The DCI Isaac Cook Thriller Series: Books 4 - 6: Murder (The DCI Isaac Cook Thrillers Series Boxset)

by Phillip Strang

  ‘How do we apply statistical analysis to terrorism?’ Frederick Vane asked when their boss came into the office to check on how they were progressing.

  ‘We’re not sure how to go about this,’ Andrew Martin added.

  ‘You’re the boffins, the whiz-kids. We’re looking to you for answers,’ Gardner replied brusquely.

  ‘Who’s implied by the “We”? Any names?’ Andrew Martin asked.

  Bill Gardner, who had a bombastic style of talking down to his subordinates, replied. ‘I’m not told everything. I’d make a fair guess at the government, MI5, MI6, Counter Terrorism Command, but mainly Counter Terrorism Command. At least, that’s who I gave your names to. They’re all confused as to where this is heading. They’re clutching at straws, and you two are the straws.’

  ‘It a tough one,’ Frederick Vane said.

  ‘I know it’s tough, but I’ve total confidence that you’ll come up with a solution,’ said Bill Gardner. ‘Whether they’ll be willing to act on your recommendations is another issue, but they’re desperate.’ With that, he turned around and walked out of the office.

  ‘He was remarkably cordial today,’ Andrew commented.

  ‘Of course, he was,’ Frederick replied. ‘He wants something from us. You see how he ignored everyone in the corridor when he left.’

  ‘Any ideas as to what we can do here? Frankly, I am at a loss as to where to start.’

  ‘I’m the same as you. I suppose the best we can do is put some facts together and see where it leads us.’

  ‘He’ll be here tomorrow looking for something,’ said Andrew. ‘We better plan on a late night.’

  It was two in the morning before the more salient facts were in place. There were no conclusions, but that would wait until the morning.

  The next day they met in the office canteen. ‘What do we have?’ Frederick asked over an early morning cup of tea.

  It was Andrew who summated what they had agreed on the night before. ‘Firstly, the Islamic State acts with impunity and will continue to do so while this country is dogmatically held rigid with political correctness, excessive bureaucracy and restricted budgets. We, I mean the government, are letting them call the tune.’

  ‘Is that what we are saying?’ Frederick went over what they had discussed. ‘That we throw out what this country has cherished, what forms our stability, and act as they do?’

  ‘If we want to defeat them.’

  ‘They’ll never go for it. You know how entrenched the system is. They’ll not change.’

  ‘Then we’re doomed. Would you agree with that prognosis?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘I agree, but how can we convince others?’ Frederick could not see how their superiors would agree to the course of action required.

  ‘We need details,’ Andrew said. ‘We need facts to convince the people of influence that they have no option. It’s either fight back, fight dirty, or else the Islamic State will commit to escalate their campaign until they destroy the economy of this country. Even now you’ll barely find anyone out on a night in London. The public houses, the theatre district, they’re like ghost towns.’

  ‘Next, it’ll be business, the airports, the ports,’ Frederick continued. ‘They’ll close this country down. They’ll render this country virtually ungovernable. Even now, the major finance houses, the banks are pulling out to New York. Canary Wharf is planning to construct a barrier, the same as the Israelis did.’

  ‘It’ll be another Berlin Wall,’ Andrew said.

  ‘Except ours is not about preventing people leaving; it’s about people entering.’

  ‘There’s mention of closing the underground if this continues for much longer,’ Frederick said.

  ‘What numbers of people does the Islamic State have here in England?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but we should be able to hazard a guess.’

  ‘How do we do that?’

  ‘It’s clear. We need to think like them. We need to be Islamic fundamentalists in this room,’ Frederick reasoned.

  ‘And how do we do that?’ Andrew asked. ‘We’re not of their culture. It’s impossible for us to hope to understand how their minds work. We need someone to advise us.’

  ‘Do you have any idea how we get someone at short notice?’ Frederick asked.

  ‘We’ll ask our illustrious leader, the presently affable Director of the Office of National Statistics, to fix it,’ Andrew said.

  As predicted, at precisely midday, when they had just sat down for lunch, the director put his head round the door. ‘Have you figured it out yet?’

  ‘It’s not that easy. It’ll take time,’ Frederick replied, mildly annoyed that the director cared little that both he and Andrew were taking a break.

  ‘We don’t have time. How much do you want?’ the director asked.

  ‘At least a couple of weeks,’ replied Andrew. ‘And then constant updates as to who is where and doing what on the enemy’s side, as well as ours.’

  ‘That’s a tall order. What do you need first?’ the director asked.

  ‘We need someone not from the Islamic State, but close in. Someone who can tell us how they think. We need to get our minds synchronised with theirs,’ Frederick stated.

  ‘It seems an unusual approach, but if you’re certain, then I’ll find someone,’ Bill Gardner acknowledged.

  ***

  ‘Your appeal is in progress. You should come up before a judge in about three weeks,’ DCI Isaac Cook informed a grateful Mohammad Sohail Shafi.

  ‘Will I be free then?’ Shafi asked.

  ‘Not totally. You’ll be released on bail, pending a retrial. It’s a done deal.’

  ‘You want something in return?’

  ‘We need you to work for us,’ Isaac replied.

  ‘Not undercover?’ Shafi said with some alarm. ‘These guys are dangerous. It’s on the prison grapevine that Gilligan was shot.’

  ‘I don’t know how your grapevine works,’ Isaac Cook replied, ‘but it’s certainly more accurate than the major newspapers of this country. They’re not reporting it.’

  ‘One of the screws heard it from Gilligan’s missus. It leaked out from there.’

  ‘She was meant to keep it confidential, but I suppose a distraught wife is not the ideal person to keep a secret,’ Isaac said.

  ‘Who killed him?’

  ‘I’d take a guess, the guy on the end of your phone.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I thought. He’ll be after me next.’

  ‘He’s not after you. You’d be dead by now if that were the case.’ Isaac felt sure that Wali Hasan’s murderer was secure as long as he was in prison. Outside may well present a different situation.

  ‘In Belmarsh, no way, I can look out for myself.’

  ‘Twenty-four hours a day. What are you going to do, give up sleep?’ Isaac felt that Shafi was bragging.

  ‘You’re right, and there are enough guns in here, knives as well.’

  ‘And there’s always the nylon cord in the gym, isn’t there?’ Isaac could not resist the opportunity to remind him that he knew the truth.

  ‘Don’t try and pin that wrap on me. It was Gilligan, has to be,’ Shafi responded immediately with the inevitable denial.

  ‘Shafi, we all know the truth. You play ball with us; we’ll play ball with you.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Shafi diverted the subject.

  ‘We want to put you with a couple of academics.’

  ‘Academics? Smart guys, you mean?’

  ‘They’re smart, real smart. Make you, and I look like children in a schoolyard.’ He had received the request from the head of Counter Terrorism Command to assist Frederick Vane and Andrew Martin, although he was not sure that it would achieve much.

  ‘What do they want with me?’ asked Shafi. ‘What can I tell them that they don’t know already?’

  ‘They want to know how your culture thinks, how it operates,’ Isaac Cook said.

  ‘What the hell do they want to know that for?’ />
  ‘You’re against the takeover of this country by the Islamic State?’

  ‘I hate them. I’m a good Muslim, maybe not such a good Englishman, but this is my country; I like it just the way it is now. I’ve got no issues with Jews, or Christians. They mind their business, I mind mine.’

  ‘The academics are our last hope of bringing down the Islamic State. Will you work with them?’ Isaac Cook asked.

  ‘If it gets me out of here, then yes. But how a couple of smart guys hope to solve this problem is beyond me.’

  ‘It’s beyond me as well, but our leaders believe there’s a possibility. There are not many other options available now.’

  ‘It’s guns that will fix them, not talk.’

  ‘Until there’s a clear signal to move, I’m tied to the rule book, same as everyone else,’ Isaac said.

  ‘They don’t read any rule book,’ said Shafi. ‘They just do what they want and say it is the will of Allah.’

  ‘Does your phone still ring?’ Ed Pickles asked. He had left the discussions up to his boss until now.

  ‘Not often, but there’s still some smuggling. I help out where I can. You’re not going to tell Governor Sheldon?’

  ‘No way. We’re after bigger fish than catching a few hundred cigarettes and some drugs being smuggled in.’

  ‘Are you getting me out of here?’ Shafi directed his gaze back to Isaac.

  ‘Not before the appeal, although there will be a few days out before then. We’ll make sure you have a broken foot, something similar.’

  ‘Aren’t you worried that I’ll do a runner?’

  ‘You’ll not run,’ said Ed. ‘You’re smarter than you let on. If we can get you out for a few days, get your sentence reduced, then we can also do the reverse.’

  ‘But I don’t deserve a manslaughter sentence. It was an accident.’

  ‘Accident, I believe you there,’ Isaac Cook said. ‘But accident or murder means little to us. You help us, we’ll help you. You’ll not run. Manslaughter, good behaviour, you could be out in under five.’

  ‘It looks as if we’re bound to each other. It’s like a marriage,’ Shafi said.

  ‘Perish the thought. You’re not my type,’ Isaac replied.

  ***

  The first week of sittings at Parliament since the bombings of the public houses, and Prime Minister’s question time in the House of Commons had a full attendance. The Opposition was vociferous in its desire to show to the people of the country that the Prime Minster was weak and indecisive.

  Ernest Bakewell, the Leader of the Opposition, led off. ‘Will the Right Honourable Prime Minister give us a clear answer as to what his government is doing about the continuing terror campaign in this country?’

  ‘Let me inform the Right Honourable Leader of the Opposition that this government is totally in control of the situation.’ The Prime Minister made the standard reply, strong on the statement, short on fact.

  ‘You are lying. You haven’t got a clue.’ Bakewell knew that, as the Leader of Her Majesty’s Opposition, he had overstepped parliamentary privilege by accusing the Prime Minister of a lie.

  ‘Will the Right Honourable Gentleman please retract those scurrilous remarks?’ the Speaker of the House demanded.

  ‘Mr Speaker, I retract,’ Ernest Bakewell acquiesced humbly.

  ‘Thank you,’ Mr Speaker Smyth said. ‘I ask the Prime Minister to continue with his statement.’ The Speaker, a political appointee of the Prime Minister after assisting in his hold on the leadership of the party when it was looking tenuous some years previously. He was by custom required to maintain control of the House of Commons in a bipartisan, neutral manner, although he knew it to be hard to be neutral when dealing with Ernest Bakewell.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Speaker.’ Clifford Bell was on his feet, unsure of what to say. He was feeling increasingly isolated at Number 10, and if there was a solution, he wasn’t sure what it was. To add to his problems, Anne Argento was snapping at his heels.

  ‘We, as a government, are united in our resolve to deal with the plague of bombings that are currently occurring throughout this country.’ It was another clichéd response from the Prime Minister.

  ‘Hear, hear.’ A unison chorus from the government backbench was heard.

  ‘We are firm in our resolve to halt this menace,’ the Prime Minister continued. I’m waffling, he thought. ‘The weight of the intelligence services, the military, and the police forces of this country are united and working at maximum capacity to find those responsible. We will then deal with them effectively and with the full measure of the law of this land.’

  ‘You’re talking rubbish!’ Ernest Bakewell, quick to his feet, shouted. ‘We want facts. What is happening? What are you doing?’

  The Speaker of the House interjected. ‘The Right Honourable Leader of the Opposition is out of order. The Prime Minister has the floor.’

  ‘Mr Speaker, I apologise,’ Bakewell acquiesced again, but not without adding further comment. ‘We hear this, week in week out, from the Right Honourable Prime Minister and we receive no details. They have no plan, no idea. They are bereft of a solution, and yet we continue to be held hostage to a group of people who place no value on the lives of the people of this country.’

  ‘The Right Honourable Leader of the Opposition is out of order,’ cried the Speaker. ‘One further outburst and I will be forced to have him ejected from this Parliament.’

  ‘I apologise, Mr Speaker.’ Ernest Bakewell knew how far he could push the Speaker.

  ‘The Right Honourable Prime Minister may continue.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Speaker,’ said the Prime Minister. ‘As I was saying, we do have plans in place, but they must remain secret. In a delicate matter, such as this, it is important not to reveal operational details. I’m sure the Right Honourable Member on the other side of the chamber would understand that.’ He felt that he had scored a political point; he had not.

  ‘Resign, Resign,’ a unison chorus of opposition backbenchers rallied at the sleight on their leader’s credibility.

  The Prime Minister continued. ‘I will make those plans available at an appropriate time, subject to advice from those entrusted with their implementation. It is also evident that, in the last week, there has been a significant reduction in terrorist-related activities. This must be a clear indication that our law services are winning back the lost ground.’

  ‘It’s Ramadan, you fool,’ the opposition Member for Newcastle shouted.

  ‘The Honourable Member will retract that statement.’ The Speaker was quick to respond.

  ‘Mr Speaker, I will not,’ the opposition Member replied. ‘The Prime Minister is out of touch with reality. I’ve only spoken the truth.’

  ‘You will retract, or I will have you ejected from this chamber.’

  ‘Mr Speaker, if the Member for Newcastle is removed, then the Opposition benches will retire from this chamber as well.’ Ernest Bakewell entered the fray.

  ‘I hold the chair here,’ the Speaker said. ‘I am not here to be given instructions by you or anyone else in this chamber. I have no option but to eject the Member for Newcastle.’

  ‘Shame, shame,’ cried the Opposition in unison as it filed out of the chamber.

  ‘Hear, hear.’ A unison chorus from the government benches was heard in support of the speaker.

  Anne Argento sat quietly and smiled to herself.

  ***

  ‘Counter Terrorism Command has secured someone for you,’ the Director of the Office of National Statistics announced proudly on his daily visit.

  ‘How did you find someone?’ Frederick asked.

  ‘Top priority. The Commander of the Counter Terrorism Command has found someone suitable – very suitable, in fact.

  ‘Why is he so suitable?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘It seems he does a little bit of smuggling for the bad guys.’

  ‘He’s one of them?’

  ‘He can’t stand them or at least that is what I�
��ve been told.’

  ‘When can we see him? What time can he be in the office?’ Frederick asked.

  ‘There’s one minor difficulty.’ The Director said.

  ‘Yes, what is it?’ Frederick asked.

  ‘He’s in prison.’

  ‘Why’s that a difficulty?’

  ‘It’s Belmarsh.’

  ‘The place they lock up the hardened criminals?’ Andrew asked. ‘The never to be let out? The terrorists? That Belmarsh?’

  ‘Yes, he’s in there for murder.’

  ‘What kind of person is he? Who did he murder?’ Frederick asked.

  ‘A gypsy, over some heroin. He claims it was an accident. May well be.’

  ‘It may well be? What does that mean?’ Andrew queried.

  ‘According to the Counter Terrorism Command officer that I met, dark chap, decent sort, though, the evidence is largely circumstantial. The police saw the knife enter the gypsy, and as it was a gypsy and a Pakistani and heroin, they just put together a flimsy case, and now the Pakistani is doing fifteen years.’

  ‘So, he may not have committed the murder?’ Frederick asked.

  ‘That’s possible, but there are others, unproven. As long as he tows the line with us, they’ll be overlooked.’

  ‘We’re willing to let a murderer off free?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘Apparently, if he helps us here and with some other requirements the police have.’

  ‘Condoning murder. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that,’ Andrew said.

  ‘Comfortable or not, I’m told he’s the best they’ve got. They reckon he’s the best bet for getting into the mind of the terrorists without actually having a terrorist, and you said we needed to look at different solutions, look out of the box.’

  ‘True, but a murderer, that’s a little more severe than we expected,’ Andrew said.

  ‘When can we see him?’ Frederick asked.

  ‘Tomorrow morning. He’s in the hospital for a couple of days, an apparent case of appendicitis.’

  ‘He won’t be up to talking to us then.’