“He knew the bomb was going to be detonated in a shopping centre in the run-up to Christmas, and he let it happen.” Clare prodded him in the chest. “That makes him a murderer.”
Porter shook his head. “No.”
Clare frowned.
“He’s not a murderer.”
Clare’s eyes opened wider. “He wasn’t the cell leader. He didn’t know the details of the target, did he?”
Porter said nothing.
“So he wasn’t the bomb builder?”
“You don’t have clearance.”
“Who built the bombs?” Kate asked.
Porter said nothing, nor did his gaze flicker from Clare.
“Saba?”
Porter’s lips twitched. “You don’t have clearance.”
“Christ.” Clare ran her fingers through her short, blond hair, her eyes flitting from side to side.
A habit Kate remembered well from their early days working together, when Clare had been her sergeant. She always ran through her memory like she was reading a book, her eyes twitching from left to right as she went over one memory at a time.
“The intel Mallam gave us was all correct. He just didn’t state which Ayeshydi was the bomb builder. He went to the training camp in Raqqa as Ayeshydi. That’s where he was married to Saba. She was the bomb builder.”
“You don’t have clearance, ma’am.” The touch of respect that crept into Porter’s voice told everyone in the room that Clare was right.
“For fuck’s sake,” Timmons said.
“So why did she blow herself up?” Stella asked. “That doesn’t make sense. You don’t take out your weapons expert.”
Clare nodded. “The cell doesn’t, but an undercover operative does if he has no other choice.”
Kate frowned. She didn’t like where Clare’s thoughts were taking them now, but Porter wasn’t correcting her. He wasn’t denying it.
“Ma’am?”
“Did Mallam know that her plan was to go with Nadia?”
“You don’t have—”
“Clearance, yes, I know. So Mallam knew she would be there when Nadia was sent to blow herself up. Saba wasn’t supposed to detonate her bomb. She was going to walk away from it, and given that there was no CCTV footage afterwards, we’d assume she was obliterated in the explosion. Takes her right off the radar.” Clare crossed her arms over her chest. “But they weren’t a hundred per cent on Nadia, were they?”
Porter said nothing.
“So Saba rigged her own detonator to blow Nadia’s vest, in the event that Nadia backed out at the last minute?”
“You don’t have clearance.”
“Coldhearted bitch,” Stella said.
Porter turned his head to meet Stella’s gaze, but he said nothing.
“What went wrong? Both vests blew, so did she get her wiring wrong?” Timmons asked.
“No,” Porter said quietly.
“Mallam happened.” Clare frowned. “I’m guessing Saba wouldn’t tell him when or where the attack was going to happen, and she would know if he sabotaged the vests to prevent them from exploding. Then she could just fix it and carry on with the plan, and he’d have blown his cover. Instead he sabotaged the detonators.”
“You don’t have—”
Stella waved a hand to stop him.
“How?” Timmons frowned.
“The explosives experts said that either detonator would cause both bombs to explode. Both, not just Nadia’s. It was the only way he could make sure that Saba wouldn’t detonate any of the other devices. Correct?”
Porter ran his fingers through his blond hair. “You don’t have clearance.”
“He could have turned them in. He could have made an anonymous call and had the explosives found before they were used,” Clare said.
Porter shook his head.
“Of course he could!” Clare’s voice rose. “All those people died.” Clare was furious. Raking her hands through her hair, she glared at Porter.
He didn’t even blink.
“Was maintaining his cover so much more important than their lives?”
“You don’t have clearance.” His voice was sad.
Did he regret the choice that had been made? Would he have chosen a different path if it had been his choice? Did it matter when it was already done?
“Is that where he is now? Maintaining his cover?” Timmons demanded.
“You don’t have clearance.”
“For fuck’s sake!” Timmons threw up his hands and dropped heavily into his chair, running his hands through his thinning hair in frustration.
“Mr Porter, can we assume from all this that the four targets Chief Inspector Green mentioned are correct and that Saba Ayeshydi had built the bombs for them?” Kate asked.
He turned and looked at her for the first time, but he didn’t say anything.
“They were in the lock-up, her lock-up, her bomb factory, if you like, and Mallam didn’t know where it was?”
“You don’t have clearance.”
“Bloody hell.” Stella shook her head. “He should have warned them the bombs were built. He could have saved all their lives just by letting the bomb squad go in first.”
Kate shook her head. “He didn’t know, did he?”
Porter said nothing.
“He was on his phone when it blew up,” Kate said. “To you?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Shit.” Timmons sat up straight and riffled through his desk, waving a sheet of paper when he found what he was looking for. “Initial report from the explosives team. There were fragments of a device in the wreckage, of a timer, like some sort of self-destruct button that had to be reset. They reckoned every twenty-four hours, or it would activate and blow up after sixty minutes without a code.”
“You can make shit like that?” Kate asked. “Seriously?”
“Apparently.” Timmons slapped the page back to his desk. “Did Mallam know about that?”
“You don’t have clearance.”
“Bollocks.” Timmons slumped back in his chair again. “He was trying to shut it down. What did he do? Make a clone of Saba’s phone or something?”
Porter said nothing.
“He gave those men no warning.” Green glared at him.
Porter’s head dropped a little. Shame, guilt, it didn’t matter. They were all still dead.
“He couldn’t,” Kate said as the final tumblers slid into place and a door to a secret she wished she didn’t know opened up before her.
“Why not?” Clare demanded as all eyes turned to Kate.
“His cover. He needs to maintain it to go back in and infiltrate the rest of the cell. With Saba and Ahmed out of the picture now, he’s the bomb maker they need. They’ll contact him to make the new explosives. Letting it go off like that, the casualties, they’ll never question his loyalty now. They’ll hail him a hero when he tells them he made the bombs that took out police officers. If he tells them he detonated it when they were there…he’ll be…he’ll be revered. It’s his ticket into the big leagues.”
“You don’t have clearance.”
Kate felt sick. Jack Dalton, Marco Palmer, Fred Martin, and so many others were dead. Fred’s little kids would grow up without a father. Gareth was blind all so that this arsehole could get a leg up in the ranks of the fucking extremists!
“We’re meant to protect people.” Kate’s voice was quiet, cracking in places as she spoke. “We’re supposed to be the good guys, the ones who stop the bad guys.” She wiped at the tears of frustration and bitter disappointment that clung to her lashes. “To stop women and children from being slaughtered.” She stepped up to him. “Have you ever been at an explosion?”
Porter didn’t move. “No.”
“Then let me explain to you what it’s like to hold a little girl’s guts in her body while she’s bleeding to death right in front of you.” Her voice was rising quickly. “It’s hell, Mr Porter. Seeing one of your friend’s eyes
skewered on a metal spike like a cherry tomato on a fucking kebab. Puts you right off your dinner. As for Dalton, well, he’ll look normal enough when they stitch the halves back together. His family could have an open casket at his funeral, at least.”
Stella wrapped a hand around Kate’s arm, stopping her from advancing, but not holding her back.
“Children died.”
“And if they set off bombs in MI5 HQ, New Scotland Yard, Westminster, and Westminster Abbey, how many do you think would die, Detective Brannon?” Porter didn’t even flinch under her words. Not even a flicker of conscience. “How many would you sacrifice there to save your friend’s eyesight? To stop you seeing a little girl’s guts in your hands?” He bent his head towards her. “How many lives do you think Commander Dalton or Superintendent Palmer would sacrifice to have their own lives back?”
She stared at him, but she didn’t answer. They both knew the answer was none.
“We do a dangerous job in dangerous times, Detective Brannon. We do so accepting the risks and knowing that there will be difficult choices to make.” He slapped his chest. “I’m prepared to make them. Zain Mallam made them. And he will make them again. He will do what needs to be done to make this country a little bit safer.”
“You think it’s safer with all those people dead.”
“I know it’s safer with a sociopath like Saba Ayeshydi off the playing field. I know it’s safer with Tariq Ahmed behind bars and that cache of explosives destroyed. And I damn well know we’re safer with Zain Mallam out there risking his life to bring in other terrorists.” He pointed his finger in her face. The muscles in his jaw bunched and flexed as he worked to spit out words that Kate knew could never justify his decision in her eyes. “You don’t know what we’re dealing with out there, pissing around in your little pond. You don’t even know what’s going on right under your nose. So don’t give me all this crap.” His nostrils flared, and anger emanated from him like a heat rising from a tarmac road in a heat wave. Kate leant back, hoping to prevent any scorch marks. “I’ve put my life on the line more times than you could count to make sure you can sleep safe in your bed at night. We don’t ask for thanks. We don’t ask for rewards. We don’t even get recognition for what we do. But I will not take your disrespect either.” He dropped his hand and backed off.
“Yes, this operation cost us. It cost us a lot. But I guarantee you it has also saved lives. If they’d detonated a bomb in Westminster Abbey…do you have any idea how many people would have been killed or injured there? Not just politicians, but schoolkids on day trips, tourists.” He shook his head sadly. “I understand that this is a hard pill to swallow for you, but, believe me, this is a win. This is what success looks like in a country at war with extremists.” He laughed bitterly. “Whoever said that success was beautiful was a liar. It’s dead bodies and lies. It’s sleepless nights and a drinking problem, if you’re lucky. And if you’re not…” He screwed his face up and dropped onto the bench seat at the back of the hut. “If you’re not, then perhaps you’re the lucky one after all.” He held his hand up and offered them all a salute.
Kate wanted to slap that condescending look off his face and ram his words down his throat, and she was pretty sure she wasn’t the only one. Stella’s fingers flexed against her arm. Waves of anger rolled in Kate’s guts, and she wanted to scream at him, to open her mouth at the futility of every word he spoke. The futility of it all. The deaths, the investigation, the time, the money, the endless, ceaseless, and relentless images of dismembered bodies that streamed through her head like a song on repeat. Over and over and over again. And every single one could have been avoided. Every single one could have been stopped before it happened. But they—the powers that be, those fucking arses in their ivory fucking towers—had decided that they didn’t matter. That two-year-old Gregory Walsh didn’t matter. That six-year-old Anastacia Pekov didn’t matter. Dalton, Palmer, Gina, Stella, Gareth…none of them fucking mattered, because they were just names to them. To him.
None of them mattered.
She looked at his smug face. Arrogant, thinking he was so superior, that his reasoning, as logical as it might be, made their actions—their life costing actions—forgivable. Understandable. Maybe even acceptable.
It didn’t.
“Mr Porter, I don’t know where you come from, but where I grew up, we learnt a few things. One was that life, any life, is precious. The other was that any action that cost the loss of it is a sin. You might think that these lives were worth less than those of people in London, but I don’t. And I certainly don’t consider this a success.” She shook off Stella’s arm and advanced on him. “This might be a stepping stone in a bigger battle, but people died. People have suffered in ways you cannot even begin to imagine, and will continue to do so every day, for the rest of their lives.” She stood over him. “I hope that one day you’ll understand what that means, but somehow I doubt it.”
She turned on her heel and stalked out of the office, pushing away hands that tried to reach for her as she went.
Chapter 26
The brandy burned the back of Kate’s throat as she swallowed and slapped the glass back on the bar, signalling for another. She didn’t know exactly where she was, other than it was the first pub she came to when she walked out of the King’s Lynn police station and that it was a dive. The kind of place where you were glad the lights were so low so you couldn’t see that rats scurrying across the dance floor. Or someone else’s lipstick on the glass you were drinking out of. As long as it served alcohol, Kate didn’t care. What was the fucking point?
The stool next to her was pulled away from the bar, and a heavy form sat down on it.
She half turned away, hoping that whoever it was didn’t expect her to talk to them. Kate wanted to drink and to forget, and she most certainly did not want to get hit on by a fucking stranger in this shithole.
“Same as my friend here.”
Kate whirled on her chair at the sound of Timmons’s voice. “What are you doing here?”
He picked up the glass the bartender set in front of him, slapped a tenner on the slightly soggy and very sticky wooden surface, and inclined the glass towards her. “Same as you, by the look of it.” He threw the shot down in one gulp and pulled back his teeth. “Getting pissed.” He signalled for the bartender and held up another note. “Leave the bottle, son.”
The bartender nodded and left the bottle of Napoleon on the counter.
Timmons topped them both up and tapped his glass to hers. “To another case solved.”
Kate snorted derisively. “Doesn’t feel like it.”
“Nope.” He knocked his drink back.
“It feels pointless.”
“Aye.” He poured another.
She sipped, staring at the bottles lined up along the back of the bar, wondering when her eyesight had started to fail and the words on the labels had begun to blur together. On second thought, maybe that wasn’t her eyesight, just the brandy goggles.
“I’ve never felt so disappointed at resolving a case.”
“This one was never going to have a good ending, Brannon.”
“Maybe not, sir, but—I don’t know—it doesn’t feel like it’s over.”
“What did you expect? How did you want this to end? A big shootout, and terrorists being brought down in the streets of King’s Lynn?” Timmons shook his head. “That stuff’s for the films, Brannon. It was never going to end up like that.” He picked up the bottle, but instead of pouring, he pointed it at her. “What he said was true, you know. The perps are dead, Ahmed’s in jail, and he will be staying there for a long time. Probably the rest of his life. We all know what they do in prison to people who hurt children.”
Kate nodded. It was a rough form of justice, but Ahmed would suffer before they killed him in prison. It was almost a certainty.
“The explosives are accounted for, and we know that the cell is wiped out in our area. It’s finished.”
“It doesn�
�t feel finished.”
“I suppose it isn’t. For them, anyway. But it is for us. We’ve been ordered to cease and desist our investigation into Ishman Ayeshydi.”
She slammed her glass back on the bar, amazed that it didn’t shatter under the force. “You’re joking?”
Timmons shook his head and swallowed more brandy. “Orders came in from the very top.”
Kate frowned. The very top? Did he mean the Chief Constable, or higher still? MI5? The Home Office? How high up were these orders? “Sir?”
He smirked and said, “You don’t have clearance.” He drained his glass and reached for the bottle again. “We know as much as we’re ever going to know. The bombers are dead. Ahmed confessed, and we have Nadia’s diary to back it up. Ayeshydi is still on the wanted list, but that’s for MI5 to take care of when he finally gets out of his undercover assignment. We just can’t keep looking for him.”
“If he ever gets free of his assignment.” They both knew it was likely his cover would get blown at some point, and he’d end up dead. Zain Mallam was working a dangerous game, and his survival was far from assured.
Timmons nodded and tipped the bottle towards her again. “Never a truer word spoken.”
The door opened. Stella, Clare, Jimmy, and Tom all sauntered in while Timmons poured them drinks and got more glasses from the bartender.
“Any news on Gareth?” Tom asked, glass in hand.
“Nothing new.” Timmons poured his brandy. “Poor sod.” He pointed to a table in the corner of the pub. “Shall we move this over there, people?” He didn’t wait for them to answer, leading the way and sitting on the bench at the back of the room.
In dribs and drabs, they followed behind him and took their seats on rickety stools that made you feel like you were inebriated even if you weren’t.
Tom sat next to Kate and caught her eye. “You okay?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Not even close.”
“Stella filled us in on the way over.” He clapped his hand on her shoulder. “I’d be up on charges for punching the arrogant bastard.”
Kate snorted. “Wish I had.”
Tom sipped his drink.
The Last First Time Page 29
