Tested by Fire

by David Costa

  Before she could say more, Mohammad came through from the kitchen with a tray of mugs and a pot of coffee.

  ‘Good, Sean, you’re here. Everyone, come and sit at the table, it will be easier.’

  Doing as he asked, and with the coffees poured, Lyndsey spoke again.

  ‘As I was saying, Sean, let me introduce you to my friends.’ Pointing to the man with the smile she said,

  ‘This is Imtaz, he’s from Birmingham and currently studying to be a doctor, Imtaz this is Sean.’

  Both nodded acknowledgement to each other. Pointing to the man with the frown she said,

  ‘And, this is Waheed. He lives in London and a true follower as we all are. I told you about his uncle, Azhari Husin, a true martyr, Allah be praised.’

  Waheed smiled for the first time showing a gap between otherwise pristine white teeth yet Costello noticed the frown above his eyes seemed to remain.

  The colour of their skin was similar to Mohammad, the type specific to Asian men thought Costello, not as dark as an African not as pale as a European’s.

  They looked like twin brothers apart from the frown, both between twenty-five and thirty years old. Short beards in the style of young Muslim men, both wore jeans with trainers and a casual denim shirt. Similar in every way except Waheed was the more serious or maybe it was just because Imtaz seemed to smile more. It might have been the frown, but, Costello thought, this guy had more history in this game.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ they said almost in unison.

  Costello noticed Imtaz had a slight Birmingham accent.

  ‘Well, where are we now?’ Costello asked Lyndsey, ‘Can you bring everyone up to date?’

  ‘Sure, only you and Mohammad know our true purpose in meeting here tonight.’

  The two new arrivals said nothing just listened, paying attention to every word without any hint of expectation or surprise.

  Lyndsey spoke, looking at each in turn.

  ‘Before we start, Mohammad is going to use this device to sweep the room and your phones for bugs.’

  She produced a small black electronic device like a mobile phone with two large dials on the front and handed it to Mohammad. She then took her own mobile phone, switched it off, and placed it in the empty fruit basket in the middle of the table.

  ‘Please turn off your phones and put them in the basket.’

  Everyone did as she asked, then Costello spoke.

  ‘I thought this was a safe house?’

  ‘It is, Sean, but like you, I’ve been able to stay one step ahead of the enemy by trusting no one; sometimes not even myself. This way we can all talk freely and in confidence from the start. When we’ve checked the room, I’ll chair the meeting, so we don’t get bogged down with too much conversation.’

  All nodded their agreement as Mohammad first swept the device over the phones then slowly moved round the room, paying attention to any electrical equipment, before sitting back at the table.

  ‘All clear, we can proceed,’ he said.

  ‘Good. Now, as I was saying I don’t want to get bogged down in too much discussion of who we are and where we’re from, this is not important. Let it be enough to say we’re all soldiers in the great war against the infidel the Great Satan, the West.’

  ‘If we’re to fight the Great Satan as you say, why is this infidel here, I know you and I trust you. You are the great White Widow. We all know what you’ve sacrificed for the cause, but we don’t know this Irishman?’

  It had been Waheed who had spoken. Lyndsey had been expecting the question, it was one that had been asked by her masters in Tehran when she first proposed the whole idea.

  ‘Yes, you might consider Sean the infidel and so he might be, but he is a dangerous one and one who has great skills. Skills he has used to kill our enemies and he has offered them to help us in our cause and in this operation in particular. I’ve known Sean for many years, and he is a great soldier in the fight against our common enemy: the Great Satan. If I’m willing to trust him and vouch for him, are you willing to follow my instructions to help us succeed in what will be a blow to the West that’ll rock them to their foundations?’

  Waheed looked Costello in the eyes and smiled, showing the gap in his white teeth.

  ‘I’m happy to accept your word, and I’ll work with this man to destroy our common enemy for now.’

  ‘Is it the agreement of us all that we work together to see this done?’ she asked.

  Around the table each in turn replied, ‘Yes.’

  When he said yes, Costello looked at Waheed.

  I’m going to have to watch my back with you, my little Islamic arse kisser, he thought. When this is over, if you’re still alive, I’m going to put a bullet through that pretty little gap in your teeth and maybe one in that frown, right between your eyes.

  Waheed could see Costello looking at him and he noticed the strange smile he had on his face.

  Lyndsey spoke again, ‘This team are going to strike a blow against the infidel that’ll go down in history as the greatest ever.’

  Costello knew the rhetoric and the inclusion of the word infidel was for the benefit of the two newcomers and not directly aimed at him, even though he knew they would class him as such.

  ‘We’re going to kill the chief infidel…the British Prime Minister.’

  Imtaz and Waheed looked at each other their eyes widened, their smiles broad…the frown still there. They looked for Lyndsey to continue.

  ‘We’re going to do it here in Manchester, at the Conservative Party Conference in five days’ time.’

  ‘What, no mortars this time?’ asked Waheed. Even he knew the fame of the improvised mortar attacks that had killed so many in Northern Ireland and almost killed the British Prime Minister and his cabinet when the IRA had mortared Downing Street itself from a Transit van parked in Whitehall.

  Lyndsey continued, ‘Not this time, Waheed. This is not an impossible operation, otherwise I wouldn’t have come halfway round the world putting myself at great risk of capture or death. Some months ago, when I met Sean in Tehran, what began as the seed of an idea soon flourished after I’d spoken to Mohammad. He’s lived in England for some time and has passed information back to his cousins in the Islamic Jihad and Hezbollah. When I spoke to the commanders in Tehran about a joint operation with Sean, they told me to speak to Mohammad and it fit perfectly with the idea. I’ll let Mohammad tell you what he told me, and you’ll see why we can do this if we all work together. We each have a particular talent and we are all needed for this to run smoothly. Mohammad, can you tell us where you come in to it all?’

  ‘Sharon is correct; I’m originally from Iran and a member of Hezbollah. I’ve lived in England for eight years, five of them here in Manchester where I went to university before getting a job with a large property agent in Deansgate. From my first days in England I’ve sent home letters and emails to my people in Iran. If I wanted to send something of a sensitive nature, I would travel to the Iranian Embassy in London where the Cultural Attaché would forward it through secure channels. Sometimes, as on this occasion, the people in Iran would contact me if they had follow-up questions or instructions. Again, this was done through the Attaché and we’d meet in Manchester. This is exactly what happened when Sharon showed an interest in this operation. When I was at university, I joined the Conservative Party as a student. I attended meetings and showed interest but nothing more than making myself known to the local Constituency Chairman. I did this because I wanted to attend the Party Conference for which I had to be cleared through a strict vetting procedure – including police checks, and a reference from my local Chairman confirming who I am.’

  ‘You sound like a spy, brother,’ said Imtaz.

  ‘You could say that, what I’ve been doing would probably fall into that category. I attended the last Conference. As usual, I watched, listened, and reported back. I paid attention to the security surrounding the Conference itself from the outer perimeter of ordinary policing t
o the inner perimeter of heavily armed police and specialist officers. The whole area is surrounded by high fences and barriers. To gain access, you must wear a Conference identification card which has a barcode that’s scanned once on access through the outer barrier gate and a second time when you pass through a large tent fitted with full body and baggage scanners. This is manned by police and Conference security staff, and all this before you pass into the main Conference building.

  ‘The Midland Hotel, where the top government officials, including the PM, and party people stay during the Conference, backs on to the square leading to the Conference Centre. That’s where I saw the Prime Minister leave the hotel on the day of his main speech and walk with his bodyguards across the square – information I passed to Tehran two years ago.’

  Mohammad stopped speaking, this was as much as he wanted to say at this time, now it was time to hear from others.

  Lyndsey turned to Costello.

  ‘Sean, can you tell everyone where you think we are now?’

  Costello took his time looking each in the eye in turn before he spoke.

  ‘First, let me say when Sharon and I first began to explore the possibility of such an operation, the one thing we both agreed on was that this would be an operation for serious, professional people, not a bunch of amateurs. That’s why you’re here. Each one of you has a proven track record of working for your cause, whatever that may be. If we’re to be successful, we must work together. As Sharon has already said, even if we have opposite ideas of who the enemy is.’ Costello looked at Waheed.

  ‘The information brought by Mohammad has helped bring us here to formulate a plan of attack. We each have a part to play which will become clearer to you over the next few days. We need to be armed. If you’re in danger of capture, you’ll have to shoot your own way out. We cannot let the enemy know our plan. I’ve already carried out the observation of the hotel and Conference areas, and I’ll do so once more before the security barriers are put in place. I recommend that you all do the same to familiarise yourselves with the area as well.’

  Costello opened his tourist map on the table and pointing to it, continued, ‘This is a simple tourist map you can buy from any newsagents in the city. The beauty of it is you can pass yourself off as a tourist looking for places of interest. Mohammad, you already know the area well, so you won’t need one. Waheed and Imtaz, I want you both to work together and get to know the area well, especially this location just outside the security zone. The final plan is starting to take shape in my head. If the attack is to happen successfully, it will be on Wednesday, 2 October.’

  Costello let what he’d said sink in, and then Lyndsey spoke again.

  ‘We must remember we’ll all be working on the ground of the enemy. This enemy has one of the biggest and most successful intelligence and security organisations in the world. Our own security must be airtight. Mohammad will sweep the room for bugs every time we meet here. Mohammad, you, Waheed, and Imtaz will stay here until the operation day. When it’s over, if we’re still alive and safe, we all make our own ways back to our safe locations whether here in England, Iran, or Ireland wherever. Sean, I’ve booked you a room in the Hilton in the name of Mr Paul Jordan.’

  She took an envelope out of her bag and handed it to him.

  ‘There is money and a credit card in Jordan’s name. I wanted you to be closer to the target area so that you can observe the day-to-day changes to the conference zone. I managed to get you a room looking in the direction of the Conference Centre. I know it’s some distance between the Hilton and the Midland Hotel, but you should be able to view the whole area from the safety of your room. This arrangement will be good for our security with less travelling back and forth between here and Manchester needed. Waheed and Imtaz, you work together for now and carry out your own observations. Sean, no offence to anybody here but a white man walking about with Asian men in Manchester is not usual and could draw unnecessary attention…the kind we don’t want. Sean, is your equipment secure?’

  ‘Yes, in a secret compartment in the van in the garage.’

  ‘Good, let’s leave it there until nearer the time. Mohammad can drop us at the Hilton now and collect some Glock pistols from our Iranian brothers for each of you. We will all be armed for the duration of the operation.’

  ‘I’m OK,’ said Costello. ‘I have my Browning.’ He moved his shirt to let them all see where he’d secreted the weapon when they’d arrived.

  ‘So, Mohammad, it’s just you, Waheed, and Imtaz for the Glocks. Like Sean, I have my own weapon.’

  She then placed a piece of paper on the table with a set of numbers on it and their names beside them.

  ‘These are your numbers, make sure you save each other’s on your phones. Don’t worry about security. If you do need to talk to each other on the phone, I’m sure you’re wise enough to not be specific.’

  When everyone had saved the numbers, Mohammad took the paper to the sink in the kitchen and burnt it.

  ‘Imtaz and Waheed, your only purpose here is to work on this operation. Mohammad will see to whatever you need. Any questions?’ she asked.

  No one answered.

  ‘OK, we all know our tasks, let’s get to work and we can meet back here in two nights’ time. Mohammad, can you drop us back in the city? Sean, can you get your bag?’

  Both nodded agreements. While Costello went upstairs, Lyndsey took Mohammad to one side and whispered, ‘I don’t know what it is, but I have a strange feeling about Waheed. I want you to keep a close eye on him.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The hop to Manchester in the Puma was uneventful. The noise from the engines made it difficult to hold any sort of conversation. The talk was general with everyone catching up with what each one had been doing and even some chat between April Grey and Joe Cousins on buying property in the Oxford area. Reece was pleased with the team. He knew they were professional enough to know when they could relax and when they needed to be back in the zone.

  When they landed at Barton Aerodrome on the outskirts of the city, Reece noticed another Black Puma parked on the grass near to where they touched down. The Aerodrome was just outside Manchester, its two grass runways about five miles from the centre of the city. Reece could see from the banners on the perimeter fencing that it was also the location for private light aircraft and helicopters, and flight training schools.

  Now Barton would be their home for the duration of Operation Longshot. They, along with the SAS team allocated to them, would be taking over one of the two large hangers.

  When the rotors had stopped, a man approached the team and asked, ‘David Reece?’

  ‘I’m Reece.’

  ‘Excellent, I’m Geoff Middleton the Troop Commander. Welcome to Barton. Let me show you where you’ll be staying.’

  He was around six-foot tall with a shock of blonde hair; he was clean shaven with dark brown eyes. He looked fit with a slight tan and he moved quietly without effort.

  ‘This way everyone.’

  As they walked towards one of the large dark green hangers, Reece noticed a lot of people about.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said Middleton. ‘How secure is this place? My thoughts exactly when we arrived this morning, but apparently, they’re used to large numbers of troops and police coming and going in the run up to the Conference, so no questions are asked. The hanger is surrounded by a fence with a secure key padded entrance door. The code is easy to remember: Battle of Hastings – ten sixty-six. My own little joke when I changed the code this morning, I thought what better, after all it was a long shot with the arrow that hit Harold in the eye.’

  Smiling, he opened the door and waved everyone through.

  Reece was beginning to take to this man. He’d seen this same self-depreciating type of humour before in people who, despite doing a very dangerous job, could still laugh at themselves and the situation they were in. The inside of the hanger was exactly as Reece expected: a large cavernous bu
ilding with no windows, doors front and rear, split into three large sections by heavy dark sliding doors from floor to ceiling, making three large roomed areas.

  ‘This is your living area.’ Geoff pointed to the first sectioned off area. ‘The middle section is the general comms area with links for us, the police, and a separate link for your team in London. All the comms links can be combined when needed. The third section at the rear is where me and the boys are bedding down. We had a basic briefing at the head-shed in Hereford this morning so once you’ve settled in could you come along and bring us up to speed?’

  ‘No problem, see you in fifteen minutes.’

  The section allocated to the SG9 team had all the home from home comforts you would associate with a camping trip: basic to say the least, camp beds, blow-up mattresses, a square table with six hard chairs.

  No relaxing here, thought Reece.

  He threw his bag on the first bed. April took the last knowing the toilet and washroom facilities were going to be the only private place to change. She’d been on many operations before and was used to such places. Reece went to the middle section of the three partitions to find Middleton and the rest of his eight-man team. Two communications officers manned the radio desk and phones. Talking to one of the operators was a senior police officer, the badge on his shirt’s epaulets showing he was the Assistant Chief Constable. When he saw Reece, he came over and shook his hand.

  ‘Mr Reece, hello, I’m Graham Lockwood, Gold Commander for the Conference. Whitehall tells me I’m to give you whatever you need but as that’s all they’ve told me, the floor is yours.’

  Reece took in Lockwood; he thought he was shorter than most police officers he knew and put him at around forty but with a shock of grey hair that made him look older.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, sir. I presume Whitehall also told you we don’t have much time?’

  ‘Yes, they did say the period covered the Conference dates next week.’

  Turning to the room, Reece knew the more information he could give everyone the better result the outcome would be. The seated SAS CQB team reminded him of his Special Branch days and briefings such as this. The men in front of him looked fit and alert. They would know that every piece of information would make their job that much easier and the targets that much easier to identify.