by Matt Johnson
Grahamslaw laughed. ‘No, I fuckin’ … sorry … no, I didn’t. OK, Mick, so I do … Now what do you think?’
‘Someone is playing a wicked game with players outside our control. That same someone has powerful contacts. Maybe that same someone knows Finlay. Maybe there’s a leak straight from the Branch, maybe there’s a middle man. Maybe this, maybe that. Who knows?’
‘That’s a lot of maybes with not a lot of ideas. So you’re saying we have a leak?’
‘Has to be,’ said Parratt. ‘Someone copied that photo and gave it to Finlay.’
‘When I was talking to him, he mentioned that his old CO had been in touch to warn him about the ROSE files going missing. Maybe that’s the connection … to Special Branch … or maybe to MI5?’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time. SB and MI5 work very closely together, sometimes.’
‘Fat lot of help you are,’ said Grahamslaw. ‘Right … let’s run through what you said on the phone. You’re telling me there are no ROSE files missing from Castlederg?’
‘Correct. There are no missing files.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘I spent two days with the RUC looking at the burglary report, talking to their forensic people and such. They knew absolutely nothing about any missing MI5 files. What they actually said was that the whole idea was absurd. There never have been any army personal files stored in their Special Branch offices.’
‘So the idea that was fed to Finlay by his old CO was bollocks?’
‘Yes. Does “bollocks” count as a swear word?’
‘Christ’s sake, Mick. If you start another swear box I’ll have you out directing traffic quicker than you can fart.’
Parratt laughed. ‘I’ll go get us some teas while you calm down.’
‘You do that.’
Parratt smiled broadly as he headed for the tea trolley.
When his number two returned, Grahamslaw was once again on the telephone. He waved Parratt in and gestured for him to sit. Parratt placed two steaming mugs of tea on the desk. The telephone conversation ended, Grahamslaw lifted his mug and sipped gingerly.
‘That was Lynn Turnbull in Special Branch,’ he said. ‘They confirmed that their officer was following a known operator, codename “White Dove”, when their target met up with Costello. Luckily, the surveillance photographer was at our briefing and knew we were looking for him. He called it in but the ARV crew missed him.’
‘Pity. He’s as slippery as an eel, that lad. What’s White Dove’s actual name?’
‘She did tell me but I’ve forgotten again. It’ll be faxed across to us in a few minutes, anyway.’
‘So who is this White Dove character?’
‘He’s a known operator from Iran. For one minute, I thought they were going to say he was the surviving terrorist from the Iranian Embassy.’
‘What made you think it might be him?’
‘Something that Inspector Finlay said while you were away. It turns out that Finlay and the others were all on Operation Nimrod, the embassy raid.’
‘So, I was right about the link, then.’ Parratt swigged his tea with only a little smugness. ‘What exactly did Finlay say?’ he asked.
‘He asked me if the surviving terrorist was out of clink. He had a theory that the attacks were linked to the embassy.’
‘I can tell you for definite that the Arab kid you’re referring to is still in prison,’ said Parratt.
‘I know … I had that checked.’
‘So that blows Finlay’s theory out of the water. What shall we do, pull Finlay in? Ask him where he got the picture?’
‘Lynn Turnbull is going to see if she can work out how that picture was leaked. As regards Finlay, he might yet be proved right. If this White Dove character is connected to the group that attacked the embassy, that could well be the motive.’
‘And what about pulling him in? Finlay I mean.’
‘No, then he’d know we were watching him. If he was one of the commando types at Alma House, chances are we’d never prove it anyway. I would like to know where he got that picture, though. When we’re finished, can you contact SO11? I want a full surveillance team put on him. There’s more going on here than meets the eye. Get the technical support boys on it too, telephone tap, mail intercept, everything, I even want to know when Finlay blows his nose, understood?’
‘Sure thing,’ said Parratt, as he jotted down the list of instructions. ‘He’s trained in counter-surveillance, you know.’
‘He’s years out of date. Nowadays we can do things he’d never imagine.’
‘SB still managed to lose the bombing team.’
‘It wasn’t much of a team by then. We’d already housed McGlinty and Hewitson.’
‘Did you get anything from them?’
‘Not a bloody thing. Even the MI5 interrogator had to admit defeat. It looks like the only one who knows what’s going on is Costello.’
‘Or that Arab he just met up with. Maybe Costello is just a trigger man as well.’
‘OK, OK, you made your point. Now, what about this photo?’
‘Two thoughts…’ said Parratt.
‘Give ’em to me.’
‘Well … given that Finlay still has contacts in the Security Services, perhaps someone gave him a legit copy simply to see if he recognised the Arab. Ours might not be the only investigation going on involving Costello and his contacts.’
‘Possible.’ Grahamslaw swung in his chair as he considered the idea.
‘Second idea is a bit more radical. Like you, I think Finlay and his mate are the two from Alma House. When I phoned in from Ireland, you mentioned McGlinty was trussed up like a chicken. That meant they planned to talk to him rather than kill him. In their own way, they might have been trying to find out what’s going on and who’s behind the attacks. They missed their chance, so their next target is likely to be Costello or this White Dove character. The fact that Finlay and his mate were looking at a picture of the Arab makes me think that he might be the next on their list. Maybe they plan to kill him, or maybe MI5 still think the Arab’s got the fictitious Castlederg files.’
‘Which, as we know, are not actually missing.’ Grahamslaw pondered Parratt’s thoughts as he sipped at the hot tea. ‘I go with that, Mick. Let’s think, now. We’ve got two in custody. If Costello saw the ARV trying to catch him then chances are he’s now headed home across the Irish Sea. This Arab, a known operator, is seen meeting Costello. Is he the paymaster, the weapon supplier or what?’
‘Maybe both,’ replied Parratt.
Grahamslaw rubbed his neck as he thought. ‘So what we’ve got is this: a series of attacks on former special forces men by a mixture of IRA and Middle-Eastern terrorists.’
‘Check.’ Parratt nodded.
‘Two dead, one very much alive and kicking. Next thing we know a small team of what looks like Special Forces tries a hit on the men we think are responsible.’
‘Two dead in London … maybe a third if you count the bomb in India?’
‘OK, but you follow my thoughts?’ said Grahamslaw.
‘I do, and like I said, the Alma house thing looked more like a snatch than a hit.’
‘OK, bear with me. Question: Who tipped the wink to the hit team?’
‘Presumably the same source that gave Finlay the photo.’
Grahamslaw smiled. ‘Exactly. Brain storming always works with you, Mick. That’s just what I thought. What we’ve got here is former Special Forces looking after their own. And who relocates Special Forces men when they retire?’
‘The ROSE office, of course. So, what you’re suggesting is that someone in the MI5 ROSE office is running a black op?’
‘Damn right I am.’
Grahamslaw stood, folded his arms and walked to his window. The roofs of central London were laid out below him. In the street, the traffic flowed as slowly and as steadily as ever. Every so often, the familiar red oblong of a Routemaster bus added colour to the overwhelming sense of g
rey. Glancing skywards, he noticed a helicopter passing overhead, and, above it, a plane making its way towards Heathrow. Even the sky was grey. In many ways, and to many people, it was an ordinary dull day in the capital.
He turned, his chin on his hand. ‘Let me run this past you, Mick. Somebody in Special Branch or MI5 has got egg on his face with those files being nicked. He’s put about a story about them being stolen from Castlederg. That same someone wants those files back before too much damage is done. Then what happens? Ex-SAS blokes start getting killed. You with me?’
‘You mean that there actually are missing files and that they contain the names of ex-SAS men?’ said Parratt.
‘You’ve got it. Add to that another ex-SAS soldier who we think is trying to abduct a terrorist and you’re starting to get the picture.’ Grahamslaw’s mind was racing faster than he could talk. ‘So, now we’ve got an Arab running round London with a list of people he wants to kill.’
‘And Finlay is trying to stop him.’
‘Can’t say I blame him,’ said Grahamslaw. ‘Finlay’s been a target twice. For him it’s probably kill or be killed.’
‘But why aren’t MI5 doing the job properly, using their own men?’
‘Like I said, maybe someone’s fucked up and is trying to sort it out quietly. Or maybe Finlay is an MI5 man. None of us really know how MI5 work; maybe they have people like Finlay waiting to be called up when the need arises?’ Grahamslaw slammed his fist on the table as the picture began to come together.
‘So, let me ask again: what do you want to do about Finlay?’ asked Parratt.
‘I want to let him run. See what he leads us to.’
Parratt scowled. ‘Villains are villains guv, inside or outside the job.’
‘Easy, Mick, easy. As I said, we’d be hard pushed to prove anything. No, for the moment I want to find out who Finlay’s mate is, then we decide. At the end of the day, we’ve got two for the Selfridges bombing and, if I’m right, the Kalashnikov we found in the flat with McGlinty will be the weapon used to kill Skinner, so we’ll have that on him as well.’
‘And if Finlay and his mate go after the Arab or Costello?’
‘Then we make sure they lead us to whichever one it is. And we make sure that we get to him first.’
Chapter 64
I met Kevin in a cool, bright and misty Regent’s Park at six a.m.
Monaghan wasn’t due for half an hour. The wait gave us a chance to discuss what he had learned at Hereford.
Kevin had news – some disturbing, some highly surprising. He’d met up with Tom Cochran, the regimental quartermaster. As luck would have it, Cochran was also a veteran of Operation Nimrod. Not surprisingly, the two men had adjourned to the sergeants’ mess to chat over a beer.
Kevin had asked about Monaghan’s theory on who was behind the attacks. He had also shown Cochran the picture of the Iranian, Yildrim. Cochran recognised the face in the picture, but not as the man I’d thought it was. Yildrim had several names, it seemed. Cochran knew him as Sultan Anwar, a logistics co-ordinator from the new Al Q’aeda terror group. As Anwar, he was known by a cipher, White Dove. According to Cochran, Anwar was originally from the UK but had travelled out to Pakistan and had been taken on for training by a well-known recruiter known as Abu Zubair. Anwar, alias Yildrim was a target for security services the world over.
More news was forthcoming when Kevin asked about Mac Blackwood and the attacks on me. Cochran had heard about the suicide bombing attack on Mac but not the attempts on my life. And just as I had before him, he immediately made the embassy connection. He was also able to make a quick phone call that confirmed the young Arab who survived the embassy assault was definitely still in prison. Yildrim was not the same man.
When Kevin explained how Monaghan had approached us to try to recover the supposedly missing files, Cochran made the absolute assertion that no ROSE files had ever gone missing from Castlederg. And in addition to that disturbing revelation, Kevin learned what became of Monaghan during the immediate period after he left the army. Our former CO had turned to drink and gambling when his wife had taken her own life. Kevin and I hadn’t even known Victoria Monaghan was dead. The reason touted for her suicide was that she was discovered having affairs with soldiers from the camp. The identity of the soldiers had never been revealed, but tongues had wagged. And the story that was spread – possibly invented, possibly based on real circumstances – was that one of the men involved was a squadron troop commander, an officer.
And that officer was me.
Chapter 65
I denied it, of course.
Well, it wasn’t true. Like many others, I’d fancied the CO’s wife but nothing more. She was a brunette, tall and slim with dark brown eyes, and I remembered that she had a flirtatious smile. I told Kevin there had been the one occasion when Victoria Monaghan had made me coffee in her kitchen while we were waiting for her husband to shower and get changed. When she handed me the cup, her hand had lingered on mine just a little longer than I would have expected. When I looked at her she had given me that smile. I had wondered then if she was trying to seduce me. Then, when I had come to leave their married quarters and head back to the camp, she had insisted on kissing me. The kiss, like the touch of hands, had lingered as her lips had caressed my cheek. As I slowly pulled away the look in her eyes had confirmed my belief.
I’d been tempted, I admitted as much. But good sense got the better of me. Monaghan was a powerful man and had become a friend. Victoria would have to find her thrills elsewhere.
So, with this personal experience in mind, it didn’t come as too much of a surprise to me that Victoria had taken lovers on the base. It also came as no shock to find that Monaghan had taken it badly.
What did strike me dumb was Kevin’s subsequent admission.
He had been Victoria Monaghan’s lover.
He wore a grin like a Cheshire cat as the words came out.
‘I don’t see what’s so funny, Kev,’ I said. ‘How the hell are you going to keep a straight face when Monaghan turns up?’
‘I’m sorry. I guess I’m just a bit embarrassed. Aren’t you? At least nobody has my name in the frame for shaggin’ the CO’s missus.’
‘I told you … I never went anywhere near her.’
‘Yeah … so you say. But mud sticks, boss. You always were a smoothie with the women.’
Kevin seemed highly amused at the notion Victoria Monaghan may have bedded both of us.
‘For Christ sake, Kev. I still don’t get what’s so bloody funny. If what Cochrane says is right, she killed herself when your affair with her was discovered.’
‘Hey … now hold on. Don’t go laying that guilt shit on me, boss. Anything I had going with her was her doing. She knew what she was about and it was her that made the running. She helped me out after I had those stress problems following the embassy. Having me fuck her was what she wanted in return.’
‘You don’t paint her in a very good light.’
‘And why should I? That’s how it was. You said yourself that she gave you the come on and you were nearly tempted.’
‘Cochrane said there were others?’
‘Several.’
We mulled over the likely suspects. There were a few who would have chanced it, characters who had reputations way in excess of anything attributed to me and who would have enjoyed the risk. Nobody would have been stupid enough to brag about it, though. In any section of the army, rumours and stories spread quickly. The SAS Regiment was no exception.
‘Well, you clearly weren’t the only one,’ I suggested.
‘That’s true. I wonder who the hell it was that she was caught with? Monaghan would have had his balls for breakfast. He’d have been gone from the regiment the same day and probably out of the army altogether.’
‘And then everyone would have known who it was.’
‘So, you reckon nobody actually knows?’ Kevin asked.
Across the grass and through the chill morning mis
t, I saw a familiar figure approaching from the direction of the Regent’s Park gate.
‘That’s my guess … now shut up, here he comes.’
In their nearby enclosure, the wolves of the London Zoo pack once again watched as Monaghan drew closer. One arched its back, while others groomed themselves or scratched at the ground.
An overweight jogger slowly pounded the footpaths as an old lady threw breadcrumbs to the gathering pigeons. Central London was stirring into life. In the distance, the hum of traffic was starting to build up. The air was warming quickly, the cloudless sky providing no filter to the sun’s rays. Across the park, gentle clouds of evaporating dew lifted wistfully over the grassy landscape.
Monaghan’s manner of dress caught us both by surprise. He wore a grey wig and heavy, dark sunglasses. A dark trilby hat was pulled down over his brow and the collar of his overcoat was pulled up.
Kevin was the first to speak. ‘Bit dramatic, sir – the disguise an’ all.’
I stared hard at Kevin. It was almost as if he was teasing Monaghan. I prayed he would say nothing about what we had just been discussing.
‘A wee bit warm in this weather as well, young man. Still, people in my position have to be careful.’ Monaghan’s tone was curt.
‘We believe we may have more on the Arab in the photo,’ I said.
Monaghan was still abrupt. ‘I know who he is. What else have you to add?’
I hesitated, confused by Monaghan’s unfriendly tone. ‘We’re told he’s a former UK citizen who uses the name Yildrim, like you said, and also the name Sultan Anwar.’
‘How did you find that out?’
‘Kev here recognised him,’ I lied. I figured there was no need to reveal how we had actually identified the Arab.
Monaghan shielded his face against the sun and spoke gruffly. ‘Well it’s a good job my sources are better than yours. He is who you say and my informant tells me he is staying in London. He is also most certainly behind Costello and the others who have been trying to kill you. I want him taken to the safe house that Sergeant Jones has sorted. We’ll take care of it tomorrow.’
