‘And the trackers are still functioning?’
‘I’m looking at them as we speak.’
‘Game on, then,’ said Harper. He looked across at Maggie. ‘You might as well stay with me,’ he said.
‘I could do with my bag,’ she said.
Harper drove her to her SUV. She nipped out, grabbed her bag, climbed back in and they headed off in pursuit of McGovan and his convoy.
CHAPTER 47
A few minutes later, the targets were driving counter-clockwise on the M25 and soon afterwards they turned onto the A1, heading north. It was an easy follow for Harper and his team: the men were travelling in typical military-convoy style, driving with fully lit headlamps, sticking religiously to every speed limit. After four hours they stopped at a service station to refuel the vehicles. They also filled several onboard jerry-cans. Harper could see that McGovan was very careful to ensure that only the non-Asian jihadists left the vehicles while the refuelling was taking place.
To Harper’s surprise, just north of Leeds the convoy split into two, with McGovan’s VW peeling off west from the A1.
Maggie told Barry Big and Barry Whisper to keep after the Land Rovers while Harper followed McGovan.
McGovan drove past Harrogate, then off the main road onto a narrow lane. On the skyline ahead of them, Harper could see the tops of the radomes of the American listening station on Menwith Hill. It was a still, chilly day, and the ground mist clinging to the moorland around the base gave the white radomes dotting the site an even more unearthly air than usual, as if they were alien craft hovering just above the ground.
Harper dropped back even further behind the VW as he saw it slow, then pull onto the grass verge. He watched as McGovan climbed out and began observing the listening station through a pair of binoculars. Menwith Hill was supposedly an RAF establishment – the sign by the gates proclaimed as much – but 90 per cent of the operatives manning the computers in the hardened concrete bunkers beneath those radomes were US personnel, and Menwith Hill could scarcely have been more American if it had been flown across the Atlantic and dropped in the middle of Kansas.
Warning notices hung from the fence every few metres and CCTV cameras on every stanchion kept watch for intruders.
‘He doesn’t seem worried about the CCTV,’ said Maggie.
‘He’s standing in a blind spot,’ said Harper. ‘Plus the security is a hangover from the days when there was a peace camp next to the site and the guards were on perpetual full alert. But the women protesters were evicted years ago and the peace camp bulldozed so I think everyone is a bit more relaxed these days.’ McGovan stayed at the site for no more than a couple of minutes, then made a U-turn and drove back the way he had come.
As soon as he saw the Jetta begin to turn, Harper drove down the lane and up a muddy farm track to a point where a copse of trees shielded him from view. He waited until the VW had passed the end of the track, then pulled out and continued to follow it as McGovan returned to the northbound A1. Driving quickly, he soon caught up with the Land Rovers that had been maintaining the same stately pace as they headed north.
As the day wore on, they continued driving still further north and crossed the county border into Northumberland. They passed to the west of Newcastle and, turning off the A1, drove deep into the Cheviots to within a few miles of the Scottish border. Harper had been in no doubt for some time about where they were heading and it was confirmed as, not long after dark, the convoy turned onto the road leading to the Otterburn Ranges, the vast training area used by the British Army.
They passed through Otterburn village, but instead of approaching the main entrance to the sprawling 60,000-acre site, with the squat guardhouse behind high steel gates topped with razor wire, they carried on along the edge of the ranges, skirting them to the east. They passed occasional conifer plantations, barely visible as belts of deeper black against the dark moorland.
They drove on even further into the wilderness, along minor roads that were now completely deserted but for the Land Rovers and the 4x4s of the surveillance team trailing them. To avoid being detected, Harper and his team had switched off their lights and were driving using passive night goggles, which made the road show up as an eerie yellow-orange ribbon of brighter light in the surrounding moorland. The eyes of rabbits and other animals watching in the darkness shone out like torch beams.
They followed the convoy for several more miles until they turned off down a track towards the main firing range and drove into a valley, a narrow stretch of wooded, gently rising low ground between two parallel ridges. It was flanked on three sides by higher ground and visible only from directly below. The valley had a screen of fir trees close to the road, with a barrier to prevent civilian traffic entering the range’s danger area, and McGovan left one of the Land Rovers there, behind the barrier but still in clear sight of any passing traffic. He also posted a sentry in full military gear, holding a rifle.
While Barry Big and Barry Whisper drove off to find an observation point on the far side of the valley, Harper found a track where he could leave the BMW out of sight. He and Maggie got out of the car and moved silently through the woods to a point where, still using their night-vision goggles, they could observe the targets. ‘What the hell are they up to?’ Maggie whispered, as they watched McGovan posting his sentry at the barrier. ‘They’re just asking to be challenged, out in the open like that.’
‘They’re hiding in plain sight, and the chance of anyone challenging them there is pretty remote,’ said Harper. ‘To any casual observer, even a passing military patrol, it’ll look like another small military deployment and there are always plenty of those going on here. Once you’ve got yourself onto the ranges, and it’s not hard because security is pretty lax, all you have to do is mount a guard, look like you know what you’re doing, stay out of the red-flagged areas when the guns are firing and no one will bother you, especially here.’
‘Why here in particular?’ she said.
‘Because it’s so vast. There’s a firing range down the middle so long and wide that it’s the only place in Britain where the army can test fire its AS-90 self-propelled artillery pieces and the M-270 Multiple Launch Rocket Systems. They have a maximum range of forty miles, and even with a reduced propellant charge to shorten their range, they have to be test-ed here because none of the other army ranges is big enough for them to be fired without the risk of wiping out a few civilian motorists or hikers enjoying a day out just beyond the ranges. There are four hundred square miles of rough moorland out there on those ranges plus some other very weird stuff. There are long-abandoned replicas of Belfast streets and Londonderry apartment blocks, where the troops used to practise before deploying to Northern Ireland, and much more recent replicas of Iraqi streets, and villages in Afghanistan as well. I kid you not, if there were some mulberry trees, a few kites flying in the sky overhead and the mountains of the Hindu Kush in the distance, you’d swear you were actually in Afghanistan.’
‘You still haven’t answered my question. Why are they here?’
‘I’m pretty sure that the listening station on Menwith Hill is a target. That’s what McGovan was looking at earlier. But I’m guessing he’s here to do some training with them. It looks to me like this is the first time he’s met his team and he needs to know how they’ll react under pressure.’
‘So we watch and wait?’
‘I’m afraid so. Make yourself as comfortable as you can, though I appreciate that’s not going to be easy.’
CHAPTER 48
Once his team had settled down for the night, Harper phoned Hansfree for a private conversation. During active operations Hansfree rarely slept and Harper pictured the man sitting hunched over his computers, fuelled by Red Bull and coffee.
‘Two more have arrived at the unit,’ said Hansfree. ‘Both white. It happened after dark so we don’t have any usable pictures. And I’ve managed to track the serial numbers of the containers. Interesting route. In reverse we have
Felixstowe, Rotterdam and Karachi. They had previously been used by the Ministry of Defence to ship stores to Camp Bastion in Afghanistan, and then, supposedly empty, they were shipped back to the UK. So the only question remaining is how the hell the weapons came to be in the hands of McGovan’s mates in ISIS.’
‘Who knows?’ Harper said. ‘The Spigot is probably old Russian Army stock left behind after the Soviet pullout from Afghanistan in 1989. But the odds are that the SA-80s, the plastic explosives and the rest of the kit, were either stolen or captured in Afghanistan, though it’s also possible that they were made in Peshawar, in north-west Pakistan. I passed through there a while ago. There are about three million people in the city and it seemed like half of them were involved in the arms trade. They claimed they could copy and make any weapon in the world. I heard one arms trader boasting that he could even make a copy of a Stinger missile. It sounded like bullshit to me but, having seen what else they can produce, I wouldn’t have wanted to bet too much money on it.’
‘One other thing,’ Hansfree said. ‘Did you see the metal stuff in the first container you looked at?’
Harper frowned. ‘What metal stuff?’
‘I’ve got some stills.’ His claws tapped on the keyboard and a shot of some metal brackets filled the screen. ‘They look like shelving or something?’
Harper grinned. ‘Nah, they’re for making shaped charges. You use them to gain explosive entry to a building by blowing out the doors or windows, or blasting holes in the walls. You pack the brackets with plastic explosive to make the charge, then set them off with electric detonators. It’s a bit of an art. The SAS are masters at it but we did it in the Paras. When you use them, you have to tamp the charge with sandbags or something similar to make sure the explosion goes the way you want it to go or it can dissipate into the line of least resistance. They’re the dog’s bollocks when it comes to getting you into a heavily defended building. I’ve made one or two shaped charges in the past myself and I’m sure McGovan will have done too. The question is, what the hell is he planning to do with shaped charges?’
‘What do you want me to do with the extra surveillance bodies?’ asked Hansfree. ‘Do you need anyone else up there?’
‘Keep them on the industrial unit,’ said Harper, and ended the call. He got out of his car for some fresh air while he decided what to do about Charlie Button. He needed to tell her what was going on but standard operating procedure was for him to initiate contact through the draft email folder and he was miles away from the nearest internet café. He could access the folder through the laptop in the car, but if she was being tracked by any of the government agencies there was a chance they would follow any electronic trail to him. Using proxies wouldn’t help if GCHQ was on her case, and if they traced his laptop they were perfectly capable of accessing all the files on his hard drive.
He paced up and down for a while, looking up at the blanket of stars overhead. There was little light pollution or cloud cover so he felt as if he could see to the end of the universe. The more he stared at a section of the night sky, the more stars became visible.
‘Penny for them?’ said a voice behind him, and Harper jumped. It was Barry Whisper, who was as quiet when he moved as when he spoke.
‘Bloody hell, Barry, don’t creep up on me like that,’ he said. ‘And why have you left your post?’
‘The bad guys have bedded down for the night. Just a couple of sentries, and I guess they’ll rotate them. They’re here to train, right?’
‘Looks like it.’
‘For how long?’
‘Fucked if I know, Barry. Why?’
‘Because we’ve no water, no toilet facilities, no food. We’re going to be in a pretty poor state tomorrow, and even worse the next day.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
He shrugged. ‘Like I said, they’re bedded down for the night. I could take a run out to the main road, see if I can find an all-night place. Stock up on food and water, plastic bags to shit in, all the basics.’
Harper nodded. ‘Good call.’
‘You want something?’
Harper grinned. ‘Anything with caffeine in it.’
‘I hear you.’ Barry Whisper slipped away into the darkness as quietly as he had arrived. Harper unzipped his hip-pack and took out a Samsung smartphone. He hadn’t used it, or the Sim card it contained. He switched it on, launched the browser and went to the draft file. There was a message from Charlotte Button, with a list of six telephone numbers, presumably throwaway mobiles she had purchased. He took out another phone, switched it on and tapped the numbers into a memo, rearranging the final digits as a security measure.
He paced up and down, considering his options. He really didn’t like calling Button mobile to mobile, even when they were both using throwaways. It wasn’t just the danger of being overheard – GCHQ was able to listen out for specific voices and home in on them – it was the fact that GPS technology now meant that a phone’s location could be pinpointed to within a few feet, with or without an active Sim card. It also meant a direct traceable link between Button and Harper, which wasn’t good for either of them. But he had to talk to her, and soon, and the nearest internet café was probably fifty miles away, certainly not open at that time of night.
He cursed under his breath and tapped out the first of the numbers she had given him. It rang out for more than a minute before she answered. From the sound of it she was inside. Music was playing, something classical. ‘It’s me,’ he said. Neither would be using names.
‘Problem?’
‘They’ve moved from the industrial estate,’ said Harper. ‘They’re up near the Scottish border on the Otterburn ranges. Looks like they’re going to do some training. They’re planning some serious mischief, and the longer you let it run, the more the risk someone is going to get hurt.’
‘How many are there?’
‘There’s Tango One and eight other males, some Asian, some white. There are another four back at the industrial unit in Gravesend. We’ve only identified three. If it was me, I’d pass this on to the SAS and get them in, slot the lot of them.’
‘Unfortunately the SAS don’t do that any more,’ said Button. ‘That’s why they created the Pool.’
‘I can’t take on nine men armed with automatic weapons and explosives,’ said Harper. ‘Not when one of them is former SAS.’
‘I don’t need you to cancel them all,’ said Button. ‘Just Tango One.’
‘So that’s a go on Tango One, is it?’
‘It is. Whenever you’re ready.’
‘The problem with that is he’s now on an army training ground surrounded by heavily armed jihadists. It isn’t a case of being able to swing by on a motorcycle and put one in the back of his head, like it was in London.’
‘Can you get to him?’
‘At the moment, no. At least, not without considerable risk to myself and my team. We’ve got one handgun between us.’
‘So what are your options?’
Harper sighed. ‘Watch and wait. At least while they’re on the range they’re only a danger to themselves. Tango One had a good look at the Menwith Hill listening station on the way up so I think he’s considering that as a target. Once they’re on the move we’ll have a better idea of what they’re up to and I might be able to get closer.’
‘Do that, then.’
‘My advice to you would be to get the professionals in. If this blows up and they find out that you knew about it, you could be in deep shit.’
‘While I appreciate your concern, I’m in deep shit anyway at the moment. And my problem is that I don’t know who I can trust and who I can’t.’
‘I hope you’re not including me in the can’t-be-trusted list.’
‘You know that’s not what I meant. If there is government involvement, something like this could be the last nail in my coffin.’
‘Or it could be your salvation. You ride in and save the day. They might give you a medal.’
&n
bsp; ‘They might. Or they might look at what happens to Tango One and start asking questions. I just want this to go away. At the moment I feel like I’m under a microscope and it’s making me very nervous.’
‘How is your situation?’
‘It’s being looked at by a couple of friends, here and in the US. Once I know who’s on my case I’ll know how to deal with it.’
‘You’re sure I can’t do more to help?’
‘Just take care of Tango One. And keep me in the loop. That’ll be more than enough.’
‘What about intel on the guys Tango One has hooked up with? Do you want that?’
‘It can wait until you’re back in London,’ she said.
Harper ended the call and took the phone apart. He slid out the Sim card, broke it in half, pulled out the battery and threw it away, then stamped on the phone until it was beyond repair. He scraped a hole in the soil and buried it. As he straightened up he saw that Maggie had got out of the car and was watching him, clearly bemused. ‘Bad news?’ she said.
CHAPTER 49
Harper and his team took it in turns to doze or cat-nap for a couple of hours during the night. At just after three thirty Barry Whisper returned with several carrier bags of provisions. The only place he’d been able to find open was a shop attached to an all-night filling station so he had packs of sandwiches, other snacks, bottles of water, cans of coffee and Red Bull. On the hygiene front he’d bought some toothpaste, toothbrushes, disposable razors and cans of shaving foam, plus several packs of wet wipes. He had persuaded the cashier to let him have a dozen small plastic bags, though he hadn’t explained what he’d be using them for.
Well before first light the next morning, they were in position and ready to monitor the activities of the targets in the valley. Harper launched the drone and had it hover high overhead so he could watch what they were doing on his laptop.
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