Trojan

by Alan McDermott

  Harvey briefed her on Khan’s movements and subsequent disappearance and Farsi’s discovery at the lock-up garage, then explained the real reason for the call.

  ‘I want to bring all of Khan’s friends in,’ he told her.

  ‘Risky,’ Ellis replied. ‘If we cast the net that wide, there’s a chance we’ll miss the one we’re really after, and that might force them to bring the deadline forward. Khan only has a few people in his inner circle, so spend the morning checking them out. The more we can eliminate, the better, but if you haven’t got anything solid by lunchtime, get SO15 to round them all up. Ghulam looks the most likely, so concentrate your efforts on him. I’ll be in the office by eight.’

  Ellis ended the call, and Harvey’s frustration was tempered by the fact that even if the suspects were brought in, it would be difficult to get them to talk. Handing them over to Maynard’s goon squad would do his department no good either, as the Home Secretary would take all the credit.

  Ellis was right, they had to narrow down the list of suspects, and Ghulam was the best lead they had so far.

  ‘Andrew, check this out.’

  Harvey walked around to Farsi’s desk.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘When Ghulam left the lock-up he took the taxi back to the mosque,’ Farsi said. ‘He was carrying a black briefcase when he went in, but not when he came out. I just checked with Sarah and she said Badawi wasn’t carrying one when the same taxi dropped him near his home. I know he had one when he met Ghulam that afternoon. The X3 must be in that case.’

  It was possibly the break Harvey had been looking for. He turned and addressed the room.

  ‘Everyone, drop what you’re doing and listen up. Hamad is going to send you details of the CCTV footage he’s just been looking at. Adnan Ghulam entered his mosque at twelve-thirty on Wednesday morning and he was carrying a black briefcase, but it wasn’t on him when he left . . .’

  ‘. . . three minutes later,’ Farsi confirmed.

  ‘We think the X3 is in that case, and we need to know who picked it up. Hamad, you continue checking the coverage until midday. Sarah, you’ve got midday until midnight last night. Elaine, you’ve got everything from then until now.’

  The team got to work, and Harvey placed another call to Ellis.

  ‘We think Ghulam took the X3 to his mosque in Tower Hamlets,’ he told her. ‘I’ve got everyone looking to see if it was picked up by someone else, but chances are it’s still there.’

  ‘Run your checks first, but give SO15 a heads-up. If CCTV reveals nothing, we’ll send them in.’

  Harvey disconnected and called the counter-terrorism unit and put them on standby, then returned his attention to Khan. The chief constable of Police Scotland had given him the mobile number of the sergeant heading up the search.

  Harvey called him for an update.

  Sergeant Ben Davies pulled in behind the two patrol cars that were already on the scene and left his blues flashing as he got out of the car. The sun was beginning to make its presence felt, and he knew today was going to be a scorcher by local standards.

  Two of his men were standing next to the black BMW while another pair marked the area off with crime-scene tape. One of the officers pointed out a faint trail of blood on the tarmac that led from the middle of the car to the rear.

  ‘ETA on the SOCO?’ Davies asked as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves.

  ‘Twenty minutes.’

  The scenes of crime officer would go ballistic if he interfered with the evidence, but his boss had made it clear that the suspect was to be apprehended as soon as possible, and Davies took that to mean corners were there to be cut.

  He’d seen enough claret in his time to know what he was looking at.

  Drag marks.

  He tried the boot lid using one finger but it was locked, and he didn’t need to be a detective to figure out what had happened. The reports said there was only one person in the BMW, so either he was injured, dragged himself to the boot and locked himself in, or he’d done the deed to someone else.

  ‘Get something to pry this open,’ he said, and one of his men returned a minute later with a screwdriver.

  ‘It’s all we’ve got.’

  Davies got to work, but the low-tech approach was a waste of time. After a few minutes, he gave up. He wanted to preserve as much evidence as he could, but was left with no alternative. He pulled out his baton, extended it and smashed the rear driver’s-side window, then reached in and opened the door. That action popped all the locks, and he was able to lift the boot lid and see its grim contents.

  While an officer called for an ambulance, Davies checked in vain for a pulse. He then went through the man’s pockets, searching for identification, but came up empty.

  ‘Fetch me the fingerprint kit,’ Davies said.

  An officer returned with a handheld device that was connected to the Police National Computer and Davies pressed the right index finger of the corpse onto the screen. A beep confirmed the capture, and he waited until it returned a match.

  Nothing.

  ‘Looks like he’s never been arrested,’ he said. He put his radio to his mouth but his mobile rang before he could call it in.

  ‘Ben Davies,’ he said.

  ‘Sergeant, this is Andrew Harvey from MI5. Your chief constable gave me this number. I’m calling about the Khan case. Have you managed to locate him yet?’

  ‘We’ve found the car but no sign of the suspect. He did leave a body behind, though.’

  Davies explained the find, and asked if Harvey could help out.

  ‘Send me a photo of the man’s face and one of the fingerprint to this number. I’ll run them through our systems.’

  The line went dead, and Davies turned photographer. He sent the photos and waited for the response.

  ‘That was quick,’ he said when the phone rang two minutes later.

  ‘His name is Albert Jennings and he works for the AA. Contact them and ask for the index of the van he signed out this morning.’

  Davies thanked Harvey and looked up the AA on his phone, then called the contact centre and asked for the supervisor. Within minutes, he had the index and passed the details on to all units in the area. The discovery of the body added extra urgency to the investigation, and Khan had gone from possible terror suspect to murderer.

  With all officers in the region looking for him, it was only a matter of time.

  CHAPTER 27

  Thursday, 17 August 2017

  When Davies sent the van’s plate number through, Harvey considered whom to assign the work to. Bailey was available, but his recent performance didn’t instil a lot of confidence. He thought about passing the task to Sarah, but she was already working on a vital aspect of the investigation. Everyone else was otherwise engaged, too, leaving Bailey as the only one who could pick up the slack.

  Resigned to his decision, he went over to Bailey’s desk and gave him the van’s licence plate and Davies’s phone number. ‘Input that into ANPR and let the sergeant know as soon as you get a hit.’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Harvey said. ‘I want updates every ten minutes. Understood?’

  Bailey nodded solemnly. Harvey hoped that his request for constant updates would keep the agent focused.

  Harvey went to get a coffee, and by the time he got back to his desk, he found Bailey waiting for him.

  ‘Got him.’

  ‘Already? Excellent. Where is he?’

  Bailey led Harvey over to his desk and pointed to a dot on the screen. ‘Heading north-west on the B954.’

  Harvey frowned. ‘We’ve got ANPR cameras on a remote Scottish B-road?’

  ‘Nope.’ Bailey smiled smugly. ‘I called the AA and asked them for the van’s transponder number. They all have tracking devices fitted so that the control centre know how far they are from a call-out.’

  It was so obvious that Harvey kicked himself for not thinking of it first. The long shifts and lack of sleep were no doub
t affecting his judgement.

  ‘Nice work,’ he told Bailey. ‘Let Davies know right away.’

  Harvey went to his own PC and looked up the location, then zoomed out and scanned the surrounding area. The road would take Khan away from the east coast, leaving only one possible destination.

  He jogged over to Bailey and interrupted his phone call. ‘Tell Davies to send some of his men to Nimping Airfield.’

  Harvey checked the time. Having spoken to Ross Matthews, the air traffic controller at Nimping, he knew that no flights were due in until after nine, which gave Davies ninety minutes to secure Khan. Matthews had provided a schedule for the day: all bar one were domestic flights. The exception was a hop across the North Sea to Denmark, but that wasn’t due to arrive until early in the afternoon. If that was the one Khan planned to catch, it made time even less of an issue.

  ‘Done,’ Bailey announced. ‘He’s sending an armed unit now, along with two other cars.’

  ‘Good work. If Khan deviates, let me know immediately.’

  Khan peered up at the sky, but apart from a few wisps of white cloud, it was empty. His watch said he was a few minutes early, and the GPS showed the airstrip a mile ahead.

  It had been a tense half-hour, and he was convinced the danger wasn’t over. The radio in the van had constantly requested confirmation that the driver had completed his latest assignment, but after twenty minutes that had stopped. There had been silence ever since, an ominous sign that could only point to one thing: they had found the car and Jennings’s body. Every cop in the area would be looking for him, but if he could evade them for another few minutes, he’d be on his way to Denmark, the first leg of his journey home.

  When he was half a mile from the airstrip Khan pulled over onto the grass verge and wound his window down. He didn’t want to arrive too early and have to answer any awkward questions. He’d been assured that the place was unmanned before nine, but wasn’t going to take any chances. Sometimes eager employees arrived at work early, and he wanted to avoid any further confrontations.

  The drone of a light aircraft’s engine caught his attention. Khan looked to the east and saw a Cessna in the distance. He started his engine and drove towards the strip, but as he turned a corner he found himself facing more than a worker with time on his hands.

  Khan slammed on the brakes. A hundred yards ahead, two police cars were parked across the road, and half of the officers in front of them were carrying automatic weapons. He saw the Cessna grow bigger as it neared the runway, then returned his attention to the roadblock. His ride to freedom was tantalisingly close, and he’d been warned that if he wasn’t ready to board as soon as the plane touched down, he could kiss his ride goodbye. It was an unscheduled flight, and therefore imperative that they get off the ground as soon as they could.

  There was no point turning around now; the police cars would easily catch the lumbering van. Surrender wasn’t an option, either. Even with the best legal defence, he was facing the rest of his life behind bars.

  If he even made it that far.

  The police could only be after him for one reason, and that was the X3. Imran al-Hosni had been snatched off the street because they thought he had it. By now, al-Hosni would have been broken, leaving the authorities determined to secure the nerve agent at any cost.

  The plane was down to two hundred feet, leaving Khan just seconds to make his move. He put the van in first gear and hit the accelerator, aiming for the small gap between the police cars. The unarmed officers ran for cover while the others raised their rifles and aimed at his vehicle, but Khan had no intention of stopping. After all the years of preaching about sacrifice to his young audience, it was his turn to fight. He’d either make it to the plane, or die trying.

  He was thirty yards from the roadblock when the first bullet hit his windscreen. The glass spider-webbed, and Khan ducked as more rounds slammed into the vehicle. The van tilted as a tyre blew out, but he kept his foot down.

  When the van hit the stationary car, Khan flew across the cab like a pinball. His head struck the dashboard, but the adrenaline coursing through him blocked the pain. He regained his seat as blood tricked from a gash in his forehead. In the side mirror, he could see the police chasing him on foot, and he gunned the engine once more. He managed to reach 40 m.p.h. by the time he crashed through the wire gate, and he could see the runway ahead.

  The Cessna’s wheels touched down as Khan drove alongside it, frantically waving for the pilot to stop. He matched the plane’s speed until both came to a halt, then jumped out with his bag over his shoulder. He struggled to the plane under the heavy weight, and when the pilot opened the passenger door from the inside, he heaved his luggage into the aircraft. If it hadn’t been for his passport, tucked into the bag’s side pocket, he would have left the bag in the van.

  That decision cost him dearly.

  He’d taken one police car out of the equation, but the other had quickly taken up the chase. Two officers had jumped out as the police Volvo screeched to a halt behind the Cessna, and their shouts for him to desist were lost in the whine of the propeller.

  Khan had one leg inside the cockpit when the other exploded in agony. A bullet had ripped through his thigh and shattered the femur with such force that even the surging adrenaline could not numb the pain.

  ‘Go!’ he urged the pilot through clenched teeth as he dragged himself into his seat.

  The pilot gunned the engine as more rounds peppered the fuselage, then slowed as they reached the end of the runway.

  ‘What are you doing?!’ Khan yelled.

  ‘I’ve got to turn around. There isn’t enough runway.’

  The plane’s nose spun to the right and Khan could see the police standing a few hundred yards in front of them.

  ‘Run them down!’ he ordered, his mangled leg forgotten for the moment.

  The engine roared as the power kicked in, and Khan watched the figures in the distance grow bigger by the second. More bullets flew from their weapons as the Cessna hurtled towards them, but apart from a hit in the top corner of the windscreen, their aim was defective.

  The police scattered as the plane reached take-off speed. Khan felt immense relief as the nose came up and the ride smoothed out.

  The moment was short-lived.

  More rounds hammered against the side of the plane, and the pilot’s scream told Khan that one of them had found its mark.

  ‘Where are you hit?’ Khan cried. He had no idea how to control an aircraft; without the pilot, this was going to be the shortest flight of his life.

  ‘My ribs,’ the other man managed. ‘I’m hurt bad.’

  Khan had only one thing on his mind. ‘Can you make it to Denmark?’

  The response was a wince, then the pilot coughed and blood splattered the windscreen and control panel. He tried to suck air into his blood-filled lungs but only succeeded in ejecting more frothing crimson before falling forward on the control column.

  The nose of the aircraft pointed towards the ground. Khan seized the yoke and pulled back with all his strength, but the gurgling pilot’s weight made it impossible to move it.

  All he could do was curse until the propeller bit into the ground and the ensuing fireball silenced him forever.

  Harvey put the phone down, ran his hands through his hair and stared up at the ceiling. He did his best to control his emotions, but the words refused to be held back.

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ he yelled.

  The room went silent until Farsi recovered from the shock of the outburst to ask what had happened.

  ‘Khan’s dead.’

  The one man who knew where the X3 could be found was now a charred lump in a remote Scottish field. All they had left were numerous possibilities and a looming deadline.

  ‘What have we got, people?’ he asked while he had their attention. ‘Have you seen anyone leaving the mosque with a bag?’

  The silence told him all he needed to know.

  Harvey got up and walke
d into Ellis’s office. The case for bringing in the remainder of Khan’s network had just strengthened immeasurably, and the sooner he got the ball rolling, the better. He told her what had happened, and her reaction was much the same as his had been.

  ‘I want to bring Ghulam in now,’ he said. ‘We’re making no progress with the people who attended the mosque, and time is running out.’

  ‘Do it.’

  Harvey hesitated by the door. ‘I also want to send SO15 to the mosque.’

  Ellis started to speak, but Harvey stopped her. ‘I know you’re going to say it’s a sensitive issue liable to raise tensions in the community, but everything points to the X3 still being there.’

  ‘I was going to mention that,’ Ellis said, ‘but I agree that it has to be done. My only concern is that once news hits the media, Maynard will come asking questions. He’s going to want to know why we haven’t told him about Khan.’

  ‘An anonymous last-minute tip-off?’ Harvey suggested.

  Ellis looked unenthusiastic but agreed that it was the best they had.

  Harvey hurried back to his desk and passed the instructions on to Sergeant Bury at SO15. He thought about stressing the need to take Ghulam alive, given the fiasco in Scotland, but the only way to ensure that happened would be to take charge at the scene.

  ‘Have your men standing by in Leopold Road,’ he told Bury. ‘You’re not to make a move until I get there.’

  The location was two streets away from Khan’s semi-detached home. It was as good a place as any to meet without tipping their hand.

  Harvey retrieved his jacket from the coat stand, but found his path to the exit blocked.

  ‘And just where do you think you’re going?’ Sarah asked, her arms crossed tightly against her chest.

  ‘I need to make sure they don’t get trigger-happy.’

  ‘I’m coming with you.’