Rip Tide

by Stella Rimington

  ‘What is it you’d like to say?’

  But Katherine did not need to be asked. Liz’s presence seemed to have breached the dam behind which she had been concealing her true personality and feelings.

  ‘You in Western Intelligence – you once had something worth defending and an enemy worth fighting. For all the shortcomings of life in the West, Communism was worse, much worse . . . corrupt, oppressive of its people, twisted. Getting rid of them was a just cause.’ She paused for breath and went on, ‘But when the Wall fell, so did your raison d’être. You didn’t have a role any more. Just what exactly were you fighting after that, and what were you defending? I mean, what does democracy consist of when a hedge fund trader makes three billion dollars trading off the back of some poor black people in Detroit who’ve taken out a mortgage?

  ‘So you became stooges of the Americans. Dancing to their tune. Fighting a war on terrorism – “those who are not with us are against us”. Anyone who thinks differently from them is a threat and has to be destroyed. And the rest of the world is supposed to admire this, and stick out their bowl for the thin gruel the likes of UCSO graciously bestow on them.’

  ‘So you chose an alternative solution.’ Liz kept her voice cool. There was no need to needle this woman to get her to talk.

  ‘I’d have thought that was obvious. There is only one positive ideology in the world today, don’t you think?’

  Liz ignored the question and replied, ‘I’m curious to know how you found this cause. I know your husband was Middle Eastern, but my understanding is that he was Westernised.’

  ‘You know nothing about my husband.’

  ‘I’m told he was a businessman in Beirut.’

  ‘He was. But the 9/11 pilots were living quietly in America while learning to fly planes. You should know about cover stories, Miss Forrester. It’s your job – playing a role. But others can do it too. My husband played a role. He lived and breathed it and I’ve been doing it ever since he died.’

  ‘But why? What was he trying to achieve?’

  ‘He was half-Iranian, and always said he wished he’d been a hundred per cent Iranian. If he hadn’t died so suddenly, we wouldn’t be sitting here, Miss Forrester. I’d be in Beirut, helping him organise resistance to Zionist incursions. My husband made a lot of money and he used a good deal of it to underwrite Hamas.’

  ‘I’m sorry your husband died. He had a heart attack, didn’t he?’

  ‘Is that what your research department told you?’ She was growing angry now. ‘Tell them to have another look. My husband was murdered – he dropped dead in a Damascus souk. A coronary, they tried to say, but he had the heart of a lion. Mossad killed him – who else?’

  Maybe God did, thought Liz. Or Nature, depending on one’s theological views. ‘Is that when you took up his cause?’

  Ball looked at her scornfully. ‘I was already on his side. Who wouldn’t be? Have you seen the camps in Gaza, Miss Forrester? Have you asked your Jewish friends why they’re letting people die there? Why they continue to take other people’s land? Have you ever discussed with your American bosses what their “policies” are doing to people all over the world, or why their impact is never reported in the Jew York Times?

  ‘When he died I went to Iran to live with his family. I studied and converted to the true faith, Islam.’ She stopped talking for a moment and closed her eyes. Then suddenly she opened them again. Glaring at Liz, she half-rose from her chair. ‘I don’t believe you have any faith at all. You disgust me, you know; you have the nerve to oppose us without having any beliefs of your own. Even our worst enemies, the Jews, believe in God.’

  ‘Sit down,’ Liz said sharply, and the woman slowly did. ‘So you studied in an Islamic school. What else did they teach you beside the faith? Did they teach you to wage war on the West?’

  ‘They taught me to teach.’

  ‘I’ve heard about your teaching,’ said Liz. ‘In a mosque in London. I gather you were inspirational.’

  For the first time Katherine Ball hesitated.

  ‘Inspirational,’ Liz repeated.

  ‘Whoever told you that is flattering me.’

  ‘Ah, flattery,’ said Liz thoughtfully. Then, suddenly, ‘Was it by flattery that you attracted David Blakey?’

  Katherine Ball’s face twisted in distaste. ‘It’s one thing playing a role; it’s quite another pretending you’re enjoying it. I found that side of things revolting.’

  ‘Was that true of Mo Miandad as well?’

  ‘What do you know about him?’

  ‘You two slipped up. You were seen at a hotel in Athens. You were supposed to be flying in the following day, but we checked with the airlines and you landed a day early. In time for a rendezvous with Mo.’

  ‘Not that kind of rendezvous,’ she snapped. ‘What an ass your friend Berger made of himself. He hangs around, thinking he’s a detective in a Raymond Chandler novel – then ends up locked in a broom cupboard. As for Mo, he may have been wild once upon a time, and he was happy for people to think he was still a corrupt philanderer – it was the perfect cover story. But he’s a true Muslim,’ she declared defiantly.

  ‘And a murderer it seems. You have an alibi for the death of Maria Galanos – you’d gone back to London. He doesn’t.’

  ‘Try proving that. You’ll need more than speculation for the Greek authorities. Speaking of slip-ups, placing that girl in the UCSO office was a very stupid thing to do. She stuck out like a sore thumb. Ingratiating herself with the two Greek girls, trying to find out about everybody – it was ridiculous.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you’re a far better actress than Maria.’ Liz added coldly, ‘And she paid the price, didn’t she?’

  Katherine said nothing, so Liz went on, ‘Speaking of acting, your performances at the London mosque seem to have had quite an impact. Several British Asians have left this country to fight jihad because of you.’

  ‘That wasn’t acting, Miss Forrester. I only preach what I truly believe. But you have no proof that I persuaded anyone to go anywhere.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that. And I don’t think it was only persuasion. I think you were a key part of the organisation that recruited young men and sent them out to train and fight. We’ve managed to detain the four most recent travellers on their way to Somalia. They’ll be extradited here, and in the fullness of time put on trial. I wouldn’t rate their chances myself. And some of them may choose to tell the whole story.’

  But Katherine Ball seemed unmoved by this news. In fact it seemed to calm her. Her voice became less excitable and her face looked almost serene. If she answered Liz at all, it was in monosyllables; her attention was elsewhere. Liz drew the interview to a close but she felt dissatisfied. She had an uneasy feeling that for all Katherine Ball had revealed, she was still hiding something important.

  Chapter 56

  Geoffrey Fane had been delighted by the outcome of the operation off the Somalian coast. ‘Despite your colleague’s misadventure,’ he had said smoothly, ‘I think you’d have to agree it’s a very satisfactory result. Between us, Elizabeth, we’ve captured some pirates – who I’m certain will turn out to be Al Qaeda or Al Shebab, not that I think there’s much difference – and we’ve killed the rest of their gang. We’ve prevented the Birmingham recruits from reaching Somalia, where they would have been trained and hardened and probably sent back to kill us, and we’ve got your friend Dave out safely. Good job done, I’d say. We must have a drink on it. Perhaps you’ll join me at the Athenaeum one evening.’

  Liz wasn’t so sure. The Somalian end of the operation might have been shut down, and thanks to Peggy’s research into Xenides’ role, the Athens conduit for Al Qaeda recruits had been closed by the Greek authorities (though Mo Miandad was still at large). But Liz was worried about Birmingham. As she sat in her Thames House office, gazing out of the window at the Embankment, dry and dusty in the evening sun of a late August day, she reviewed the strands of the UK investigation.

>   Katherine Ball, the woman who had inspired young recruits and organised their journeys out to train for jihad, was safely held in Paddington Green police station. She would not be doing any more harm, but Liz still felt uneasy about her. She had ranted and poured out her hatred, yet at the end, even when she had learned that her mission had failed, had seemed calm, almost satisfied. Was it just a reaction to all that bile spilled or was there something else? And Abdi Bakri – he was still preaching at the New Springfield Mosque and no doubt still inflaming malleable young people with talk of their religious duty to wage war.

  ‘Liz?’ It was Peggy. Liz came out of her reverie and waved her into the chair opposite the desk. Peggy sat down, clutching a sheaf of paper. She looked flushed.

  ‘I’ve got more info – two things actually. The Techs say Abdi Bakri has been emailing this parallax repository again. They’ve made some more progress with the encryption, and they say Bakri’s talking about something on for this weekend. No real indication of where, though, or what.’

  Liz thought for a moment. ‘It can’t be the hijack in Somalia. That’s already happened.’

  ‘No, they think it’s closer to home. Somewhere in the UK.’

  ‘I bet it’s Birmingham. His acolytes all come from the New Springfield Mosque. Like the four we captured on the Aristides.’

  ‘But we’ve had nothing before from Bakri to suggest any UK plans for action. He’s more of a preacher, surely. He preaches jihad but leaves it to others to organise it.’

  ‘I know,’ said Liz, thinking of Katherine Ball.

  ‘Where do we start?’ asked Peggy despondently. ‘This is when we could have used Boatman.’

  Liz thought fleetingly of Salim and his wife, who were ensconced in a safe house well away from both Birmingham and London. Kanaan Shah was looking after them and doing a good job, she’d heard. She would visit them as she’d promised, but only when this new threat had been dealt with. She said to Peggy, ‘I know what you mean, but we’ve still got one agent in place.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Tahira.’

  ‘She’s not close to Abdi Bakri and the mosque.’

  ‘No, but she is close to Malik. And he’s close to Abdi Bakri. And Malik keeps popping up in all this – he helped attack me near the mosque; he knew Boatman, and seemed to become suspicious of him; he may have had a hand in the “accident” on the bus. Plus he knew Amir Khan, apparently quite well.’

  ‘And he’s still in Birmingham.’

  ‘Exactly. Remember, he boasted to Tahira that he was going on an important mission to Pakistan, but then he didn’t go. Why not? He gave her no explanation. He just said the plans had changed. What plans? And why was he kept behind when the others went? It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Unless . . .’

  Liz was nodding. ‘Unless he’s got a mission here, in the UK.’

  ‘Tahira is due to see him again tomorrow.’

  ‘I know, and that worries me. He wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her if he knew she was working for us.’ Liz remembered the strength in his arm when he’d grabbed her.

  ‘But maybe she’ll be able to tell us something after their meeting.’

  ‘Perhaps. But I don’t think we can risk waiting till tomorrow.’ She paused, making up her mind. ‘I want Malik placed under surveillance as soon as possible – within the hour if they can do it. We need to know where he is every minute of this weekend – even if he isn’t involved. Will you set it up with Lamb Lincoln in Birmingham and get them to patch real-time reports through to A4 Control here? I’m going to alert Fontana and tell him what we’ve learned. I’ll see if he’s got any idea of what might be happening. I don’t want any crossed wires; I’ll warn him we may need armed support if anything unravels. Then I’m going to ring DG. I’ll meet you in A4 control in an hour or so, when we’ve done all that.’

  Two hours later lights were burning on several floors of Thames House. Peggy was at her desk, receiving reports from the monitoring of various telephones that Malik was known to use; the Techs were on alert for any email traffic. In the A4 control room Liz was sitting on the battered leather sofa reserved for case officers, listening as Wally Woods, the Thames House controller for the evening, liased with Lamb Lincoln in Birmingham. Reports were coming in from A4 teams as they searched for Malik in all his known haunts, but so far there had been no sign of him. He had not been spotted in the crowd coming out of the mosque, a disguised call to his parents’ house had elicited the information that he was out, he was not at the café, and A4 was running out of ideas of where to look as the evening drew on. Lamb was asking how long they should go on looking as he was beginning to fear they might be getting exposed.

  Liz took a deep breath. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘There’s no point in going on with this tonight. Stand them down. We know he’s meeting Tahira in the morning, so let’s put the teams on to her first thing. She’ll be at her parents’ house. They can follow her to the meeting and then take on Malik as he leaves. We’ll need real-time reports. I’m going up to Birmingham. Tell Lamb that I’ll see him early on.’

  Leaving further instructions that if the Techs or the monitors got anything of interest she was to be told right away, Liz went back to her flat for what by now would be a short night’s sleep.

  Chapter 57

  The alarm went off at 4.30 and Liz got up immediately. She had only been in bed for four hours and felt as though she’d been awake for every minute. She knew she hadn’t, because she could remember dreams where Amir Khan, Malik and Tahira whirled together in a meaningless but alarming ballet in her subconscious.

  By 5 she was on the North Circular Road, heading for the A40. This early on a Saturday morning, even the notorious Hanger Lane gyratory was clear, and once on the A40 she made steady progress past the old Hoover building and Northolt airfield towards the motorway. Over the M40, the sun slowly rose into a cloudless morning sky, and was soon filling the fields of Oxfordshire with golden light.

  At 6 she pulled over at a lay-by and rang Peggy, who would have spent the night in one of the small bedrooms at the top of Thames House, ready for any new development. She would be awake by now and at her desk.

  Peggy said, ‘Nothing’s happened. The monitors and the Techs say it’s been quiet all night. A4 in Birmingham are checking out Malik’s place, but there’s been no movement so far. They’re ready for Tahira when she leaves home. I spoke to DG on the phone last night. He’s got a call booked to the Home Secretary at ten and I’ve told Private Office I’ll bring them up to date just before then. A4 up there say they’re looking forward to seeing you.’

  Thank God for Peggy, thought Liz. She was a real rock in troubled seas.

  In the Birmingham suburbs, the first signs of life were appearing; some of the small mini-markets were open and cafés were serving breakfast to stall holders setting up a street market. It was 7.30 when Liz turned into the old Odeon cinema building and tapped in the code to open the tall iron gates that let her into the car park at the back.

  Inside, the A4 Ops room was a low-ceilinged windowless space at the top of the renovated cinema. One wall was covered with screens, mostly dark at present, but when the operation got underway they’d be taking real-time feed from cameras in the area and from some of the A4 cars.

  As she went into the gloomy room, Liz saw DI Fontana sitting on a large leather sofa. A4 must have a secret source of battered furniture, since these brown sofas, placed for case officers to sit on when an operation was in progress, always appeared as if by magic.

  Lamb Lincoln at the control console waved to Liz as she walked into the room. Handing over to his deputy, a morose-looking man called Faraday, he walked across to brief her.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said cheerfully. ‘All’s quiet on the Western Front here; so far anyway. There’s activity in the park, setting up the concert – it starts at twelve. Tahira’s at home as far as we know, but still no sign of Malik. I don’t suppose she’s going into the shop before she meets him?’
>
  Liz shook her head. ‘From what she said, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Then she won’t be leaving home for a bit. But anyway the teams are all ready, on her house and the café, so we’re OK whatever she does. We’ll be working with two police teams when Malik appears, in case there’s any need for an arrest. ‘

  Liz nodded her thanks to Lamb and looked at Fontana.

  ‘This pop concert’s taking a lot of police resources,’ he said. ‘They’ve put twenty-five crowd-control and drugs officers in the park and just outside it. In addition to the two surveillance teams out with your guys, we’ve got an armed team standing by and ready to go.’

  ‘OK, thanks. There’s not much more we can do till Tahira appears.’ Liz walked across to the table at the end of the room where a jug of coffee was standing on a warmer beside a plate of Danish pastries. Yet another unhealthy breakfast, she thought to herself, as she selected a large cinnamon bun.

  Chapter 58

  ‘You keep an eye on that little monkey Nazir,’ warned Tahira’s father. ‘He daydreams, that boy. Anyone could steal us blind when he’s behind the till.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Papa. I always watch him very carefully.’

  Tahira closed the front door behind her, then walked quickly down the road. If her father was standing in the sitting-room window to watch her go, he’d see that she was heading for the shop. It wasn’t until she knew she was out of his sight that she turned up a side street, cutting across the hill towards the café where she’d agreed to meet Malik.

  She’d asked her cousin Chunna to stand in for her today, though she hadn’t told her father that. Chunna would keep an eye on Nazir and was glad of the work – it would give her a bit of pin money to spend on herself. Her husband was a bully and mean with it; he only gave her the barest housekeeping. But he’d gone on a trip to Pakistan, so Chunna was off the hook for a few weeks, though her mother-in-law was a mean old cow too and kept a very close eye on her. Tahira had sworn Chunna to secrecy. If her father ever found out she’d gone to a pop concert, let alone taken a day off work at the shop for it, he’d be furious.