The Real World- the Point of Death

by Laurence Todd

  On a more operational level, I was curious about how Mendoccini had managed to evade security and get back into the country, as he was certain to be a person of interest to the security services. Had they been notified when he’d left Milan? Did MI5 already know he was in the country? It was obvious he hadn’t just flown with Ryanair and then calmly strolled through Stansted airport using his own name and passport, so how’d he done it?

  I also wanted to know why now; why was he in the country at this particular time? Did his presence mean Red Heaven now had something planned for the UK?

  What I particularly wanted to know, though, was how the hell he’d known about my marriage to Taylor, and how he’d known where she worked.

  S I X

  Friday

  I’d been deskbound the past two days, completing reports and finishing a long-overdue statement. I’d also interviewed a source for a tip-off about an ongoing operation, attended a pointless meeting yesterday afternoon (I was now struggling to remember what about), and helped to conclude the inquiry into a cold case where a witness had come forward and stated he’d lied under oath about the circumstances. It’d been decided, as other salient facts hadn’t changed, this wasn’t sufficient to challenge the existing Coroner’s Court verdict of death by misadventure, to the outraged consternation of one or two newspapers who thought there’d been a cover-up.

  I was relieved when, just before ten, Smitherman called me into his office and said there was something he wanted me to look into which could have sensitive political overtones. I took a seat and was immediately interested.

  He began by stating he’d been informed that a Conservative backbench MP had become the target for allegations, made by the pressure group Armswatch, about corrupt business practices being used to secure contracts for Bartolome Systems.

  My ears pricked up. I remembered Clements saying something similar at my wedding reception recently. I’d forgotten all about it, but it sounded interesting.

  “This isn’t public knowledge yet, so it’s to be handled delicately,” he said. “You remember, a few months back, a number of highly confidential documents were stolen from Bartolome Systems and offered to the press, but they were all given back after the press refused to run with them?”

  I nodded my agreement. He went on.

  “Armswatch’s now claiming it’s acquired evidence showing, before becoming an MP, this person was fully implicated in bribery, both in paying and receiving. They’re proposing to make public what they know.”

  Given how much business Bartolome Systems did with the UK government, it would cause considerable political embarrassment if it became known Bartolome engaged in a practice the Government officially frowned upon.

  “But the really damning allegation they’re making is they’ve evidence this MP, in a very recent case, accepted an illicit payment to steer a weapons shipment away from its initial destination, as stated on the End User Certificate and signed off by a Government minister, and on to a third-world dictatorship. Apparently they were used in a situation where a large number of civilian lives were lost. They’re intending to make this public as well, as far as I understand it.”

  I could just imagine the firestorm if these allegations ever reached the public domain.

  “So, who’s the MP?” I asked after a moment’s consideration.

  “Someone called Charles Garlinge.”

  “Is he aware of these allegations?” I asked. I was wondering whether Clements knew about any of this.

  Smitherman said Garlinge had been made aware of the allegations and had, predictably, denied all of them, somewhat vehemently. The Branch was being asked to investigate the veracity of the claims made, so I was to talk to Armswatch and then to Garlinge about these allegations. My brief was to ascertain whether there was any truth in what was being claimed.

  “The information given to the press a few months back was of a commercially confidential nature, and had been stolen, so the press voluntarily gave it back, partly because of the strategic importance of Bartolome, but also to avoid tangling with the courts,” Smitherman said. “This new material, however, isn’t commercially confidential and just outlines what they claim to be corrupt business practices, so that’s a different issue, plus nobody stole it from Bartolome. According to Armswatch, it was leaked to them by a company insider.”

  “How strong is Armswatch’s evidence?” I asked when Smitherman had finished explaining the situation.

  “I’m not sure. I only know the allegations have been made, so this’s what I want you to look into.”

  From the serious expression on his face, I knew there was more to come. I was right. After several seconds of nodding and looking at something on his desk, Smitherman continued.

  “MI6’s managed to keep this quiet for the moment, but they don’t want any of this coming to light, if it can be helped. They certainly don’t want a story like this in the press, because it’ll lead to questions in the House, especially if there’s any evidence of bribery being a factor in bringing about a situation where innocent lives were lost.”

  “So why haven’t Armswatch already made this public?”

  “I’ve heard they simply want this MP to resign his seat and, if he does, they’ll not publicise what they know, but otherwise . . .” He shrugged.

  “As simple as that, just resign?” I was surprised.

  We were both silent for a moment.

  “Who knows? So, as I said, talk to Garlinge, try and get a sense of what he knows, see if there’s any truth to these claims. Bribery and MPs shouldn’t figure in the same sentence, so gauge his reaction to what’s been claimed, see what he tells you. Then talk to Armswatch, see what evidence they’re holding and find out where they got it from. That’s the more worrying thing, where the leak came from, especially if it’s from inside the firm.”

  “Bribery and an MP. Who’d have ever thought, eh?” I grinned, shaking my head.

  “You sure you’re not friends with my son-in-law? You sound just like him.”

  *

  Armswatch were ostensibly a pressure group whose raison d’être was monitoring the activities of companies involved in the manufacture and marketing of armaments and weapons, everything from the components required to make nuclear missiles down to protective clothing. They’d had some notable successes in highlighting several dubious deals done by weapons manufacturers with governments in third-world countries who, in a couple of instances, had gone on to use the weapons against their own populace. The BBC’s current affairs show Panorama had once broadcast a one-hour special on corruption inside the arms trade based on information supplied by Armswatch.

  But, increasingly, the concern for Special Branch was Armswatch becoming more radical in the demographic of its supporters. Its membership still counted many older members who objected to arms and the arms trade on religious grounds, mainly Quakers, Seventh-Day Adventists and others who lived by Gandhi’s policy of non-violence in pursuing change. I’d arrested a few not too long ago. But there was now a sizeable and increasing number of known anarchists in the group, which had led to Armswatch moving away from its usual pressure group activity, lobbying and demonstrations, and into the realm of taking unlawful direct action.

  A recent case had involved someone associated with the group planting what he’d claimed to be an explosive device at the central London offices of Bartolome Systems. It transpired it was simply a bag stuffed with old newspapers, but it had led to a full-scale bomb alert, as police weren’t taking any chances. They had closed off High Holborn, causing considerable traffic chaos in the surrounding area; the building had been evacuated, a nearby Government office going into full lockdown mode, and bomb disposal teams had been called out. The individual concerned had been remanded on bail and was due to be tried at the Old Bailey soon.

  *

  Before I went to talk to either party, I did a little thinking about last Tuesday. I’d spent two days puzzling about Michael Mendoccini, wondering how the he
ll he’d known about my wedding, how he’d known where to find Sally and, especially, how he’d managed to enter the country when his name would be on a watch list at all points of entry.

  I also wondered why he was back in the country. Much as I appreciated the gesture, I was certain he’d not returned to this country just to give me a congratulation card, given he’d realise the security forces would be all over him like fleas on a dog if it became known he was back in the UK. There had to be a reason he was here.

  I contacted someone I knew inside Counter-Terrorism and asked, off the record, if his section knew of anything Red Heaven was planning, or whether they’d picked up any hints or whispers of impending actions. He’d said informants inside the group had passed on no intelligence regarding the group as, in the UK, it was now largely dormant, and nothing had been forthcoming from European counter-terrorism agencies either. Though certain individuals were still being watched, greater priority was now being given to monitoring radicalised Islamist extremists.

  I then contacted someone I knew who worked at the Home Office and whose function involved monitoring the movements of known or suspected terrorists in and out of the country. It was almost certainly a forlorn hope, but I asked if any known Italian terrorist suspects had entered the country inside the last week or so, and received the answer I was expecting.

  This confirmed he had to have entered the country surreptitiously.

  I thought for a couple of moments and then remembered, when I’d last spoken to Mendoccini, he’d told me he’d evaded capture getting out of the country by going by coach to the Isle of Wight, and had then made his way to the Needles, on the far south-west side of the island, where a fishing boat had picked him up and taken him to France. If this was the case, had he returned to the UK the same way?

  If he had, my bet was he’d use the same coach firm, probably a small one; the fewer people involved, the less chance there would be of any leaks. It wouldn’t be a large coach like National Express or Stagecoach as they’d keep detailed records over a longer period. A smaller firm would be less likely to do that.

  My initial surprise, when I typed coach companies in the Greater London area into Google, was just how many there were. There were dozens, ranging from executive and luxury class all the way down to one man and an eight-seater minibus.

  I began with smaller firms in East London, for no other reason than their proximity to the M25 and M11, and their access to other main roads like the M20 and M2, leading to south-east airports and ferries. I checked the websites for the first five businesses I’d noted in East London and looked for details about coach trips to the Isle of Wight. Only three ran coaches there. I logged who they were and entered their names into the Special Branch database, requesting anything known about the firms or their employees. The only hit I received was for Blueline Buses, who employed a driver, Mark Coulton, whose brother was known to have friends once involved with Red Heaven, though there was nothing listed about Mark himself. It was a tenuous connection but I logged it. I’d come back to this later.

  I clicked onto four more coach businesses which operated trips to and from the Isle of Wight, and then checked our database to ascertain if anything was known about the firm’s employees, but, other than two tickets for speeding, I drew a blank.

  *

  Armswatch had its London office in Warwick Way, behind Victoria station. My initial thought as I walked from the Yard was that the amounts charged for office rentals in the Victoria area bordered on legalised extortion, so, as Armswatch was ostensibly a pressure group, either its membership ran into the hundreds of thousands or it was financed by rich patrons.

  I was on my way to talk to the general secretary of Armswatch, Nick Graves. I’d phoned in advance, so he was expecting me. Graves was a former Labour MP who’d lost his seat at the 2010 election and was now working full-time for the pressure group. Interestingly, before being elected to the House, he’d worked for Bartolome Systems for several years but had been dismissed for suspected sabotage of machinery, costing the company thousands, though his direct involvement in the action was never established. Despite an industrial tribunal holding his dismissal to have been fair, he’d always protested his innocence. Soon after his dismissal he’d been elected an MP.

  His file listed him as previously being a leading activist in CND and, soon after becoming an MP, he had been arrested outside the American military base at Mildenhall, when he and several hundred others had attempted to prevent a military lorry, believed to contain missile warheads, from leaving the base. He’d received a fine in the magistrate’s court, as well as a stern admonishment from the chair of the magistrates for conduct unbecoming of an honourable member of the House.

  I was shown into his office by a young, earnest-looking, flame-haired receptionist wearing a white T-shirt emblazoned with the Armswatch logo. Graves was behind his desk, feet on the table and reading a letter. He was casually dressed in a black sweater and jeans, and his hair was combed back into a ponytail, despite his being mostly bald on top. From his file I knew he was nearly fifty and, as well as CND, had also been actively involved in the group Campaign Against the Arms Trade before becoming an MP. Since losing his seat he’d become a full-time campaigner against the arms trade, using his political and media contacts to ensure life was made difficult for companies like Bartolome Systems.

  His office looked exactly as I would have expected. There was a large CND logo and a 1980s retro poster, prominently headed Wanted for Terrorism, with a smiling Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher figuring prominently in front of a graphically coloured mushroom cloud. There were several other colourful posters on the wall detailing up-to-date statistics about arms sales and worldwide expenditure on weaponry. The room was well appointed and, although it was cluttered, it seemed to be in a state of functional and organised chaos. The sun was reflecting off the glass.

  He invited me to sit, so I did. Their offices were at the back of the building and, through the window behind Graves’ head, I could see the roof of Victoria station.

  Graves sat back in his chair and smiled. He’d know why police in the shape of Special Branch were calling on him.

  I identified myself and immediately began outlining brief details of the allegations the Branch had been made aware of. After this I asked him why Armswatch was making what Charles Garlinge claimed were a series of unfounded accusations against him.

  “We’re not,” he stated eloquently. “He’s just miffed because it’d be extremely damaging to him, and the Government, if the information we have about him and Bartolome ever makes it into the public domain. We know about some of the shady deals he’d been involved in, and we can substantiate every claim we’ve made, every one of them.” He spoke with emphasis. “Oh, and before you ask, it’s all locked away in a safe place which isn’t on the premises. We’re hanging on to everything we have unless and until a court order arrives saying otherwise.”

  “How did you acquire all the material you’re basing these claims on?”

  He sat quietly for a moment.

  “Okay.” He sat up and took a deep breath. “We had a package of materials sent to us from, I’m assuming, someone inside Bartolome, and it included, amongst other things, minutes detailing what was said by Bartolome’s directors at board meetings, which Charles Garlinge participated in. We were also sent copies of a series of special accounts, kept separate from the body of their main accounts, detailing exactly who paid how much to who, and when. In other words, this account was for a slush fund, and Garlinge’s name features prominently.” As he spoke, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. He was enjoying this.

  “I’m assuming you didn’t just accept this at face value.”

  “Heavens, no.” He smirked. “Our initial thought was this was too good to be true, so we had them scrutinised by a forensic accountant, someone with experience in the arms trade. This person examined them and is quite adamant the accounts are not only authentic; they’re also crooked. They j
ust don’t add up.”

  “What did your accountant think these accounts were referring to?”

  “The one they particularly said didn’t make any sense was a set of accounts headed Entertainment and Facilitation. What do you think this is for?” He grinned.

  I assumed the question was rhetorical.

  He continued. “Officially, this particular account was used for paying expenses involved in entertaining clients and their families. You know the kind of thing, putting them up in five-star London hotels, tickets for West End shows, paying for wives to go shopping whilst their husbands go to Premier League football matches, but, in reality, this was just a slush fund under a fancy name. Money would be withdrawn from the account by people like Garlinge when they met with clients, but what he was really doing was using this account for what it was intended for.” He smiled knowingly. “Which was to pay financial inducements, so Bartolome would be favourably considered when contracts were up for grabs. Garlinge was dumb enough to put down on paper what he’d spent entertaining one particular client, and we’ve got a copy of it. It’s all there in the accounts.”

  How much influence would these kinds of figures buy? “You’ve also claimed Garlinge accepted bribes.”

  “He did.” He said this emphatically, as though he were quoting scripture. “I’ll give you a recent example which’ll put things into context for you. Bartolome and another company were both bidding for a particular contract, but, right from the outset, this other firm made clear it’ll refuse to pay or accept any bribes, which in the arms world is the equivalent of committing harakiri or playing chess without the king. No pay, no play is the unofficial watchword in the arms industry.” He smiled to himself. “But Bartolome has no such scruples when it comes to shady negotiations, and Garlinge was given the go-ahead to grease the wheels,” – he made inverted commas with his index fingers – “do whatever it took to ensure Bartolome gets this contract, because it was potentially worth tens of millions over time. That’s minuted. We’ve evidence Garlinge withdrew funds from the account I just mentioned, and the dates coincided with when he met a senior Bahraini official in a Knightsbridge hotel. We’ve had this verified. Soon afterwards, Bartolome acquires an initial multi-million-pound contract.”