“As you can see, Sadiq’s last minute visitor looks a lot like our friend, Virenque. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Which sort of implies that the Russians are likely to have a greater level of insight into what Sadiq has been doing, and where, than we do.”
“It certainly looks that way.”
98
“So you believe there’s a stash of explosive stored somewhere on London’s Underground network?” It is Lewis speaking, trying to get his thoughts in order.
“Correct.”
“But you currently have no idea where?”
“Also correct.”
“When this man Sadiq travelled to work each evening, do we know where he went? Won’t his rail pass have logged him on and off the system?”
“Unfortunately, not. We know where he got on the tube network. Surprise, surprise, it was Kilburn. Frequently, he never actually left the tube network until the end of his shift.”
“What you’re saying is, that the sandbags containing the RDX could be anywhere.”
“Correct.”
“There are probably well over two hundred London Underground stations.”
“Two hundred and seventy, to be precise.”
“Have you tried examining various station video cameras about the time that Sadiq travelled to work each night to try and work out where he might have been going?”
“We’re already on to that,” Laura says. “With all the stations and video cameras that there are everywhere, it’s an enormous undertaking. We’re doing our best, but we’re not hopeful.”
“Do we think that Panich or Virenque know about the explosives and where they are located?”
“Pass. Assume yes. We simply don’t know.”
“If the Russian SVR cell was trailing the RDX, might they have twigged that Sadiq was carrying some of it to work each night, a sandbag at a time, and possibly followed him?”
“I like your train of thought, Ben,” Sullivan says. He looks at Laura. “We ought to pursue that some more.” She nods and writes something down on a pad of paper.
“What I don’t get,” Lewis continues, “is that if your team were also trailing the RDX, why didn’t we pick up on Sadiq and his heavy rucksack? Two sandbags, in a rucksack, is potentially quite a weight. It should have been obvious that he was carrying something heavy to work each day – and then not bringing it home again when he returned, surely?”
Laura rests her head in her hands at this point, her fingers combing through her short, black hair.
“Basically, we screwed up, is the honest truth,” she says looking up at him once the words are out of her mouth. “We were focusing on the flat being the destination, not that it might have been just another stopping off point. It’s a good idea of yours, about the SVR cell. Maybe they did work out that Sadiq was the onward courier, even if we didn’t. If so, I’m sure they would have followed him. It certainly might explain why Virenque was sent to kill him.”
“I’m surprised you weren’t all falling over each other in Kilburn High Road, with so much surveillance going on.” It is Zeltinger, trying to lighten the mood, but his comments are ignored.
“Are any of the SVR cell still in town?” Lewis asks.
“At least one, possibly two,” Sullivan replies. “Maybe we should invite them around to Millbank for a coffee?” It is a rhetorical question to no one in particular, another attempt at humour. Again it gains no traction. A mobile phone starts ringing: there is general relief at the welcome distraction. It is Zeltinger’s. He takes the call without leaving his seat, answering it on its second ring.
“Saul Zeltinger,” he says, and then listens to the person at the other end for about a minute.
“You’re sure it’s the same vehicle? Do we know if any other car has gone missing?”
He listens some more.
“Okay, very good. Please keep me informed.” He ends the call and looks across to Lewis.
“You have an uncanny knack of being right, Ben Lewis. They found the Nemikov Range Rover. It was parked up at the bottom end of Royston Station car park. Out of sight of any security cameras. We’ve been looking for the wrong vehicle.”
Lewis shrugs.
“I wouldn’t worry. Right now we’ve got more important things to concern ourselves about. Let’s start thinking like Panich: what’s his next move? Assuming he’s gone to ground somewhere and he urgently wants Ben Lewis to come and visit him, what will he be doing?”
“Finding a way to get your attention. Probably via the Nemikov boy or girl. Perhaps posting something online or on Twitter or similar.” It is Zeltinger speaking, thinking tactics, like a good chess player. “Or why not a simple text message? Direct and to the point.”
“Okay, so spin it on its head. If I, Ben Lewis, wanted to lure Panich or this Virenque person to me, what would I need to do?”
Zeltinger thinks for a moment.
“Well, for a start you’d be leaving your mobile phone switched on so that they might stand a chance of actually finding you.”
“Absolutely right. We need to try and make them come to us, not the other way around. Offense rather than defence. We need a suitable location.”
“Have you anywhere in particular in mind?”
“As a matter of fact, Jake, I do.”
99
Oleg Panich was beginning to realise that he might not be well. Even the relatively simple task of securing and gagging his two prisoners in their subterranean room had brought on an onset of violent coughing. Fortunately, Virenque had been on hand to help so it hadn’t been a problem. It had, nonetheless, been a warning: another glimpse of worse things yet to come.
Leaving Virenque behind, he had walked a few hundred metres up the road to meet with Vasily, the SVR London station chief, at a small, cheap, all-day diner located just off Goodge Street. It was run by a burly Greek and his wife, usually frequented by students at the nearby University of London. At that hour, just after seven-thirty in the morning, the place was empty. Even walking the short distance, he felt weary. He sat down and ordered a coffee, berating himself for his physical weakness: he was on an operation; he needed to get a grip.
Panich and Vasily knew each other of old. They had virtually grown up in the service together. Whenever Panich had cause to visit London, it was always Vasily he turned to for assistance. The Greek proprietor was serving Panich his coffee when a large, muscular, man wearing a black leather jacket and a cloth cap, walked through the door. The reason for the latter soon became clear once he removed the cap and waved a greeting at Panich: underneath, he was completely bald.
Vasily asked for a coffee before sitting down, at the same time ordering some breakfast pastries, toast and jam. The two men exchanged pleasantries until Vasily’s coffee arrived in a mug. He took a sip, his hands clenching the outside to keep warm.
“How can I help, Oleg?”
“I need some supplies, Vasily.”
He went on to describe the equipment he wanted. The request caused Vasily to raise an eyebrow.
“Volkov had forewarned me that you might be wanting something along those lines. Sounds like quite a gig you’ve got going here.”
“Can you help?”
“You can have them both within the hour. How do you want to take delivery?”
“I’ll send Virenque. Where does he have to go?”
Vasily told him and Panich committed the address to memory.
“I’d heard you were using Virenque. He’s a ruthless son of a bitch. Sounds right up your street, Oleg!”
Panich ignored the comment.
“Any joy in locating Ben Lewis for me? That man’s become really tiresome.”
“Ah, yes. The man who gave you so much grief last time you were here. Volkov is worried that you might be he
ading off-piste with your personal vendetta against the man.”
“I know he is. Happily or otherwise, Lewis has made himself central to the current operation. So you can tell Volkov, everything’s back on-piste. I can’t say that I am unhappy about that, though: that bastard owes me for quite a lot.”
“At this particular moment, he’s at a house in West Hampstead. It belongs to a policeman called Saul Zeltinger. Ring any bells?”
Panich grimaced. There was a sudden stabbing pain in his chest and it took several seconds before it receded. “I do indeed, Vasily.”
“Everything all right, Oleg? You seem in some difficulty.”
“No, it’s fine,” he said, although he evidently wasn’t.
“Moscow Tracking tells me that he and Lewis have been on the phone a lot this last twenty-four hours.”
“Well, the pair were thick as thieves during my last operation in London. The one that caused me so much grief,” he said, holding up his prosthetic arm.
“Are you planning to head over there now?” Vasily asked. It was an apposite moment: the pastries and a pile of warm, white toast, butter and jam were just arriving.
Panich thought about this before answering, eyeing up a sticky-looking pastry and picking it up with his fingers.
“I want Virenque to bring him in, not me. He’s in better shape for starters, for when it gets rough, which with Lewis it most certainly will. If that doesn’t work, I’ll resort to some poignant emotional blackmail: that usually does the trick.” He bit into the pastry and began chewing. “That’s where the equipment you’re going to supply will come in handy. If Virenque needs a little unattributable field support later in the day, by the way, can you help him out?”
“We’ll do our best, Oleg. Background only, as I’m sure Volkov has explained. But as much as we can, for an old friend and former colleague, of course.”
“Virenque is busy right now. Assuming Lewis’s visit to the policeman’s house is only temporary, can Moscow Tracking keep me informed about where he goes?”
“We can do better than that. I have an asset on the ground watching the house right this minute. Everywhere he goes, we – and through us, you – will be kept fully in the picture. You see, Oleg, I like to think ahead and plan, just like you.”
“You’re a good and loyal Russian, Vasily. Tell me, if I use the underground rail network later today, are you still able to get messages to me?”
“Certainly. Most tube stations have wireless networks these days. London’s changed a lot since you were last here.”
“Good,” Panich said, taking another mouthful of his icing-covered pastry. “That,” he went on cryptically, “actually opens up all sorts of interesting new possibilities.”
100
The location he believes is perfect.
Liverpool Street Station.
It is a major London concourse, humming with people. It also has lots of vantage points. There is the main concourse, below street level. This is where the railway platforms are, where travellers mix and mingle, waiting for the departure of their train to be announced. On an upper level, immediately above the concourse, are various shops. These are positioned around the concourse perimeter on two sides, with four pedestrian walkways that traverse the upper level from one side to the other: two at either end, and two evenly spaced in between. Other than that, the rest of the upper level is open space, giving the area a light, roomy feel. It is thus possible to sit at a coffee shop on the upper level and look down, through the glass sided walkways, to see almost everything going on down below.
At such short notice – given that it is, as Sullivan describes it, something of a fishing expedition – only a small team have been assembled. They are all from Laura’s section, although a unit from SO15 is also on standby not far away: in case, as Sullivan puts it to Zeltinger, the heat gets turned up. All ten of Laura’s team are undercover around the station: five on the lower level and five watching from up above. Their only distinguishing feature is an earpiece microphone: so small it can hardly be seen. Even Lewis is wearing one. Laura has assumed command, sitting this one out from inside a black Renault van parked immediately outside the station on a double yellow line. Various feeds from station security cameras are being streamed live on the television monitors in front of her.
At ten o’clock in the morning, Lewis is sitting at a table in the coffee shop on the upper level. He has been here for nearly thirty minutes. For some time, his cell phone has been on and connected to the network, the signal strength high. He has a clear view, across the upper level walkways, to those arriving at the station from the south. Down below, he can look out over a significant proportion of the main concourse area. Including the young female operative, Naomi. He can see her clearly – and for good reason. Naomi has his mobile tucked inside her shoulder bag. She has been chosen as the decoy. It is Laura’s idea: an attempt to draw the opposition into the centre of the field of play. Lewis is sceptical. He is rapidly going off the idea of working in Laura’s team.
“Lima one, anything to report.”
Lima one is Lewis’s call sign.
“Negative,” Lewis replies, with just a hint of insolence. On balance, he would have preferred to be here on his own. Not as part of someone else’s stakeout. He is pretending to do the Telegraph Crossword, a pot of tea on the table beside him. If the Russians really were desperate for him to surrender the Nemikov codes, someone would have traced his signal location by now. So, who will be sent to find him? Lewis thinks he knows: Virenque. Whether he will be on his own or whether he comes with Panich is tough to call. It depends whether they need a baby sitter for Olena and Borys. With Scarface and Vince out of action, and Fedorov dead, the opposition’s numbers must be getting thin.
It is another reason why Lewis is sitting where he is: he wants to give Virenque a good chance of spotting him. He doesn’t need this to be too difficult.
Looking around the concourse, he is able to spot several of Laura’s team. It hits him how much they all stand out. They are either in the shadows, watching from a static position like he is; or they are moving about, hiding in plain sight. Both have pros and cons. Knowing what to look for, Lewis thinks he finds at least six. The majority are not moving around that much: either they are loitering in one place or sitting without purpose, usually on their own. It’s what they don’t do that is revealing. Normal passengers at a railway station check their watches and look at the departure boards frequently. People on a stakeout don’t. They tend to be looking everywhere but the departure boards; and, from time to time, they talk to themselves, mumbling into hidden microphones to speak with one another – a form of conference call for spooks.
Virenque realistically has one option: to keep moving. The moment he becomes static, checking out what may or may not look out of place, he becomes vulnerable – especially if he’s outnumbered ten to one. He probably adopts some crude disguise, allowing him to move around undetected. So that he can check out the opposition. Once Virenque knows what he’s up against, he’ll try to lure Laura’s team down a blind alley, by creating a diversion. Perhaps a fire alarm, or some kind of explosive or incendiary device placed in a rubbish bin to cause panic and confusion; which will give Virenque time to make his direct move on Lewis. Assuming he knows where Lewis is; which, given that Lewis has deliberately been sitting in the same place for nearly forty-five minutes, is increasingly likely.
Time to move on, Soldier.
He stands up, and a smartly dressed young woman with a rolling suitcase bumps into him. She apologises, before rushing away towards the platform area. She seems in a hurry. She turns around a short while later, ostensibly to check that he’s okay. Then, with a brief smile and a wave, she is gone.
Lewis heads in the opposite direction, towards the far end of the concourse, still on the upper level walkway.
Which
is when he feels something buzzing in his jacket pocket.
He’s just fallen for the oldest trick in the book.
Placing his hand inside his pocket, he removes a small pager. Dropped in there whilst he was distracted. By the pretty woman, now long gone, her appearance changed already. He looks at the message on the screen, and smiles.
101
The device is simple, similar to those worn by doctors in a hospital. Crude but effective. About three inches by two, it gives the bare minimum of information.
Entrance to platform 10 in 2 mins.
Lewis is faced with a choice; comply or deny.
He also faces another decision: inform Laura or not.
Four options to choose. This could be interesting.
If he complies and he informs Laura, then the other guy is going to be watching with amusement as Laura’s team start converging around platform 10. The other guy will be watching as the cordon is tightened. In this game play, the other guy is going to start having some fun, bouncing Lewis from one destination to another, probably whilst he starts picking a few of Laura’s team off. Lewis will be like a puppet on a string, at the beck and call of whomever. Come to think of it, the other guy’s got to be Virenque. It feels just the sort of adventure he would enjoy. An assassin’s game: picking your foes off, one by one.
If he complies without informing Laura, then what? This would be similar to the first option, but probably less time consuming. He, Lewis, will still be subjected to the same pattern of being bounced around, but it will be shorter, given the absence of Laura’s people. Lewis will eventually be directed somewhere where Virenque thinks it will be easy to trap him: then he will most likely be sedated, bundled into a van and taken off to the same sweet location they are holding the other two.
The Gambit (Ben Lewis Thriller Book 2) Page 26
