Aidan paused. He looked deadly serious. ‘The financial markets would drop like a lead balloon, enabling the terrorists to make a fortune from their positions in the derivatives markets.’
‘I agree with Aidan,’ said Rafi. ‘They attack a number of energy installations and at the same time burden the Government with more financial liabilities.’
‘So, to put it bluntly, they want to crucify our markets and our economy and then walk away with a shedload of money,’ observed Emma.
‘It looks as if we have two separate issues to deal with,’ said Kate. ‘The attacks and then what they are doing in the financial markets. Aidan, you focus on the financial markets and the rest of the team will concentrate on the attacks.’
‘Will do,’ said Aidan.
‘Well, who do we think will deploy the missiles?’ Emma enquired. ‘A student fanatic might be trained to use a semi-automatic gun or explosives, but Kornet missiles are a very sophisticated piece of equipment.’
‘I’d go with terrorists with military experience,’ said Kate.
‘But such people wouldn’t be easy to get into the UK, would they? Even on false passports,’ Rafi asked.
‘Who knows?’ replied John. ‘As things stand we can’t rule anything out.’
‘We have to substantiate these suppositions and convince our bosses,’ said Kate. ‘It won’t be an easy task.’
‘Oh hell!’ The exclamation came from the direction of Emma’s desk; she turned to Kate. ‘I said that the sides of the steel canisters were 900 mm thick. I was looking at the wrong bloody figures – the ones that are normally used in the UK are only 400 mm, i.e. fifteen inches thick. A thermobaric Kornet missile would literally rip the container apart and spew the contents here, there and bloody everywhere.’
‘My God!’ said Kate. ‘The consequences would be unthinkable.’
‘That puts Willesden higher up the list,’ added John.
There was a stunned silence in the room.
It was broken by Rafi. ‘Aidan, we both believe that part of their plan is to make a financial killing in the derivative markets, don’t we?’
‘Yes.’
‘If ESSA, the head hunting business has placed bent people into the dealing rooms of financial institutions and they are discreetly acting as counter parties to the terrorists’ transactions, it would enable the terrorists to build up very big positions, wouldn’t it?’
Aidan cursed under his breath before adding, ‘The impact of a trader entering into a large number of these derivative contracts at the wrong time could be dire. It would be like walking in front of a Chieftain tank going at 40 mph.’
‘It doesn’t bear contemplating,’ Rafi added. ‘And it would make it very expensive for the Government or the Bank of England to stop the financial system going into meltdown.’
‘And they would have to react very quickly,’ said Aidan.
‘Aidan, I know you’re busy,’ interrupted Kate, ‘but could you chat to ESSA using your home phone number and find out what they’ve been doing in your field?’
‘Will do.’
Emma waved a piece of paper. ‘Here are their details.’ Aidan looked impressed. He was meant to, Rafi thought, spotting Emma’s smile.
Aidan made the call to ESSA. The person he needed to speak to was out until mid-afternoon.
A quiet determination filled the office as they concentrated on the work at hand.
Emma stopped what she was doing and sat bolt upright. She was looking frustrated.
‘What’s up?’ asked Kate.
‘It’s just that I can’t place something; I’m looking at the cold store and packaging operations of HFFF. Something is bothering me; I just can’t recall what it is that I’m trying to remember!’
Aidan looked up from his desk. ‘What makes you think that you’re missing something?’
‘Well,’ said Emma, ‘I was reading something which mentioned fishing – and I can’t bloody remember what it was!’
Aidan smiled and popped his head back down below his parapet of papers.
‘It’s a wonder you manage to get any work done, sitting there daydreaming,’ he muttered, just loud enough for Emma to hear him.
Emma got up and walked determinedly across to his desk. Aidan sensed that he’d gone too far with his banter. Emma, who was twenty centimetres shorter than Aidan, looked straight at him and hissed, ‘Stand up, please.’
Aidan looked a little apprehensive; he stood up and Emma moved closer. Rafi had his fingers crossed that the team wasn’t going to come apart at the seams. Emma stood there, milking the anticipation and doubt in Aidan’s mind. She leant forward, raised herself up on to her tiptoes and placed a fleeting kiss on Aidan cheek. Emma smiled, wrinkled her nose in a playful manner, turned round and winked at Kate.
‘What was that for?’ asked Aidan.
‘Oh it’s just that you’re brilliant,’ Emma said turning round and looking at him. ‘It’s you and your sense of humour. It gets me thinking in strange ways.’
Aidan blushed slightly.
‘No, not that way – it’s silly, but you mentioned work and that helped me remember what was niggling me.’
Emma made a beeline for a filing cabinet and rooted through the contents of a drawer.
‘What are you looking for?’ asked Kate.
‘A briefing note on immigration; we got one a little while back setting out the priority employment sectors and how these might be exploited to gain fast track entry into the UK. It highlighted certain industry sectors. Found it! Yes! Fish packers are on that list and HFFF employs them. This would give the terrorists a legitimate and easy way of getting undesirables into the UK.’
‘It’s a long shot. Leave it with me and I’ll see what I can find.’ Kate phoned the switchboard and got the number for their contact at the Immigration Department.
‘Oh blast,’ said Kate, ‘it looks like they’ve left their answerphone on.’ She left a message asking for her call to be returned with utmost urgency.
A few minutes later the phone rang. It was a man from the Immigration Office. Kate explained what she needed. He gave her a couple of names and mobile phone numbers.
‘I must apologise for the delay in replying,’ he said. ‘I’m here by myself and you caught me talking on another line. I’m sorry. It’s these targets – I have to answer all calls in less than two minutes or I get a red mark. Given the complexity of some of the requests, how on earth can I process people in under two minutes? My boss at the department wants me to go part-time; he says he needs to transfer part of my budget across to the growing team of data collectors. He says that way he can show the junior minister he’s meeting the targets. If you ask me, it’s the doing that matters, not the collating of the performance tables. Sorry for the outburst. If the phone numbers I’ve given you are busy, please ring me back and I’ll see whether I can find you someone else who can help.’
‘No problem and thank you for your assistance,’ said Kate sympathetically.
The first number Kate tried was switched off. The second was answered with a quiet, ‘Hello, Steve Lee here.’
Kate explained her pressing need for information and the importance of confidentiality. ‘Can you help?’ she asked.
She was greeted with, ‘Oh shit! Oh shit not again, why now?’
Kate’s face turned very serious; she was about to read the riot act to the person on the other end of the phone when she heard him shout, ‘Lucy!’ and then louder, ‘Lucy, can you rescue me please? The little tyke has done another projectile poo.’ There was a brief silence. It seemed that Lucy had arrived in the nick of time and had taken charge of the situation. ‘Darling, let me have him; I‘ll finish off the nappy changing. You can sort out your work.’
Steve was most embarrassed and very apologetic. ‘Sorry, it’s meant to be my day off. Oh hell, I need to put the phone down again; he got me all down the side of my trousers as well. Lucy is going to love it; I’ve just backed into the side of the sofa! Look,’
he said, ‘the sooner I get out of here, the safer for everyone; give me a couple of minutes to change and, say, twenty minutes to get to the office. Ring me on this number in twenty-five minutes and I’ll be at my desk where I’ll be in a better position to help. I promise that this isn’t a brush off.’
‘It’d better not be!’ said Kate. ‘By the way, what’s your son’s name?’
‘Liam,’ he said and hung up.
The office returned to a quiet, studious work mode.
Aidan looked up at Emma, who by coincidence had been looking his way; their eyes met for a brief moment but both thought better of saying anything. A couple of smiles later they were heads down, focused on their paperwork.
Kate phoned Steve. ‘I’m looking at a company called HFFF – Hotel Frozen Fish Foods. I need to know whether they’ve employed any non-nationals via fast track visas, working as, say, fish packers or filleters over the past, say, three or four years.’
‘Bit of a specific question,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what we can find. Can you give me the company name again and its registration number or address?’
Kate spoke to Emma, who passed her the information Steve requested.
‘Thank you,’ replied Steve. ‘I must apologise since the system is always slow bringing up information. I suspect it’s feeling a little overworked at the moment, though please don’t quote me on that. Ah yes, HFFF has seen a significant growth in their workforce over the past couple of years. They’ve put in six – no sorry – seven fast track visa applications for fish packers and filleters. Of these, we were able to process three on the nod as they were for EU citizens from Eastern Europe. The other four were non-EU nationals and all their visa requests have been approved too. All in the past sixteen months! I see from a note on the file from my colleague Roger that they’re opening up a large new cold store and packaging facility later this year, hence their recent requests.’
‘Would you know where?’
‘Sorry, that isn’t part of the electronic notes. Roger – the guy who deals with this company – is away on holiday. He’ll be back tomorrow morning. By the way, what’s your email address?’ asked Steve.
There was a brief silence after Kate provided him with the information and then Steve came back on the line. ‘I’ve emailed you the details we have on each of these individuals. I’ve tried Roger’s mobile but it’s switched off, as is his voicemail. I’ll send him a text message and put a note on his desk letting him know to get in touch as soon as he’s back. Wait a minute! I am a berk – of course he’s not answering; he’s flying back from his holiday in the States. What’s your timescale?’
‘Yesterday would be ideal. But as soon as possible, please. It’s really important,’ said Kate. ‘Steve, if you or Roger can’t get through to me, here is my fax number. Mark any faxes as – Urgent – please.’
‘Will do,’ he said, ‘I can’t promise that Roger will remember where the new cold store is located. He keeps a number of notebooks, but I’ve never been able to decipher what he puts into them. One of us will be in touch first thing tomorrow.’
‘Oh, by the way, while I’ve got you on the line,’ said Kate, ‘what other fast track ways into the UK are available?’
‘Off the record, news agency journalism is a good one,’ Steve replied. ‘Interestingly, representatives of overseas newspapers who are employed and paid in the UK don’t need a work permit. All they have to show is evidence that they’ve been engaged by a news organisation outside the UK and the posting to the UK is a long-term assignment and they have sufficient funds to live here. We don’t always have the time to check that the foreign organisation is in business. The process is remarkably straightforward. Like fish processors and filleters, journalists aren’t seen as a priority area to scrutinise. The paperwork often gets only a cursory glance. Did you know that after four years they become eligible to apply for residency?’
‘Could you look up a few more companies and check if they’ve made any visa requests that look out of the ordinary?’ asked Kate.
When they came to UKSOIL Steve said, ‘Bingo! They have an individual who fits your description: an overseas journalist working on their student newspaper. I’ll email his details to you.’
They found nothing more.
‘Thank you Steve. You’ve been really helpful,’ said Kate. ‘Best wishes to Lucy and Liam. Tell them from me that you’re a star for coming into the office on your day off.’
Kate printed out the details on the eight individuals and bounced the email on to Jeremy who, as luck would have it, returned a couple of minutes later. ‘Jeremy, could you help me track down the eight people I’ve just emailed you? They’re employed by HFFF and UKSOIL and have all taken advantage of the fast track visa application process. It seems that they’ve been here, acclimatising to the UK way of life, for between four and sixteen months. The likelihood is that they’re using false names.’
As an afterthought Kate forwarded the email to Colonel Matlik in Tallinn, with a short covering note: ‘These people have come up on our radar screen. Do any of them look familiar to you?’
She then called across to Emma. ‘Have you made any progress with the HFFF businesses or their trawlers?’
‘Yes; they’ve got a fleet of eight modern vessels. Four are registered at Peterhead, two at Grimsby and two in Tallinn. I’ve confirmation that three of the Peterhead trawlers are out in the Atlantic Ocean, somewhere up towards Iceland, and they’re due back next week. The fourth, Northern Rose, is in port at Peterhead. The two Estonian trawlers are in the Norwegian Sea and are due back in Tallinn late Sunday or Monday. Unfortunately, Highland Rose and Rosemarie from Grimsby are still unaccounted for.’ Emma continued, ‘And I’ve been talking to the coastguard. The talk is that Northern Rose in Peterhead is due to sail tomorrow around lunchtime.’
‘Good work.’
‘And,’ added Emma, ‘HFFF has a cold store and processing unit in Peterhead, but they’re opening fish restaurants and hotels in the south of the country. So why don’t they have a cold store in the South of England?’
‘The north side of London would be ideal,’ commented Kate. ‘Somewhere near Willesden, perhaps?’
‘Exactly!’ said Emma. ‘Anyway, I phoned their sales office in Peterhead posing as the manager of a fish restaurant in South London. I enquired whether they operated around London. The reply was that their nearest depot was up North. They do deliveries to London, but there was a large minimum order. The person I spoke to believed there might be plans afoot to open a facility outside London, but she hadn’t been formally told as yet. She asked me to give her a ring in six months’ time.’
Kate frowned. ‘That ties in with the comment from Steve at the Immigration Office about HFFF looking to expand. So they could well have a property somewhere in the South of England.’
Rafi got up and wrote on the whiteboard in red under HFFF: Property near London? Where?
The phone rang. John picked it up. It was one of Jeremy’s MI5 colleagues. ‘Jeremy asked to be kept informed of the whereabouts of Basel Talal. Sorry for the delay; some information has just come through from the Belgian authorities. Your man, Talal, landed in Paris last Tuesday morning almost two hours before Jameel flew out from there to Marrakech. We don’t know if they met.’ The MI5 man hesitated. ‘As Basel had no onward flight we had assumed that he was staying in Paris. The boss, however, wanted us to be more thorough and we gained access to the French, Belgian and Dutch passenger manifests. It transpires that Basel hopped on to the TGV to Brussels, boarded a flight to Copenhagen and then flew on to Reykjavík. He must have antifreeze in his blood to go there at this time of year! We’ve sent an operative up to Reykjavík to investigate and another is keeping an eye on Jameel.’
‘Thanks mate,’ said John and hung up. ‘Kate, Emma, Rafi, our man Basel has done a runner and – would you believe it? – gone to Iceland.’
Going to Iceland in February seemed a strange move for Basel. What was the draw? thought Rafi. M
ost likely it wasn’t for pleasure. The way in which he had travelled to Iceland was suspicious. Why go to so much trouble unless he’d wanted to keep his destination secret? And why had Jameel chosen Marrakech? He had already taken a skiing holiday at the beginning of the year. Though he was the boss, he never took more than four weeks’ holiday in one year. So far, he’d clocked up almost three in the space of seven weeks. It was definitely out of character.
Jeremy’s journey across town was straightforward and he arrived at the coffee bar with a couple of minutes to spare, wondering whether he’d whetted Pete Lockyer’s appetite, or if he would be wasting his time.
But Pete was on time. Jeremy watched him saunter into the cafe. He was of medium build, slightly paunchy with receding mousey-brown hair. His face told a story of too many late nights. Pete was smiling, which was presumably a good sign.
Jeremy stood up. Pete spotted him, came over and sat down opposite him. Introductions out of the way, the coffees were ordered and they started chatting.
‘What have you got that makes it worth my while being here?’ asked Pete bluntly.
‘I’m doing a bit of undercover work on a rather wealthy individual who has his fingers in some interesting pies and I’m not certain what’s in it for you yet.’ Jeremy watched Pete. He didn’t look overly pleased.
‘Have you ever met a real spook before? I thought not. Well at least this can be marked down as part of your professional training.’
Latent Hazard Page 16
