tape recorder was fixed to a low shelf on the wall of the small windowless interview room. It buzzed, grating on everyone’s nerves as the tapes wound forward to the start of the metallic recording strip. It was a long time since she’d sat in on an interview, and she’d assumed all stations now had the hi-tech digital equipment that recorded pictures as well as sound. She wondered if this station had been chosen for its lack of cameras.
Mark and Matt faced her across the table which, like the chairs, was bolted to the floor. At least this lack of sophistication worked in her favour — it didn’t allow for the furniture to be reorganised in ways recommended by modern ‘conversation management’ techniques. She was beginning to realise just how important such details were in such a pressurized situation. The fixed table gave her something to hide behind. It was harder for Mark and Matt to invade her space and easier for her to control her NVCs behind its solid immovability.
The machine stopped buzzing and the tapes silently recorded Matt’s introduction.
‘You’ve been detained under section 41 of the 2008 Terrorist Act, Doctor Langley, so you are being denied immediate access to a solicitor.’
Mark was about to kick off with his opening TED question (tell, explain, describe — oh yes, she knew the game), when she looked him in the eye for the first time since her arrest.
‘I am willing to be cooperative with your investigation, Mark, but I am not prepared to say anything until I have spoken to my solicitor. I emphasize the word my because I fully appreciate the seriousness of my current position, and I am not about to let myself be palmed off with a duty solicitor, who would be so far out of his or her depth that we might both drown in their silent acquiescence to police anti-terror processes.’
This opening speech had been carefully rehearsed during the hour they’d spent travelling. She knew that everything she did and said from this point on could be used to influence a jury six months down the line, and she intended to make the most of her abilities and experience. She would be prepared to talk, to give Ellie her moment of glory, but not until she’d received the necessary backup.
‘We have the right to ask you questions without a solicitor, Mia.’ Matt was a tier five interviewer.
‘And I still have the right to not answer them.’
At this rate, the tape transcript would sound like a formal tea party from the nineteenth century.
Matt continued travelling down a well-trodden path. ‘I will remind you of the middle part of the caution — but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned anything you later rely on in court.’
‘I don’t think any court, especially the Old Bailey, will give much weight to my silence because of a lack of legal advice, do you?’ She stared calmly at both men. ‘But if you’d like to give me a heads-up by asking your questions — feel free. It will give my solicitor and I so much more to talk about when I do eventually see him.’ She gave them a modest smile.
Mark sighed. ‘So, what’s his number? You obviously have a solicitor in mind.’ His pen hovered over his daybook.
Mia tried not to show how much better she felt as she reeled off a mobile number.
‘And who am I expecting to speak to on this memorized number?’ Mark asked.
‘John Barrington QC.’
; ‘The John Barrington — lead defence counsel for terror-related crime?’
‘That’s the one. I’m told he’s as hot in the interview room as he is in the court room.’
‘I don’t think we can allow your nominated solicitor, Mia.’
‘Why’s that — Matt?’
‘Because you’ve obviously been in prior contact with Mr Barrington and could use him to alert your colleagues.’
The DI’s tone edged towards self-satisfaction, but she could see Mark knew better. He knew she was one step ahead of them.
‘That’s the reasoning you’ll log in the SIO’s daybook is it, for refusing me adequate legal representation?’
Mia’s tone remained even, her face implacable, and Matt now looked uncertainly at his boss, who continued to stare at the woman opposite him.
‘The thing is, Matt,’ Mia continued, ‘I’ve never met or even spoken to John Barrington. I have merely googled his reputation and ascertained his high success rate in this type of case.’ She smiled in a flirtatious way that she knew would irritate both men.
Mark let his irritation show. ‘So how come you’ve got his mobile number?’
‘You are an astute detective, Mark, and I can guess that you know I’m now a very rich woman.’
He made no acknowledgement.
‘You can buy a lot with the amount of money I have at my disposal, and mobile numbers are not that expensive.’
‘Even so,’ Matt broke the tension building between Mia and Mark, ‘you could instruct him to alert Alex Cam—’
‘How?’ She allowed her voice to rise a semi-tone. ‘We both know that Code H will not allow my phone call to be a private one.’
Mark was impressed with the extent of preparation and research she’d obviously given to her potential arrest and questioning. He signalled Matt to end the interview and turn off the tapes.
Walking back to the custody office in her one-size-fits-all paper suit, she was transported back to various prison walks she’d made between two guards, when visiting psychopaths as part of her thesis research. It seemed a lifetime away.
The custody sergeant looked more confident as Mark picked up a phone and dialled the number he’d been given.
Considering it was late on a Sunday, he was surprised by how quickly it was answered and wondered if he’d dialled some sort of exclusive bat-phone.
‘Hello.’ The voice was plum-rich.
‘Is this John Barrington QC?’
‘It is. To whom am I speaking?’
‘Detective Chief Superintendent Mark Johnson of the NCA. I have a Doctor Mia Langley in custody for terror-related offences—’
‘Then you’d better put her on, Detective Chief Superintendent.’
‘You know her?’ For a moment Mark was hopeful he’d be able to terminate the call.
‘No, Detective Chief Superintendent, I do not know her and can’t recall ever speaking to her. But someone who has this number obviously needs and, just as importantly, can afford my services, so be a good chap and let me speak to her.’
Mark handed the receiver to Mia.
John’s voice washed over her like a cashmere comfort blanket. ‘I take it this conversation is not a private one?’
‘No, Mr Barrington.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I don’t know — they won’t tell me.’
‘They’ll have to tell me. Have you spoken to them yet?’
‘No. They’ve tried to interview me but I said I won’t talk without a solicitor.’
‘Good girl. I’ll let Mick know. Put Johnson back on, will you.’ Mia handed the phone back to Mark. Everything would be all right now.
‘Detective Chief Superintendent, where exactly are you holding my client?’
‘Kent.’
‘Can I ask why?’
‘Paddington Green didn’t want the media circus — we’ve been trying to keep your client’s arrest as low-key as possible, but now you’re aware we’ll bring her back into London. Security has suddenly become more of a priority.’
‘I hope you’re not inferring that I would leak my client’s arrest to the press . . . or anyone else, Detective Chief Superintendent?’
‘That would depend on what instructions your client has clearly already given you, but let’s just say Paddington Green will be more convenient for you, Mr Barrington.’
‘It certainly will, Detective Chief Superintendent.’
‘Shall we say two hours?’
‘See you there, Detective Chief Superintendent.’
It was clear from the relaxation in Mia’s facial muscles that some sort of clear-up operation had been launched, and that there was no point in holding back on that side of the investigation any longer. Within a minute of Barrington hanging up, Mark’s mobile lit up.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Good habit is the enemy of chaos.
The call was from Bob, the DS running the surveillance team at Mountain View.
‘Boss — Campbell’s just run from the main farmhouse to the cloned Land Rover and is leaving at high speed.’
‘Don’t lose the bastard! He needs to be detained — at all cost!’
Mark didn’t have the number for the Powys force control room, so he phoned the DI he’d left in charge of the incident room.
‘Shirley, I need a helicopter to Mountain View — code red Cobra authority!’
Alex’s heart pumped pure adrenaline as he sped along the single track road. The possibility of Mia’s arrest had been planned for, but this was too quick. What the fuck had happened in London? But for now he just had to get to the cottage and instigate the fallout plan. Luckily, none of the lads were staying as no further ops had been planned, but that meant he had to do the necessary. Racing along the high-hedged winding lanes, all he could think about was Mia in a cell — Mia being interrogated. He wasn’t worried about the plod, but Barrington had confirmed that her arrest was terror-related and MI5 would also get a shot at interrogation — maybe the sort that Bill from Basra knew all about.
As the headlights of his Land Rover swung into the driveway of the cottage, he was aware of another set of lights sweeping past the entrance at a steady speed. He assumed they were a tail. That road saw little enough traffic during the day, never mind at this time of night. He scanned the hills surrounding the cottage and caught a single headlight being turned off on the mountain trail to the right of the cottage. Respect. Tactical surveillance — that’s how they’d got Mia. The only thing missing was a fucking helicopter, which he assumed would be en route.
He ran into the kitchen, collected a loaded pistol from the dresser drawer and tucked it into his waistband. He then picked up the waiting petrol can and began pouring the contents around the one room that had not yet been forensically cleaned. In between operations everything was left spotless except the kitchen, where Alex sometimes stayed when he was not at Mountain View.
Whoosh! A mini fire ball lit up the room and he threw his Mia-mobile into the inferno. Running back out to the Land Rover with the petrol can, he soaked the driving seat in the rest of the petrol before throwing in his ignited lighter. When the flames hit the fuel tank, the resulting explosion would destroy any fingerprints and DNA.
He fired two shots into the air. It would do no harm for the surveillance team to confirm he was armed. It would slow down their reaction time as they did their risk assessments and all the other health and safety crap that made plod so much less efficient than the army. He then legged it before the expected helicopter with its heat-seeking camera arrived.
He headed off on a well beaten track so the bloke above the cottage could give a specific direction of travel. But once out of his sight-line, Alex veered into the forest, heading for a deep and fast running stream. Plunging into it, he started to follow it back up the mountain. The water slowed him down but it also helped lower his body temperature and it would get rid of any smell for the dogs they’d undoubtedly deploy — although he hoped the fires would have destroyed anything
that held his scent.
He heard the helicopter before he saw it and watched its spotlight scanning the track he’d initially taken. But the crew were experts and hadn’t been fooled. Using the track as a starting point, the helicopter began turning in widening circles, the infra-red camera scanning for any source of heat bigger than a sheep.
Alex continued to trek up the stream as the circles got wider and wider. There was plenty of cover from the forest, but the canopy wouldn’t disguise the larger red blob of his moving body. When the spotlight was sweeping the mountainside a few hundred yards from him, Alex placed his gun on the bank and lay down in the freezing water, waiting for the light to get closer. At the last minute he took a deep breath and submerged his head too. The running cold made his body shake.
The helicopter hovered over him like a bird of prey for what seemed an age, but at last the camera operator seemed satisfied there was nothing of interest and the spotlight swept on. Alex took a deep breath but waited a few more seconds before climbing out of the stream and stripping off. He hid his wet clothes under boulders in the stream before setting off at a brisk jog wearing just his boots but still carrying his gun. He soon warmed up and an hour and forty minutes later, he was sitting by the fire in Bert’s pub, enjoying a large whisky.
Alex always had his exit strategies planned — whether from a job or a woman. A bag containing fresh clothing, cash, burner cell phones and his new passport had been stashed at the pub for some time and Bert had never asked any questions of his best paying customer. Another half an hour and he could set off for the fallout RV, where John would be waiting in an innocuous, cloned Vauxhall.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
There is a difference between truths and truth.
As well as the helicopter, Mark had immediately dispatched a small team of his best detectives to Mountain View. They were headed by a DI who had a reputation for pedantic thoroughness. The team would be met by local uniformed officers, who had arrived at Mountain View en masse within twenty minutes of Mia’s phone call to Barrington. They’d sealed off the area, preventing anyone else leaving the farm as they waited for the team of Metpol anti-terror specialists, who were travelling along the M4 in a blue light convoy that reached the farm some three hours later.
She Will Rescue You Page 19
