by RJ Mitchell
Sir Willie contributed his thoughts on the whole sorry mess. “Obviously gentlemen, in the wake of the London bombings we have been moving heaven and earth to locate the uranium, the identity of the Rising Sun double agent and where his deal with al-Qaeda took place.”
Etherington resumed his monologue. “Quite so Sir. Going back gentlemen, as you can imagine we became somewhat deflected from the pursuit of that intelligence in the immediate aftermath of the terror attacks on London. Before you brought it to the surface again with the information from Professor Farouk it had, to all intents and purposes, gone underground.”
“Sounds like a case of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, bloody Spy to me,” quipped Tomachek.
Thoroughgood remained unconvinced. “It’s still a quantum leap to put all the pieces of the jigsaw together and place the enriched uranium in Glasgow and in Tariq’s possession, surely?”
Etherington did not agree. “I’m afraid not and doubly so after your conversation with the professor. In the short spell since what we are referring to as ‘the Glasgow Terror’ we have moved the whole focus of our attention onto what is going on in your city. Gentlemen, we have had further intelligence from Mossad. Who as you can imagine are far from happy.”
“Go on,” said Tomachek.
Etherington duly obliged. “The name of the Rising Sun operative who got away in Paris is Declan Meechan. The reason we have not been able to trace him and gain any intelligence of his transaction with al-Qaeda is because the Mossad have sanctioned a Kidon death squad to terminate him.
“We believe the reason he has not been located is because he has been shielded within the al-Qaeda network as a hawaladar, a money lender based on an ancient Muslim system that demands total trust and secrecy. But his true importance to them is as the provider of the substance they are desperate to utilise for a showpiece atrocity. Despite that, it would appear that Meechan had his own agenda all along and that was a Glaswegian agenda and that is where the Imam Tariq and the Spear of Islam come in. I believe, gentlemen, his is a name very well known to you.”
Hardie’s long rising whistle was the only sound that punctured the silence but at that moment all eyes locked on Thoroughgood. His heart pounding in his ears, he felt a cold bead of sweat starting to glisten on his skin and the oxygen in his lungs drained. He stood up, opened the door and walked out.
His worst nightmare had returned.
30
TOMACHECK WAS first to speak after the Detective Sergeant’s exit. Eyeing Hardie, who was half way out of his seat, he said, “Let him go Kenny. He’s going to need time to get his head around this and he isn’t the only one.”
Turning his attention to the intelligence officers he asked, “I assume you are aware of the local intelligence we have on Meechan and the level of personal enmity between him and DS Thoroughgood?”
Stratford nodded before answering. “Of course Detective Superintendent. I must stress at this stage we do not know if Meechan is back in Glasgow.” He looked for confirmation from Etherington, who provided it with a brief nod, before he continued, “But all the intelligence agencies have been sent his last known description and the importance of the substances he may be in possession of.”
Etherington re-enforced his boss’s message, “Indeed Sir. Interpol have issued a warrant for Meechan’s immediate arrest. There is also an ‘all ports’ lookout for him in place and the Police Service of Northern Ireland, given his roots, are also on alert.
“Regarding Dhiren Rahman, gentlemen, I will have a team of ‘watchers’ placed on him to conduct round-the-clock surveillance. We will install electronic listening equipment everywhere he is likely to frequent. If Rahman is the hawaladar who has established a liaison with Meechan he can lead us to both Tariq and Meechan. More importantly he can lead us to the enriched uranium and/or Caesium 137. So, gentlemen we have already made it a priority to ensnare him and let him lead us to our prey.”
Almost before Etherington had completed his final sentence Stratford interrupted, his hunger for a successful conclusion to the whole affair obvious. “Bang on Ethers, bang on! At last we have the lead we need to bring ‘the Glasgow Terror’ to an end.”
Hardie took great delight in bringing the head of the secret service back down to ground. “If I may be so bold Sir, there are a couple of other things that we need to take into account.
Firstly, the hostage situation. What have you done regarding Tariq’s demands and the fact we have 24 hours left on the first deadline? “Secondly do we have any intelligence yet on the staff at One Devonshire Gardens and the Half-Moon bookshop?”
“Etherington?” boomed Sir Willie providing a crystal clear pointer as to who the buck stopped with.
“Sir,” acknowledged Etherington flatly, before continuing to address both Tomachek and Hardie. “We have placed the bookshop under scrutiny and some very interesting results have been obtained.” Etherington’s clipped tone and the slight trace of a smirk implied all was well now that the real professionals were involved.
The intelligence chief continued. “An informer we have brought with us from England visited the shop and purchased a selection of interesting literature both in written form and on CD. After being translated from Arabic and Urdu the material proved inflammatory in extremis. It has only recently arrived in Blighty, almost certainly smuggled in from Islamabad by UK-born jihadists.
“With genuine British passports they can pass freely in and out of the country. The CDs were disguised as popular Pakistani music but inserted neatly between the tracks were messages of hate. On translation the messages were revealed to be instructions on how to make and release cyanide within enclosed public places.” Pleased with his revelation Etherington took stock of its impact on the two detectives and his boss.
“Well fuck me,” was the best Hardie could do. Tomachek for his part remained hanging on Etherington’s every word.
Etherington carried on with gusto, “The bookseller is now on a watch list and under surveillance as we speak. Listening devices have been inserted in his vehicle and within the Half-Moon bookshop itself. Every meeting Friend Omar has is being watched and logged and if there is any contact between him and Tariq or his underlings we will have full intelligence on it.
“As for One Devonshire Gardens, we believe that the kidnap was set up by information provided by the junior manager and one of the porters who are both members of the Central Mosque. Both have been on trips to Waziristan, in the North West Province of Pakistan within the last 18 months. They too are under surveillance. Gentlemen, the net is closing.”
“But just how fast is it closing? We’re up against the clock here Mr Etherington,” said Hardie.
“Don’t you think we are aware of that Detective Constable Hardie?” demanded Stratford, adding, “Damn it fellow, it is all a balancing act. We need to draw out more intelligence from them before we roll things up. Move too quickly and Tariq is tipped off we are onto him and what happens then?”
Etherington quickly backed up his master. “I am entirely confident that through either Rahman or Omar, or one of the hotel staff we will have a route to Tariq within the timescale for the executions.”
“However, we are going to use a little ruse to try and trap Tariq,” he finished.
“And just how do you propose to do that Mr Etherington?” demanded Tomachek.
Etherington smiled benignly. “The individual Tariq wants released from Guantanamo Bay will to all intents and purposes be freed and a video detailing this will be posted to Al-Jazeera. But of course his freedom will be a total sham. He will remain, naturally, under water-tight FBI surveillance and should he contact Tariq he will be helping to lead us to him.
“After we secure the release of Miss Velvet and Mr Fraser the released detainee will be rearrested on fresh terror charges.
“If, however, Tariq fails to honour his side of the bargain and double-crosses us we will at least have done everything possible to avoid the resulting grisly outcome, should that be ho
w the situation pans out for the two hostages.
“You must learn to trust us detectives. Your work here is over now. We will debrief Farouk and see if we can gain any extra intelligence beyond that which he provided for you.”
“Can we be of any further assistance?” asked Tomachek dryly.
Once again Stratford took control. “Most importantly, where is that damned dagger we have been hearing so much about?”
Hardie replied, “Detective Sergeant Thoroughgood has the dagger, we’ve not had time to lodge it as a production with everything that has been going on.”
“Ah yes, your man Thoroughgood, is the poor fellow going to be okay?” Stratford enquired.
Once again Hardie had the answer – almost. “Sir, I’m really not sure. How do you fix a broken heart?”
Stratford’s over ample eyebrows shot up. “Quite,” was the best the head of MI5 could do.
31
THOROUGHGOOD COULD not remember how he had reached The Rock but it seemed to him that he had been in some kind of a trance ever since Etherington’s revelation about Meechan. Meechan, the puppet master, pulling the strings all along as he implemented his plan to wreak mass destruction on the city that had vanquished him.
Staring into his pint Thoroughgood recalled that Meechan’s departure from UK shores had allegedly been on a Russian trawler. Meechan’s friend Brendan O’Driscoll was an assassin regularly used by the Russian Mafia. The resurfacing of Meechan within the hierarchy of the Rising Sun made perfect sense now.
Thoroughgood took a swig from his glass, his mind running riot. So was Meechan back in Glasgow for vengeance? If he was then he had to be in the company of either Rahman or Tariq himself. Obviously part of their deal had been the massacre of Balfour and his associates, leaving a vacuum at the top of Glasgow’s underworld which Meechan would fill on his return. The chance to avenge Celine was coming his way at last.
It was a tantalising prospect but with the security services now so heavily involved and the personal enmity between him and Meechan so well known it was not going to be easy to get in a position to make payback. Lost in his emotions, Thoroughgood was oblivious to the voice repeating his name.
“You alright Gus?” asked Hardie.
The DS looked up at his mate. “What do you think?” was the best he could do.
Hardie sat down and placed his own pint on the table. “Who would have thought it? Meechan behind the whole shootin’ match? At the same time you wouldnae put it past him. Feck me, if someone had told me he had turned up in the Celtic dugout to manage the Totty Howkers at Ibrox next week I wouldnae have said no to takin’ a tenner on that!”
Thoroughgood smiled but his face lacked any real warmth. He said nothing but Hardie needed no words to read his thoughts. “Listen Gus, I know what’s going through your mind and if I was in your position I would be thinking the exact same. How are we gonnae get Meechan?”
Thoroughgood’s gaze lifted and he met Hardie’s jaded eyes grimly leaving his subordinate in no doubt that if there was a way to Meechan he would find it.
“We’ll finish these and sack it for the night. Get some kip and reconvene in the morning. I think it’s time we went and did some sniffing about at the Mosque. You never know who might be hanging around but there has got to be someone there who we can put the heat on. Second we visit the UAE Bank in Sauchiehall Street and see if Rahman is about.”
“Fair enough to me,” replied Hardie.
Thoroughgood stared at the red numerals on his alarm clock for the hundredth time. The sleep he craved so much would not come. Round and round the wheels of his mind revolved, replaying the moment he had found Celine at Meechan’s mansion, dead. Her contorted face; so beautiful, so still. The life he considered more precious than his own extinguished for ever.
He shut his eyes again and tried to blot her tortured face out of his thoughts. The woman he loved, the woman he had always loved, the woman he could not stop loving. Not then, not now, not ever.
Eventually Celine’s face was replaced by that of Meechan’s. Cruel and sneering, promising him death as they had fought in hand-to-hand combat around the poolside at Tara. ‘Why didn’t I take him out when I had the chance and then she would still be here?’
But now, through Meechan’s twisted need for revenge on the city he had almost owned, the death wish Thoroughgood had made himself over and over was almost within his grasp. The chance to avenge Celine in the only way that would ever ease his pain; to put the full stop on Meechan once and for all, might soon be his.
The alarm clock read 23.30 and he needed sleep but still it would not come.
The doorbell sounded and broke into his tormented thoughts. He padded into the hall not caring who awaited him outside.
Had Meechan come back to finish him once and for all?
The door opened and he found himself staring into Aisha’s opal eyes. “Can I come in?” she asked but her features were cold.
“It’s getting to be a bit of a habit, your night visits,” said Thoroughgood with a smile that showed he had no complaints.
But Aisha’s manner was different from before. Her jaw was tight, bringing a hardness to her face Thoroughgood had not seen before.
She sat on the settee and focused a searing gaze on him.
“So Gus, you met with my father and obtained information that may lead you to Tariq but at what cost to my father?”
Confusion swept across Thoroughgood’s face. “Sorry,” was the best he could do.
“Not as sorry as my father. Do you know the shame he bears for betraying Rahman as a hawaladar and the dilemma he feels – torturing himself over betraying his community to stop Tariq and bring an end to this madness?” Aisha demanded.
Thoroughgood leant back into his armchair. Before he could help himself the words were out. “Look Aisha, with respect I don’t give a fuck about your father’s high-minded moral dilemma.
He had the chance to provide us with information that may have led us to Tariq before these atrocities started piling up. I’m not saying we would have got to Tariq before Braehead or Dowanhill or even stopped the hostage taking but it would have given us a shot.
“The bottom line is the hostages lives are still in the balance and all these other lives are over and there could be more to come unless we get our hands on Tariq tout suite. So forgive me if I don’t shed a tear for your old man’s angst.”
Aisha jumped off the settee and covered the small gap between them in a sudden explosion of movement. Her hand stung his cheek with a slap that took him totally by surprise.
“You bastard. You’ve just used him and now you don’t give a fuck. My father is an honourable man. He has put everything else before himself to provide you with information and you couldn’t give a damn about the repercussions he’ll face within the Muslim community.”
This time it was Thoroughgood who moved with an unexpected suddenness. He vaulted to his feet and stared down at Aisha, who refused to move an inch.
“Repercussions from the Muslim community? That’s a laugh! There wouldn’t be a Muslim community in Glasgow any more if he hadn’t climbed down off his moral high horse. So forgive me if I don’t buy all of this outcast and shame shit.”
Thoroughgood picked up a flicker of movement from Aisha’s hand as she attempted to repeat the stinging rebuke of earlier. He grabbed her hand before it had reached shoulder height.
“That’s quite a temper you’ve got there Nurse Farouk. But let me fill you in on the value of the information your dad has been holding back, while going through his bout of ethical hand-wringing,” shouted Thoroughgood.
He spotted her other hand moving and slapped an iron grip on it. “That information from dear daddy has just allowed MI5 to place a crucial piece in a jigsaw that suggests there may be material in this city with which Tariq intends to explode a dirty bomb.”
He could see from the tremor in her face that she knew exactly what he was talking about and continued relentlessly.
&n
bsp; “It has also allowed us to piece together a network of conspirators that stops with the Russian Mafia who have been supplying Tariq with his explosives and arms, and it has identified Declan Meechan as the organ grinder behind our bunch of crazed Jihadists and that fuck Tariq.”
Aisha’s eyes burned with fury and she tried with all her strength to break free from his grip.
“Let me go you brute. . .” she screamed at him.
But their proximity and the intensity of the emotions that were in the mixer at that moment were too much. Her rage gave Aisha a magnificent allure that Thoroughgood could not fight and all of a sudden his lips were locked on hers and she did not resist them.
Now their bodies intertwined in a passion that had to be spent.
His hands seemed to be on automatic pilot as they ripped her clothes from her and now Aisha reciprocated as they staggered in their mutual passion into the lounge.
Their bodies slammed onto the Chesterfield settee as the pain and heartache of their worlds collided in a moment of intensity that neither would ever forget.
Thoroughgood realised that Aisha was talking as his mind slowly slipped back into gear.
“How can it be that I came round here to let you know exactly what I thought of you and now I find myself in your bed – again?”
“The best laid plans . . .” Thoroughgood replied.
Aisha continued, “I visited my dad at his office and, whatever you think about him and the redundancy of his moral dilemma, he is in bits. But he also had more information for you and asked me to pass it on. I thought doing so would give me the ideal opportunity to put you in your place. I must be honest, I almost refused to act as his messenger but then who would that help?”
“Thank God for that,” sighed Thoroughgood. Leaning up on one elbow he added, “Go on.”
“My dad has sent a message to Rahman that he must speak with him urgently at the Central Mosque tomorrow. Rahman has replied that he will be there.”
