The Robert Finlay Trilogy

by Matt Johnson

  ‘Do you know where the expression comes from?’

  ‘It’s what prison inmates call the sex offenders.’

  Nell huffed slightly as she stopped typing. ‘It stands for “Not On Normal Courtyard Exercise” and is an acronym for prisoners who cannot mix with the normal prison population.’

  ‘If any of that population might be described as normal, Nell.’

  ‘My point is that Kevin Jones will be a nonce. We’re supposed to have been keeping a watching brief on him and now the poor man is going to end up behind bars … and we all know what happens to policemen in those situations.’

  ‘Ah, I was wondering when you might mention him.’

  ‘He was in touch with us only a fortnight ago. We should have followed that up.’

  Stuart appeared with two mugs, placing one on the desk next to Toni. ‘Inspector Finlay should be here in a minute,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks.’ Toni eased herself onto an empty chair while she thought how best to deal with Nell’s question. ‘Nell,’ she began, and then paused as her former researcher appeared distracted by a movement on her display. A moment later, as her assistant turned back, she finished what she wanted to say. ‘Easy with hindsight is an expression that comes to mind.’

  Nell wasn’t persuaded. ‘We hadn’t heard from him for months. Are you telling me it’s a complete coincidence that he calls up wanting to speak to us about translating an Arabic letter and then soon afterwards he’s arrested?’

  ‘For murder, Nell. The death of his girlfriend had nothing to do with his wanting to speak with us.’

  ‘And now they’re trying to link him to the drug-dealer murder?’

  ‘OK, OK, I agree, it doesn’t look good for him. But, as we’ve discussed before, there’s no direct evidence to link that shooting to Maggie Price going missing.’

  ‘And, like I keep saying, it’s too much of a coincidence. What if the cops link the gun from Kevin’s car to that shooting? And I’d bet you a month’s pay the two incidents are connected.’

  ‘As you keep saying, yes, I know.’ Toni did her best not to sound frustrated.

  Stuart coughed and, as she turned toward him, she followed his eyes in the direction of the CCTV monitor. Finlay was in the lift area outside.

  She turned back to Nell. ‘We’ll continue this conversation after I’ve spoken with Finlay. In the meantime, try to keep quiet and do not – I repeat do not – mention what you just said to me.’

  Nell simply nodded in response.

  Stuart pressed the door release just as the camera showed Finlay’s hand about to press the entry buzzer.

  Toni clocked a slight smile as she saw the policeman jump. ‘You two are due a break, I believe,’ she said as the door swung open.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Nell.

  Stuart was more receptive to the motive behind the suggestion. ‘Come on, Nell,’ he said, as he gently took hold of her arm. ‘Coffees are on me.’

  A few moments later, Finlay accepted Toni’s suggestion he have Stuart’s untouched tea. He had been breathing heavily as he’d entered the office but now seemed more composed.

  ‘There’s no sugar in it,’ she added, as he sipped.

  He raised the mug slightly, as if making a toast. ‘Thanks for that,’ he said. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late. I gave up waiting for the lift and decided to run up the stairs. Six floors wasn’t quite the breeze it was when I was younger.’

  She smiled sympathetically. ‘There’s many your age wouldn’t have even tried it.’

  ‘I guess, and thanks for giving Stuart and Nell a break. Having just the two of us here will make things a lot easier.’

  ‘OK. So, you worked out how to use the burner phone then?’

  ‘And how to add a few more essential numbers to its contact list. I had to tell Jenny about it though, in case she needs to get hold of me.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Well, make sure you brief her not to say anything to anyone about it. And, in terms of use, I should have told you to make sure it’s kept turned on. That way I can get hold of you anytime.’

  ‘You might want to do that then?’

  ‘I might. How did you get on with Minister Shabat?’

  ‘Before we come to that,’ Finlay paused, as if searching for the right words. ‘I went to see Kevin.’

  ‘Good. Did you have any problems?’

  ‘None,’ he replied. ‘But he told me he’d been in touch with you recently.’

  ‘That’s correct, yes.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘I thought I’d already mentioned this? He spoke to Nell, said he needed a translator. When she asked him why he ended the conversation.’

  ‘So, you didn’t help him?’

  ‘No, we didn’t,’ Toni replied. ‘I might suggest you ask Rupert Reid, the bomb disposal officer who you first went to.’

  ‘I already did that, and, yes, Kevin did follow that route. He ended up giving the document to the same translator I used.’ Finlay said.

  ‘Dr Armstrong?’

  Finlay nodded.

  Toni hesitated for a moment before continuing. ‘I see … OK … I guess I can share this with you, it will be public knowledge in a few days anyway. Your translator friend is no more. A couple of days ago he hung himself from a tree in his garden.’

  ‘A genuine suicide; or has Howard Green been active again?’

  ‘Try not to see conspiracy beneath every stone, Finlay. Local police are dealing with it … there’s a report being completed by the local CID that their Special Branch are overseeing due to Armstrong’s weapons-inspection role. But it looks to be a genuine suicide, yes.’

  It was Finlay’s turn to pause, his impassive reaction intriguing her for a moment before the reason dawned on her.

  ‘So Kevin’s document is lost?’ he asked finally.

  ‘There’s been no mention of it being found at the house … you knew didn’t you?’

  ‘Knew what?’ said Finlay.

  ‘That Armstrong is dead.’

  ‘Kevin told me. His mate went to see him in Wales only to find the place crawling with local uniforms.’

  ‘Who probably seized the document the friend had left to be translated,’ she suggested, thinking that was the most likely thing to have happened.

  ‘Not necessarily. Kevin suggested that, as the Armstrong house was littered with paperwork, that particular document might not stick out from anything else.’

  ‘So, it might still be there?’

  ‘Possibly; who knows?’ he answered. ‘If you’re thinking the same as me, that would be along the lines of making sure it’s recovered before it falls into the wrong hands.’

  ‘You could do that.’

  ‘How exactly?’

  ‘You’re a cop. Ring the locals and find out if anything matching the description was found.’

  ‘That might ring alarms with them,’ he suggested.

  ‘Be discreet.’

  ‘Isn’t there a better way?’

  Toni grinned. ‘You could burgle the local police station? Nothing that should trouble a former SAS officer, I would have thought?’

  ‘That was years ago. And what if the locals don’t have it?’

  ‘I think you’re right to say that calling them might ring alarms bells. So, the best answer has to be to search the Armstrong house, and soon.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘So, what happened when you went back to see Shabat?’

  Stuart and Nell returned to the office a few minutes after Finlay had left. In the interim period, Toni had been thinking about what Finlay had said.

  Shabat had been more forthcoming once Finlay revealed he knew it was Howard Green who had made the demand of him. But, despite keeping a diary, Shabat had been unable to specify exactly when Howard had approached him. He was able to confirm that Howard hadn’t come back to him again though, suggesting that Howard had given up, something which seemed consistent with the Director’s warning to him many months previously.

 
But it was an off-the-cuff remark Finlay made that had really aroused her interest. Something had been said during the conversation with Shabat about Howard Green and his marriage into a well-moneyed family. Shabat had been quite dismissive of the idea, convinced that Howard had his own business interests that seemed to be sufficiently lucrative to mean the MI6 officer was not as beholding to his wife as Toni thought. That had reminded her, quite vividly, of Bill Grahamslaw’s questions about Howard, about his motive, what drove him and whether he had something going on in the background that she was best knowing about. And she had made a decision. It was time to get her team to start some real digging.

  As soon as she sat down at her desk, Nell tried to continue the conversation about the gun found in Kevin’s car but was soon stunned into silence when Toni interrupted her with the first of her requests.

  ‘Both houses?’ Nell asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Toni. ‘I want you to sweep Kevin Jones’ house for any more listening devices and I want you to do the same at his girlfriend’s place.’

  ‘It’s a crime scene,’ Stuart commented. ‘It might have a guard on it.’

  ‘I’ve checked – it hasn’t. There’s “Do Not Cross” tape on the doors and a regular uniform drive-by, but the local nick were only asked to guard it until the forensic exam was finished. I want you to get Nell inside so she can check for bugs while you do a thorough search for any interesting documents you can find.’

  ‘Anything specific?’

  ‘Anything that looks suspect. Weapons manuals, military stuff, anything with Arabic on it – you know the kind of thing. Nell should have an idea of the kind of thing you’re looking for. If it looks interesting then bag it.’

  Nell nodded knowingly. She’d clearly guessed what Toni was after. ‘When do you need this done?’ she asked.

  ‘Tomorrow morning, and in daylight, so make it early. I want both buildings swept before the local murder squad feel any need to go taking another look.’

  ‘And what if we’re caught?’ said Stuart.

  Toni smiled as Nell started to laugh. ‘Stuart, you’re bloody MI5. Talk your way out of it.’

  Chapter 36

  Thames House, London. MI5 HQ

  ‘Right people, settle down and we’ll make a start.’

  T2/0, the Assistant Director – actual name Alexander Dyer – called the meeting to order. Present were fourteen of his section and departmental heads, some of whom drew an unsettling glare when they responded a little slowly to his request.

  Like Toni, Dyer was a former Royal Navy officer. Also like her, he was new in post. What was interesting, and what seemed to be having an unsettling effect on some of the more traditional officers, was the fact he seemed to have adopted a far more inclusive policy than his forerunners with regards to keeping his subordinates in the information loop. Soon after taking up his post, he had identified the ‘Long Room’ – so called because of its shape – as a suitable venue for meetings and had installed a series of paintings, a coffee percolator and a kettle to provide some creature comforts. At the head of the table, a rather shabby and ancient chair had been replaced by a large leather one of the kind so often favoured by a ship’s captain. The Long Room had now taken on the style and appearance of an officer’s wardroom, similar to those found in all naval vessels, both at sea and ashore.

  Toni approved of the changes – she found them reassuringly comfortable and familiar, and suspected the new Assistant Director did likewise.

  The previous month’s Long Room meeting had discussed, without reaching any real conclusion, the progress of an enquiry into the murder of William Stobie, a former Special Branch detective from the Royal Ulster Constabulary. Stobie had been shot dead two weeks after being acquitted of involvement in the murder of a solicitor in 1989. The Assistant Director wanted to discuss recent press speculation that Stobie was an asset. He’d met a wall of silence from those in attendance that had surprised Toni and angered Dyer. He ended that meeting with a clear warning to all that such a response would not be tolerated in the future.

  As the recently appointed head of T1/B department, Toni was now on the official list of expected attendees. Although she had been looking forward to the meeting, she noticed – as the Assistant Director must have – the slumped shoulders and glum faces that now all turned in unison toward the head of the table. It was clear many of her peers would rather have been elsewhere.

  On the agenda for today were a number of reports from T2/2 (Research and Threat Assessment) and T5B (Arms Trafficking) and, of particular note, they were to discuss the recent acquittal of Sulayman Zainulabidin on charges of preparing for acts of terrorism. Zainulabidin – who had changed his name and converted from Catholicism in 1979 – had been accused of planning a terror-training camp that he called ‘Ultimate Jihad Challenge’. Toni suspected this planned discussion to be the reason for the solemn faces; nobody was likely to relish the prospect of analysing their failings.

  She was right, and being so new in post, she remained little more than an interested observer as her peers ducked and dived the questions Alex Dyer wanted answered.

  ‘Why had the prosecution failed?’ he asked. A simple enough question which Toni expected would generate a discussion on the standard of the evidence and the defence that Zainulabidin put forward. Instead, the two officers closest to the enquiry simply blamed the jury for swallowing the explanation offered by the defence. ‘Not our fault,’ they said, almost in unison. Toni smiled inwardly at the backtracking and outright deflection of blame. More like ‘don’t try and pin the failure on me Mr Assistant Director’, she mused. Spooks well versed in the art of covering their arses.

  But Dyer was on a mission. He reminded everyone present – as if they needed reminding – that two other trials had also collapsed earlier in the year. Lotfi Raissi – an Algerian pilot accused of training the 9/11 pilots; and Yassir al-Sirri – who provided the press accreditation to the assassins of Ahmed Shah Massoud in Afghanistan just two days before the 9/11 attacks. Both had been acquitted.

  ‘Three trials since 9/11. Three failures.’ The Assistant Director was tight-lipped, his voice low and demanding attention. ‘This isn’t a witch hunt,’ he added, ‘but this cannot continue. I want answers.’

  Nobody spoke.

  Dyed-in-the-wool spooks, thought Toni, as she also remained silent. Entrenched in the doctrine of secrecy. They were all being careful what they chose to divulge, keeping their heads down until the flack died down. Not one of them was prepared to stick their head above the parapet.

  It was only when they reached the point of ‘any other business’ that, for the first time, Toni learned not to feel quite so smug at the discomfort of her peers. Dyer raised a late item, not on the agenda: the recent death of Iraq weapons inspector Julian Armstrong and a report from the local police Special Branch on the circumstances of his demise. They’d all heard about the death, of course. It wasn’t every day that a weapons inspector committed suicide. But, to the best of Toni’s knowledge, although Armstrong had a PF – a Personal File – he wasn’t an asset or considered a security risk.

  It was as the Assistant Director reached below the table to retrieve a thick bundle of papers from his briefcase that Toni started to feel her world going awry. He placed a loose pile of A4-sized paper on the table in front of him and, as he did, she noticed him carefully scanning the faces of those present. She saw that the top sheet bore Arabic writing, and wondered, Could it be?

  A cold shiver ran up her spine. If it was, Finlay needn’t bother to go and look for it.

  ‘Bring me up to speed on this, people,’ Dyer asked, looking around the room once more as he appeared to search for a reaction. The less experienced looked confused. Others, certainly those more practised in the dark arts of the service, remained impassive.

  ‘What do we know about Julian Armstrong?’ he added.

  Miles Chadbourne from T5C spoke up. ‘An eccentric former weapons inspector living, or perhaps I should say, who
lived in Wales. There’s a PF on him, I believe.’

  Toni wondered what that file might contain, whether it might flag up her interest in Armstrong were she to now take a look at it.

  ‘Was he an agent?’ asked Dyer.

  ‘Not to my knowledge,’ replied Chadbourne.

  ‘Anyone else?’ The question was abrupt, impatient, and hinted strongly that the Assistant Director didn’t believe those present were being open with him.

  Silence. Dyer waited for several seconds. A pen clicked at the far end of the table.

  Toni hesitated to say anything. He could find out about Armstrong without her contribution. There would be plenty on file about the doctor. And, if the document now sat before him on the table was what she thought it was, it may be best she remain quiet.

  ‘And what about this?’ he asked, finally, as his gaze returned to the document.

  Toni studied Chadbourne’s face as the Assistant Director flicked through the pages. He knew something, she could smell it.

  ‘Is there anyone amongst you who might be able to fill me in on what this document is?’

  No reaction.

  ‘Is there anyone who can tell me what “Al Anfal” is?’

  Chadbourne’s face twitched very slightly. For a moment Toni doubted what her own eyes were telling her but it had been there, she’d seen it. Chadbourne recognised the name.

  ‘OK,’ the Assistant Director continued, sounding increasingly angry. ‘If nobody is going to help me out here, I guess I’m going to have to start the ball rolling. Armstrong was found by his housekeeper. His last conversation with her was a telephone call during which he asked her to delay calling by as he had company. At this moment in time we have no idea who he was referring to, and I find it a little surprising his mind-set could have changed so markedly in the hour following that call that he reached a point where he decided to top himself!’

  Several in the room jumped as Dyer slammed his clenched fist on the document in front of him.

  ‘Could we ask the local Special Branch to organise a full forensic search?’ The question came from Sian Phillips, who was sat at the far end of the table and seemed unaffected by her Assistant Director’s outburst. Sian was T2/1, Deputy Head of Section, responsible for investigations. Hers were shoes that Toni hoped to one day fill.