Murder Without Reason (DCI Cook Thriller Series Book 5)

by Phillip Strang

‘It will get worse when the government in London is forced to officially declare those areas as Sharia, Islamic State,’ Commander Goddard surmised.

  ‘We’ll never do that,’ the Prime Minister said.

  ‘Prime Minister, with all due respect, it will happen,’ Isaac said. ‘And then they will push the borders of those areas.’

  ‘DCI Cook, you should be here as my adviser.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’m fully occupied at the present moment.’

  Chapter 2 4

  ‘My daughter, it is not necessary for you to commit martyrdom,’ the Master said on the phone to his daughter as she stood in the driveway of the Styles’ house in Devon.

  ‘I must. I have killed the man that I loved and deceived his parents into accepting me into their household as their daughter. For me it is punishment.’

  ‘I have someone for you, a good man.’

  ‘I have no need of another man.’

  ‘Yasser Lahham, he is a brilliant man. It was he who broke the security at New Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Father, you do not understand. I do not want to be part of the future that you foresee. I am committed to my religion, but what I have done can never be forgiven.’

  ‘I will mourn you too,’ her father said, ‘but I will also rejoice in what you have achieved, what you will achieve.’

  ‘Is all in place?’ Sara asked.

  ‘Yes, Durrani is preparing all that is needed.’

  ‘We travel to London in two weeks.’

  ‘Everything will be ready,’ the Master replied sadly.

  ***

  Frederick Vane and Andrew Martin continued with their analysis, their postulating, their questioning of the events so far.

  ‘What do we make of Sara Styles? Or should we call her Sara Aslam now?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘She’s the most dangerous of them all,’ Frederick replied.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘She managed to pretend to be Hindu. She was able to seduce and marry a Royal Navy man and then force him to blow himself and his colleagues up on a submarine, and now she’s back in the bosom of his family.’

  ‘An impressive individual, would you say?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘Clearly, which begs the question, who and what is Faisal Aslam?’ Frederick said.

  ‘We know him to be a key figure in the Islamic State, but how key is he?’ Andrew questioned. ‘Could he be the mastermind behind all the bombings?’

  ‘Are you suggesting he may be the supreme leader in this country?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Andrew added. ‘If he has managed to raise a daughter of such capability, then he must also be a person of exceptional talent.’

  ‘You almost sound as though you admire them.’

  ‘Admire, of course not,’ Andrew replied. ‘But you have to admit that, as terrorists, they’re true professionals.’

  ***

  It seemed to Isaac Cook that he had been working forever. The fifteen, sixteen-hour days were the norm and the need for sleep, overpowering. It was late one night, when he was still in the office, that he received another of his regular phone calls from Anne Argento.

  ‘Isaac, I’m going to contest the leadership in the next two weeks.’

  You’ll win,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks, but after Westminster was hit last week, even my approval ratings have suffered.’

  ‘You’ll still win.’

  ‘Yes, but I need to ensure that I have the full support of the public. You know what I intend to do after I’m elected,’ she asked.

  ‘You’ll commit the country to an action that the majority of law-abiding people are waiting for,’ he replied.

  ‘I need your help.’ Anne Argento spoke to him as a friend, although the help she wanted from him was as a policeman.

  ‘I’m not sure what I can do to help,’ Isaac replied. ‘The Prime Minister bawled me out the other day for our dismal results, and he’s right. We’ve not achieved much.’

  ‘That’s an incorrect perception. He’s just feeling the heat, no idea where to go,’ Anne replied. ‘If you and your team – sorry about Detective Inspector Pickles, by the way – hadn’t been there, the numbers would be much worse.’

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, but the numbers have still been significant,’ Isaac replied.

  ‘Maybe, but have you got any idea who’s running the Islamic State here in this country?’

  ‘Yes, we’re fairly sure.’ Isaac had to admit that the evidence against Faisal Aslam was overpowering.

  ‘Then why don’t you bring him in just after I’m elected? Let me have the opportunity to cement my position, increase my approval ratings.’

  ‘It’s not that easy,’ Isaac continued. ‘We bring him in and then the assorted rabble of supporters will commit numerous acts of terrorism by way of reprisal in an attempt to force us to hand him back.’

  ‘Okay, then what can you give me?’ she asked.

  ‘We know who was responsible for the submarine.’ Isaac had only just received the information – not even told the Prime Minister, or his boss at Counter Terrorism Command knew – but here he was telling the Prime Minister’s deputy. He realised that his personal feelings were overriding his professional responsibilities.

  ‘How did you find out?’ she asked.

  ‘Vane and Martin came up with the idea and one of my people checked it out.’

  ‘Do you have a name?’

  ‘Get yourself elected and I’ll be under no confidentiality agreement to withhold information.’ Isaac had told her too much already.

  ‘Isaac, I told you before. There’s no issue with breaking agreements.’

  ‘It’s more than that. We need to let this person play out their current plan.’

  ‘You’re not going to let them blow themselves up?’ Anne asked.

  ‘No, but we need to be sure that we don’t give away what we know about this person and the organisation,’ Isaac replied.

  ‘I’ll leave it up to you,’ said Anne. ‘I’m looking to celebrate my victory. You’re still available to join in the celebrations?’ She continued to look for certainty that Isaac Cook would be her prize when she secured the top position in the land.

  ‘Yes, Deputy Prime Minister. Or should that be Prime Minister?’ he replied, knowing full well what she was referring to.

  ‘It’s Anne, at least on the night of my victory.’

  ***

  Frederick Vane and Andrew Martin were also working some long hours. Apart from the occasional visit from Isaac or their boss, the obsequious Bill Gardner, they were largely left alone. The question of Sara Styles concerned them greatly.

  ‘Why does she remain with his parents?’ Frederick asked.

  ‘There’s got to be a reason, a plan behind it,’ Andrew replied.

  ‘But what plan? What opportunity has she down there?’

  ‘That’s what we need to find out.’

  ‘Are there any commemorations, medal ceremonies that she may attend?’ Frederick asked.

  ‘Not that I know of, but it’s worth following up. We can check easily enough.’

  ‘The naval captain who helped with our analysis on how to take out a sub may know of something,’ Frederick said.

  ‘He’ll come here quickly enough if there’s a hotel laid on for him and a free rail ticket.’

  Two days later and Captain Macintyre presented himself in their office.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked.

  ‘We thought it’d be best if you came up here instead of us talking on the phone,’ Andrew said.

  ‘No problem, glad of another chance to visit the big smoke.’

  ‘The submarine that went down?’ Frederick asked.

  ‘The Ambush?’ the captain reiterated the name.

  ‘Yes, are there any events in commemoration of the boat and its crew?’

  ‘There’s one in two weeks. They’re presenting the immediate relatives with a medal for bravery,’ Captain Macintyre said.


  ‘Where is it going to be held?’ Frederick asked.

  ‘In London,’ replied Macintyre.

  ‘But where?’ Frederick continued.

  ‘Downing Street.’

  ‘The Prime Minister’s residence?’ Andrew asked. ‘Who’ll be there?’

  ‘The Prime Minister, senior politicians, top brass from the military,’ Captain Macintyre said.

  ‘Thanks, that’s all we need to know.’ Andrew and Frederick realised immediately as to why Sara Styles was still with her late husband’s family.

  ***

  It had been assumed that the discreet protection that Isaac had put in place for Frederick and Andrew would have sufficed. In the time since their cover had been blown, there had been no obvious response from the Islamic State. That changed after they had predicted the attack on a cathedral, and the potential attack on New Scotland Yard.

  The police headquarters had been spared more damage than was forecast due to increased surveillance practices in place, although it had not saved Ed Pickles, two of his colleagues and another six people near the Chief Commissioner’s office.

  It was Haji who had realised their importance after he had made a visit to the Office of National Statistics one morning, not long after the attack at New Scotland Yard.

  He had seen Andrew and Frederick as they entered the building. He had confirmed their movements over a number of days and realised that the plain-clothes policemen who were keeping a watch on them were both bored and poorly trained. Haji knew that Vane and Martin were two exceptional individuals who had successively been able to predict the Master’s planned activities with an uncanny accuracy. It was clear that they were a liability, and they had to be removed.

  The Master had given his approval. All he needed was another willing martyr and a busy lunchtime location.

  The analysis experts were creatures of habit, and the café they frequented without fail every lunchtime Monday to Friday was ideal. Frederick would always order spaghetti bolognese, Andrew Martin, a chicken schnitzel. It was so predictable that the waitress only asked them if it was the ‘same’.

  At thirty-five minutes past midday, Amir El-Amin, another of the increasingly extensive list of martyrs that the Master had acquired, entered the café on Vauxhall Bridge Road, just twenty metres from the two analysts’ office.

  The Rocks Café was small, friendly and totally complacent when the suicide bomber walked in. The waitress, who attempted to take his order, was not so complacent when she asked for his order, only to realise that his English was rough and limited, due to predominantly speaking Arabic, although he had lived in the country for ten years.

  It made little difference as he pressed the switch and demolished the café. As well as the flat upstairs where Yasmin, a recent immigrant from West Africa, was breastfeeding her two-month-old daughter. The newsagent next door which Benjamin, an avid supporter of Arsenal, fifteen years in the country from Zimbabwe, had purchased six months previous after a succession of demeaning jobs to generate the necessary capital also destroyed in the blast. It was opportune that Frederick and Andrew had just concluded their meal and were heading out of the café and back to work early for a pre-arranged meeting with Isaac.

  Both felt the impact of the blast and were propelled forward towards the road. Andrew narrowly missed a bus speeding down the road and only suffered a broken arm and a severe concussion. Frederick was thrust head first into a red post box, just to the left of the café. His skull was crushed by the impact, his death instantaneous. The deaths in the café and the newsagent, and the flats above both the buildings, totalled thirty-five, with another fifteen injured.

  The Master was pleased that at least one of the analysts was dead. Haji, however, was not so pleased that Amir El-Amin was not smart enough to have followed both of the men out of the café. Andrew Martin was thrown into severe shock at the senseless death of his friend and colleague of forty years standing.

  It was Isaac Cook who had to convince Andrew that his place was to stay and continue the good work that they had been involved in. ‘If you weren’t pre-empting them, they would not have aimed to remove you.’

  It was of little consolation to Andrew. He wanted to get straight on a plane to New Zealand where his wife was. However, within a few days, he saw the rationale of Isaac’s statement and decided to continue with his work.

  ***

  Sara Styles was spending a few days in London visiting friends. At least, that was what she had told her deceased husband’s parents. They offered to drive her up, but she had declined. It was not friends. It was her father and Durrani, the bomb maker. There were preparations to be made for the reception at Downing Street.

  ‘A suicide bomb will not get past the security,’ Durrani explained.

  ‘Then how will the plan be executed?’ she asked.

  ‘It has to be poison,’ Durrani said.

  ‘Will it be effective?’

  ‘Yes, you only need to scratch the target with the point of the needle and then yourself.’

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Its technical name is Batrachotoxin.’ Durrani had trouble pronouncing the word.

  ‘I’ve never heard of it,’ Sara said.

  ‘You’ve heard of the poison dart frog?’ he asked.

  ‘What the Indians use in South America?’

  ‘That’s what it is, although it’s not the frog that produces it,’ said Durrani. ‘It’s what they eat, a beetle, that produces the poison.’

  ‘Where can you buy that?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s not difficult to purchase, but we obtained it from a supplier in India, not so many questions asked.’

  ‘Is death instantaneous?’

  ‘Death occurs within ten minutes, paralysis almost immediate. There’s no way that they will be able to administer an antidote – there isn’t one.’

  ‘Is it safe for me to take now?’ Sara asked.

  ‘Haji will bring it to you.’ Durrani still had some work to do to ensure concealment.

  For the few remaining days in London, Sara devoted herself to prayer and discussions with her father. Her faith had been shaken by the death of Ray Styles and the time spent with his parents had been therapeutic. She realised that her only hope of salvation was death. Whether it could be called martyrdom or cowardice, she could not be sure, although it seemed more like cowardice to her.

  ***

  Andrew had only allowed himself four days before returning to the office he had shared with Frederick. The empty seat on the other side of the office, a constant reminder of the close bond they had shared. Isaac initially intended to sit on it when he arrived in the room until Andrew had asked him to use another.

  ‘Isaac, both Frederick and I believe there is to be a terrorist attack at Downing Street.’

  ‘How and when? What do you have?’

  ‘What I am about to tell you presents some complications. ’Andrew realised clearly that he needed to take Isaac into his confidence. If he acted as a policeman, it would not bode well for the country. He hoped to be able to speak to him as a rational member of the public, as a friend, as well as a friend of Anne Argento.

  ‘It’s best if you give it to me straight,’ Isaac said.

  ‘I need your word that you will not act on what I’m about to tell you without giving it at least two days’ evaluation.’

  ‘How can I?’ replied Isaac. ‘I’m a policeman. If it’s my duty to act, then I must.’

  ‘There are still a few days before you need to take any action.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’ Isaac asked. ‘I can’t just ignore any advice that you give me.’

  ‘Let me tell you this.’ Andrew attempted to clarify the seriousness of what he was about to reveal. ‘If you decide to act without thoroughly evaluating all the possible options, it may be that you will give the Islamic State the success they garner.’

  ‘How can this be? I’m just one person. How can I affect such an outcome?’ Isaac asked.


  ‘Isaac, you have to allow the Islamic State to be successful this time,’ Andrew emphasised.

  ‘This makes no sense.’

  ‘Do I have your word?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘Okay, I will wait two days before acting on what you tell me.’

  It was ten minutes later when both had sat down in the confines of the office, that Andrew attempted to explain his and Frederick’s analysis and the reason why Detective Chief Inspector Isaac Cook of Counter Terrorism Command must not act on what he was about to reveal. He could have kept it to himself, but it was imperative that Isaac assisted in at least preventing the accidental death of one person while ignoring the death of another.

  ‘The Prime Minister is targeted for assassination.’ Andrew revealed the first detail.

  ‘And you want me to let this happen?’ Isaac responded with some alarm.

  ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I expect you to do.’

  ‘Andrew, are you mad?’

  ‘Frederick and I are analysts, scientists, whose sole function was to look out of the box, to weigh up all the possibilities, the options.’

  ‘You expect me to ignore my duty?’

  ‘Don’t you understand?’ Andrew continued with his explanation. ‘This one action will polarise the population. It will give the necessary support for the one person who can save this country.’

  ‘You mean Anne Argento?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘Who else is there? The Prime Minister is too soft. The task is beyond him.’

  ‘I agree,’ Isaac said. ‘But to allow his death?’

  ‘It must happen. This will give the universal support that she needs to enact the necessary legislation.’

  ‘And you believe that this will result if the Prime Minister dies?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Andrew stated clearly.

  ‘But how? A suicide bomber?’

  ‘Not this time. The Islamic State is only planning one death. They’re about to make a tactical error.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘They believe that the Prime Minister’s assassination will demoralise the nation, and they are correct. But they’ve failed to take into account who will replace him.’