Latent Hazard

by Piers Venmore-Rowland

  Kate, Emma and Rafi arrived at the interview room moments before Jeremy and a very disgruntled Aidan Gilchrist, who looked as if a thunder cloud was hovering directly over his head.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ he enquired in an annoyed tone. ‘I thought you were taking me somewhere civilised to talk, not to a bloody police station.’ He turned and, on seeing Rafi greeting him with a smile, did a double take.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  Suddenly, it dawned on Rafi that his mugshot must have been all over the papers as the man behind the bombing.

  Aidan looked uncertainly at Rafi and, like the first class financial dealer that he was, he quickly regained his composure. He was now acting as if he had known what was going to happen all along.

  Kate decided to take charge of the situation and spoke up. ‘Let me introduce you to my team: I’m Detective Inspector Kate Adams and this is my assistant, Detective Constable Emma Jessop. We specialise in financial fraud. You already know our infamous friend, Rafi. We’ll shortly be joined by the head of our IT section, Greg Thompson, and you’ve met Jeremy, from MI5. Please bear in mind that you’re here as our guest. I’m sorry that our hospitality doesn’t match the standards set by your bank.’ Kate smiled with a twinkle in her eyes. ‘Rafi has been helping us with our enquiries. He’s best placed to explain why we need your help,’ she concluded, indicating to Rafi that he could begin.

  ‘Thank you, Kate. Aidan, I’m sorry for the cloak-and-dagger stuff. Basically, I was framed. By accident, I stumbled across pieces of the terrorists’ plans. Before we go any further I should explain your position and make it absolutely clear once again that you’re here under no coercion. I asked Jeremy to get you as I need your help because I believe the terrorists are targeting the derivatives market. Let me explain why.’

  ‘OK, wait a minute. Are you saying that if I think you’re talking a load of bullshit I can walk out of here?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Rafi, ‘with one proviso: you can’t tell anyone you’ve seen me. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Aidan. ‘Please start, I’m all ears.’

  Rafi sensed that the other members of the team weren’t happy with what he had promised Aidan. No doubt the signing of some formal documentation would be the norm. But this was the City of London, where for Rafi and his work colleagues ‘one’s word was one’s bond’.

  The phone rang before Rafi could begin. Kate picked it up, listened for a moment and spoke to Jeremy. ‘Your delivery from Luigi’s is downstairs.’

  He disappeared out of the room and returned a few minutes later with coffee, croissants and pastries.

  Rafi started. ‘We’ve uncovered a network of companies controlled by a terrorist cell. For example, they indirectly run four London listed companies, including a niche finance house, an import/export company and an armaments business. We reckon they’ve been planning things for over two years. We think that they will attack our energy installations and bankrupt a number of companies. Their aim, I believe, is to trigger a meltdown of the financial markets and profit from their positions in the derivatives market. As a top, if not the top derivatives man, could you help us find out what they’re up to and help us stop them?’

  Aidan had listened intently. ‘What help will I have?’

  ‘You’ll have Emma to help you,’ said Kate.

  ‘That’s it? Bloody hell, this isn’t going to be easy.’ Aidan looked across at Emma. ‘Tell me you’ve got a degree in rocket science!’

  ‘Afraid not,’ replied Emma. ‘I studied applied mathematics; I’ve experience as an accountant and . . .’

  Aidan cut her off. ‘Well, you can’t have everything,’ he beamed. ‘Emma, you’ll do fine. What about IT kit?’

  ‘You’ll meet Greg, our IT Manager, after this meeting,’ said Kate.

  She looked carefully at Aidan. ‘Are you willing to promise that everything you see and do here remains 100% confidential?’

  Aidan nodded. ‘I have no doubt that you could make life very difficult for me and my employers if I broke my promise.’ He took a sip of his coffee. ‘My lips are sealed. Shall we get started?’

  His demeanour, which to start with had been a mixture of tension and annoyance, was now relaxed and businesslike.

  ‘What we need to know is whether they are trying to short or manipulate the relevant futures or options contracts,’ Rafi paused. ‘My educated view is that the action will be in the long gilts and interest-rate contracts.’

  Aidan looked at Rafi. His face was deadly serious; his light blue eyes, sharp as a sabre, focused on him. ‘It’s funny – no, let me rephrase that – it’s a great coincidence that you should be talking of these two markets. Up to a fortnight ago, they were trading as might be expected in these volatile times and everyone was comfortable with an interest rate scenario where over the next year they move up by a few percent. But now the volume of deals betting on them rising significantly has grown to the point where someone or a group of people out there fervently believe they are heading into double digits. The view amongst the traders is that a few punters have lost their marbles and instead of playing the roulette tables have decided to place some big bets in these derivative contracts. If they’re right they’ll make huge profits. My informed guess is you could be on to something. I’d be glad to check it out for you. I suggest we initially concentrate on those derivative markets with a central clearing house, as settlement will be simpler for the terrorists who will undoubtedly want to get their money out quickly and surreptitiously.’

  ‘Agreed – thank you – that’d be perfect,’ said Rafi.

  There was a quiet knock on the door; Greg, not waiting for a reply, walked in.

  ‘Kind of you to join us,’ said Kate. ‘Let me introduce you to Aidan Gilchrist of Maine Leadbetter, the international bank. He’s a derivatives guru and is here to help us. Aidan, Greg is our IT manager. He has an uncanny knack for getting into online databases and making things work. He’ll set you up with whatever you need in terms of hardware and software. His budgets are a tiny proportion of yours, so the kit isn’t as smart as what you’re used to, but it should do the job.’

  Greg had found a plate and was enjoying the last croissant.

  ‘Aidan, please tell Greg what you’ll need.’ Kate shot a brief smile at Greg.

  ‘First of all,’ said Aidan, ‘I could do with access to my bank’s intranet, in such a way that no one can trace it. No – that would raise too many suspicions.’ Aidan thought for a moment. ‘Would it be possible to arrange access from here via my home IP address?’

  ‘Shouldn’t be a problem.’

  ‘Secondly, I need access to the central computers of the clearing house LCH.Clearnet and of the main UK derivatives markets, Euronext.liffe. In due course, it would be useful to have access to the CME – Chicago Mercantile Exchange – and Eurex in Frankfurt. Also, if possible, some names of contacts in their settlement teams would be a real bonus.’

  Greg nodded.

  ‘Thirdly, I could do with a desktop PC with a bit of grunt and access to a good printer. And fourthly,’ he turned and looked at Emma, ‘access to a supply of coffee would be appreciated.’

  As if to signal the end of the meeting, Greg slid his empty plate forward and looked up. ‘If that’s all, I’ll get started on your shopping list. If I seem a bit stressed, please bear with me. The commissioner has asked that I give you priority, but why does everything arrive in twos like London buses? We still have a load of unfinished business following the Bishopsgate bombing, which took out their IT servers and means they’re using ours. It’s all a bit of a bugger’s muddle,’ Greg added as he left.

  ‘Emma, would you please take Aidan under your wing?’ asked Kate, changing the subject.

  ‘Yes, sure. I’d be happy to,’ replied Emma.

  Kate turned and looked at Rafi. Her eyes twinkled. ‘And I’ll team up with Rafi.’

  She looked pleased, as if she’d got what she wanted. She held Rafi’s gaze,
gave him a barely perceivable wink and added, ‘Which should be interesting.’

  Rafi got up to leave as if he’d finished a normal business meeting.

  Kate looked a little crestfallen by his lack of interest and right at that moment it dawned on Rafi that he had accidentally ignored her gesture.

  He looked at her with new eyes. She was attractive in a gamine way, her hazel eyes were radiant . . . He cut short his thoughts – this definitely wasn’t the time for distractions.

  Aidan stood up. ‘Where’s my desk?’

  ‘Follow me, I’ll show you’ said Emma.

  ‘Where do you want it set up?’ said one of Greg’s team, pulling a trolley with a serious-looking PC on it. Emma pointed to the desk to the left of the whiteboard.

  Greg popped his head around the door. ‘By the way, do you happen to know your home IP address or would you like me to find it out for you?’

  Aidan gave Greg his nine-digit IP address. ‘Could you also arrange for my home phone line to be routed through to here?’

  ‘No problem.’ He turned and left.

  ‘Will your colleagues notice your absence?’ asked Emma ‘You might like to tell them you’ll be away from the office for some while.’

  ‘Good idea. I’ll be able to tell them I’m working from home as soon as Greg has me set up.’

  Minutes later he was up and running.

  ‘The printer is where?’ Aidan called across to no one in particular.

  Emma pointed to a large, outdated HP printer next to her desk.

  ‘Bloody hell! I haven’t seen one of those for years. Did you get it from the museum up the road?’

  ‘That’s a bit too close to the truth to be funny,’ interjected Kate.

  Aidan busied himself and in no time the printer was churning out sheets of paper.

  Emma glanced at him. ‘I didn’t know you had your IP address rerouted yet. What are you up to?’

  ‘I thought I’d access some background data from the Web to save some time.’

  Fifteen minutes later, the phone on the corner of Aidan’s desk rang. He scooped it up without taking his eyes away from his screen, said, ‘Thanks’ and put it down. He now had access to his bank’s intranet.

  Rafi went over to Kate. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t seem enthusiastic about the prospect of working with you earlier. My mind was on other things. Shall we get started?’

  Kate looked at him carefully, almost quizzically – she couldn’t make him out. ‘Where do you suggest we start?’

  ‘Let’s work on the property angle. It shouldn’t be long before we hear from the property agent,’ replied Rafi.

  Twenty minutes later Justin telephoned. He sounded rather sheepish. He had put the list of properties through the three databases and had expected reams of information to come out. He apologised that he had only managed to get seventeen pages of information and hoped that this would be satisfactory. The envelope was at their Queen Victoria Street reception desk.

  Constable Peter Ashby was waiting nearby in a squad car and made the pickup.

  Less than fifteen minutes later he was handing over the envelope to Kate.

  It was coming up to 9 a.m. Peter gave his apologies. ‘Sorry, must dash. I’ve my first meeting with a bank manager in half an hour, followed by four more meetings with other banks,’ he said with a broad smile. ‘I’ll keep you posted on how I get on with the interest payments and the companies. Speak later,’ and with that he left keenly.

  Kate passed the printouts to Rafi to analyse. Six agents showed up. Dewoodson cropped up more than any of the other names. Rafi smiled; so they were involved. They would be his starting point. From their website, he located their head office in Manchester, and noted they had offices in London, Edinburgh and Bristol. He passed the contact details to Kate.

  She rang their head office – she was slightly nervous as this was going to be a difficult phone conversation and she didn’t want to tip them off that she was from the police. ‘May I please speak to the person dealing with the property company PREH?’

  The receptionist hesitated.

  ‘Oliver Stone, our managing director, looks after their agency deals and William Wesson deals with their valuations.’

  ‘I’d like to speak to Mr Wesson then, please.’

  There was a short wait before Kate was put through to his secretary. ‘I’m sorry but Mr Wesson is out of the office and isn’t expected back until after lunch – I suggest you ring back then,’ she informed Kate curtly and then hung up.

  Kate rang back and asked to speak to Oliver Stone, the MD. After another wait she was put through to his personal assistant.

  ‘Mr Stone is in a meeting and can’t be disturbed.’

  ‘It is important.’

  The PA was firm in her reply. ‘I’m sorry but Mr Stone has left me strict instructions that he mustn’t be disturbed,’ she insisted and hung up.

  Kate looked across at Rafi, ‘I wonder if it was the mention of the name PREH that made them so unhelpful?’

  ‘Quite possibly.’

  Kate picked up the phone again and spoke to the switchboard.

  ‘Could you please put me through to Manchester Central?’

  Kate spoke to the duty officer. ‘DI Adams here. Could you please put me through to one of your senior colleagues in Special Branch – counter-terrorism?’

  A Detective Chief Inspector Rick Feldon picked up the phone.

  ‘Good morning, how can I help you?’

  Kate introduced herself and explained what she was working on. ‘I’ve good reason to believe that a firm of surveyors, Dewoodson, who are based in Spring Gardens, have information on a property company – PREH – which is linked to our investigations. They’re being uncooperative. As a matter of importance and urgency, I’m after a copy of the last valuation report, together with any other information available on PREH.’

  ‘Can you email me details of what you want?’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Also, Rick, please bear in mind that this needs to be done with diplomacy and very quietly. They can’t know we’re on to them. I could do with their MD, Oliver Stone, and their valuer, William Wesson, being interviewed and kept totally incommunicado for at least twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Sounds right up our street!’

  There was a short silence before Rick said, ‘How’s about we pull them in on something else? Leave it with me, I’ll come up with something which will enable us to search their premises and confiscate their computers. My colleague, Phil Smith, and I will pick them up as soon as we get your email.’

  It was nearly 10 a.m. on Thursday morning. Rafi had his fingers crossed that the valuation report would reveal more properties. If they too were close to energy targets it would confirm his suspicions and fill in valuable missing pieces to their jigsaw puzzle.

  Their work was interrupted by a call from Colonel Matlik.

  ‘Good afternoon, Colonel,’ said Kate, putting him on speakerphone.

  ‘Sorry for the delay – I had hoped to get back to you sooner. However, your leads have proved most fruitful. Are you sitting down?’

  ‘Er . . . Yes.’

  There was an ominous tone to his voice.

  ‘We have checked to see who owns the rifle ranges. They are owned by an unincorporated business that we find is run by your SPAD. Mr Koit owned the surrounding land. I sent a couple of my operatives to visit the executive gun training facility and they tried their hand at shooting on the 1,000-metre range. Behind the firing positions they spotted an area where the winter vegetation was partially scorched – the telltale signs of a missile launcher – and to the side of the targets was what looked like a demolished building. After their session they went to have a discrete look. It was not a building, but a concrete wall over two metres thick. Whatever had been fired at it had punched a hole through the concrete like a knife through butter. It had been hit a couple of times, which explained why it looked such a mess. Beside the rubble, covered by a layer of soil, th
ey found a three-metre by five-metre block of metal. It was made from fifty steel sheets, each two centimetres thick, which had been welded together. It was over one metre thick and it too had two gaping holes in it.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ said Kate under her breath, but she let the Colonel continue.

  ‘I’ve been doing some research on what could cause such damage. We believe something like the Kornet E Anti-Tank Armour missile was used. It is an impressive piece of equipment and truly destructive if you are on the receiving end. It can blast a hole through one metre of armour; and not just steel armour, but explosive reactive armour. It’s the kit that gives the likes of you or me nightmares. In daylight its range is up to 5.5 kilometres and trained users can fire two missiles per minute. To add spice to its capabilities, it can be fitted with either tank busting or high explosive thermobaric warheads. It gets worse: it is very accurate as it has either thermal or optical sights to detect and track the target. And the launcher comes with a tripod – both are transportable.’

  ‘Do you reckon it needs trained operatives to use it?’ enquired a horrified Kate.

  ‘One professional would do – though it would be like holding a tiger by its tail. One thing is for sure, though: it should not be fired in a confined space unless the operator wishes to have an early cremation.’

  ‘Can these missiles and the launchers be purchased by any chance on the black market?’

  ‘What can’t these days?’ replied the deep voice. ‘I reckon 50,000 would go a long way in the black market.’

  ‘Very helpful and disturbing. Thank you,’ said Kate. ‘You have done a fantastic job . . .’ she was interrupted.

  ‘There is more. On the AEIEA front, we brought in the manager earlier this morning on the grounds of committing a serious road traffic offence involving the death of a pedestrian. A tax inspector and two of my officers have been searching their warehouse and offices. Amongst the paperwork they found two interesting invoices: one was for five miscellaneous launchers, and another one for twenty miscellaneous missiles. The name of the purchaser was left blank. It was dated eleven days ago. AEIEA’s import manifest showed dealings with a private Russian company – Restaya – which is known to the Russian FSB and is believed to be involved in the black market arms trade.’