As Alain Berger calculated, Jennifer Weston relaxed, knowing that she had already won. He was a man ready to be seduced and her Aryan good looks were doing their part. She laughed inwardly, knowing that he was attaching significance to her fair skin and dismissing any possibility that she belonged to Islam. Why were people so stupid? Why did she care? If pale skin and make-up persuaded him, who was she to complain?
Their trains of thoughts converged in a single word as Berger turned towards the bank’s front door. “Allons.” Jennifer gave an outwardly seductive and inwardly triumphant smile, knowing that Alain Berger had just sealed both their fates.
***
Docklands. Friday 8.am.
“OK. There’s a lot to get on with so this will be quick. You need to know that after this briefing I’ll be involving the Chief Con and our friends from the CIA. It’s time to hand over some things.”
Craig looked as if he hadn’t slept all night, and he hadn’t. Instead of counting sheep he’d been running theories, all of which hit a dead end. He turned to Carmen to see that she hadn’t slept either; he just hoped that her insomnia had been more productive than his.
“Carmen?”
All eyes turned to the small red-head and all of them looked curious, not least of all Liam’s. His were glaring as well. He’d left Carmen the evening before with instructions to work up the membership list for UKUF, what had that got to do with the boss?
Carmen couldn’t resist a smug smile, knowing that what she was about to say was impressive. Her smile deepened when she saw Liam’s scowl.
“I asked the Super if I could help with the cyber-chat side of things. I’ve been hacking for years.”
On the word ‘hacking’, Davy looked up from his nails. “You’re a hacker?” It was said excitedly and incredulously, as if he’d met someone who liked the same obscure rock band while walking along the Great Wall of China. Liam would have asked the same question in a very different tone.
Carmen nodded, hearing Davy’s genuine interest. “I did computer science at Uni and writing programmes became a hobby. I can find a back-door into pretty much any site.”
Before they started speaking in Java Craig motioned Carmen on, explaining. “I wasn’t getting very far in the Dark Web so Carmen offered to help. What did you find, Carmen?”
“I found the exact reason for the explosion. There was a lot of chatter about a collector called Troy Keaton who collects old religious texts.”
Liam interrupted with a guffaw. “I have a truckload of those; they hand them out every day outside the City Hall.”
Craig glared at him, scenting sour grapes. Liam may have brought Carmen in but that didn’t mean that she was his slave. “They’re tracts, Liam, not texts. Let Carmen speak, please.”
Liam’s grin changed to a frown and he clammed up, but before Carmen could restart Ken cut in. “Did you say Troy Keaton?”
She raised an eyebrow at his interruption and then nodded. Craig leaned forward. “Do you know the name?”
Ken nodded vaguely. “I’m not sure… it might not be the same man. Leave it with me.”
Craig nodded Carmen on again.
“OK. There’s a thriving market in antiquities on the web and an even more thriving illegal one on the Dark. People put out a request for something and there’s always someone who knows where to find it, or steal it to order if required. It seems Keaton heard of a pair of 15th Century Crusade texts written by Paul of Salerno, one of the best known writers of the period.”
Annette cut in. “What were they about?”
“They were essentially opinion pieces on the Crusades written from the Christian side. From what I could gather by following the threads, Salerno was pretty scathing about Muslim beliefs and essentially about their God. He basically debunked the whole of Islam.”
Liam whistled. “Well I’ll be damned.”
Davy came back like lightning. “Probably, but not because of a book.”
Craig let the laughter that erupted carry on for a moment and then nodded Carmen to restart. She smiled, enjoying herself for the first time in days. An excited tone tinged her Scottish burr.
“We’re all aware what one careless word about Islam by a celebrity can lead to nowadays, well Paul of Salerno had no filter. Back then Christianity ruled the roost and he thought he could say whatever he liked. The cyber-chat says the books are rough stuff.”
Craig nodded; he had a fair idea what they’d said. He shook his head in despair. “But still, some idiot was prepared to pay a lot for them.”
Carmen nodded. “Twenty million euros for the pair or nine million each. A thief was commissioned to steal the books and the rumour was that a book antiquarian in Belfast had got his hands on one of them and was preparing to sell it to someone in Ireland.”
“Jules Robinson.”
“Yes. There’s chatter about the bomb all over the Dark Web. Some praising the bomber, most talking about the financial loss of the book. You won’t be surprised to know that no-one gives a damn about the victims. The Dark Web isn’t filled with altruists.”
Craig interrupted urgently. “Any speculation about who planted it?”
Carmen nodded. “The name Kouri came up. And another name; the M.I.A.”
Liam groaned. “That’s all we need. A new acronym.”
Carmen continued, ignoring him. “I think it stands for Militant Islamic Army. From what I can find on the web they’re a small but very feared force, even within the Muslim population.”
Craig nodded. “The CIA mentioned them. They must be the military wing of the M.I.F.”
“That makes sense. Anyway, on the second book in the pair, it seems that Keaton had agents trying to locate it. That’s where Paris comes in. The second book is there. The collector viewed it yesterday and the transaction is taking place today.”
Craig interrupted. “Any idea where and when, Carmen?”
Carmen nodded. “There are two venues mentioned. One is a café in the Marais. The owner Claude Augustin seems to be involved somehow.”
Craig shook his head. There was no way they would keep a book that valuable in a café, sitting between the coffee and cognac; especially not after what had happened at Papyrus. Carmen was still talking.
“The second venue is a bank somewhere in Paris.”
Craig nodded. “That’s it. My guess is the book’s being kept in a vault. Whoever’s selling it heard about what happened here and isn’t taking any chances.”
“You’re right. The seller’s a guy called Berger. He’s been stealing to order for years. Word has it that he’s got it secured at the bank, readying to exchange today.”
Craig stood up with a speed that surprised them all and yelled across the floor. “Nicky, get the Gendarmes on the phone for me.” He turned back to the group. “Take five minutes everyone. Carmen, come with me.”
Five minutes later Craig had briefed the Parisian Gendarmes what was happening then he handed the phone to Carmen for the details. It might turn out to be nothing, but God only knew what the M.I.A. was planning to disrupt the exchange so they needed to keep their eyes peeled. They re-joined the group.
“OK, Carmen, anything else on that?”
“Only what I just told the Gendarmes. There’s chatter about a blond western woman being involved with the M.I.A. Not only her, it seems they have quite a few recruits from the West; they target universities in particular.”
Annette sighed. Hire a teenager now, while they know everything. Universities were hothouses for altruistic and frustrated teens who thought they could save the world. Didn’t they realise that their parents’ generation had already tried?
Davy nodded at Carmen’s words. “That’s w…where they got to Delaney.”
“And God knows who else.”
Liam laughed loudly, breaking the sombre mood. “Here, do you remember that sect who used the ‘flirty fishers’? What were they called?”
Craig nodded, picturing 1970s America and young women handing out flow
ers. “The Children of God. They were a religious sect that used pretty young women to seduce people to join. It was called evangelical prostitution. They promised peace, love and sexual favours.”
Liam was about to say something rude when Carmen cut in. “Jennifer Weston! That must have been her job. To go out there and recruit young men for the cause.”
Liam shook his head. “Delaney. Poor sod.”
Annette smacked Liam on the arm. “Poor sod nothing. Fintan Delaney made his choice, and if he’d kept his mind where it should have been instead of in his trousers he’d still be alive now!”
Liam grinned and so did everyone else. Annette realised what she’d said and blushed. “Well, you know what I mean.”
Craig laughed. “Everyone knows exactly what you meant, Annette, and you’re probably right. Young men don’t always think.”
Nicky offered an opinion from her desk. “They do think but very rarely about the right things. And it’s not just the young ones.”
A laugh ran through the group then Craig nodded Carmen on. “I gave Weston’s description to the Gendarmes, on the off-chance that she’s heading to Paris to do her worse. “
“Good idea.” Craig turned to Davy. “Send her picture across now, Davy, before we carry on.”
It only took Davy a few seconds and when he re-joined the group, Craig asked. “Is that everything, Carmen?”
“Yes, for now. I’ll have another try after the meeting to see if I can get anything on the time of the exchange.”
“Thank-you, that’s great work. Davy, anything more on possible locations in Pakistan?”
Davy nodded, then he realised that no-one could read his mind and started to speak.
“W…We’ve, Ken and I, managed to narrow it to a strip of desert west of Karachi. It’s the western edge of the Kharan Desert, bordering on Iran.”
Craig groaned. “Iran? As if this wasn’t bad enough.”
Ken echoed Craig’s sentiment. “My thoughts exactly. I was hoping for Iraqi or Afghan connections; better the enemy you know sort of thing. Iran’s impenetrable.”
Davy smiled, more upbeat than the others. “Maybe they’ve s…stayed on the Pakistan side and Iran isn’t even aware that the camp is there.”
“Optimist.”
“Anyway, w…whether they know it’s there or not, the Kharan Desert fits with the origins of the romantic e-mails between W…Weston and Delaney and the radius of the s…satellite calls.” He stared directly at Craig. “It’s also only five hundred miles from the village where Delaney went to help build houses.”
Craig nodded; it all made sense. Jennifer Weston had targeted Delaney, knowing that he was interested in religion and charitable works, and as part of their relationship she’d convinced him to come to Pakistan to help build a village. It was only a short trip from there to a terrorist training camp in the desert.
“Nicky, get Tweedledum and Tweedledee in here.”
Nicky stared at him blankly.
“The CIA. They’ve been tailing me for days. They’re parked outside the Rotterdam Bar.”
She headed for the lift and two minutes later Agents Ross and Mulhearn were installed in Craig’s office. Craig and Davy were with them, sharing everything they had on the location of a possible terrorist camp.
“You can stay in here and use my phone; ask Nicky if you want to send anything securely to your people.”
Craig and Davy re-joined the group, knowing that in less time than it would take them to order lunch the CIA would have turned their satellites towards the Kharan desert to search for the camp.
Davy carried on briefing, handing out copies of a photograph. It was Jennifer Weston. Liam was the first to comment.
“Here, is that a trolley dolly’s uniform she’s wearing?”
“If you mean w…was she a member of the air-crew, then yes.”
Craig stifled at smile at Davy’s droll tone.
“She was working for Asia-Nimbus Air. That’s how s…she travelled so freely.”
“With her nurse training any airline would have snapped her up.”
Craig sighed. Annette was right. Jennifer Weston had planned ahead; it made sense of why a theology graduate had suddenly changed tack and trained as a nurse. Weston and her handlers must have been planning for years how to make her mobile in a way that avoided suspicion. It was the perfect cover for an international terrorist; be pale skinned and western so that no-one suspected your sympathies and join an airline to get free travel anywhere in the world. Craig asked his next question in a tired voice, already knowing the answer.
“Does Asia-Nimbus fly from Karachi to Dublin by any chance?”
“Yes. I’m following the trail now, but it looks clear that s…she flew Karachi-Dublin when she came to kill Delaney and…”
Craig finished Davy’s sentence. “And now she’s probably flown to Paris.”
“Possibly connecting through Istanbul. I’ve alerted the airports.”
“Thanks, Davy, but my guess is that she’s already in Paris and I doubt she’s planning a return flight.”
***
Paris 9.15 a.m. local time
No-one looked twice at the small dark man who’d just entered the bank foyer, although they certainly looked at his companion. Jenny Weston was used to admiring glances, but the appreciation of beauty in France was something else. Men smiled and stood back for women in the streets and every little girl seemed to see adoration as her right. Jenny played to her audience and smiled back, then she turned her megawatt charm on the suited man who approached them.
“Ah, Monsieur Berger. You wish to access your safe?”
Berger nodded and watched as the manager’s eyes travelled slowly up and down his companion. “Your charming guest, she will accompany you?”
Jenny smiled and extended her hand, watching as the manager bent at the waist and took it almost lovingly between his own. If she’d believed in reincarnation she would ask to come back as a beautiful woman born in gay Paree. She glanced seductively at Berger and giggled, artfully playing the game.
“Yes, I can’t wait to see what Alain has been raving about.”
The manager gestured her forward like a showman, indicating the way to the vaults. “Then Madame shall have her wish.”
The security checks went faster than Berger had ever known them and in less than a minute they were standing in front of the open safe. Berger removed the hide-bound volume as Jenny gazed at it, entranced and disgusted in turn. This was it; a faded mahogany-coloured volume four feet square, embossed in gold letters that declared it was the Holy Christian Word.
She slipped on the gloves that lay inside the safe and turned over the cover gingerly. The religious scholar in her was fascinated. The book was art, each letter lovingly inscribed in ink that had survived for centuries and each page embellished with columns of brightly illuminated Christian symbols on either side of the text. The paper was thick, parchment that had probably cost a fortune even back then, and the words were medieval, some barely recognisable from the versions used nowadays. But she could make out others and they were unambiguous. The Crusades had been God’s work, the unbelievers justifiably killed and their God debunked. Even if she hadn’t converted to Islam years before, she would find the words offensive. They couldn’t, wouldn’t be published nowadays; to do so would be a hate crime. But back then…
Jenny inhaled the scent of age and ink and longed to touch the pages with her bare hands. Why didn’t she? She had no fear of damaging the book; she already knew what fate it had in store. As Alain Berger watched open-mouthed she removed first one glove and then the other and stroked the illuminated designs gently with her fingertip.
Berger gawped at her. “What are you doing? You will damage it. Keaton will be furious!”
She ignored him and his pathetic attempts to pull the book away, pressing down harder on the page and beginning to read aloud from the text. Her voice rose and soared, echoing around the small vault and as she reached the words
of blasphemy that she could never say, she also reached for something else.
This was a bank not an airport, and there were no security scanners or female guards to pat her down. Pretty women were rarely questioned and even more rarely searched, but if she had been they would have found the improvised device that Jenny Weston was wearing beneath her fashionably loose summer dress, and they would have found the control switch that she had strapped against her waist. But no-one had searched her and as she gazed down at the blasphemous words and then at Berger’s aghast, uncomprehending face Jenny said the words of praise that she had come to say and did what she had come to do. She pressed the switch hard, shouting “Allah Hu Akbar”; words immediately drowned out by Alain Berger’s screams and the shattering sound and silence of the blast.
***
Docklands. 9 a.m.
“Liam, bring us up to date on UKUF.”
Liam had waited patiently, well, as patiently as a man who was constantly dragging his fingers through his scrub-like hair and tapping his pen irritatingly against the back of Annette’s chair could ever seem. Now he acknowledged Craig’s request with a beatific smile that said ‘I forgive you for letting others report first, even though I am your second in command.’ Liam’s exaggerated show of tolerance didn’t pass Craig by. He rolled his eyes and poured more coffee as Liam’s deep bass filled the room.
“Aye, well. We were right. With Sharpy and Davy both gone the illustrious members of the UK Ulster Force have been running around like headless chicks.”
Craig re-took his seat. “How have they been behaving on the street?”
“Badly. There’ve been fights in the betting shop, and two of them got into it on Donegall Street last night outside a club. Uniform lifted them and let them cool off overnight at High Street, conveniently getting two of the main contenders out of the way for a while. I’ve spoken to Jack this morning and he’s requested permission to detain them for forty-eight hours.”
The Careless Word (#8 - The Craig Crime Series) Page 28
