Kate called across to Emma, ‘Look at Iceland first. If that’s where Basel is, I bet that’s where Flying Goddess is having a makeover. Have a chat to Jeremy’s colleagues and get them to pass the information on to their man travelling to Iceland.’
The morning had gone by fast; it was already 12.15 p.m.
Emma called across to Kate. ‘You’ve got a phone call from a DI Rick Feldon in Manchester.’
‘Afternoon. We have pulled in Stone and Wesson,’ said a businesslike Mancunian voice. ‘The story is that we’ve linked them with a paedo ring - indecent images, etc. Well, that’s what the paperwork says. Could have got it wrong, though,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘I’ve made sure that neither of them can see any outsiders. Mr. Stone is complaining vociferously, and his solicitor isn’t best pleased - human rights and all that!’
Emma called across, ‘Remember to ask him about whether they use outsourcing companies in their police station.’
‘Oh shit!’ exclaimed Kate under her breath. ‘I had quite forgotten.’ She asked Rick the question.
‘Yes, catering,’ came his reply.
‘Do me a favour. As far as the two from Dewoodson are concerned, treat all your caterers as hostile! I’ll explain later.’
‘Will do,’ agreed Rick with a hint of surprise in his voice. ‘We picked up William Wesson at a property he was valuing. He’s like a feral cat and is seriously pissed off.’
‘Wesson’s computer has been set up in the interview room and we asked him to show us all his files relating to PREH. The little bastard tried to delete the folder they were in. Thankfully we stopped him. Phil Scott is emailing the valuation report to you as we speak. By the way, if you want any more of the clowns at Dewoodson brought in, please let me know. It would be my pleasure. We’ve spoken to Mr Stone’s number two and explained the sensitivity of the situation. He’s agreed to close the office until Monday. Also, a couple of suits from MI5 turned up to give us a hand - said they were friends of yours. They’re giving the offices a once-over.’
‘Excellent work and thanks,’ said Kate.
‘Good luck at your end. Cheers!’ Rick was about to hang up, when he added, ‘Do you have a biro at hand? Here are Phil’s and my mobile numbers. If you need anything, day or night, please don’t hesitate.’
‘Thanks Rick and please make certain that no outsiders speak to either of them.’
The email arrived; Kate opened the attachment and printed it off. Rafi scooped it up from the printer. He went through the valuation, marking off the properties which hadn’t shown up on the mortgage register. Two of the new addresses were prime high street shop investments, but two were definitely not prime: some elderly light industrial units in Stalls Lane, Heysham, and a commercial property in Castle Street, Peterhead. Both were vacant. Result! Two more possible properties, mused Rafi. He typed Castle Street, Peterhead, into the mapping software. It was next to the docks. He did the same for Stalls Lane, Heysham. ‘Oh hell!’ he uttered under his breath.
‘Found something?’ enquired Kate.
‘We can add another nuclear power station to our list! The Heysham property is bang next to one.’
Rafi was about to continue when Emma piped up. ‘Our contact at the coastguard has traced both of the missing trawlers. Rosemarie has just finished a refit at the dry dock in Great Yarmouth and Highland Belle is at Troon dry dock. Both are poised to set sail.’
‘Well done, Emma,’ said Kate. ‘Are all the other trawlers at sea?’
‘Yep. Except Northern Rose; she is still in Peterhead harbour. That gives us three exit points,’ said Emma, who marked up the location of the two new properties and the two trawlers on the screen.
Kate stood up and clapped her hands. ‘Let us recap on the information we have.’ She pointed to the screen. ‘We have trawlers poised to leave from three ports. Rafi has located suspicious properties at these five locations, and the terrorists have five missile launchers and sixteen unused missiles.’ She scratched her head, as she looked at the screen. ‘If we were to assume two targets per missile launcher then how might the properties and targets be paired? Any suggestions?’
‘What about putting the properties in Peterhead with, the St Fergus gas terminal and the Cruden Bay oil pumping station - as the targets for missile launcher number one?’ asked Emma
‘And then there is the Hartlepool property which overlooks the local nuclear power station,’ said John, ‘but at the moment the second target in this pair is missing.’
Kate nodded.
‘Number three could be Heysham nuclear power station - plus perhaps Hunterston nuclear power station up the coast? And launcher number four could then go with the Bacton gas facility and possibly Sizewell nuclear power station,’ said Emma.
There was silence.
‘Which leaves us with bugger-all for the fifth launcher - could it perhaps be the nuclear train at Willesden Sidings?’ enquired John.
‘It’s all a bit iffy,’ said Kate with a note of despondency in her voice.
‘But a pattern is emerging,’ encouraged John. ‘The proximity of the various dots to PREH’s properties is too bloody close for comfort for this to be random. If you think back, twenty-four hours ago we had next to nothing!’
The conversation was stopped by Aidan cutting in. ‘Can you stop what you’re doing for a moment? I need to hear your views on a couple of thoughts.’ Aidan looked at them from behind his growing piles of paper.
‘I still have more to do, but I’ve reached the point where I’m convinced that a small group of investors have built up sizeable positions in both the long gilt and the interest rate futures and traded options contracts. If the positions I’ve found at my bank are replicated elsewhere and these investors turn out to be right and the markets do crash - the terrorists will make huge profits and there will be lots of bloody noses.’
Aidan turned to Rafi. ‘What if we were able to stop the markets from crashing - or more specifically prevent interest rates rising and gilts prices falling - and limit the impact of the terrorist attacks.’ He grinned. ‘If we could do this, we could turn the tables on them and wipe out their investments in the derivative markets.’
Aidan paused. ‘I would be willing to bet that there are also a significant number of murky players with their snouts in the trough, who we could also take to the cleaners.’
‘Wooah!’ said Kate. ‘That wouldn’t be feasible, would it?’
‘Aidan, that’s brilliant!’ exclaimed Rafi. ‘All we need to do is pre-empt most of the attacks and make certain that interest rates and gilts remain stable for - how long - a month?’
‘No; far less than that. If interest rates remained stable, in a week to ten days the terrorists’ positions in the futures markets would become exposed and they would either have to close them and crystallise large losses, or pay large margin calls. However, if interest rates were to fall, 24 - 48 hours would be enough to crucify them financially. In both cases their investments in the traded options markets would be wiped out.’
‘That’s all very well and good,’ observed Kate, but the if is a massively big if.’
‘Yes, I grant you that,’ said Rafi, ‘but isn’t it great to know that the terrorists might not have everything going their way?’
Kate looked at him with that same look she’d given him when she had asked him to work with her. ‘You know what I like about you?’ her eyes sparkled as she held his gaze. ‘It’s your unbridled optimism.’
‘Hold on a moment!’ said Aidan. ‘If we go back to when would be the best time to carry out the attacks? In terms of maximum impact - first thing in the morning as the markets are opening, but not late morning or in the afternoon… The London Stock Exchange opens at 8 a.m. and dawn tomorrow is?
‘7.25 a.m., give or take a bit,’ answered Emma.
‘What are you getting at?’ asked Kate.
‘We are led to believe the departure time of the trawler in Peterhead is tomorrow early afternoon, aren’t we?’ said
Aidan.
‘Yes.’
‘If we are right and the trawlers are to be used as part of the terrorists’ exit plan, I reckon that all three will leave tomorrow.’
‘OK,’ said Kate sensing what he was getting at.
‘So, thinking about it, I’d be willing to bet that the attacks are planned for tomorrow as that’s when the trawlers are leaving, and that they will come between dawn and the markets opening at 8 a.m.!’ said Aidan.
‘Bloody hell! That gives us less than twenty hours!’ said John, quite taken aback.
‘We’ve got too many holes in our hypothesis,’ said Kate. ‘We’ve got to fill in more of these gaps! To put it bluntly, we have to find the missing targets, the missile launchers and the foot soldiers. In the meantime I’ll warn the commissioner of our line of thinking. And remember, not a word of this to anyone, please.’
Greg popped his head around the door at that moment. ‘Did I miss something interesting?’
‘Yes,’ replied Kate, ‘Have you been there long?’
‘No chance! You are running me ragged. I dropped by to tell Aidan that I’ve arranged every computer access he should need… Strange or what?’ said Greg. ‘There I was working in my office, drawing up a list of all the databases we would need to get into, when the commissioner walked in and asked me – yes me – what he could do to help. I explained what I needed. He left as quickly as he’d arrived and not twenty minutes later he came back saying that he’d pulled a few strings. I’ve had the head of IT from Euronext.liffe, the CME in Chicago and Eurex in Frankfurt on the phone volunteering their services and wanting to know which secure IP addresses we would be using. They’ve sent me encrypted user names and passwords and authorised me to access all their databases. Their cooperation is one hundred per cent. Simply marvellous if you ask me! Aidan, if I could use your PC for a moment I’ll get it set up to access databases you’ve only dreamed of getting into.’
Aidan smiled, like a young boy being told he was getting the keys to the local sweet shop and got up to let Greg take his seat.
In less than five minutes Greg had Aidan’s computer set up.
‘Thanks,’ said Aidan cheerfully. ‘By the way would there be any chance of a better printer? There’s going to be a lot of paper.’ Looking in the direction of Emma and the elderly printer, he said, ‘The old lady over there is getting too slow for me.’
Emma screwed up her face and then smiled at him.
Greg looked at Aidan. ‘How big a machine did you have in mind?’
‘Anything that prints quickly and has a big memory buffer would be great.’
‘I’ll see what I can find,’ said Greg. Less than fifteen minutes later he was back pushing a printer-photocopier half the size of a desk. ‘This little beauty is from accounts downstairs; please look after it.’
John, who had been sitting, contemplating, stirred. ‘Why can’t we just close down the markets involved and stop the terrorists that way?’
Aidan looked at him. ‘In theory yes one could, but the turnover in these markets every hour of the trading day is squillions of pounds. To close the markets for anything other than a short period would be catastrophic for London’s reputation. We could close them for a day. The problem is that there are many ways of covering one’s tracks and the positions would still be there when the markets reopen. I’ve identified a number of suspicious contract notes, but it would take ages to look for them all. And this is offshore money, which can be moved electronically via intermediary banks quickly and secretively. It would be nigh on impossible to trace. What makes it really difficult is that we’re only focusing on two parts of the market. The terrorists’ positions are likely to be spread across a range of products. The two we have highlighted are the most obvious, but Sterling, the FTSE and gold would be good bets as well.’
Kate scratched her head thoughtfully. ‘Let us suppose that Sheikh Tufayl is good for £2 billion; his cousin Maryam and Jameel, via their client’s moneys, could be good for another £1 billion each and murky third parties put in another £1 billion. If this £5 billion is placed in the futures and traded options markets, and the terrorists get their way, what would their profit roughly be?’ She looked at Aidan and Rafi.
Aidan spoke first. ‘Conservatively they could make eight times their initial outlay; at the top end maybe fifteen times. Do you agree, Rafi?’
‘Yes,’ he replied.
‘So in round terms the financial markets could be hit with losses of £50 billion,’ calculated Kate and after a brief pause continued, ‘at which point several banks and insurance companies would get into trouble and the Government would have to step in again!’
‘Yes, it would be very seriously,’ added Aidan.
‘Thank you - I just wanted to be clear,’ said Kate.
Jeremy hurried back into the office and updated the team on MI5’s progress. ‘Neil Gunton’s team is working at full throttle. And on the charity front, things are looking promising. It seems that they use just one travel agency - Fly Skywards Travel. I’m shortly off to pay them a visit.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘And we’ve identified who Khalid and Yousif were.’
Kate looked at him blankly.
‘Sorry – the people to whom the PhD dissertations were dedicated: Khalid and Yousif were the sheikh’s older brothers -cousins of Basel and Maryam. They worked for the family oil company. To cut a long story short, it seems that they were in Iraq discussing oil deals in mid-January 1991, just as Operation Granby got into full swing.’
Rafi looked puzzled. ‘Operation Granby?’
‘It was the code name for the British bombing missions. Anyway, it seems an unguided 1000 lb bomb went astray…’ He paused, ‘A large house was demolished. Khalid and Yousif were inside and were killed,’ added Jeremy.
‘Why didn’t we hear more about it?’ asked Rafi.
‘According to MI6, as collaborators helping the Iraqi regime with black market oil sales, their family probably feared what the Americans might do, if they made a real fuss,’ added Jeremy.
Kate looked serious. ‘So our terrorists have a strong motive for revenge!’
The buzz of Jeremy’s brief visit had gone. Rafi was sitting at his desk. He was tense, his wrist throbbed and his lower back ached. He felt awful. The lack of sleep had suddenly crept up and overwhelmed him.
John finished his phone call, walked over and pulled up a chair next to Rafi. ‘Are you alright?’
Rafi gave a small nod.
‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I’ve had a call about Callum’s funeral. It’s at 2.30 p.m. tomorrow in Clifton, outside Bristol. Kate has suggested that we send some flowers via the undertaker. We obviously can’t say that they’re from you. How about a card with something like: Thank you for your friendship and help. Is that alright with you?’
Rafi sat there feeling miserable and nodded slowly.
‘We have his parents’ names and address should you wish to write or visit them when this is all over.’
He wasn’t one for tears, but in his tiredness they welled up. There was nothing he could do to stop them. John briefly placed his arm across Rafi’s shoulder as a gesture of comfort.
Rafi drew a long breath and looked up to the heavens as if to seek divine inspiration. How can we sort out this horrendous mess? he wondered.
But then a sudden tranquillity came over him. It was as if Callum was in the room alongside him. Rafi’s mind cleared - they needed a game plan to stop the adverse effects of the attacks on the financial system. And for that they would need three things: a huge pot of money, a group of people to whom the Treasury and the Bank of England would listen, and a… Kate called over interrupting his train of thought.
‘If you have a spare moment, could you see if you can find another property? We’re still a couple of targets adrift.’
As if from nowhere, a possible solution flashed through his mind. His tiredness evaporated. Rafi felt calm, collected and strangely on top of things. He called out. ‘Eve
ryone! Do you have a moment? Can we go somewhere quiet to get away from the phones, please? I need to run through an idea.’
‘Let me finish this call and I’m there,’ said Emma.
John nodded, indicating he would be there as soon as he, too, had finished his call.
Kate put down her phone. ‘We can use the meeting room down the corridor.’
John walked into the meeting room just as Kate had started to quiz Rafi. ‘Why the meeting?’
Rafi started explaining, hesitantly. ‘We’re piecing together some of the locations of the terrorist attacks and hopefully we’ll soon have a good enough picture to stop much of what they are planning. What’s been worrying me is their assault on the financial markets. Their two sets of plans are intertwined. What scares me are the consequences of one or two missiles getting through and hitting a nuclear facility. The loss of life and the long term radioactive pollution would not only be tragic, but would also dent public confidence. The clean-up costs alone could run to billions, plus there would be huge decommissioning costs… Aidan, how big a pot of money do you think that the Government might need to sort out their financial problems if things get really bad? And how much could they take on without spooking the markets?’
‘Answering your first question: how long is a piece of string? It could be anywhere between…’ Aidan hesitated and the room fell totally silent. ‘Let’s say in excess of £75 billion as a ballpark figure. It could easily be more. Answering the second part of your question, in the present environment, I reckon £25 billion.’
John looked perplexed. ‘But hasn’t the Government recently borrowed hundreds of billions of pounds without any difficulty.
So why can’t it do it again?’
‘There comes a point when investors will simply take fright and walk away,’ replied Aidan. ‘The Government’s annual borrowing requirement is currently running at around £200 billion. And they have been using quantitative easing to sort out their short-term funding needs…’
LATENT HAZARD: On the Edge Page 14
