by Conrad Jones
Once issued with all your equipment it is traditional to change into your scuba gear next to your motor vehicle in the car park, so that you can leave your belongings safely. The freezing Cumbrian wind almost made the icy waters of the quarry seem attractive as the divers kitted up and headed for the water. The car park started to empty of people as divers waddled to the quarry and non-participants headed for the warmth of the cafe inside the main building. No one noticed Nassir al-Masri loading his newly acquired scuba gear and DPV into the boot of his car. No one would notice until the next day when all the hire equipment had been dried out and inventoried, that Nassir had stolen everything that he needed to cross the River Mersey underwater.
CHAPTER 52
Yasser- The FA Cup
Yasser drove the ice-cream van to the end of the derelict terrace in which he lived. He stopped and opened the driver door and an Iranian man, called Ali waited for him to exit the van before climbing into the driver’s seat himself. Ali nodded to Yasser and grasped his hand tightly. He didn’t speak as he drove the vehicle away.
Ali had been at home in Bandar Abbas, Iran on Sunday 3rd July 1988. His father had taken Iranian Air flight 655 to Dubai, which was shot down by a missile launched from the US Navy, Ticonderoga class guided missile cruiser, USS Vincennes. All two hundred and ninety passengers and crew were killed, including sixty-six children. According to the American government they had mistakenly identified the Iranian Airbus as an attacking F14 fighter plane. The Reagan administration at the time, represented by the then Vice-President George H Bush, defended his country’s actions at a news conference held on the 2nd August 1988 saying: “I will never apologise for the United States of America, I don’t care what the facts are.” Ali promised his mother that one day he would avenge his father’s murder, today he would fulfil that promise. Four more ice-cream vans pulled in line behind him. The strange procession turned right and headed for Anfield stadium. Two more were already in the city centre.
The city of Liverpool had a double celebration going on; Liverpool Football Club would be playing their old local rivals from across the city, Everton Football Club. The game was to be played at Anfield and the winners would be rewarded with a place in the semi-finals of the FA Cup. The FA Cup is the oldest football competition in the world, beginning in 1871. It involves clubs from every division of British football right down to the grass roots amateurs. Because it involves clubs of all standards playing against each other, there is always the possibility for `giant killers’ from the unpaid lower divisions defeating one of the top clubs. The romance of an underdog victory enhanced the importance and credibility attached to winning the trophy.
Football fans from all over Liverpool and the surrounding Merseyside area were packing the streets from early in the morning. Some were looking for the opportunity to purchase a late seat from a ticket tout outside the ground; others were just soaking up the carnival atmosphere. The pubs and bars across the city were packed with armchair supporters who weren’t lucky enough to purchase a ticket at the ground itself. The red shirts of Liverpool and the blue shirts of Everton mingled in the busy streets of the city.
Ali slowed down and waved into the rear view mirror to the driver of the ice-cream van behind him, and the driver pulled his van onto the kerb as instructed. The process was repeated until all four vans were positioned strategically around Anfield Stadium. It was half past eleven in the morning and kick-off was scheduled for 3pm. By 12 noon, the streets would be packed with excited fans enjoying a few beers before the much anticipated game began. A man dressed in a red Liverpool shirt banged on Ali’s window making him jump. The fan’s friend banged the on other side of the ice-cream van, frightening Ali even more. It was mad Adie and dodgy Si fooling around on their way to compost corner in the Sandon.
Yasser stood at the North end of Hope Street and looked up at the giant towers of the Anglican Cathedral. He had already been into the sandstone monolith that morning and planted four kilos of Semtex explosives around the massive Bartlett Bells. The cathedral bells, the highest and heaviest in the world, would peel out at 3pm that day for the last time. The huge central bell was called Great George, the Bourbon Bell, and it weighed over fourteen tons on its own.
As Yasser watched, two ice-cream vans entered the cathedral grounds; they parked either side of the monstrous cathedral. They would stay there, where they were parked, until Yasser’s bomb exploded in the bell tower. Panicked tourists that survived the bomb would try to exit the huge front doors and then the secondary charges in the ice-cream vans would be detonated.
Yasser wished that he could be close by when Great George, the Bourbon Bell came crashing down but, he had to be somewhere else. The logistics of his plan were already in motion. Yasser felt that the net was closing in. Today he had a plane to catch. It was time to move on.
CHAPTER 53
Terrorist Task Force
Chen and David Bell were staring at the digital operations board on the wall in front of them. York Minster had been bombed the day before and it was almost certain that Yasser Ahmed was responsible. Forensics had identified the explosive used in the Minster bomb as Semtex, from a batch that was identical to some that was seized en-route to Ireland, from Libya in 1998. The suicide bomber had left no clues as to his identity, but strangely he had forced the visitors in the cathedral to leave before he blew himself to pieces.
It looks like he may have had a change of heart at the last minute,” Chen said thoughtfully, flicking through photographic evidence from the scene. The suicide vest had been packed with steel ball bearings, which had only one purpose; that purpose was to maim and kill as many human beings as possible. The bomb was not designed to destroy buildings, although the damage it had caused was extensive.
If we are certain that this is an Ahmed sponsored attack, then we have a message of some kind beginning with the letter Y,” said the fat controller trying to get one-step ahead.
Well I don’t believe that he is sending us anything Islamic, or in Arabic. His name starts with the letter Y, and so does his sister’s name, Yasmine,” David Bell continued.
If your theory is right then the next attack should be on a site beginning with the letter A, and the one after that should be the letter S.” Chen typed the letter A into the digital computer screen and pressed search. The screen came back with two hundred and fifty thousand places that began with the letter A. He narrowed the search to the UK only and reduced the number to sixty-two thousand. It was still like looking for a needle in a haystack. Chen tried several different searches; Cathedrals beginning with A, produced just twelve possible targets countrywide; Churches or synagogues beginning with, A increased the possible number to twelve thousand. It was all supposition and speculation; they needed more information to narrow the search.
We must have something else that we can use to cross-reference this information with. What else did we really discover from the raids in Warrington?” Chen said thoughtfully, scratching his head.
There was nothing that we can use here. The only information that we haven’t received yet, is a report from uniform division. They were going door to door on the industrial parks checking out businesses to see if any of them were not legitimate. They were supposed to cross-reference all the vehicles that entered the park against their registered business addresses. I’ll give them a call now and see if anything jumps out as being useful to us,” David Bell said reaching for the telephone.
Chen radioed the Armed Response Unit tailing the Bosnian suspect Rasim Janet. He had shot Sian and everyone was keen to bring him down, but they were also hoping that he would lead them to Yasser Ahmed. Chen was informed that the Bosnian was on a train heading for Chester. That made sense, because he would have to change trains there to continue his journey North to Warrington. Alternatively, he could transfer to a train travelling East to Liverpool. He was being tailed by a very competent undercover agent named DC Ruth Walsh whom Chen was familiar with. There was a full surveillance team a
lready assembled at Chester waiting for Rasim Janet to make a move.
David Bell tapped Chen on the shoulder, making him jump with pain. His bullet wound was still fragile despite him no longer using the sling. He signed off with the Armed Response Unit and turned back to the intelligence gathering. “This is very interesting. I can’t believe uniform haven’t spotted this and sent it on to us, the bloody idiots,” Bell said, taking off his round spectacles and wiping spittle from around his mouth. He always spat a little bit involuntarily when he became annoyed, and even more so if he was drunk. “Calm down and tell me what you think it is that is so important,” Chen said hiding a smirk. “We gave uniformed division the job of cross checking every vehicle that moved on and off that industrial park against the company’s house records in London. One company on the list did not exist as a legitimate business. They apparently buy and sell reconditioned vehicles from a unit not far from the cold room operation that we raided,” Bell stopped to take a drink. “Have uniform been to the business in question to investigate?” Chen asked, not quite keeping up with conversation. “Yes they have and the unit was empty. They cleared out a week ago according to their trading neighbours. It was completely scrubbed down and gutted apparently. Now here is the best bit, guess what type of vehicles they repaired?” Bell said dribbling a little again and waving his round spectacles about in frustration.
I have no idea, please get to the point,” Chen encouraged.
They repaired ice-cream vans and hot dog wagons. The neighbours saw several rundown machines being taken there and just assumed that’s what business they were in,” Bell stood up and kicked the desk.
We need to get sniffer dogs into that building to see if there was ever any explosive in there. I mean right now, today!” Chen walked to the digital screen and typed in the word `events’ beginning with A. Nothing of any significance appeared. “What are you looking for now?” Bell asked. He had just ordered the dog teams to the industrial unit to search for trace evidence. “We must be able to use this ice-cream van information to narrow down the search. Ahmed will look for an event where there are large crowds of people if he is going to utilise this van theory”. Chen looked out of the window toward the River Mersey and watched six men cross the road, all wearing red Liverpool football shirts. “Oh my God, it’s the FA Cup-tie today. Liverpool will be playing Everton in the quarter final of the cup. There will be thousands of people there today. The game is being played at Anfield,” Chen spoke as if he was in a dream as the realisation of the horrific scenario hit home. There was only half an hour to kick-off.
CHAPTER 54
Rasim Janet / DC Ruth Walsh, Chester.
The train approached the station at Chester and Rasim stood up and walked to the carriage door. DC Ruth Walsh waited by the door at the opposite end from Rasim, the wheels of the train squealed as it came to a standstill and Rasim left the carriage. He walked over to a refreshment stand and bought a bottle of mineral water. Rasim gulped down another two stolen painkillers to try and give him some relief from his shoulder wound while he checked the station timetable to see what time his connecting train would arrive; he had an hour to wait so he decided to telephone Yasser.
DC Ruth Walsh headed to a news stand and flicked through the magazines that were laid out there while she watched her quarry. She noticed that Sian’s Glock was in Rasim’s waistband next to his right pocket. The gun was useless apart from the frightening effect it could have on the general public if it was brandished in a crowded place. The Armed Response Unit had searched the hospital grounds and Sian’s stolen Jeep, as soon as they were alerted to Rasim’s possible whereabouts. The gun had been recovered from its hiding place and made safe by having the firing pin removed before being replaced. They didn’t want to alert Rasim to the fact that he was being followed, but he had already shot one officer so the gun was rendered useless. Rasim was also unaware that the clothes and shoes that he had stolen had been left there purposely for him to steal. Everything he was wearing had microchip trackers in it. DC Ruth Walsh couldn’t lose Rasim if she tried.
Rasim Janet seemed agitated as he made a telephone call from a bank of pay phones. It was obvious that there had been no reply. Rasim scuffed his foot hard, repeatedly against the wall beneath the phone as he waited for his call to be answered. The call had been tracked by a team of surveillance experts sitting in a replica furniture van in the station car park. The information from the number dialled was processed at the old Newborough Preparatory School thirty miles away in Woolton. The number that Rasim had dialled was listed as a British Telecom landline at an address in Anfield, Liverpool. Tank and his team would already be on their way to the address by the time Rasim hung up the receiver.
Rasim knew that something had gone wrong; the number that he had dialled at Yasser’s basement flat always had a messaging service attached to it. The caller would leave a coded message and a contact number, and Yasser would call back on an untraceable cell phone. This time there was no answer machine. The number just rang and rang. It was as if someone was trying to make the caller stay on the line long enough for a trace to be made on it. Rasim knew that he had made a huge mistake by waiting on the telephone for so long. The pain in his shoulder and the effect of the painkilling drugs had dulled his usually sharp instincts. The only way anybody would be able to trace a call from a public telephone would be if they knew where you were going to be, and had bugged it prior to you arriving. He realised that he was being followed. This was a set up.
There were six undercover Armed Response agents on the platform, including DC Ruth Walsh. She was the lead officer, and so none of them would make a move until she gave the signal. The suspect’s demeanour had changed dramatically since he tried to make the phone call. He was nervous and he was behaving furtively. Rasim looked around the station platform and studied the passengers that he could see. Every one of them could be a police officer for all he knew. Rasim started to panic. The pain in his shoulder was returning as his stress levels increased. He could feel the warmth of blood soaking into the bandage. Sweat trickled down his back as he tried to fathom a way out of the trap that he was in. He felt like a rat in a cage. Rasim spotted a public lavatory block about ten-yards from where he was standing and he decided to buy some time by heading into it quickly.
The white tiled walls were covered in graffiti and the stale smell of urine was overpowering as Rasim entered the toilets. There was a small narrow window at the far end of the block above a stainless steel sink. He ran to the sink, jumped up onto it, and then tried to open the window. It opened enough for him to able to squeeze through, but he swore loudly when he saw the metal bars that were fixed to the outside wall, preventing him from using this as an escape route. Rasim noticed that the pretty woman from the Bangor station was talking hurriedly to two men. The men had small earpieces and were looking directly at him. Realisation that they had been spotted made the six agent’s spring into action; DC Ruth Walsh pulled her Glock 9mm and pointed it toward the toilet block at Rasim’s head. Rasim dropped quickly from the toilet window and banged his shoulder on the door of a stinking cubicle. The cubicle door was flung open, revealing a startled punter who was enjoying a blowjob from a local station prostitute who called herself Jo. Rasim hit the man in the face hard, knocking him to the floor. He grabbed Jo up from her knees and put his arm around her throat tightly. He pulled out Sian’s gun and put it to the prostitutes head. Rasim could hear the frantic voices coming from the platform outside, it sounded as if at least half a dozen agents were clearing the public away to safety.
Rasim edged slowly out of the stinking lavatory, using Jo as a human shield. DC Ruth Walsh couldn’t understand where Rasim had found this tarty looking woman from at first, but then it dawned on her. Rasim edged along the toilet wall toward the tracks, sweat was soaking his shirt and stinging his eyes. His shoulder wound was openly bleeding; he could feel the blood running under his armpit and down the side of his body.
Rasim Janet. Let the
woman go and lie down on the floor, or I will instruct my officers to kill you. Your gun has been rendered useless so just let the girl go and you live. You have got two seconds to comply,” DC Walsh shouted. Rasim could not understand how this pretty policewoman knew his name. He could also not believe that his gun was useless. The pain in his shoulder was making him feel physically sick. Rasim felt a warm sensation running down his thigh and he realised that the prostitute Jo had wet herself in fright. The warm liquid soaked down his jeans and into his stolen trainers. The shock of being peed on made him loosen his grip on the woman and she stamped her foot hard into Rasim’s shin. He lost his grip and she bolted toward the police officers. A startled looking man staggered out of the toilet block that Rasim had just left. He was bleeding from the nose and his limp penis was hanging out of his trousers.
In all the confusion, Rasim squeezed the trigger of his gun; it made a loud click in his hand. He was devastated. Rasim was sick that his journey had ended here on this station platform far away from his home. Armed police surrounded him, because he had killed a policewoman, and now he had a decommissioned weapon in his hand, and he was covered in urine. Rasim heard the roar of an approaching express train and he bolted.
