‘Thank you, Kate. Aidan, I’m sorry for the cloak-and-dagger stuff. Basically, I was framed. By accident, I stumbled across pieces of the terrorists’ plans. Before we go any further I should explain your position and make it absolutely clear that you’re here under no coercion. I asked Jeremy to get you as we need your help - we believe they are targeting the derivatives market.’
‘OK, wait a minute. Are you saying that if I think you’re talking a load of bullshit, I can walk out of here?’
‘Yes,’ replied Rafi, ‘With one proviso: you can’t tell anyone you’ve seen me. Agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ said Aidan. ‘Please start, I’m all ears.’
Rafi sensed that the other members of the team weren’t happy with what he had promised Aidan. No doubt the signing of some formal documentation would be the norm. But this was the City of London, where for Rafi and his work colleagues one’s word was one’s bond.
The phone rang before Rafi could begin. Kate picked it up, listened for a moment and spoke to Jeremy. ‘Your delivery from Luigi’s is here.’ He disappeared out of the room and returned a few moments later with coffee and croissants.
Rafi started. ‘We’ve uncovered a network of companies controlled by a terrorist cell. Amongst other things we believe that they will attack energy installations thereby triggering a meltdown of the financial markets and enabling them to reap huge profits from their positions in the derivatives market. As a top, if not the top derivatives man, please help us find out what they’re up to and help us stop them?’
Aidan had listened intently. ‘What help will I have?’
‘You’ll have Emma to help you,’ said Kate.
‘That’s it? Bloody hell, this isn’t going to be easy!’ Aidan looked across at Emma. ‘Tell me you’ve got a degree in rocket science!’
‘Afraid not,’ replied Emma. ‘I studied applied mathematics and I have experience as an accountant…’
Aidan cut her off. ‘Well, you can’t have everything,’ he beamed. ‘Emma, you’ll do fine. What about IT kit?’
‘You’ll meet Greg, our IT Manager, after this meeting,’ said Kate.
She looked carefully at Aidan. ‘Are you willing to promise that everything you see and do here remains strictly confidential?’
Aidan nodded. ‘I have no doubt that you could make life very difficult for me and my employers if I broke my promise.’ He took a sip of his coffee. ‘My lips are sealed. Shall we get started?’
His demeanour, which to start with had been a mixture of tension and annoyance, was now relaxed and businesslike.
‘What we need to know is whether they are trying to short or manipulate the relevant futures or options contracts.’ Rafi paused. ‘My educated view is that the action will be in the long gilts and interest-rate contracts.’
Aidan’s face was deadly serious. His light blue eyes, sharp as sabres, focused on Rafi. ‘It’s funny - no, let me rephrase that - it’s a great coincidence that you should be talking of these two markets. Up to a fortnight ago, they were trading as might be expected in these volatile times and everyone was comfortable with an interest rate scenario where over the next year they move up by a per cent or so.’
He paused. ‘The funding of the Government’s debt mountain is on a knife edge. As things stand the big international investors are just about happy with the UK’s creditworthiness. Any significant increase in borrowings or a knock to the economy would be very unwelcome.’ He grimaced. ‘Were something to happen which shook investor confidence and caused the Government to issue shed loads of debt, it would become very expensive… recently the volume of deals betting on interest rates rising significantly has grown to the point where someone, or a group of people, out there fervently believes that they are heading towards double digits!’
Rafi raised his eyebrows.
‘The view amongst the traders,’ continued Aidan, ‘Is that a few punters have lost their marbles and instead of playing the roulette tables have decided to place some big bets in these derivative contracts. If they’re right they’ll make huge profits! My informed guess is you could be on to something. I’d be glad to check it out for you.’
‘Excellent - thank you - that’d be perfect,’ said Rafi.
There was a quiet knock on the door; Greg, not waiting for a reply, walked in.
‘Kind of you to join us,’ said Kate. ‘Let me introduce you to Aidan Gilchrist of Maine Leadbetter, the international bank. He’s a derivatives guru and is here to help us. Aidan, Greg is our IT manager. He has an uncanny knack for getting into online databases and making things work. He’ll set you up with whatever you need in terms of hardware and software. His budgets are a tiny proportion of yours, so the kit isn’t as smart as what you’re used to, but it should do the job.’
Greg had found a plate and was enjoying the last croissant.
‘Aidan, please tell Greg what you’ll need.’ Kate shot a brief smile at Greg.
‘First of all,’ said Aidan, ‘I could do with access to my bank’s intranet, in such a way that no one can trace it.’ He hesitated. ‘No, on second thoughts, that would raise too many suspicions.’ Aidan thought for a moment. ‘Would it be possible to arrange access from here via my home IP address?’
‘Shouldn’t be a problem.’
‘Second, I could do with access to the central computers of the main UK derivatives markets. Also, if possible, some names of contacts in their settlement teams would be a real bonus.’
Greg nodded.
‘Third, I could do with a desktop PC with a bit of grunt and access to a good printer. And fourth,’ he turned and looked at Emma, ‘Access to a supply of coffee would be much appreciated.’
As if to signal the end of the meeting, Greg slid his empty plate forward and looked up. ‘If that’s all, I’ll get started on your shopping list. If I seem a bit stressed, please bear with me. The commissioner has asked that I give you priority, but why does everything arrive in twos and threes like London buses? We still have a load of unfinished business following the Bishopsgate bombing, which took out their IT servers and means they’re using ours. It’s all a bit of a bugger’s muddle,’ Greg added as he left.
‘Emma, would you please take Aidan under your wing?’ asked Kate, changing the subject.
‘Yes, sure. I’d be happy to,’ replied Emma.
Kate turned and looked at Rafi. Her eyes twinkled. ‘And I’ll team up with Rafi.’
She looked pleased, as if she’d got what she wanted. She held Rafi’s gaze, gave him a barely perceivable wink and added, ‘Which should be interesting.’
Rafi got up to leave as if he’d finished a normal business meeting.
Kate looked a little crestfallen by his lack of interest and right at that moment it dawned on Rafi that he had accidentally ignored her gesture.
He looked at her with new eyes. She was attractive in a gamine sort of way; her hazel eyes were gorgeous… He cut short his thoughts - this definitely wasn’t the time for distractions.
Aidan stood up. ‘Where’s my desk?’
‘Follow me, I’ll show you where we work,’ said Emma.
‘Where do you want it set up?’ asked one of Greg’s team, pulling a trolley with a serious-looking PC on it. Emma pointed to the desk to the left of the whiteboard.
Greg popped his head around the door. ‘By the way, do you happen to know your home IP address or would you like me to find it out for you?’
Aidan gave Greg his nine-digit IP address. ‘Could you also arrange for my home phone line to be routed through to here?’
‘No problem.’ Greg turned and left.
‘Will your colleagues notice your absence?’ asked Emma ‘You might like to tell them you’ll be away from the office for some while.’
‘Good idea. I’ll be able to tell them I’m working from home as soon as Greg has me set up.’
Minutes later Aidan was up and running.
‘The printer is where?’ Aidan called across to no one in particular.
/> Emma pointed to a large, old HP printer next to her desk.
‘Bloody hell! I haven’t seen one of those for years. Did you get it from the museum up the road?’
‘That’s a bit too close to the truth to be funny,’ interjected Kate.
Aidan busied himself and in no time the printer was churning out sheets of paper.
Emma glanced at him. ‘I didn’t know you had your IP address rerouted yet. What are you up to?’
‘I thought I’d access some background data from the Web to save some time.’
Fifteen minutes later, the phone on the corner of Aidan’s desk rang. He scooped it up without taking his eyes away from his screen, said, ‘Thanks’ and put it down. He now had access to his bank’s intranet.
Rafi went over to Kate. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t seem enthusiastic about the prospect of working with you earlier. My mind was on other things. Shall we get started?’
Kate looked at him carefully, almost quizzically - she couldn’t make him out. ‘Where do you suggest we start?’
‘Let’s work on the property angle. It shouldn’t be long before we hear from the agent,’ replied Rafi.
Twenty minutes later Justin Smith telephoned. He sounded rather sheepish. He had put the list of properties through the three databases and had expected reams of information to come out, but had obtained only seven pages of data.
Constable Peter Ashby was waiting nearby in a squad car and made the pickup.
Less than twenty minutes later, he was handing over the envelope with the data to Kate.
Rafi looked at the printouts. Six agents showed up. Dewoodson cropped up more than any of the other names. Rafi smiled; so they were involved. They would be his starting point. From their website, he located their head office in Manchester, and noted that they also had offices in London, Edinburgh and Bristol. He passed the contact details to Kate.
She rang their head office - she was slightly nervous as this was going to be a difficult phone conversation and she didn’t want to tip them off that she was from the police. ‘May I please speak to the person dealing with the property company PREH?’
The receptionist hesitated.
‘Oliver Stone, our managing director, looks after their agency deals and William Wesson deals with their valuations.’
‘I’d like to speak to Mr Wesson then, please.’
There was a short wait before Kate was put through to his secretary. A curt voice said, ‘Mr Wesson is out of the office and isn’t expected back until after lunch - I suggest you ring back then.’ The secretary hung up.
Kate rang back and asked to speak to Oliver Stone, the MD. After another wait she was put through to his personal assistant.
‘Mr Stone is in a meeting and can’t be disturbed.’
‘It is important.’
The PA was firm in her reply. ‘Mr Stone has left me strict instructions that he mustn’t be disturbed,’ and hung up.
Kate looked across at Rafi, ‘I wonder if it was the mention of the name PREH that made them so unhelpful?’
‘Quite possibly.’
Kate picked up the phone again and rang through to the switchboard.
‘Could you please put me through to Manchester Central?’
Kate spoke to the duty officer. ‘DI Adams here. Could you please put me through to one of your senior colleagues in Special Branch - counter-terrorism?’
A Detective Chief Inspector Rick Feldon picked up the phone.
‘Good morning, how can I help you?’
Kate introduced herself and explained what she was working on. ‘I have good reason to believe that a firm of surveyors, Dewoodson, who are based in Spring Gardens, have information on a property company, PREH, which is linked to our investigations. They are being uncooperative. As a matter of some urgency, I’m after a copy of the last valuation report, together with any other information available on PREH.’
‘Can you email me details of what you want?’
‘Will do.’
‘Also, Rick, please bear in mind that this needs to be done with diplomacy and very quietly. They can’t know we’re on to them. I could do with their MD, Oliver Stone, and their valuer, William Wesson, being interviewed and kept totally incommunicado for at least twenty-four hours.’
‘Sounds right up our street!’
There was a short silence before Rick said, ‘How’s about we pull them in on something else? Leave it with me, I’ll come up with something which will enable us to search their premises and confiscate their computers. My colleague, Phil Smith, and I will pick them up as soon as we get your email.’
It was nearly 10 a.m. on Thursday morning. Rafi had his fingers crossed that the valuation report would reveal more properties. If they, too, were close to energy targets it would confirm his suspicions and fill in valuable missing pieces of the jigsaw puzzle.
Their work was interrupted by a call from Colonel Matlik.
‘Hello, Colonel,’ said Kate, putting him on speakerphone.
‘Sorry for the delay - I had hoped to get back to you sooner. However, your leads have proved most fruitful. Are you sitting down?’ There was an ominous tone to his voice.
‘Er… Yes.’
‘My men have paid a visit to the firearm club which was owned by your former Mr Koit. They tried their hand at shooting on the 1,000-metre range. Behind the firing positions they spotted an area where the winter vegetation was partially scorched -the telltale signs of a missile launcher - and to the side of the targets was what seemed to be a demolished building. After their session they went to have a discrete look. It was not a building, but a concrete wall over two metres thick. Whatever had been fired at it had punched a hole straight through the concrete. It had been hit a couple of times, which explained why it looked such a mess. Beside the rubble, covered by a layer of soil, they found a three-metre by five-metre block of metal. It was made from fifty steel sheets, each two centimetres thick, which had been welded together. It was over one metre thick and it too had two gaping holes in it.’
‘Bloody hell!’ exclaimed Kate under her breath, but she let the Colonel continue.
‘I’ve been doing some research on what could cause such damage. We believe something like the Kornet E Anti-Tank Armour missile was used. It is an impressive piece of equipment and truly destructive if you are on the receiving end. It can blast a hole through one metre of armour; and not just steel armour, but explosive reactive armour. It’s the kit that gives the likes of you or me nightmares. In daylight its range is up to 5.5 kilometres and trained users can fire two missiles per minute. To add spice to its capabilities, it can be fitted with either tank busting or high explosive thermobaric warheads. It gets worse: it is very accurate as it has either thermal or optical sights to detect and track the target. And the launcher comes with a tripod - both are transportable.’
‘Would it need trained operatives to use it?’ enquired a horrified Kate.
‘One professional would do - though it would be like holding a tiger by its tail. One thing is for sure, though: it should not be fired in a confined space unless the operator wishes to have an early cremation.’
‘Can these missiles and the launchers be purchased on the black market?’
‘What can’t these days?’ replied the deep voice. ‘I reckon €50,000 would suffice.’
‘Very helpful and disturbing. Thank you,’ said Kate. ‘You have done a fantastic job…’ she was interrupted.
‘There is more. We brought in the warehouse manager earlier this morning on the grounds of committing a serious road traffic offence involving the death of a pedestrian. A tax inspector and two of my officers have been searching the warehouse and offices. Amongst the paperwork they found two interesting invoices: one was for five miscellaneous launchers, and another one for twenty miscellaneous missiles. The name of the purchaser was left blank. It was dated eleven days ago. The import manifest showed dealings with a private Russian company - Restaya - which is known to the Russian FSB and is belie
ved to be involved in the black market arms trade.’
The colonel paused. ‘Unfortunately, I have some more bad news. The FSB tell me that several months ago pro-Chechen rebels captured a consignment of Kornet E Anti-Tank missiles -five launchers with optical sights and twenty missiles, to be precise.’
Kate was going to speak, but the colonel carried on.
‘I have interviewed the manager. He is pleading ignorance. He insists that he only looks after the day-to-day activities and doesn’t ask questions. The real decisions, he says, are made by his boss who he rarely sees. When I interrogated him further, it turned out he did not know to whom the missile launchers and missiles were sold, just that he delivered them to the same rifle range outside Tallinn that my colleagues visited. He described the size of the wooden crates and the lettering on them. Unfortunately, I can now confirm that they are a match for the missing Kornet missiles and launchers. We are keeping the manager in custody, and he will not be allowed to talk to outsiders. His secretary has been told of his driving accident and that he is being held pending a murder charge.’
‘How long can you hold him for without him seeing his solicitor?’ asked Kate.
‘As long as you like,’ came the reply, ‘now that we know he is involved with a major terrorist plot. Questions will be asked as to why he cannot speak to his solicitor in probably forty-eight hours. My team is currently going through the import/export agency’s paperwork with a fine-tooth comb to see whether any other armaments have recently passed through their hands. I will keep you informed of their progress.’
‘Thank you,’ said Kate.
‘That is not all. I have been looking into the fishing company you mentioned. It owns two deep sea trawlers, the Anu Riina and the Anu Maarja; they both operate out of Tallinn docks. Both are at sea - they left port a week ago. A reasonable assumption is that your Kornets were on board. We understand the vessels are somewhere north of the Faeroes. That is all for the moment. I will get in touch again as soon as we know anything else.’
Kate hesitated and then replied. ‘Thank you. You’ve given us more than enough to get on with. All your help is much appreciated.’
LATENT HAZARD: On the Edge Page 11
