A Fatal Game

by Nicholas Searle

  ‘How would you describe his domestic circumstances?’

  ‘Chaotic. His parents lived on the edge of poverty. Still do, for that matter. He was rebellious as a teenager and was in trouble at school. His parents were determined, though, and scraped together enough money for him to go to university. He was highly intelligent despite what the school described as behavioural problems. His parents were unhappy when he dropped out of university and later came home with a wife and a baby. And then he abandoned them all, to go and fight. His parents understood it to be their duty to keep the family functioning.’

  ‘Did you go out of your way to speak to him, or did he make an approach to you?’

  ‘It didn’t quite work like that. An introduction was made –’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say. I’m not sure it’s relevant.’

  ‘I think that the inquiry will be the judge of that.’

  Jake Winter could see the barrister representing the Service whispering to the clerk to the inquiry.

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ he said. ‘I thought … this had been agreed.’

  Mr Kerr gave this some thought, glancing sideways at the clerk. ‘Very well. We may return to this. I’m sure you would not wish to give this inquiry the impression of being obstructive.’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘But for the moment let us stick with your relationship with Abu Omar. You met him some six months before.’

  ‘That’s right. He told me he’d become disillusioned with what he called the cause.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘That’s part of it. He said he couldn’t see what the cause was. What the aims were, apart from inflicting unspeakable suffering on many, many people. He’d been sickened by some of the things he’d witnessed out there.’

  ‘Or so he said.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And you believed him.’

  Jake paused. ‘My job isn’t to believe or dismiss.’

  ‘Oh, really. Isn’t it?’

  ‘No. My job is to listen carefully, to report precisely and to analyse where what I’ve been told fits in with the known facts.’

  ‘But you must form an opinion? As a living, breathing human being?’

  ‘Of course. I have to assess the likely reliability of the people I’m talking to.’

  ‘That can’t always be easy.’

  ‘No, not always. People don’t always want to tell you the truth.’

  ‘That would seem self-evident. So when you’re assessing the reliability, or otherwise, you use common sense.’

  ‘Partly.’

  ‘It sounds more like a finger in the air.’

  ‘Not really. It’s not just my sense, though I do have a lot of training and experience. Reports are assessed and examined sceptically. Psychologists can be called in. From that we form a picture of a person’s reliability. It’s not just a case of my personal opinion. I think some papers on our systems have been lodged.’

  ‘I’ve read them, thank you. Do you use polygraphs?’

  ‘Not as a rule, no.’

  ‘Not as a rule. I see. And if you think someone’s unreliable, you disengage?’

  ‘Not necessarily. But you treat what they say with great caution.’

  ‘And Abu Omar. What was your assessment of him?’

  ‘He was assessed as a CHIS of established reliability.’

  ‘Really? And how did you arrive at that assessment?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to go into detail.’

  Mr Kerr looked at him intently before, it seemed to Jake, deciding not to pursue the point. ‘Very well. Let me be clear on this. Abu Omar was assessed by you and your colleagues with all this rigorous thought to be of established reliability.’

  Jake thought of the boy, for he’d still been a boy despite having a two-year-old son. His fearful brown eyes and the expression of anxiety on his face that occasionally replaced the proud, challenging look. His thin arms, his down-like scraggy beard. Trying to be a man, but indisputably still a boy. He said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘And do you still consider your CHIS to have been reliable?’

  ‘I simply don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know? Given all that subsequently happened? If you’ll forgive me, that seems to have been a rash judgement in the first place and one that you seem reluctant, in the teeth of all the available evidence, to cease to cling to.’

  ‘We don’t know whether –’

  ‘Yes, yes. For the moment you may be able to grasp at that straw. But nonetheless. Your CHIS of established reliability arrives at a mainline railway station at rush hour carrying a rucksack full of high explosive which then explodes, killing sixty-three people. When exactly was the last time you saw him?’

  ‘Thirty-seven minutes before the explosion.’

  He heard gasps on the other side of the screen.

  ‘And was he carrying the rucksack then?’

  ‘He was carrying a rucksack.’

  ‘Describe it.’

  ‘It was small, light blue, brand new. A daypack.’

  ‘A daypack. In what way did it differ from the one he was carrying when he entered the station?’

  ‘It didn’t contain any explosive. Otherwise it was identical, at least from what we could see on the CCTV. And from the forensic evidence afterwards.’

  ‘What was the purpose of your meeting?’

  ‘Precisely to establish that he was carrying nothing that could pose a threat to public safety. We knew they were planning a reconnaissance of the station and that it was the eventual target. Abu Omar had told us this, and that the attack was not planned imminently. We had to be sure, though.’

  ‘Quite. You checked the rucksack. And?’

  ‘It contained books. Nothing else. It was searched professionally by a police officer and tested for explosive. The bag was new. There were no traces of explosive.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘Abu Omar was to go directly to the station. He was under continuous surveillance. He received a message on his phone. He stopped in the road and read it.’

  ‘What did it say?’

  ‘I don’t know. He went into a public toilet. The surveillance followed him. By the time they got into the toilet he was urinating.’

  ‘The rucksack?’

  ‘Still on his back. But …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It seems he must have exchanged the rucksack for an identical one containing the explosive. The original one was later found in the waste bin in the toilets.’

  ‘Was he supposed to do this?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘So much for your person of established reliability, then. Was there anyone else in the toilets?’

  ‘Not so far as the surveillance people could see.’

  ‘Surely they checked?’

  ‘They had to continue following Abu Omar. Others came and checked the toilets after a couple of minutes.’

  ‘After a couple of minutes.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And you. What were you doing?’

  ‘I’d made my way back to the operations room.’

  ‘By which time the fates of sixty-three people had effectively been sealed. Could you have stopped him, in theory? If he had been as reliable as you thought?’

  ‘I could have rung him, yes.’

  ‘Surely Abu Omar should have contacted you once he’d exchanged the original bag for the one containing the explosive. If he were so reliable?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How do you account for that?’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You could have contacted him, surely?’

  ‘Yes, but it was thought he’d only used the lavatory. The Executive Liaison Group had given tactical control to the senior investigating officer, and he made a decision.’

  ‘The Executive Liaison Group?’

  ‘Yes. The ELG. It’s made up of all the key intereste
d parties and chaired by the police. It makes all the strategic decisions. You must have papers on this.’

  ‘Yes. It’s helpful to hear your version, though. Back to the SIO’s decision. It was based on your assessment of your informant’s reliability?’

  ‘Partly, yes.’

  ‘We seem to have come full circle. Are you aware that the Islamic faith has specific rules regarding personal hygiene and modesty when using the lavatory?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jake, coughing.

  ‘So were you not surprised to learn that Abu Omar used the urinal rather than one of the stalls with locks?’

  Jake paused. It might seem a trivial point but the barrister was right. It had been unusual, another thing he’d failed to pick up on. He said, ‘I don’t think anyone fully registered the fact.’

  Mr Kerr raised his eyebrows. ‘Too much else going on?’

  ‘You’re right. It should have been noted. But in any case I’m not sure Abu Omar would have been that observant in the situation. It is, as I understand it, permissible to use the lavatory with other men provided you do not converse or look at one another.’

  ‘But it is usual, when there is the opportunity, to use the lavatory privately.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And he ignored this when he was about to undertake the most significant act of his existence?’

  ‘We’ve already agreed he may not have triggered the device. And he showed few signs of strict religious observance when we were together.’

  ‘I bow to your greater technical expertise and knowledge of Abu Omar. Despite all the evidence to the contrary. Despite him being a member of an extremist jihadi gang. You settled yourself in the operations room, then. You heard the blast.’

  ‘We were less than half a mile away, so yes. We heard it. We felt it. We saw it on the screens. It was …’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Mr Kerr, and from the expression on the Chair of the inquiry’s face Jake could see that the day’s proceedings, bar the formalities, were complete.

  ‘My apologies for the venue,’ said Stuart Calloway. ‘I feel a more informal meeting was called for.’

  ‘You people seem to have become rather hooked on informal meetings.’

  ‘I just think we need to reduce the risk of misinterpretation, for both our sakes. Meetings on the record can sometimes muddy the waters rather than clarify matters.’

  ‘Though we must both observe the need for due process.’

  ‘Of course. Never let it be said that I would stand in the way of transparency and due deliberation. Provided always, of course, that security is safeguarded.’

  Stuart Calloway’s current position could be described as delicate. Director of Operations at an absurdly young age, precocious and extraordinarily gifted (in his own estimation at least), he was faced with a series of what he had learned to describe as challenges – opportunities even – rather than problems: a new administration, sceptical, highly; a new head of Service, chum of the PM, parachuted in allegedly with a specific job of work to do, despite all the denials; and thin, ascetic George, who reported to him as head of the regional source unit. George had been there, done most of it and had the T-shirt and scars to prove it, and was consequently in thrall to the grubby types in the field who were the source of all risk. This could be the making of Stuart Calloway or the start of his destruction.

  ‘Where is your boss, by the way?’ said the Home Secretary.

  Stuart Calloway sighed and said, ‘I think it’s right that a certain distance exists between this conversation and our principals. I need to keep my DG out of the firing line and I imagine that you will not wish to involve the Prime Minister.’

  ‘You mean we can both take the hit?’

  Stuart sensed a certain bristling and understood he could have framed his words still more carefully. The essence of it needed to be understood between them, however: the PM and the DG as best mates; and the necessity for the Home Secretary and Stuart to find common cause. ‘Not at all. I may be expendable … but, goodness me, no. I was drawing no equivalence. The Permanent Under-Secretary and I simply felt that this was a conversation best conducted between the two of us. We understand each other, I believe. Home Secretary, I am here to tell you that there is grave concern …’

  He waited for an interjection, to encourage or discourage him. There was none.

  ‘… there is grave concern about the direction this inquiry is taking. You may be aware of the latest session.’

  ‘Yes. Your man seems to be digging himself into a very big hole.’

  ‘Out of which he will have to climb using his own resources. My point, however, is that much wider damage may result. To the reputation of this government and previous ones. To the reputation of the Service. Damage disproportionate to whatever benefits may accrue.’

  ‘The inquiry needs to take its course.’

  ‘Of course it does. I will remind you, however, of our misgivings at the outset, at the selection of the Chair, the appointment of various counsel and the speed at which the inquiry was set up.’

  ‘The PM was clear there had to be quick resolution, that there needed to be assurance of no whitewash, and that the families should be adequately represented as interested parties. And I support that wholeheartedly. There’s plenty of precedent for the way we’ve done this. Albeit that you people haven’t been in the spotlight before.’

  ‘Absolutely. But the appointment of a Chair who both as a barrister and a High Court judge was openly hostile to the intelligence and security agencies was bound to create issues.’

  ‘Issues that you and your people need to deal with.’

  ‘Indeed. But it’s alarming to see counsel at the inquiry hounding witnesses.’

  ‘I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration, Stuart. It’s not a court of law. There has to be a degree of latitude in proceedings, especially if we’re to be seen allowing the victims’ representatives the right to probe and scrutinize. There’s a lot of emotion around this, you know.’

  ‘I do,’ said Stuart. ‘More coffee?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘There’s nothing that can be done, then, to pull the inquiry back on to the rails? As you know, we’re more than prepared to implement any genuine improvements. But it can’t be good for anyone for our people to be dragged through the mud like this.’

  ‘What do you think? Even if we were perturbed by the inquiry – which we’re not, even remotely – it’d be impossible to meddle. The Chair is fiercely independent and wouldn’t take kindly to words in his shell-like of the kind that you seem to think might work. We’re four-square behind the inquiry, and so should you be.’

  ‘I am. Others, on the other hand, have expressed concerns.’

  ‘Others?’

  ‘Yes. I’m treading a tightrope here.’

  ‘Aren’t we all? Your organization issued a statement welcoming the inquiry and vowing to support it one hundred per cent. I can’t believe the DG is opposed. Any of your staff caught up in the mincer will have to grit their teeth and take the consequences. I take it that you have provisions to deal with your witnesses if things fall badly?’

  Christ. This wasn’t the moment to mention in passing that the pot was bubbling on a new operation that the same case officer was managing. No way of finessing that in the interstices.

  ‘Yes. They each have their own legal representation if they require it. Which in one sense poses difficulties but in another would make it easier to part ways if it came to it.’

  ‘I’m glad you set up this meeting this way, Stuart. We can both be frank with one another.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You seem to take for granted that we’re on your side. That I’m on your side. Don’t imagine that if necessary we won’t grind you under our heels. The old orthodoxy no longer applies. It’s not beyond imagination that we might decide to rip up the whole thing and start again, with more … reliable leadership. You’re far from sacrosanct, individually or organizationally. It’s noth
ing personal, and I hope it doesn’t come to it. However, this is the new world. When something bad happens there’s always someone to blame. Always. It’s just a matter of finding out who. May just be your lot’s turn for a change.’

  2

  Adnan

  Cities have many secret places. Even when the authorities believe they have all the corners covered. Back there, with the chaos and the heat and the bombs and the gunfire spilling people from their homes, it had been easy to locate a quiet, dark corner – a cellar maybe, an abandoned house, its upper storeys bombed out and open to the skies, a shop whose shutters had been can-opened to allow access. There they had been emperors, with their scimitars and scarves and machine guns and bandoliers, able to strut and command at whim. They had been the authorities. Each had demonstrated his warrior qualities with some captive unbeliever or other. There was a plentiful supply and when done once it became compelling, addictive.

  Back here in this grim, grimy northern city of Adnan’s birth there were certainly places. It was laughable, trying to cover the brothers. They were invincible and invisible. They would show themselves at the appointed hour and not before. These people were not even in control of the land they professed to be theirs. Back there, his people knew every inch, every shadowy alcove. They’d known the secret places, they alone, and would amuse themselves by finding the opposers and the plotters. They would dance with righteous, joyous fervour after they’d brought the criminals back in the dusty ancient Mercedes, sitting uncomfortably between two brothers as they rocked over the craters and the knives held tight to their throats drew blood. It’d been a blast, a laugh. And into the courtyard and the inevitable. Piece of piss. These people here could not match that, could not hold a candle to it, which was why they would be defeated. It required devotion, the surrendering of a life in an instant, without reservation.

  He was heading for the place they considered the most secret of all, more secret still than the private prayer room they’d once used. He alone among them knew that there was still yet one more secret space, where their destiny would be revealed to them. A secret, sacred place. Even he did not know its location.