Tall Order Spider

by Stephen Leather

  Leclerc pointed at three bodies, face down on the concrete. One was handcuffed behind his back and the second had his wrists bound with what looked like a necktie. The third was clearly dead.

  ‘So, we’ve got three bad guys,’ said Leclerc. ‘One dead, two alive. The dead one is Hamid bin Faisal – we’ve got a Saudi passport for him. Arrived in the country ten days ago.’

  He handed Yokely a Saudi passport. There were a dozen or so visa stamps, the most recent showing that he had flown into Miami Airport.

  Leclerc gave Yokely a second passport. This one from the United Kingdom. ‘We’ve got a Pakistani with a British passport. Rashid Makhdoom. Born in Karachi but he’s a British citizen. And last but not least, Omar Ibrahimi, born in Algeria but now a French citizen.’

  Yokely took the French passport and flicked through it. Ibrahimi had arrived in the US just a week earlier, at Boston Airport. He checked the British passport. Makhdoom had also arrived a week earlier, but he had flown into Baltimore.

  ‘The launcher is over here,’ said Leclerc, walking to the far left-hand corner of the warehouse. ‘It’s an FIM-92 Stinger and the serial number is on it so there shouldn’t be any problem tracing it.’

  Yokely looked down at the launch pack and nodded. Next to the gun were an Uzi and two semi-automatics. A Glock and a Beretta. He frowned. ‘This security guard, he took them down himself?’

  Leclerc nodded. ‘Yes he did.’

  Yokely looked over at the glass-sided office and raised his eyebrows. One of the men was wearing a dark blue uniform and a peaked cap so Yokely assumed that was Martin.

  Yokely used his cell phone to call an old friend, Sam Hepburn. Hepburn was a senior analyst with the National Security Agency based at the NSA’s headquarters in Forte Meade, Maryland. Yokely gave him the serial number of the missile launcher and asked him to check its history. Hepburn didn’t ask any questions, just said he’d get right on it.

  ‘They recorded the whole thing on a video camera,’ said Leclerc as Yokely ended his call. He handed him a Sony camcorder. Yokely flipped out the screen and rewound the DV tape. He pressed the play button. Three men in ski masks were standing in front of a banner with Arabic writing on it. One of them was holding the Stinger launcher. He spoke in Arabic as the other two posed. The next shot was the Stinger being taken out of an SUV. Behind them was the skyline of Manhattan. The ski masks had been replaced with black and white checked scarfs tied across their faces. The man with the Stinger was aiming it. Then there was a voice. An English accent. ‘Okay, okay, there’s a plane taking off now. American. This is it guys. This is it. Allahu Akbar .’ That must have been Makhdoom. The Brit. It was Bin Faisal holding the video and Ibrahimi holding the missile.

  ‘ Allahu Akbar!’ screamed Ibrahimi and he launched the missile. It streaked up into the air and for a moment it disappeared from view, then Bin Faisal caught up with it, high in the air, a vapour trail streaming from behind it. There was a plane in the distance, still climbing. Yokely’s stomach lurched. Three hundred and twelve men, women and children preparing for a flight across the Atlantic. Settling down in their seats, checking the in-flight magazine, flicking through the movies on offer.

  The missile curved through the sky and smacked into the mid-section. There was a yellow flash, the plane split into two and then the two pieces fractured into more than a dozen. The three jihadists were screaming and shouting and praising Allah. Yokely switched off the camcorder, shaking his head. He took out the tape, slipped it into his pocket and gave the camcorder back to Leclerc.

  ‘Okay, do me a favour and send Garcia over. Stay with Martin, I’ll talk to them separately.’

  Leclerc nodded and headed to the office. A few seconds later, Garcia walked over. He was wearing a dark grey suit and a red tie. He was in his mid-thirties with jet-black glossy hair and olive skin and there was a stars and stripes pin in his lapel. He didn’t seem to be carrying a weapon. Yokely offered his hand.

  ‘Tommy Garcia?’ said Yokely. ‘I’m Richard Yokely. Hopefully you’ve been expecting me. Thanks for your help with this.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ said Garcia.

  Yokely smiled. ‘You’re not related to the actor, are you? Andy Garcia?’

  ‘It’s a common name,’ said Garcia.

  ‘Yeah, but you look a lot like him. He’s not a cousin or anything?’

  Garcia smiled, obviously pleased at the comparison. ‘Not that I know.’

  Yokely gestured at the office. ‘So this guy Martin, you interviewed him at Homeland Security, right?’

  ‘I did his secondary evaluation,’ said Garcia. ‘We decided to pass but I gave him my card and told him to keep in touch.’ Garcia smiled thinly. ‘The last thing I expected was for him to turn up with three terrorists.’

  ‘And why did you pass?’

  Garcia shrugged. ‘Our work these days is more cerebral than physical. We sift data, assess risks, set up systems to anticipate problems before they happen. Martin’s skills lean more to the physical. If you wanted someone to jump out of a plane, abseil down a building or go in with guns blazing, then he’d be the perfect candidate.’

  Yokely nodded. ‘Any other reasons?’

  Garcia looked pained. ‘I like the guy, that’s why I gave him my card. He’s done a hell of a lot for this country and he deserves better than guarding a shopping mall …’

  ‘But …?’

  ‘As part of our recruitment process, we run applicants through a battery of psychological tests and they have a sit-down with a psychologist. Martin didn’t exactly fit the profile we’re looking for.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘He went through a lot in Iraq and Afghanistan. Most of what he did is classified but you can see from that thousand-yard stare of his that he’s walked the walk. And that changes a man.’

  Yokely nodded. ‘Look, I think you’re pretty much done here, Tommy. We can handle it from now on. I don’t know what your boss told you, but I don’t expect you’ll be asked to file a report on this. It never happened.’

  ‘That’s my understanding.’

  ‘You did good work today. It won’t be forgotten.’

  ‘So I just go?’

  Yokely nodded.

  Garcia grimaced. ‘Bit of a problem,’ he said. ‘My car’s back at the mall. Dean and I drove over in the two vehicles the suspects were using, the SUV and the sedan.’

  ‘Not a problem. I’ll get one of my colleagues to run you back,’ said Yokely. ‘Just give me a few minutes with Martin.’

  Yokely walked over to the office. Martin stood up and removed his cap as Yokely entered, showing his military background.

  Yokely smiled and held out his hand. ‘You did your country a great service today, Mr Martin,’ he said.

  Leclerc was standing by the door, his hands in his pockets.

  Martin had a firm handshake, and his pale blue eyes stared into Yokely’s as they shook. He wasn’t a big man, a couple of inches below six foot, but he had a powerful build and the look of a boxer.

  ‘Just doing my duty, sir,’ said Martin. He was smiling, but Yokely could feel himself being measured up as Martin’s eyes flicked down, taking in Yokely’s tasselled loafers, his class ring, the scar on his thumb, and then he looked into Yokely’s eyes again.

  Yokely waved at one of the chairs. ‘Please, sit,’ he said. There was another chair on the opposite side of the desk but Yokely stayed standing.

  ‘I’ll give the vehicles a quick check over,’ said Leclerc. He headed towards the exit.

  Yokely smiled at Martin. ‘So, can you tell me in your own words what happened this evening?’

  Martin nodded. ‘I’d just finished my shift. I was on my way out when I saw these three guys drive up in an SUV. They parked near a car. A white Ford Fusion. A few minutes later a red truck arrived. A Chevrolet Silverado. There were two more Arabs in the truck and one of them got out. They were celebrating something, and they were looking at a camcorder. All pumped up. Then one of them pulled a St
inger launcher from the SUV. I think they were planning on moving it to the Ford and torching the car.’

  ‘You knew what it was?’

  ‘The Stinger? Sure. That was when I went over to them. They pulled guns but I took them down.’

  ‘You weren’t armed?’

  Martin shook his head. ‘They won’t let us have guns. Bad for the mall’s image, they say.’

  ‘And the men. They had what?’

  ‘One of them had an Uzi and one pulled a Glock. I think the other one had a gun too but he didn’t have time to use it.’

  ‘You took out three men, two of them armed, with what?’ He nodded at the baton in Martin’s holster. ‘With that?’

  ‘I didn’t get time to draw my baton,’ said Martin. ‘To be fair, I had the element of surprise on my side. They weren’t expecting me.’

  ‘What about the red truck? I don’t see it outside.’

  ‘It drove off. The older man, he ran like the wind and jumped in. It sped off before I could do anything.’

  ‘Did you get the plate?’

  Martin shook his head. ‘Too far away, and the lights were off.’

  ‘What about the one that got away?’

  ‘He was fifty, maybe a bit older. Overweight. Grey beard, all straggly. Blue jeans and a long coat. He was wearing glasses, round with metal frames.’

  ‘You’d recognise him again?’

  ‘Hell, yeah. I got a real good look. He could run too, for an old guy. Like a fox after a chicken.’

  Yokely nodded thoughtfully. ‘Okay, so you take down three armed men, killing one of them. You’re not just a security guard, are you, Mr Martin?’

  Martin grinned. ‘Former Delta Force,’ he said.

  ‘How long were you with Delta?’

  ‘Five years, sir.’

  ‘You don’t need to call me “sir”, son,’ said Yokely. He patted Martin on the shoulder. ‘You did good work tonight, Dean. But you need to go now. And you need to forget this ever happened.’

  Martin nodded. ‘I understand.’

  ‘No matter what you read in the papers or see on the TV in the coming weeks or months, you say nothing. To anyone.’

  Martin nodded again. ‘Absolutely.’ He stood up and looked around as if looking for an excuse to stay.

  ‘I’ll fix you up with a ride so that you can collect your vehicle,’ said Yokely.

  ‘I’d appreciate that,’ said Martin.

  Yokely went back into the warehouse. One of the men on the ground was struggling but he wasn’t going anywhere and a gag muffled anything he was trying to say.

  Leclerc came in through the door. ‘Richard, I found something.’ He held up a key attached to a plastic oval disc. ‘Motel key. Park Motel, Long Island.’

  Yokely frowned. The terrorists had either used the motel room to prepare for the attack or were planning to hide out there. Either way the room needed checking, and straight away. But he was short on manpower.

  ‘Shall I head out there?’ asked Leclerc, as if reading his mind.

  ‘They could have backup, and they clearly have no problem getting weapons,’ said Yokely. He looked at his watch, then back at Leclerc. ‘I know this is unorthodox, but take Dean with you.’

  Leclerc couldn’t conceal his surprise. ‘A civilian?’

  ‘A civilian who’s former Delta Force,’ said Yokely. ‘And he’s clearly not rusty.’ He nodded over at the guns on the floor. ‘Give him the Glock.’

  ‘You’re sure about this?’ asked Leclerc. The man wasn’t being insubordinate, just checking that Yokely had thought it through. On Grey Fox operations every team member’s views and opinions were listened to.

  ‘We can’t call in SWAT and we’re short-handed until Gerry gets here,’ said Yokely. ‘We need to move now. If there’s someone waiting for these three then they’ll get spooked when they don’t turn up. And if it was a planning base and they’ve cleared out already then we need to check it out before the room is cleaned.’

  Leclerc nodded. ‘I’m on my way.’ He went over to the weapons on the floor and picked up the Glock.

  ‘Best I talk to Dean,’ said Yokely and went outside. Martin was smoking a cigarette and he looked over guiltily as Yokely walked out.

  Yokely grinned. ‘I’ve no problem with you smoking,’ he said.

  Garcia was standing by the black SUV, peering at the screen of his smartphone.

  ‘I’m down to ten a day,’ said Martin. He looked at his cigarette. ‘I should give up, but …’ He shrugged and smiled. ‘I just like smoking.’

  ‘Are you interested in helping us out?’

  ‘Hell, yeah,’ said Martin.

  Leclerc came out, holding the Glock.

  ‘I need you to help Peter here to check out a motel room in Long Island. If there is anyone there connected to tonight’s terrorist incident, we need to know.’

  Leclerc handed the gun to Martin. Martin checked it professionally, ejecting the clip, working the slide and looking down the barrel before slotting the clip back in.

  Yokely reached into his pocket and took out his car keys. ‘Best if you drop Tommy off on the way,’ he said to Leclerc. ‘You can use my car. No mention of what’s going on, obviously.’

  Leclerc smiled thinly and took the keys. He nodded at the gun in Martin’s hand. ‘You might want to put that away,’ he said.

  Martin tucked the gun into his belt. ‘Good to go,’ he said.

  Leclerc and Martin went over to Garcia and after a quick conversation the three men climbed into Yokely’s car and drove off. Yokely watched them turn on to the main road and head east. As the car disappeared into the night, a high-powered motorcycle left the road and drove towards the warehouse.

  The biker parked next to the black SUV. As Yokely walked over, the biker took off his full-face helmet. It was Gerry McNee, wearing full motorcycle leathers, padded at the knees, hips, elbows and shoulders. He grinned when he saw Yokely and raised a gloved hand. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said. McNee was just over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, and like Leclerc had close-cropped hair. He had a square jaw and a white scar on his upper lip. He shook hands with Yokely.

  ‘You’ve just missed Peter Leclerc,’ said Yokely. ‘And David Dalton is flying in from Seattle.’

  ‘It’s that plane, I’m guessing.’

  ‘You’re guessing right.’ Yokely gestured at the door. ‘We’ve got three inside, two of them still alive, and Peter’s on the way to check out a motel they were using.’

  ‘So hard interrogations?’

  ‘Hard and fast and then disposal,’ said Yokely.

  McNee flashed him a tight smile. ‘That’s how it should be,’ he said.

  Chapter 15

  Present Day, London

  H arper lit a cigarette as he waited for Charlotte Button to appear. He found an empty bench and stretched out his legs. He had sat down ten minutes before the arranged time and he looked around to see if anyone stood out. They didn’t, but then professionals rarely did. After five minutes he stood up and walked a hundred yards or so before sitting down on another bench.

  He saw Button walking by the Serpentine. She had cut her hair since he had last seen her and he didn’t recognise the raincoat she was wearing, but other than that she looked pretty much the same as the first time he had met her, almost ten years earlier. She had a trim figure and legs that he was fairly sure were kept in shape by frequent running. She had a Michael Kors bag on her right shoulder and was carrying a copy of the Evening Standard. Her counter-surveillance techniques were as perfect as always; she changed her walking speed several times, dropped her paper once and looked behind her as she stooped to pick it up and sat for several minutes on a bench pretending to read the paper but really having a good look around her.

  Eventually she came over and sat down on the opposite end of his bench, crossing her legs away from him and concentrating on her paper. ‘How was the flight?’ she asked.

  ‘Uneventful,’ said Harper. He blew smoke towards the Ser
pentine.

  ‘The speed you got here, I’m assuming a direct flight.’

  ‘My passport is kosher,’ said Harper.

  ‘I want as few people as possible knowing you’re here, Alex.’

  ‘Mum’s the word.’

  ‘The job I have for you isn’t the normal sort of Pool job, Alex. I have to be up front with you on that. And after I’ve explained the situation to you, I’ll understand if you turn me down.’

  Harper nodded but didn’t say anything.

  ‘You heard about the stadium bombing, of course?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Harper. ‘Bastards. Twenty-four dead, right?’

  ‘Twenty-nine so far but there are another dozen casualties in intensive care who aren’t doing well at all.’

  ‘They should string them up,’ said Harper.

  ‘It was a suicide bomber, Alex. There’s nothing to string up. Anyway, there will be a list of terminations connected to that bombing. I have one name so far but we obviously expect that to grow. I’d like you to do the jobs yourself, or bring in contractors, but those contractors must not be those used by the Pool.’

  ‘You want to distance yourself?’ asked Harper.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Button. ‘On the financial side, the money will be coming from an account in the Cayman Islands, and the fee will be fifty per cent more than your usual rate, Plus any reasonable expenses will be covered – and, to be honest, even your unreasonable costs will be paid.’

  ‘This is for the government?’

  She stayed silent for several seconds, then turned the page of her paper. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘It helps to know.’

  ‘Then let’s say it’s semi-official. But there’ll be no get-out-of-jail-free cards on this one.’

  ‘Understood,’ he said.

  ‘I know you’re a big fan of throwaway phones but for this operation I’m going to suggest we use iPod Touches and the Signal app.’

  Harper nodded. ‘Okay, I can do that.’ Signal was one of the most secure ways of communicating, but the fact that an iPod was used meant that it had to be connected to Wi-Fi. The iPod wouldn’t connect to any cellular network, which made it very difficult to spy on. Mobile phones left a trail as they moved and locked on to the strongest cell tower. Transmissions – calls and texts – could be intercepted and the location of the phone could be determined. Signal – produced by Open Whisper Systems – used encrypted instant messaging and voice calls and was one of the most secure apps on the market. It used ephemeral keys where a new cryptographic key was generated for each message as opposed to systems that used one decryption key for all messages. The combination of ephemeral keys and no cell-phone connection meant it was virtually impossible to intercept messages and calls.