Trojan

by Alan McDermott

  ‘Anything in particular?’ he asked.

  ‘I just don’t trust her.’

  ‘So nothing in particular.’

  Sarah turned to face him. ‘There’s a lot about her answers that doesn’t add up. For starters, I’m not buying the fact that she managed to convince Inas to stay and claim asylum when it would endanger her sisters back in Syria.’

  ‘Okay, I admit that concerned me, too, but when I thought about it, Malika had days to talk to her.’

  ‘That’s not all. Malika refuses to talk, and then suddenly she can’t wait to open up to you.’

  ‘That’s because we threatened to take her son away,’ Harvey said.

  Sarah snorted. ‘So you think it’s her maternal instinct that kicked in? Then why does she hold the baby as if it isn’t hers?’

  ‘What are you talking about? I’ve spent hours in there with her and the boy. She dotes on him.’

  ‘Really? When was the last time you were around a mother and her baby? I’ve got sisters and friends who all have kids, and they don’t hold them anything like she does.’

  Harvey shrugged. ‘It could be a cultural difference.’

  ‘Nonsense. I’ll bet any money that boy isn’t hers. He doesn’t even look like her.’

  Harvey thought back to the many sessions he’d spent with Malika, but couldn’t recall any behaviour that had seemed out of character. Then again, he hadn’t spent much time around children, while Sarah was an aunt many times over.

  Could there really have been some blatant clues that he’d missed? If there had been, there was only one way to get to the truth.

  ‘If you’re really that convinced, go downstairs and get DNA samples from both of them. If they don’t match, you win. If they do, though, you drop it and concentrate on the man she fingered. Speaking of which, I’m going to meet al-Hosni now.’

  ‘Wait! What? You’re going to speak to him? Alone?’

  ‘No, I’ll have backup, and it’ll be in public.’ He told her about the conversation with Ellis. ‘I have to try to convince him to come in. He’s not likely to try anything.’

  ‘You seem very sure,’ Sarah said, and for the first time in days he could sense genuine concern in her voice.

  ‘I am. There’ll be four men watching over me, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.’

  ‘I’d feel better if there were more. Can’t you get SO15 involved?’

  Harvey would indeed have felt better walking up to al-Hosni accompanied by several armed members of the Metropolitan Police’s Counter Terrorism Command, but his plan was simply to let the suspect know he was being watched, not create panic on the streets.

  ‘There’s no need, I promise. I’ll be back within a couple of hours.’

  Sarah took his hand and squeezed tightly.

  ‘You better, mister.’

  CHAPTER 23

  Wednesday, 16 August 2017

  Harvey arrived at the mosque five minutes before prayers were due to end, and it didn’t take long for him to find the first of the teams watching over their main suspect. He walked to their government-issue Ford and slipped into the back seat.

  ‘What’s he been up to?’ he asked.

  The front passenger consulted his notebook. ‘He met two new faces outside the mosque. They chatted for a couple of minutes, then went in. We sent the photos to the office.’

  Great, Harvey thought. Another couple of names to add to the ever-growing list.

  ‘Did you manage to record the conversation?’

  ‘Yeah, but they just chatted about the weather.’

  Harvey checked his watch. ‘Which is al-Hosni’s car?’

  ‘The blue Vauxhall.’

  He asked to see the images the men had taken, all the while keeping an eye on the mosque’s entrance. The faces were unfamiliar, but it helped to use up a couple of minutes.

  When the first of the worshippers left the building, he handed the phone back to the front-seat passenger. ‘We’ve got new instructions,’ he said. ‘We’re to . . . Hang on, I know that guy. He used to be in my five-a-side football team. He still owes me fifty quid.’

  Before the operatives could react, Harvey jumped out of the car and crossed the road, walking quickly towards the mosque. The less the operatives knew about his plan, the better. Any heat would come down on him, not the two men in the car.

  ‘Hey! Gamal!’ he shouted, more for the benefit of the directional microphone his people used. ‘It’s me, Andrew.’

  The man turned and studied him. ‘Do I know you?’

  Harvey positioned himself so that he could see the door to the mosque. ‘Sure you do. We used to play for the Hammersmith Harriers.’

  ‘You must be mistaken.’

  ‘Come on, man. You’re just saying that because you owe me money.’

  Harvey was fast running out of ways to keep the conversation going, but Imran al-Hosni came to his rescue. The man who held the key to finding the X3 was walking towards him accompanied by three others.

  ‘My name is not Gamal,’ said the stranger.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Harvey. ‘My mistake.’ He made for al-Hosni, and when he caught up with him, he gripped the man’s arm.

  ‘I’m with MI5, and we know all about the nerve agent,’ he said quietly.

  Al-Hosni stopped in his tracks and turned towards Harvey. At first he appeared confused, before a smirk appeared on his face. ‘Do you have a name, Mister MI5 man?’

  ‘Andrew. And I’m here to do you a huge favour.’ He let go of al-Hosni, knowing he had his attention.

  One of the imam’s companions got between the two men and squared up to Harvey, but al-Hosni ushered him aside. ‘Let him speak.’

  Harvey kept his voice low. ‘You can either voluntarily come to my office for a chat, or wait until the wet team pays you a visit. My way will avoid a lot of bloodshed. Yours, to be exact.’

  The smirk became a full-blown smile, formed of nicotine-stained teeth. ‘I am sorry to disappoint you, but I know nothing about any nerve agent. You must have the wrong man.’

  ‘Last chance,’ Harvey pressed. ‘You can either come in and discuss it civilly over a cup of tea, or wait until your balls are in a nutcracker before you start talking.’

  ‘If you had any reason to believe I had a biological weapon, we wouldn’t be having this conversation on the street. I’m sure your colleagues in the black Mondeo can confirm that I’ve said or done nothing wrong, so I suggest you either arrest me now or let me go on my way.’

  Harvey was about to respond when the roar of an engine announced the arrival of a black van. It screeched to a halt ten feet away from them and the side door slid open. Three men jumped out, and their military bearing confirmed Ellis’s guess that Maynard had handed the matter over to E Squadron.

  Two of the men pushed al-Hosni’s companions aside as Harvey backed away, and the imam was dragged to the van. The third soldier stood with his hand on the butt of an automatic in a shoulder holster, the unspoken threat clear to all. Ten seconds after arriving, the vehicle pulled back into traffic, one passenger heavier.

  Harvey turned in time to see the two men in the Ford set off in pursuit, and he ran in front of their car, relieved when it stopped a few inches from his knees.

  ‘Forget it,’ he said as he walked round to the driver’s side window. ‘We’re officially off the case. Report back to Thames House right away.’

  Harvey ignored their questions and returned to his own car, angry at Maynard for getting things moving so quickly. If he’d had another few minutes, he might have convinced al-Hosni to avoid any unpleasantness, but that was now out of his hands.

  On the plus side, al-Hosni’s new captors should have him talking within a few hours; he’d heard the stories about how they operated, their ruthless efficiency not always within the boundaries of the law. The downside was that his team’s recent efforts would be overshadowed, and Maynard would seize the opportunity to unseat Ellis and replace her with some kiss-arse who would make their liv
es unbearable.

  That was, if they managed to survive the cull.

  Harvey started the car and drove back to the office, all the while trying to decide the best way to break the news to Ellis.

  Aswan stood in the doorway of the estate agent’s, his head down as he tapped at the keys on his mobile phone. To anyone passing by, he was just another slave to technology, banging out a text message, but he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the café across the road.

  He’d followed Samir from the meeting at the mosque, and though he knew why Muhammad Khan had given him the task, it wasn’t one he relished. Aswan had known Samir for several years, having lived close by when the boy had been at high school. The kid had a tendency to stray from the righteous path now and again, but Aswan had always found him trustworthy.

  Clearly, Khan thought otherwise, which was why he’d told Aswan to tail Samir and report in. Aswan had sent a text minutes earlier with his location, and he’d been instructed to remain in place and wait to see if Samir met anyone.

  Please be wrong, Aswan thought as he watched his friend sipping a hot beverage. The café was almost empty, and Samir was sitting at a table at the back, his eyes on the entrance. Every few seconds he would check his watch, and Aswan realised that Khan’s suspicions were probably correct. It was a shame, because what lay in store for Samir was bound to be unpleasant.

  Muhammad Khan was a feared man within the community, and he’d made it clear that the message he’d shared with his inner circle earlier that evening was to go no further. For obvious reasons. They finally had the means of launching an attack that would make 7/7 look like amateur hour, and with the schedule set for Friday, there was still plenty of time for things to go wrong.

  Having someone talk about it, for one.

  An elderly woman left the café, leaving only Samir and a couple of workmen enjoying a late fry-up. It remained that way for another few minutes, until a short, thickset man approached the door and checked the area before entering. When he sat opposite Samir, Aswan sighed. His friend’s fate was all but sealed. He stopped the random key tapping and composed a fresh text message before firing it off to Khan’s right-hand man.

  Hamad Farsi scanned the area as he approached the rendezvous, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. There was one guy tucked into a shop doorway, but he was focused on his phone and didn’t appear to have noticed his arrival. He entered the café and spotted Samir sitting at a table near the back of the room. He ordered a coffee from the counter before joining his informant.

  ‘You’re late,’ Samir said quietly. One foot was tapping on the floor, a clear sign that he craved chemical stimulation.

  ‘Yeah, traffic’s a bitch. What have you got for me?’

  Samir leaned in closer. ‘There’s going to be an attack on Friday.’

  ‘I need names and a location.’

  ‘Khan said the man behind it was Imran al-Hosni, but he didn’t say what he was going to hit. All I know is that it’s going to be big.’

  ‘That’s not good enough,’ Farsi said. ‘Did you manage to get a recording?’

  ‘No, they made everyone hand in their phones before going into the meeting.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to tell me what he said, word for word.’

  Farsi hoped to gain something new, but after five minutes it was clear Samir had nothing to add to what they already knew: al-Hosni had a nerve agent and planned to use it in less than two days’ time. The only thing that seemed out of place was that Muhammad Khan had got wind of the plot. Farsi tried to remember seeing any mention of him in the al-Hosni files, but came up empty.

  ‘So do I get paid?’ Samir asked.

  Farsi pulled a small bundle of notes from his pocket. ‘There’s two hundred. Get back to me with proof and I’ll be back with a grand.’

  Samir started to object but Farsi was already heading for the door, his mind set on finding the link between Khan and al-Hosni.

  He left the café and walked around the corner to his car, all the while checking for signs that he was being watched, but the man in the doorway had gone and no-one else seemed interested in his presence.

  When he reached his Ford, he called Harvey and gave him a concise summary of the meeting.

  ‘I don’t remember reading Khan’s name in any of the reports,’ Harvey said.

  ‘That’s what worried me, too. Al-Hosni hasn’t contacted him by phone or email, and we’ve backtracked on everyone he’s met. Is there a chance we missed someone?’

  The line went quiet for a moment.

  ‘You still there?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Harvey said. ‘I might know who passed the info to Khan. Get back here as soon as you can. I’ve got plenty to update you on.’

  Aswan watched as the two men chatted in the café. He’d already taken a photo on his phone and the picture was on its way to Khan’s number two. All he could do now was await further instructions.

  They came two minutes later in the form of a succinct text message:

  Return to the mosque

  Aswan put his phone away and took one last look at Samir – the stranger was handing him something. Aswan shook his head. This would probably be the last time he saw the young man. He spun and jogged to the end of the street, turned right, then joined the steady stream of people entering the Tube station. He rode the three stops to the mosque, then knocked on the imam’s door.

  When he was shown in, Aswan told Khan what he had witnessed, including the handing over of what could only have been money or drugs.

  Khan remained impassive. ‘I always had my doubts about that one,’ he said.

  ‘What will happen to him?’ Aswan asked.

  ‘Samir has decided to forsake us. He will witness Allah’s wrath first-hand.’ He handed Aswan a slip of paper with the address of a coffee shop written on it. ‘Tomorrow, I want you to send him a text message and ask him to be there at midday on Friday. Tell him to take a seat outside. I will take care of matters once he arrives.’

  With a wave of his hand, Khan signalled an end to the meeting. Aswan took his leave, weighed by the knowledge that he would be leading his friend to his death. He briefly considered warning him, but quickly realised that doing so would put his own life in jeopardy.

  No, better to follow Khan’s orders and pray that when the time came, Samir wouldn’t suffer too long.

  Harvey was going through CCTV footage when Farsi returned to the office. He’d managed to track his target from the moment he’d left al-Hosni’s home to a nearby Tube station, but was having difficulty discovering which station he’d travelled to.

  ‘Who did we miss?’ Farsi asked as he stood at his side.

  ‘The courier,’ Harvey said. ‘It was my fault. I was so hung up on who could have taken delivery of the X3 that I discounted him because he was back in Turkey by the time the women arrived here. I searched the database to find links between al-Hosni and Khan but there was nothing, so he must be the link between the two men. The trouble is, he didn’t get off where I would have expected.’

  ‘Maybe he got off a station early to check for a tail,’ Farsi suggested. ‘Send the details to my terminal and I’ll check it out.’

  Harvey fired off the information and resumed his facial-recognition search of the people leaving the Tube station nearest to the mosque where Khan led services. There were two exits, which would double the time it would take to locate Qureshi. He’d already covered the possibility that the courier had gone direct to Khan’s home, but cameras covering the street had shown no sign of him that day.

  He finished the first half of the task and he had switched to the camera covering the east exit when a message flashed on his screen. He opened it and saw that it was from the forensics team.

  ‘They found no prints on the phone, other than the teacher and police in Birmingham who were known to have handled it,’ he told Farsi.

  ‘That’s no surprise. With something this big, they’re bound to be careful.’

  Harvey was about to re
sume his search, but Farsi’s words made him pause. ‘Al-Hosni doesn’t seem to be all that careful,’ he said. ‘He knows he’s being watched. He told me when we met earlier, yet he’s doing nothing to hide his activities.’

  ‘Now that you mention it, it does seem strange. Unless he’s confident that we don’t know the whole picture. I’ve said from the moment we started tracking his associates that one of them might have just been a conduit, passing information to those who have the X3.’

  It was something they’d discussed many times, but there was simply no way to watch everyone. With their limited resources, it would only need three or four people in the chain before the numbers became unmanageable. If al-Hosni met forty people, who each met forty people, who each met forty people, they would have to keep tabs on more than 60,000 suspects. Many could be ruled out quickly, but that would still leave tens of thousands who would need to be investigated. As it was, they barely had the manpower to cope with less than 1 per cent of that, even after drawing from the resource pool of MI6 and the Metropolitan Police.

  ‘There’s not a lot we can do about that now. Maynard has al-Hosni, but if we can fill in some of the blanks we might be able to save a few careers.’

  ‘Maynard has him?’ Farsi asked, a puzzled look on his face. ‘Why?’

  ‘I sent a memo round, but you were out at the time.’ Harvey explained what had happened earlier that day, and how they’d been denied access to their top target.

  Farsi went to his station, while Harvey set his new search running. He watched as the square flashed across the still image on the screen, looking for a face to match Qureshi’s. Once the final face had been dismissed, Harvey fast-forwarded the footage a few seconds and tried again. He yawned and stretched as the computer worked its magic, trying to remember the last time he’d had a decent night’s sleep.

  He perked up when Sarah swiped her way into the office. The triumphant look on her face told him she’d found something.