‘I’ll get you a can,’ said Sarah. ‘But first, you tell me why you were reluctant to talk to us earlier. You say you don’t love your husband and you have nothing to go back for, so what was stopping you?’
Malika looked down at her hands, while Harvey kicked himself for not asking such an obvious question.
‘I did it for Inas,’ Malika said. ‘She has two sisters, both in their teens. Karim told her that if we were caught we must say nothing, otherwise the girls would be punished for our disobedience.’
‘But you’re talking now. Why the sudden change of heart?’
‘Because I have never met those girls, and if it is a choice between my son and two strangers, I would choose Jalal every time.’
Sarah’s face said she wasn’t convinced by the explanation, but she turned on her heels and disappeared through the door. She returned two minutes later with a fresh cup and a can of Coke. After putting them on the table, she motioned for Harvey to follow her into the other room.
‘I don’t buy it. She’s holding something back.’
‘I agree,’ Harvey said, ‘but if we push her too hard, she might clam up. I’ll keep her talking and you make notes if you think something sounds a bit off. We can go over those points with her later.’
‘Okay, but I think she’s just telling you what you want to hear so that she can keep her son.’
‘We’ll know soon enough,’ Harvey said, and let himself back into the chamber. Malika had opened the drink and was sipping directly from the can.
‘One thing strikes me as odd,’ Harvey said as he took his seat across from her. ‘Why would Inas agree to stay here and claim asylum if it would put her sisters in danger?’
‘We spoke about this at length, and she finally agreed to claim asylum and then tell her sisters to find somewhere safe to stay until she could have them brought over here. We had no idea you would find us.’
Nor did we, Harvey thought. If they hadn’t tripped over the body of Khadija Tawfeek, the women would still be free and they would have had no inkling that the X3 had made it to England. The first they would have known about it was when the casualties started overwhelming the emergency services. It pained him to think it, but he was glad that Khadija had lost her life.
‘Okay, go back to your meeting with Karim. What did he tell you about the item you would be transporting?’
‘He simply stressed the importance of making sure it was delivered safely. I asked him what it was but he just said it was safe. I think that wasn’t the case for Khadija.’
‘She wasn’t killed by that,’ Harvey said. ‘The phial was intact when we found it. Did Karim say anything else? Did he mention any names?’
‘No, just that everything was arranged to make our journey as comfortable as possible. He also said . . . Wait, there was something. Before we went in the room, one of his men gave Karim a phone and said someone needed to speak to him. He said a name . . . What was it . . . ?’
Harvey wanted to scream at her to spit it out, but he knew that adding pressure wouldn’t help her memory.
‘I’m sorry,’ Malika eventually said, shaking her head and yawning. ‘I just can’t remember.’
Harvey wanted to slam his fist on the desk; instead, he stood and walked to the door. ‘I think that’s enough for today. I want you to try and remember the name you heard. If it comes to you during the night, let the guard know. If it doesn’t, I’ll see you first thing in the morning.’
In the outer chamber, he ran a hand over the two days’ worth of stubble that had covered his chin. The night shift had already relieved Solomon and Small, and the clock on the wall showed it to be almost midnight. Apart from not wanting to wear Malika out, he was ready for a few hours of sleep himself. Ideally, he would have pushed her until she had something they could work on, but they’d been at it for more than nine hours and tired minds weren’t the most reliable.
‘Do you think she’s telling the whole truth now?’ Sarah asked.
‘Let’s see.’
Harvey had asked Small again what the lie detector indicated, but the answer remained inconclusive, despite the control questions he’d slipped in. It could be that she was being truthful, or that she knew how to manipulate the test.
‘My brain’s too fried to make sense of this,’ Harvey said. ‘Let’s get some sleep and try again in the morning.’
Ayad Badawi watched the traffic crawl by as he sat outside the café, sipping an espresso. The clock on a nearby building told him his ride was a few minutes late, but that was to be expected as the offices began closing up for the day.
As the minutes ticked by, he wondered if something had gone wrong. What he’d been asked to do was undoubtedly illegal, and despite the assurances he’d been given, he couldn’t help but feel nervous.
His ride turned up ten minutes late, a black cab with an advert for a West End theatre emblazoned on the side. It pulled up outside the café and Badawi climbed in. A man was sitting in the back, and Badawi recognised him as Ghulam, the one who had recruited him for the job.
‘Is everything ready?’ Ghulam asked as the taxi pulled back into traffic.
‘It is. All I need is the agent and I can get to work.’
Ghulam reached into his jacket and produced an inch-thick metal box the size of an A5 sheet of paper. He undid two clasps and showed Badawi the contents.
Badawi removed one of the phials from the padded interior and examined it. The top had a one-inch screw-on cap that prevented him from seeing the neck of the vessel. ‘Are you sure there’s a rubber diaphragm in place?’
‘We haven’t checked, but that was the information we were given. If there isn’t, will it pose a problem?’
‘Yes, it will. I am set up to expect it in a certain condition. If it differs, I will have to come up with a new method of making the transfer.’
‘Why not take the top off and see?’ Ghulam smirked.
‘I think not.’ Badawi replaced the phial in the box and secured the clasps before placing it in his leather briefcase. ‘It should be ready by midnight. How should I contact you?’
‘No need,’ Ghulam said. ‘I will stay with you until you have completed the task, just in case you have . . . second thoughts.’
Badawi made his displeasure known. He wasn’t accustomed to having people doubt his integrity, but Ghulam placed a soothing hand on his arm.
‘It was not my decision. I have my orders, as do you. Believe me, I don’t like the idea of being in the same room as this stuff, especially once the top comes off.’
You will be quite safe,’ Badawi said, still angry. ‘I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought there was any personal risk involved.’
‘My friend, there are always risks. All we can do is try to mitigate them, and this plan has been well thought out. After the attack, though, the security services will be looking for people with your particular skills. I trust you’ve made the necessary arrangements?’
‘I have,’ Badawi said. He’d contacted a cash-for-homes company that would give him a quick sale on his house, albeit at only 70 per cent of market value, and his flight to Turkey was booked and paid for. It was then just a short journey across the border into Syria and then south to Palmyra, where he would stay with his cousin while he arranged a new place of his own.
Leaving England wasn’t going to be that much of an upheaval. He’d lived in London for fifteen years, but there was little about it that he liked. The area he lived in was quiet enough, but the centre of the capital was too busy for his taste. He was looking forward to returning to his homeland and spending his remaining years in tranquillity. As things stood, he was unlikely to find peace anywhere in Syria, but after the attack, the Western allies would think twice about bombing his country.
They drove for forty minutes until they arrived at a storage unit built into some railway arches. The two men got out, and Ghulam instructed the driver to be ready to pick him up later in the evening.
Badawi unlocked the door and
waited until Ghulam joined him inside before locking it and switching on the lights. Fluorescent tubes hummed into life, revealing the meagre contents of the room. A table occupied the far wall, and on it was a Perspex box, while to the right stood a small, glass-doored refrigerator containing bottles of water.
The men approached the bench and Badawi removed the metal case from his bag and placed it inside the Perspex chamber.
‘What’s this for?’ Ghulam asked, pointing to a metal canister that fed into the side of the box.
‘The incinerator,’ Badawi told him. ‘If I flick this switch, a flame is ignited in that corner. Once I am finished, I will purge the air inside. Petrol vapour will be sprayed into the tank, and when it hits the flame, any agent that manages to escape will be destroyed.’
Badawi opened the catches on the small box, then placed a rubber-edged lid on the large chamber, ensuring a tight fit before sealing it on all four sides with adjustable grips.
‘I’m sorry I can’t offer you a seat,’ he said, sitting on the only stool in the room. ‘I wasn’t expecting company.’
Ghulam assured him that it wasn’t a problem, and Badawi placed his hands into the large rubber gloves that were fitted into the front of the unit. He took a moment to compose himself, then removed the first of the phials and carefully unscrewed the top. He was pleased to see a four-millimetre rubber stopper jammed into the top, preventing the deadly agent from escaping.
Badawi picked up a small syringe and gently forced the needle through the rubber until the point was visible in the clear liquid, then inverted the phial and slowly withdrew ten millilitres of the X3. He took his time pulling the needle back out, then put the phial down and picked up a stainless-steel canister. It looked like a miniature version of a scuba diver’s air tank, but instead of a valve at the top, it had a rubber diaphragm similar to the phial. Badawi inserted the needle into it and pushed down on the plunger until the syringe was empty.
‘If you use a bigger needle, we can be out of here by seven,’ Ghulam said.
‘If I do that, there’s a strong possibility that I will displace the rubber rather than penetrate it. If that happens, I will be forced to purge the chamber, and you will lose the agent. Now please stop interrupting and let me get on with it.’
Badawi immediately sensed it wasn’t a good idea to vent his frustration at his paymaster, but he’d never been one to suffer fools gladly. He particularly hated to be second-guessed by those who knew nothing about his chosen profession.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said as he picked up the phial for the second pass, ‘I get cranky when I’m nervous.’
‘Don’t be,’ Ghulam told him. ‘I shouldn’t be questioning your expertise. Please, continue.’
The words sounded hollow, and Badawi knew he was in for a stressful few hours.
CHAPTER 19
Tuesday, 15 August 2017
Harvey stifled a yawn as he swiped his way into the outer chamber at eight o’clock. The previous night had brought little sleep, and what he had managed had been filled with dreams of melting faces and a mountain of dead bodies. He envied Sarah for looking her usual stunning self; in an effort to compete, he’d finally taken a razor to his face.
Malika was already sitting in her usual position, wired up and ready to go. Her son Jalal was playing in a portable crib that Malika had requested, along with toys to keep him occupied.
‘She’s really making herself at home,’ Sarah said disapprovingly.
‘I’m happy to make concessions, as long as she gives us what we want. The first sign she’s playing us, the kid will be removed.’
‘Are you sure it has nothing to do with her looks?’
Harvey’s forehead furrowed as he looked at his girlfriend. ‘Are you serious? We’re trying to foil a major attack and you’re jealous of our prisoner?’
‘I’ve seen you in there. You can’t keep your eyes off her.’
‘It’s called maintaining eye contact,’ Harvey said, lowering his voice. ‘I’m trying to win her confidence.’
Sarah crossed her arms tightly across her chest. ‘Huh. I guess that’s one way of describing it.’
Harvey was stunned. He’d never seen this side of Sarah, and she wasn’t displaying a particularly endearing quality. They’d been in the company of many pretty women during their time together, but this was the first time she’d reacted in such a way. Had he missed something to bring on such behaviour? It wasn’t her birthday, and their anniversary was months away, so it couldn’t be that. She’d been quiet at home that morning, but he’d put it down to the short sleep and huge workload. Whatever it was, he needed to nip it in the bud before she drove herself crazy with unnecessary worry. She was the only woman he wanted, and he certainly wasn’t going to swap her for a suspected terrorist.
‘You could lead the interview today,’ he offered.
‘And let you ogle her through the window? No, thanks.’
This seemed one of those arguments he was never destined to win.
‘Look, whatever has got into you, it’ll have to wait. We’ve got work to do.’
Harvey swiped his way into the second room and took his seat across from Malika. After announcing the time and date, he skipped any pleasantries and asked her if she could remember the name that Karim had used during the meeting.
‘No. I thought about it all night but it wouldn’t come to me.’
It wasn’t the best start to the day, but Harvey knew there was more that she had to offer – it was simply a case of pressing the right buttons.
‘What can you tell me about the people who helped you to get here? Do you have names for them?’
Malika shook her head. ‘They rarely spoke to us. They would just confirm who we were then drive us to the next handover.’
‘Then what about descriptions? Was there anything distinctive about them? Extremely tall or short? Strange tattoos, anything like that?’
She thought about it for a moment, giving Harvey time to wonder once more what the hell had got into Sarah. He glanced over to the mirror and could feel her eyes burning into him. He didn’t believe he’d been flirting with Malika. He’d been civil, and that was about the limit to the warmth he’d shown the young woman. He couldn’t understand why Sarah would take that the wrong way.
‘The truck driver in France was missing the top of his ear,’ Malika said, bringing him out of his ruminations.
Harvey assumed Sarah would be working that lead up straight away, despite her sudden hostility towards him.
‘What else?’ he asked.
‘That’s all. The rest were just . . . normal.’
‘Tell me about the truck. The colour, the size, everything.’
‘It was very long, and blue, I think. I don’t remember the name on the side.’
‘There seem to be lots of little details that you can’t remember,’ Harvey said.
‘I didn’t know I was going to be quizzed about every aspect of my journey, otherwise I would have been more attentive. As it was, I had more pressing matters to occupy me.’
Harvey let it slide and pressed for more information about the journey in the truck.
‘We were picked up somewhere in France by a truck driver. We sat in the back of the truck until we neared the port, then we stopped and were told to climb inside some kind of metal container, which the driver welded shut. He gave us an oxygen mask and a pill to put the children to sleep, then took us across the sea on a ferry. When we got to England, the driver freed us, and that was when we discovered that Khadija was dead.’
‘How did she die?’ Harvey asked.
‘The driver said she’d haemorrhaged. I wasn’t about to go and inspect the body to check his diagnosis.’
That detail would soon be revealed, he knew. A post-mortem was being carried out to determine the cause of death, and it would be more accurate than any guess Malika could offer.
‘What did they do with her body?’
‘I don’t know. A vehicle was waiting for
us, some kind of small bus, and we were told to get in. Khadija was still in the truck when we left, and Ramla took care of her son.’
Harvey asked her to recall everything she could about the driver of the minibus. She said he was young, in his mid-twenties, and clean-shaven with short hair brushed backwards. Not a lot to go on, but he’d be showing her some mug shots later, and hopefully she’d pick him out.
‘We were taken to the surgical centre,’ Malika continued, ‘and after the thing was removed from my body I was able to rest for a couple of hours before the bus came back and took us to the mosque. The imam there found us someone to stay with.’
‘I want to know everything the driver said to you.’
‘Nothing. Get in, get out, that was it. The doctor said even less.’
Jalal started to cry, and Malika asked for a break so that she could feed and change him. The session was barely an hour old and Harvey wanted to press on, but he knew he would get nothing further out of her until the boy had been seen to.
He swiped his way into the other room and saw that Sarah had disappeared.
‘She went to check on the truck driver with the missing piece of ear,’ Elaine Solomon said. ‘I also sent her the description of the minibus and truck drivers. Be sure to get a description of the doctor too.’
‘I will. Did Sarah say anything else?’
Harvey was hoping that Sarah had confided in Solomon – that she might have an explanation for his girlfriend’s offhand behaviour.
‘Nope, just that she’d be back down when she had something.’
Determined to know what had got into Sarah, Harvey headed up to the office to confront her. He found her desk empty, as was Farsi’s, but saw her through the glass wall of Ellis’s office, sitting opposite the Director General.
Deciding that it wouldn’t be a good idea to interrupt their discussion to resolve a domestic matter, Harvey returned to the interrogation suite and saw that Malika was finishing up Jalal’s new nappy. He entered the room to the overwhelming smell of baby formula and infant poo and took his customary seat.
His chat with Sarah would have to wait until later, but he had difficulty shaking it from his mind as he returned to the questioning.
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