Tanker (A Tim Burr Thriller Book 1)

by Nicholas E Watkins

  “We have a hit,” said Jeff Stiles as he entered Elaine Wilkins’ office in MI5’s headquarters at Thames House.

  “Don’t you ever knock?”

  “Sorry, but I thought you would want to hear it immediately something broke.”

  “I do have other things to do, you know,” she said, “like explaining what happened in North London the other night to the Minister.”

  “Oh yeah how did that go?” he said disinterestedly.

  “I can see that you are really interested so I shall tell you.”

  “You know me. I can’t be bothered with all the political stuff.”

  “It’s a little thing called democracy and accountability,” she said with a hint of irritation in her voice. “I explained the situation as best as we could understand it. To be honest I sort of gave the impression that we had foiled a terrorist plot and broken up an ISIS cell.”

  “Well we did, sort of.”

  “No we did not. We actually stood by and watched a shoot out between the Turks, drug dealers and some actual terrorists who supply the heroin trade in England. Not to mention the fact that we managed to lose Mr Burr who casually wondered off while we managed to get ourselves arrested.”

  “As I said we manage to foil a terrorist plot.” Elaine couldn’t help a smile at Jeff’s remark.

  “Ok,” she said “what do you have?”

  “GCHQ have located our Mr Anthony Burr. They got a hit on his email. He logged on and bingo. They are just tracing it through the ip address and should have a location within the hour.”

  “Has this information gone to MI6 as well?”

  “We assume so.”

  “We need to find out what their involvement is,” she said.

  She picked up the phone and spoke. “Get me an appointment with M please.” After James Bond every one referred to the head of MI6 as M. It was a standing joke that had stuck. The head’s name was Bernard Waverly.

  “What do you want us to do?” asked Jeff.

  “As soon as you get a location, get there and bring him in.”

  The phone rang. “Ok I shall leave now.”

  “I am off to Vauxhall Cross,” she said as she gathered up her papers. “Do not fuck this up. Just bring him in quietly,” she said as her parting shot.

  ******

  Tim’s meeting with his wife had not been a pleasant affair but after some argument she had agreed to hold onto his bag and had locked it in her office. He had taken a taxi back from the City to the West End which had resulted in an ear pounding from the driver who had strongly held opinions on any subject that could be named. Tim had listened to how the European Union was bad, the England football tam was worse and that the state of the roads was appalling.

  Tim was relieved as he left the cab at the hotel. He paid the fare and gave the obligatory tip and entered the foyer. He walked up the stairs to the first floor where his room was located and inserted his plastic card in the lock. Green light on, he opened the door and entered the room.

  As he entered the room he was instantly seized by two men and pulled inside. He thought of employing his years of marshal arts training but restrained himself as the man in the lighter grey suit shoved an id his face, “Secret Intelligence Service,” he said. “Please behave we need to ask you a few questions.”

  They had been in the process of searching his room and one of them who Tim categorised as the dark grey sort continued to do so. While the light grey suit said,” we should like to take you along with us to answer a those questions.” Tim knew it was not a request. The man then patted him down. “Any thing I should know about?” Tim shook his head and he was ordered to empty his pockets.

  Tim complied but left the two memory sticks in the crease at the back of his trouser pocket and turned both his pockets inside out, It was an old trick magicians used to convince punters they had empty pockets while concealing a card or coin. As a lad Tim had been interested in conjuring for a while to impress his friends, He did not think for a minute such and old trick would work on professionals but to his surprise it did. They handed Tim back his wallet and bits and pieces which he put back in his pockets.

  As one of them continued his search, Tim feared they would discover the Makarov. He had managed to hide it in the bathroom where he had found a small inspection panel in the tiling that housed a stop cock. It was attached with loosely held screws and Tim had opened it when he had been searching for a hiding place earlier. It was too small of course for the contents of the case but just large enough to secrete the gun. His fears were unfounded.

  “Let’s go,” said dark suit.

  They got in the lift and Tim was lightly held by both men as they approached the foyer. They crossed the vestibule, the doors opened and they walked through onto the pavement.

  “Stop right there,” said Jeff Stiles showing his MI5 credentials.

  “The fuck we will,” said light suit.

  “Don’t be stupid. This is our jurisdiction and Mr Burr is a MI5 employee. So get your hands off him.” Jeff and his two colleagues had made their way over from Thames House as soon as they received Tim’s location from GCHQ. They had checked with reception and knew that Tim had used his room key and was in the room. What they did not know was that Tim had two MI6 agents as company. They decided to wait until Tim left the building and bring him in quietly.

  “How is he your employee, that’s bollocks?”

  We pay his wages that’s why. So hands off and fuck off,” smiled Jeff.

  “No way, we have our orders and we are taking him with us.”

  “Who gave you these orders,” Elaine Wilkins appeared. The two MI6 suits recognised the head of MI5. She had just left Vauxhall Cross following her meeting with Waverly and received Jeff’s message saying he had a location for Tim. She had ordered her driver to bring her to the hotel where the scene was playing out,

  “Ma’am, we do have orders,” dark suit said rather less assertively.

  “I am not deaf young man. I heard you the first time. Take your hands off Mr Burr and tell me who issued the orders.”

  “With all respect I cannot do that.”

  Elaine pulled out her phone and dialled. A few words were exchanged and she passed the phone to light suit. “Yes sir,” was all grey suit said and handed the phone back.

  “Sorry for the inconvenience Ma’am.” Tim was released and the two MI6 operatives walked away.

  Jeff looked at Elaine. “Waverly,” she said. “He knew nothing about the whole affair it seems that the orders are being issued by a section head. He will get to the bottom of it and keep us in the loop.”

  “Come with us Mr Burr,” we should like to ask you a few questions.

  Chapter 25

  It was hot day in Istanbul and Annubis was beginning to feel the heat as he walked from the entrance of the Vezneciler metro station. The station was recently built and dedicated to death of the Ottoman police officers killed when the British occupied the then Constantinople in nineteen twenty. He walked slowly along the Street towards the Sehzade Mosque. The pavement was crowded and he was jostled as he made his way towards it. Annubis could not help admire the Mosque clad in pink and white marble which seem to glisten in the sun. The dome rose into the clear blue sky and the twin minarets and four subsidiary half domes gave the whole impression of a place of tranquillity in an otherwise chaotic city.

  Annubis moved into the shade of one of the porticos. He contemplated praying but he knew that there would be no peace to be found neither in this life nor the next. His soul was corrupted beyond repair and there was no way forward until he had avenged the murder of his family.

  He watched with a tinge of envy as the students made their way past on their way to Beyazit Square, where Istanbul University’s main campus was situated. He felt a deep air of sadness as he imagined that his younger brother would now be graduating and the pride of his Father and Mother at his doing so. Annubis knew that it had been his Father’s greatest desire that his sons would follo
w him into medicine. It could now never come to pass and the hopes and the dreams of his family were now buried in the ashes of the conflict in Iraq and the perversity and cruelty of one man, Mehmet.

  He had been in Istanbul for over a week and had been following his target, getting to know his movements and his habits, getting to know the man, probing for his weakness. Mehmet was a hard target to attack. The spate of terrorist bombings over the preceding months had left the city in a state of high alert. Mehmet was no fool and had personal protection wherever he went. Two armed body guards shadowed his every move and anywhere he entered was checked ahead of him.

  Despite the security surrounding him, killing Mehmet was not the problem. Annubis could have killed him countless times already. He had the skills and he had the weapon for the job. The conflict in Iraq and the PKK, the Kurdish insurgents in Northern Turkey had ensured the easy availability of weapons to ISIS. His contact in Istanbul had supplied him with a Kalekalip KNT-308. This indigenous Turkish produced sniper rifle. It was a .308 calibre weapon and had an effective range of nearly half a mile. Annubis had used it successfully on a number of occasions for contract assassinations in the past.

  ISIS simply wanted Mehmet dead in direct retaliation for the shooting of their operatives in London. Annubis needed so much more than just his death. He needed to set his mind to rest, to learn the details of his brother’s death. For this he needed to be alone with Mehmet. He needed time to question him. Then and only then would it be time for Mehmet to die and Annubis knew that he would need a long time for that to happen.

  The traffic was building up and the air thickened with the exhaust fumes. A queue of traffic had backed up despite the efforts of the policeman to get it moving. A bus was stuck in the line of stationary vehicles. Mehmet could plainly see that it was carrying about ten or twelve police officers. The driver was becoming increasingly irritated with the policeman on point duty who seemed to be making matters worse the more he attempted to get things moving.

  Mehmet was careful in his daily comings and goings. His training had become ingrained and he instinctively knew not to be a creature of regular habits and routines. His one weakness was the Hamam, the traditional Turkish bath house. Some days in the late afternoon Mehmet would go to a particular bath house in the Faith district about a half of a mile from where Annubis now stood.

  The previous day Annubis had visited to reconnoitre the premises. He had left his clothes in the locker room and entered the hot and steam filed room. The bath house followed the normal routine. An attendant scrubbed him from head to toe with soapy suds and the rinsed him down with cold water in a side room with a basin. There was a deviation of significance. The final part of the routine is a massage where oil is rubbed into the body. It became apparent that rather attractive young men took some of the customers to private rooms. Given Mehmet’s past history with himself and other boys at the orphanage, he had no doubt that this was the attraction that drew him to these particular baths. The plan was to be in the baths when Mehmet arrived and see if he had any preference or favourites among the young masseurs who worked there.

  He left the shade of the Mosque and resumed his journey. The traffic had come to a complete standstill and a broken down car was being pushed to the side of the road by its two occupants. It was partially blocking the lane and tempers were beginning to flare. Horns were blaring and voices rose. The traffic officer was powerless to sort the mess. The bus containing the security police was stuck, just yards from the broken down car. The policeman began shouting at the occupants to move the car.

  The driver and passenger seemed to give up any effort at moving the incapacitated vehicle and suddenly started running towards the Mosque. The policeman screamed frantically after them as they disappeared into the crowd of tourists, worshippers and students. Enraged he started to give chase. That saved his life.

  The windows of the Mosque shattered as the blast wave hit the building. Annubis was thrown to the ground and was nearly deafened by the sound of the car bomb. When he staggered to his feet he could see the bus was just a burnt out pile of steel and glass. The police on the bus had not stood a chance of survival nor had the pedestrians and drivers of the cars surrounding the blast.

  There were small pockets of fire lingering on the trees overlooking the road and smoke billowed upwards into the heavens. People were confused and shocked unsure what had happened and unsure where to run. Often a second bomb would be planted by terrorists nearby and the fleeing crowd from the first blast would be fodder for the second. There was no second blast and it was clear that the Police bus was the target. The bombers had observed the bussing in and out of the security police and knew their route and shift pattern.

  Annubis sat gathering his thoughts for a moment and raised himself to his feet. He checked himself out and was pleased to note that all the necessary bits still seemed to be attached to him. His ears rang and he had a bit of a headache but apart from that he was fine.

  The sirens could be heard getting closer. Istanbul had been the centre for increased terrorist attacks both from ISIS and the PKK for sometime. The emergency response to these incidents was becoming effectively coordinated and ambulances were soon arriving and the injured being treated and transported to the designated hospitals that were already rolling out their action plans.

  The irony was not lost on Annubis in that he had nearly been assassinated by ISIS who had just spent over a quarter of a million dollars employing him to carry out an assassination. He smiled as he made his way to the Hamam where he would await his targets arrival.

  Chapter 26

  The interview room in Thames house was pleasantly furnished with a table and four well padded chairs. It had a several video cameras mounted around the room which were of high quality ensuring good sound and vision. Tim noticed that unlike every interview room he had ever seen in police dramas, on the television, there was not a large one way mirror on the wall.

  Jeff Stiles formally introduced himself for the tape as did Tim.

  Well Anthony, tell me all about it,” said Jeff.

  “My friends call me Tim.”

  “Alright, Tim we are your friends. I assure you,” he smiled.

  “It is a bit of a long story and it started when the Ambassador sent me off to pick up what was thought to be a bit of routine intelligence from a contact in the Turkish delegation.”

  Tim relayed the sequence of events that lead up to the shootings in Wood Green carefully avoiding mentioning that he and Yosuf had smuggled in a bucket load of heroin. Jeff was quick to pick up on the reason for them going to the Kebab House.

  “Explain to me why you both went to North London?” asked Stiles.

  “The arrangement was that they would sort a place for us to stay, a sort of safe house.”

  “And that is where you were going when the shooting kicked off?”

  Tim nodded. Jeff seemed to be about to question the truth of the matter but realised there was no point in incriminating Tim by insisting on any further clarification of the matter, “You have handed over print out of the memory stick and the stick itself. Do you have on you or anywhere else for that matter anything that might aid us further in this matter?” he asked.

  “No,” said Tim. He had decided not to mention the cash and cards that his wife held for him nor the gun hidden in the hotel room. He also failed to mention the memory stick in his pocket showing Jason Delong’s abuse and murder of the small boy. The conjurors trick had worked again and when he had been searched turning his pockets inside out with the stick hidden in the fold at the rear. He did not know why he lied to Jeff about these items. Something in him made him reluctant to tell all. He just had a feeling he may need them in the future, an insurance policy perhaps?

  “What can you tell us about the contents of the memory stick?”

  “It contains details of marine reinsurance policies placed by, what I suspect are insurance companies affiliated to or directly owned by ISIS or another similar terror
ist organisation, or Countries that sponsor them. The Companies have effectively placed bets at odds of about one hundred to one that a ship over a certain size will sink in a twelve month period.”

  “I am still unclear.”

  “Say a ship over the target size sinks, anywhere in the World, the bad guys would get paid, tax free by way of claims under these contracts, a billion or so US dollars,” said Tim. “That money would flow into ISIS coffers, I assume.”

  Jeff’s mouth dropped open for a brief second, “That much?”

  “As far as I can calculate but I am no expert. It is probably a lot more. I could not obviously run a check on the Insurers that benefit from these contracts but you, I assume, have the resource to check their provenance.”

  “We are doing this as we speak,” confirmed Jeff. “But surely ships sink everyday?”

  “Of course but these bets have been placed on very big ships indeed sinking, such as a super tanker and they definitely do not sink every day That is why the odds these guys got on their bets were so high,” said Tim.

  “Fuck, are you saying ISIS could be about to attack and sink a super tanker?”

  “I am afraid that is the conclusion I reached.”

  “Which one, where and how, do you know?”

  “That is what we need to work out,” said Tim.

  He got up and headed for the door. “Don’t just sit there, follow me.” Tim caught up with him as he raced along the corridor and ignoring the lift started running up the stairs. Tim was glad that he had always kept up his training. They reached the top floor and they continued to Elaine Wilkins’ office. Jeff walked on ignored the protest of the group of secretarial and admin staff and pushed the door open.

  “What the hell is this,” shouted Elaine, as they both barged in. She and the Home Secretary were sat at a coffee table with their cups of tea and a plate of biscuits. Both looked startled at the intrusion.