Locked and Loaded: A Riz Sabir Thriller Omnibus

by Charlie Flowers

  It was hard to look at these photos. Every time I blinked I could see Johnny Devlin calling me an apostate and getting ready to shoot me, and Holly lying on the ground, still as death. I closed my eyes but that didn’t help as now Johnny Devlin’s eyes were boring into my own.

  A hand gripped my shoulder and a canteen tea appeared on the desk. Emlyn was here. The one SO15 cop I trusted, and the only one that liked me. He’d pulled in many favours to get me in here and get me these photos.

  ‘You holding up, son?’

  I nodded. ‘Course.’

  He was a cop. Cops can spot untruths. He took the chair next to me. ‘See anything?’

  ‘Not yet Emlyn, not yet.’

  We looked at photo J28. And it was then that I saw it.

  ‘Em. What is that?’ I pointed to the carpeted area to the left of Bang-Bang’s rifle, to what looked like…‘What do those look like to you?’

  ‘Those are syringe and dressing wraps. And what looks like part of a giving set.’

  ‘Someone treated her, dressed her wounds and got her out while the rest of us were all shoving and arguing?’

  ‘Could be, son. No-one’s going to notice paramedics working on the injured when they’re busy checking for X-Rays and booby traps. Never mind the fact that your girls got into a punchup with the SAS and one of them tried to scalp Johnny Devlin’s corpse there.’

  I’d been unconscious on the shop carpet by that point and bleeding out. Emlyn spoke again. ‘Anyway…if you and me sit and watch the exit cameras for the loading bays there, we might see something worth following.’

  ‘Jesus, Emlyn. You’re right.’

  We both raced to the front of the centre and Emlyn got on a terminal and started gripping techies. ‘OK lads, I’m wanting the exit camera feeds from Stratford Westfield on 13th September, starting from 11am. I’m also wanting ALL ANPR - linked cameras out of town North and East.’

  The whole room just bogged at us like baby owls. Emlyn pulled his SO15 ID. ‘Boyos, I think you know what this means, this is a terrorist investigation!’

  They got to it. Terror enquiries could mine traffic camera data up to an indefinite period after the event. The Oracle database was set to work and got chugging on the raw information held in the memories of the centre and other sites.

  An hour later we finally saw it on video feed 11. From the main loading bay of Stratford’s Westfield shopping centre, out rolled a black private ambulance. Its green lights went on, and it slowly drove away, north, up towards Leytonstone High Road.

  The team on the floor cheered. I turned to Emlyn and he was grinning triumphantly.‘There you are.’

  ‘And thar she blows. Are they allowed to use emergency lights Emlyn?’

  ‘Hah! Do you know that no-one actually knows? Big grey area. They definitely did though. These lads look good. They’ve done this before... Riz. Why were they so keen on lifting Bang-Bang?’

  It was obvious.

  ‘She’d created a version of the Flame spy software called FlameLite. It had run out of control and developed a life of its own. It’s out there on social networks and all sorts. You bet they’d be interested in her.’

  ‘Well that’s good then, son, they’ll be talking to her somewhere. I’d bet my police pension she’s alive. Don’t worry.’

  And at that point, the main door opened and in came Chief Inspector Kevan James. The Peel Centre was his personal fiefdom. He had a face like thunder and he was bearing down on me. His pointed finger came before him.

  ‘I did NOT authorise Army mercenaries free access to our site or our data! Who let him in here?’

  Emlyn took the opportunity to look beatifically into space.

  I waited till the Chief Inspector was up close, and dialled the Colonel. Three rings. ‘Riz. How goes it?’

  ‘Boss. Got a woodentop that needs schooling.’

  Chief Inspector James’s face was starting to turn puce.

  I handed him the phone. ‘My boss on the line. You won’t like it.’

  All we could hear was “Home Secretary Defence Secretary career traffic police aaaaagh”. Everyone in the room was trying to avoid each others’ gaze for fear of cracking up. Chief Inspector Kevan James handed my phone back. He drew himself to his full height.

  ‘I do…not! Want any breaches of the Data Protection Act!’

  He turned smartly and stalked out. We gave it ten seconds before laughing. I turned back to the floor team.

  ‘Great work guys. Let’s see what we can find.’

  For the rest of the day, we followed the black private ambulance registered BV44 VND. I rang NAPAS, the National Association of Private Ambulances, and ran the numberplate past them. They had no record of it. I then ran the plate through AskMID and the local databases and eventually got some bizarre holding company in Jersey called Grace Capital. Ten minutes on our databases at KTS got me their headquarters in Virginia, USA.

  Emlyn looked at the address, and looked at me.

  ‘Virginia. CIA?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Looks more like it by the minute.’

  We followed the ambulance via the ANPR network right out to the M11. It made its way up the motorway and turned onto the M25. At this point I called the Colonel and asked him for the spyplane feeds. The MOD had a set of Britten-Norman Islander planes based out of Northolt. They had Wescam MX-20 turret cameras fitted in the nose, with low-light television, thermal imaging, and the right ANPR software. Unfortunately, this was a cold lead. They’d had it but had lost it when they were tasked east on the day.

  And at that point I ran to the toilets and threw up. I looked in the mirror after a while. I was definitely not alright.

  Next morning at six I got shaken awake from the floor at the back of the room. I got groggily to my feet. My side was aching from the bullet wound and cracked ribs. The data trawl had found the van turning off the M25 onto the M40, heading out into the Midlands. They’d activated all the ANPR databases on every relevant camera in Britain. Within minutes that ambulance had become the most wanted vehicle in the country. Hendon’s ANPR centre captured 25 million readings every day, which were stored for two years, from over 10,000 static and mobile cameras. This bit was relatively straightforward. One by one, the cameras on each gantry of the M40 came back with the right hits. Black ambulance…black ambulance…

  And at junction 10 of the M40, where it turned off, the trail went cold. The whale had flicked its tail and vanished.

  Emlyn was looking at me and grinning. ‘You’d better get out there to Oxfordshire, then, hadn’t you?’

  I returned to my flat at eight that night. Duckie, Calamity and Fuzz were watching TV and they’d come up with a game to pass the time. It involved throwing bottles at the television until the reality cop shows went away. Duckie was wearing an EDL hoodie, so she’d obviously been busy working on that angle. After Fuzz’s last bottle had taken out the DVD player, I spoke.

  ‘Ladies! This is not helping!’

  A plastic bottle bounced off my head.

  ‘Listen! We have a lead!’

  They quietened down a bit.

  ‘We have a lead. We think they took her out to the Midlands. First thing tomorrow I want you to get looking at maps. Maps of airfields.’

  ‘Airfields?’

  ‘Yes. US airfields. CIA airfields. Rendition airfields. We start with Oxfordshire.’

  Fuzz was our resident pilot. She looked glum.

  ‘There are over fifty airfields in Oxfordshire, used and unused, bhai.’

  ‘I just need some areas to look at, Fuzz. I’m driving out there tomorrow. Let’s start with airfields within twenty miles of Junction 10. When I find something of interest, I’ll text you.’

  My phone went. Emlyn.

  ‘Boyo. Got something for you. Thames Valley Police are trialling a fixed ANPR camera scheme on roads in their area. The ambulance was spotted by one of their units passing through the village of Deddington on the afternoon of 13th September. Heading north o
n the A4260 at a sedate thirty-two miles per hour.’

  ‘Em, you’re a star. I’m out there ASAP.’

  I looked up at the girls. ‘Airfields north of Deddington.’

  5

  24th September

  I was jogging down Wardour Street from the coffee bar towards the office. It was grey and raining, the kind of fine drizzle that only Britain can provide. Opposite our office door sat a Metropolitan Police Armed Response Vehicle. It wasn’t there to protect us. Fuck them. I checked my pistol was secure in the small of my back and tapped on the drivers’ window. After a while the window came down. I leant in and looked.

  ‘Morning, PCs CO863 and... ’ I craned my neck to read the passenger’s number…‘CO652, what are you here for this fine and rainy morning?’

  The driver stared at me like I was target number one. ‘We’re here because you lot don’t like us and we don’t like you. Fair one?’

  I laughed. ‘Fair enough. Have a good morning stagging on, we’ll all be gone soon.’

  They looked at each other, bemused. The passenger spoke. ‘Are you carrying a personal weapon, Mr Sabir?’

  I smiled back sweetly. ‘As a matter of fact I am.’

  I then recited. ‘“The Secretary of State has the statutory power to nominate Directors or Deputy directors to authorise the issue of firearms to firearms trained personnel.” Would you like to see my authorisation card? You’d love the signature. Or maybe my European Firearms Pass? I’ve got that here too.’

  The passenger replied. ‘My colleague Kevin has a permanent limp because your psycho bitch of a girlfriend thought it would be funny to shoot him. He’s also permanently traumatised, and can’t remember the firefight clearly. Which is the only thing standing between you and an immediate arrest. So please excuse me if I’m not in a joking mood. And don’t make me laugh at “firearms trained personnel”. You’re a terrorist, always have been.’

  ‘She is my fiancée, mate, and if you call her that again you’re more than welcome to come out here and we can settle it on the pavement.’

  ‘Happy to’, he replied and made to get out. I started walking round the car to meet him halfway but his colleague gripped him and then shook his head.

  He then looked at me. ‘There’ll be other times.’

  I waved. ‘Have a nice day guys.’

  I was sure they were talking back but I’d already walked across the street and hit the buzzer. Toots came to open the door herself and this time she had a SIG Sauer P226 pistol held against her leg. As I walked in she gave the cops a hard flat stare. They stared back. She slammed the street door shut. In her short tenure with us, Toots had really toughened up from the brilliant law student she had been, out in the ordinary world. I was proud of her.

  In reception, and lounging on the staircase, were some guys I recognised. They were a mix of the SAS’s Revolutionary Warfare Wing and MI6’s E Squadron. The squadron drew its members from the best of the UK’s Special Forces for deniable ops. One I knew well - Gary Swallow. He raised a hand.

  ‘Morning Riz. Helping us keep the woodentops at bay?’

  I raised my tea in return. ‘Yeah, took ages to fight them off. They’ve got guns and everything.’

  He laughed and patted the Minimi light machine gun on the carpet beside him. ‘They may be acting hard outside for their boss and the viewing public, but they know there’s no way they’re coming in here.’

  I knew this situation would be a wrench for some of the SF guys, as some of them had friends in Specialist Firearms Command. But, as always, they would go all the way to hell if ordered. Toots tapped my arm and pointed upwards. ‘Top floor sunshine.’

  ‘OK. Shit just got real.’

  Everyone laughed, including Gary.‘Yeah. Shit just got real.’

  I nodded at the E Squadron lads. ‘Well done on Lord Khalil, boys. That must have chafed.’

  Another laugh and one replied ‘I have NO idea what you’re talking about.’

  The lift pinged and I walked across the corridor and into the Colonel’s office. He was staring down out of the window at the armed response vehicle. Without turning, he spoke. ‘Riz. Give me that cup of tea.’

  Now what? I handed it to him. He pulled the window up and lobbed it out. I went to look as it arced down and impacted on the ARV car’s windscreen with an almighty splat.

  ‘My predecessor was sent to Beijing to avoid this kind of rubbish. I am NOT going to Beijing!’

  He was talking about the Brigadier. Top bloke, bit of a hooligan. Men had died. So they’d packed him off to the other side of the world.

  OK, so we’d established El Jefe was in a mood…

  ‘Boss. We’ve narrowed down the footprint for the rendition airbases, I’m going out there soonest.’

  He turned. ‘Then that is where you find where she’s been taken. When your lot confirm it, I have a Herc and team of RWW at Brize ready to go, and you’ll be leaving with them. You and they will be taking Packet Foxtrot, and good luck.’

  Packet Foxtrot. RAF Brize Norton. This was getting serious. It took authorisation from the highest levels to release the work for a Packet Foxtrot, as that kit was usually only used by MI6 agents abroad. Someone must have been calling in favours from C or the Foreign Secretary.

  ‘Does that include the full ID and a Dagger system boss?’

  He nodded. ‘It does. We’re going to get Bang-Bang back, no matter what.’

  In the street below us the ARV had hit the blues and twos, and driven straight into the car parked in front of it as they’d attempted to manoeuvre onto the street, wipers going at top speed. The Colonel laughed. ‘Fucking walts.’

  Then he pressed zero on his phone for Toots. ‘Toots my dear, get up here would you?’

  She arrived within the minute, armed with a clipboard and a folder. The Colonel was back to the window.

  ‘Open a project file for me Toots. Call it TANGENT.’

  He turned to face us both. ‘All this butting heads with the Met is going to be counterproductive long-term. We need to be smooth and sneaky, and to that end, we need bent cops. OUR Bent cops. Toots- and Riz, when you get back- I want you to find me some old-school, camel-coat wearing, alcoholic, racist, bent Met bastards.’

  We grinned. Old school was back! The Colonel suddenly grabbed me in a friendly headlock. ‘I love this boy, Toots! When I had a problem with mad Islamic lunatics, what did he do? He found a gang of even madder Islamic lunatics and sicced them on them! Genius!’

  Toots did a little ‘ahem’ cough and raised her clipboard.

  The Colonel straightened up and released me from the headlock. ‘Ah. I’d forgotten. You’re one of them too.’

  Toots nodded and clicked her pen, indicating that would be the end of the matter.

  He continued. ‘OK. When I was in FRU we’d have twenty grand in a holdall in the car boot, and we’d get out there and buy us some touts. It worked.’

  Toots opened the folder on the clipboard. She’d obviously been busy. ‘We like the look of this guy. Lennie George. Fastest-rising black senior officer in the Met. And don’t say Ali Dizae in response because he’s not black, he’s Iranian. Anyway. Lennie’s a thieftaker. His troops love him. He runs the Flying Squad.

  ‘And he’s bent.’

  We stared in disbelief.

  The Colonel spoke. ‘Bent in what manner? Tarts? Drugs? Kickbacks?’

  ‘Gambling,’ said Toots, ‘he’d bet on which fly has the most legs. He’s hopeless, and into hock with several right East End faces to the tune of sixty grand.’

  I raised my hand.

  ‘And what about the villains that have a piece of him?’

  ‘We take them out or get them in too.’

  ‘OK. Sounds good.’

  Six months ago Toots would have been going ‘Ya allah, is that legal Sir?’

  Now she just clicked her pen again in satisfaction.

  The Colonel continued. ‘We also need someone on ACPO if possible, and people high up the food chain who
can make things go away. As in evidence, forensics, that kind of thing. With me?’

  ‘With you Sir.’

  ‘Right. Now. I have a video to show you two.’

  He clicked a remote and his office TV flickered to life. The Breivik trial. We watched the subtitles as Breivik was cross-examined. He looked rattled as he spoke. ‘Exactly what is it you’re getting at? Are you trying to sow doubt over whether the KT network exists? It does.’

  The Colonel paused it. ‘I’ll precis it. He admitted he met with persons unknown in 2002 to set up a European counter-jihad resistance, whether it’s KT or The Order 777 remains unclear. There were two Englishmen, including his mentor known as “Richard the Lionheart”, a Serb, and a French nationalist at one or both of these founding meetings. One Englishman might be Paul Ray, we can discount him as he’s not a threat. But that leaves a Serb, maybe another English national, and a French national unaccounted for. It gets worse. Breivik has been writing from his cell and these communiques are being put on the web by his fanbase. We think he’s reactivating something, there are unknown commanders out there, and it couldn’t come at a worse time.’

  There was silence. Toots broke the spell by announcing she was going downstairs to type up TANGENT, and the Colonel and I sat down in our respective chairs. We were lost in thought. I toyed with a pen.

  ‘Anyway, Riz. Back to the matter in hand. Afghanistan. Your next port of call is with Wendy on floor three to get you fitted for Dagger. And you’ll need your jabs.’

  Oh brilliant. There went the afternoon.

  ‘Boss, it took a day last time!’

  ‘That was three years ago. It’s quicker now. They’ve got facial mapping.’

  Right. The boss was still on a roll. ‘While you’re getting fixed up, Riz, get creative. Try and think of some ways of getting the chiefs put out of action like the Home Sec wants. The Police Superintendents’ Association is having its conference soon. Nothing is off-limits.’

  ‘Boss.’

  6

  I rushed in from the stairs to my flat with a nagging hunch. How bloody stupid of me! I hadn’t checked the access, if any, to Bang-Bang’s IMVU account. I logged onto my own IMVU account and hit search for “BangBangKirpachi”. I waited.