Bridging the Gulf (Aka Engulfed)

by Malcolm Hollingdrake

  The security officer immediately contacted his control. "It’s Ian. Suspect on the plane. Seemed fine, didn't leave anything anywhere other than a letter in the post box on passageway B”.

  "Stay with him, Ian, until the gate's closed, then back here for debrief. We have a chap from SO13 who wants a word."

  Once on board, Roy moved down to the front of the plane. He had noticed the service air attendant enter the flight deck and he waited until the cabin door opened.

  "Excuse me, I've forgotten to post this and I wonder if you'd mind collecting a stamp and posting it when you can? It's most important. I'm getting so forgetful." Roy handed the man the envelope and a pound coin. "First Class, if you could."

  "Not a problem, I'm passing the post office in the main hall on my way back," said the man, who smiled at the stewardess and left the plane.

  Roy knew he was taking a risk, the guy might forget or lose it but he was prepared to take the risk. He could not risk posting it for fear of still being followed. Should they realise that he was the bomber they could forward instructions to hold him at Istanbul and then all would be lost. Handing over the envelope was a small risk to take for his own security. This way the letter would be posted in a different box from Joan's.

  ***

  The officer from SO13 was waiting for the security officer in what appeared to be a conference room, the triple glazing kept the aircraft noise to a minimum. Ian's senior introduced him to Colin Tagholm. They shook hands.

  "Just tell me what he did whilst in the airport."

  Ian explained that there was nothing out of the ordinary; he thought the suspect was relaxed and professional. He did mention that he looked at a computer in duty free. Colin looked up from his notes.

  "Which one?"

  Ian described what he had seen and they sent down for the sales assistant and also requested video footage from the security cameras of that area. Twenty minutes later they watched Roy looking at the palmtop. Colin turned to the assistant.

  "Did he ask any details or say anything to you about the computer?"

  The assistant thought for a while but really could not remember, it had been so busy that morning. She was allowed to leave.

  "We've brought the letters from the post box where you saw Roy drop the envelope. Would you recognise it amongst these?"

  There were three. Ian immediately pointed to the brown envelope. Colin picked it up; it was addressed to Joan Johnson, Bradford.

  On his return to HQ Colin called his Inspector. A call was then linked through to Commander Jonathan Keen. It was he who started the ball rolling to involve MI5.

  ***

  It was just after three when Bill's Porsche pulled on to the car park of D.M. Business Machines. He walked in and smiled at Emma. "Bill to see Drew I have an appointment at three." He looked at the clock on the office wall. "Bit late I'm afraid."

  Drew had heard the Porsche and came to meet him.

  "Come this way Bill, coffee?" Drew turned to Emma. "Two coffees, Emma, when you can please, love. Come through Bill. Now what can I do for you?"

  Bill explained carefully that he was concerned by the way Roy had acted and responded during the second of their meetings; he was also concerned about Roy's fascination with the bombings that had been going on. On reflection Drew remembered Roy's curious interest in news on the latest bombing.

  "So what are you driving at, Bill?" Drew was growing more intrigued. He treated Roy like a son and for that same reason felt responsible to discover what Bill was insinuating.

  "I don't really know myself. What's at the back of my mind is unclear. What I really need is a sounding board. I called the doctor who treated Roy after his hospitalisation. I know most by sight and a few by name at the hospital. Roy was totally free of any abnormality on his ECG or tests, the treatment administered was purely precautionary, litigation being what it is today. When did Roy talk about going abroad to you?"

  "Only when we met him together. Listen, I must tell you I don't think it's a holiday he's gone on, I think it's possibly a permanent move; he handed his resignation in to me today. It's there in the bin in pieces. He's mixed up as well you know."

  "Of that I'm aware, my friend, but mixed up in what?"

  Emma brought the coffee in and put it on the coffee table. The two men stopped talking. She left.

  "So what are you saying?" Drew's voice had an air of concern.

  "I'm probably way off beam here but I think he may be tied up with these bombings. I know, I know,” he repeated anxiously. "It sounds totally ridiculous but I just have this feeling. The problem is I don't know where to go from here. Tell me, do you have a copy of Roy's appointments over the last twelve months? If he's been in the area of the bombings then that might give us a clue."

  Drew called Emma and asked her to bring up on the computer all the appointments and expenses Roy had made over the previous two years plus any orders he had made. "Let's be thorough, I don't want you leaving here other than clear in that warped mind of yours that Roy is nothing but a salesman, slightly mixed up I'll grant you that, but a salesman."

  There was anger in his tone and Bill knew that he might just have disturbed a hornet’s nest.

  ***

  The British Airways 757 landed in Istanbul on time. Roy cleared passport control before moving towards the internal flights’ boards. The Cyprus Turkish Airline flight would depart from Gate 7. He checked in and made his way to the seating area near the gate. His flight would depart in forty minutes. He would wait twenty minutes and then ring Joan.

  Collection was made of all the post boxes in Heathrow, a brown envelope addressed to the Editor of the 'Daily Telegraph' was swept into the nylon sack with hundreds of others. It was on its way.

  Roy had no luck with his call. As he returned to his seat people were beginning to collect around the door leading to departures. He waited until the group had dissipated before joining the line. An old man in front struggled with a plethora of packages and bags, mostly wrapped in black plastic. With a degree of shoving and pushing he managed to fit them onto the x-ray conveyor. How he was going to manage once on the plane only he knew. There seemed to be scant regard for the rule, one piece of hand luggage each. Roy helped and the Turk smiled, his eyes creased into a thousand lines before he was directed to the metal detector.

  A security guard sat, bored, waiting for the bleep that never came. The machine was probably switched off to match its operator. Through the window Roy could see the aircraft as he moved steadily towards the gate. He loved the country in which he was about to arrive. No matter what propaganda the Greeks dredged up about it, it was his second home. He had lived amongst both Greeks and Turks and he knew whom he preferred. His preference was now clear to all. He never missed the chance to promote their dilemma, he knew the history of the island and he had not stowed away the facts the Greeks tended to do. The British had granted independence within the Commonwealth on the understanding that they could maintain two sovereign bases, one of which was Roy's home and inspiration for a time. The rest could be run by both Greek and Turks, the Greeks holding the majority, therefore the most power, but they were to guarantee a say and freedom to the Turkish minority. It did not last, with the Greeks reneging on the deal spending a number of years moving the Turks into areas of the country they saw fit, often using violence, whilst at the same time removing any rights they might have in the government of the island.

  When Greece's fascist Colonels sent troops to overthrow the government of Cyprus, a government that had been installed by Britain, Turkey became determined to support its neighbouring people, just as Britain should have done. After numerous requests to protect the Turkish inhabitants and just as many excuses from Britain, Turkey sent in twenty-five thousand paratroopers and moved south to the present 'Green Line'. The Republic of Northern Cyprus was born, now unrecognised by everyone but Turkey and the Sudan. There was, however, an advantage: it was as yet unspoiled and beautiful in its emptiness; a place not found by h
oards of drunken holidaymakers that were de rigueur in most Greek resorts. The miles of unspoiled beaches were, in Roy's opinion, what the Greeks wanted now; their greed escalated.

  Roy showed his passport and entered the aircraft; fortunately, he was seated away from the old man who nodded and grinned every time Roy caught his eye.

  ***

  There was more to look through than either Bill or Drew had imagined but they were at least methodical. Armed with more coffee they began their search. The contrast in enthusiasm was marked. Drew sighed deeply, seeming to lack enthusiasm for the task, whereas Bill studied carefully making copious notes.

  "What exactly are you searching for, Bill?"

  "We are searching for clues, my friend. The bombs so far have been mainly in the north east and north west, nothing in the borders and some in the south, predictably the M25. The M6 near Wigan was the first target. Any business over that way?"

  "Just a minute," interrupted Drew. "There was a large contract in Liverpool. Roy spent a number of days developing a computer system for a group of retail outfits. I vaguely recall that the purchaser knew me from my days in the States. I remember too this was the second order; it wasn't too long ago either."

  The two men searched the records until they found what they were looking for.

  "Look! Liverpool and Preston, both in the vicinity of the first bombings."

  "Don't be ridiculous, Bill. Hundreds of reps travel to these places but it doesn't make them the bomber."

  "Hundreds of reps didn't serve in the Gulf, hundreds of reps don't need psychiatric help and hundreds of reps haven't just done a flit to a country that doesn't recognise extradition."

  Drew looked up and for the first time realised that Bill's long shot might hold some truth. "Let's keep looking."

  ***

  Gary Barlow and Lee Jennings pulled up outside the hotel close to the site of the second bombing. They walked to the reception and showed their ID to the receptionist. They requested to see John Jones, the waiter who had reported seeing a grey car parked close to the hotel. The receptionist put out a call and within minutes Jones walked towards the two officers. He had been expecting them, since their earlier phone call. Lee introduced himself and his colleague. Gary produced the photographs of the car taken from all angles. The result was immediate. John's face registered instant recognition.

  "That's it!" He looked carefully at all the photographs stopping at the one showing the front view. "I'd forgotten about that bulge on the bonnet." He could not remember whether it was days or weeks before the bombing but he clearly remembered the night. "The car was parked over there." He walked the officers to the revolving door. "I'd come out for a smoke at about ten. A bloke dressed mainly in black opened the boot and took out a large shoulder bag before setting off for the bridge up there. Thought he was a fisherman but as I went back inside, I couldn't remember seeing a rod. I came back out just before midnight; we'd just finished clearing away. The car was still there. I walked up the road a bit and there he was. He'd just climbed over the fence by the bridge. I had been right, he didn’t have a rod. He walked back to the car and threw the bag in the boot; I noticed it was much lighter and then he drove off. But that's the car all right. What kind is it?"

  "Subaru, very fast and very special," chipped in Gary.

  Lee just looked at his partner before turning back to Jones. "You’ve been a great help, Mr Jones. We’ll need to see you again sometime in the future."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The aircraft banked slightly and the turbulent air rising from the Girne range of mountains shook the wing tips. The sky was blue apart from the few white cumuli that hung like cotton. Below would be his castle, to the south east Gazimagusa. He could see the green of the mountain foothills give way to the yellow of the plain, heated from the long, hot summer, and then the roads, snaking grey along its length. The runway was below him as the pilot overflew the beacon that had been their guide. He turned left flying east to take up his downwind leg. The seat belt sign flicked on and passengers extinguished their cigarettes; smoking was still very much allowed on these flights. The descent made a child cry as ears adjusted to altitude. Another left turn brought them onto base leg. He could see the runway stretching out ready for their arrival, another turn and then the welcoming clunk of the extending undercarriage. The landing was firm but they were down. Many of the elderly Turks clapped for reasons best known to themselves. In an hour he would be home.

  ***

  The more Drew and Bill searched, the more they seemed to find. It was the invoices for palmtop computers that puzzled them more than other anomalies; throughout the course of eighteen months the firm had received sixty-two. Twelve had been sold, the rest were in stock. Drew called through to the warehouse to check the stock items. The remaining fifty were missing. Drew wondered whether they had been given as gifts by Roy to established clients. He would speak with him when he could.

  "So, you see why I'm concerned, things are just not falling into place as they should do. With your support I want to go to the police. If he is innocent then there’s little damage done but if things are what I feel them to be, Roy may be in need of more help than either of us had first considered."

  "Let's both go and sleep on it. I'll take these records home and go through them again. Can you meet me tomorrow? We'll meet at 5pm and make the decision about the police then, that way we’re sure."

  Bill agreed and shook Drew's hand, apologising for raising his suspicions for he knew just how close the two men were. When Bill had gone Drew continued going through the records until late. The longer he looked the more convinced he became that his friend was involved.

  ***

  The taxi dropped Roy outside the flat. From the outside in the late afternoon sun it looked warm. The shadows from the palm trees were long. In forty minutes it would be dark. He opened the door and the cool of the flat rushed to greet him. The closed shutters kept the flat dark and cool. Leaving his cases on the pathway, he skipped up the steps and wound the shutters open, one by one. The sun trickled in. Once he had retrieved his belongings and checked the flat, he poured himself a long drink and pulled a chair onto the balcony to catch the last of the sun. He would try to ring Joan.

  The ringing phone was just what she had been waiting for. She found it difficult to concentrate, she had found herself looking at the phone, willing it to ring and now that it had it caused the butterflies in her tummy to crash and tumble.

  "Joan, I'm home, sitting on the balcony watching the sun disappear. Missing you. How are you?"

  "I've been like a cat on hot bricks, you know how I worry. Thanks for your call earlier. You'll be pleased to know I've booked my flight for half-term and I can't wait."

  They chatted for a time. Roy then unpacked and walked into town to find Tongus, he knew just where to find him. He needed a few things, especially a jeep. The dim street lamps gave little light but a feeling of security. He liked the approach to the old town with its curved walls. He stood for a moment and admired the statue in the centre of the roundabout before moving across the road. He entered the old town by crossing the bridge over what once was the moat, squeezing into the wall occasionally to allow the traffic to pass. Once through the towered gate he strolled down the narrow streets, savouring the smells and sounds. In front of him was the once mighty cathedral, now a mosque. He turned down towards the port. On his left was Petek's Bar and sure enough, sitting at a table was Tongus, backgammon board between him and a friend. This was the evening's relaxation. Roy stood and watched the scene for a moment before moving behind Tongus. He signalled to the man facing his friend to say nothing.

  "Shit move," he whispered in broken Turkish into Tongus's ear. It had the desired result. He whipped round, anger in his eyes until he saw Roy. His face metamorphosed and a huge cry echoed through the bar. They hugged each other and beer was brought. It was going to be a long night.

  ***

  Although the note arrived early, the lette
r was not read until 09.15. The scramble after that was intense. The editor faxed the note to New Scotland Yard. Immediately a meeting was called of the heads of the groups. At 11.40, Sheila Dewar addressed the group. It was an open forum. They each had a copy in front of them:

  GULF, GULF, GULF. THANK YOU FOR AGREEING TO MY DEMANDS. REMEMBER THERE ARE MANY BRIDGES LIKE THE ONE JUST GONE! THE MONEY NEEDS TO BE BROUGHT THROUGH TO REPUBLIC OF NORTHERN CYPRUS ON ONE OF THE U.N. TRIPS TO RIZOKARPASSO. YOU NEED TO DEPOSIT CASH AT PLACE MARKED 'X'. PLACE IT IN A BERGEN. IT MUST BE DONE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 18.00 AND 19.00 0N 14 OCT. THE LANDROVER SHOULD CONTAIN ONLY TWO PEOPLE. INSTRUCTIONS OF WHEN AND WHERE TO COLLECT BOMB DETAILS WILL FOLLOW SUCCESSFUL COLLECTION.

  They also had a copy of the castle plan, which showed the 'X' in red and, clearly marked in brackets, the location co-ordinates, alongside a brief history of the Cyprus situation. They also had a faxed copy of the Investigating Officer's report on the eyewitness account of the car sighting. All around the table were convinced that Roy Hanna was their man and all were eager to ensure that he would not enjoy the profits of his deadly labours.

  "The only problem I see at present, gentlemen, is organising the money. That’s being done as we speak at one of the sovereign bases in Cyprus and I should hear soon whether we will be ready to move on that. To get the U.N. vehicle to the mountain area, which as you can see from the map is a long way from their destined route, will require sensitive handling. The vehicles travel weekly to Rizokarpasso, a Greek enclave since 1974, delivering rations. The whole issue of the UN travelling away from set routes is growing more difficult, particularly in the light of the latest border clashes. As you will have seen on the news, gentlemen, a number of people from both sides have been killed recently.