Latent Hazard

by Piers Venmore-Rowland

  Rafi opened the door to their room and found a white envelope lying on the carpet. It contained two messages: one from Kate’s boss and one from Saara.

  Kate picked up the phone and spoke to David. It was a short call. ‘We’ll be picked up from the front of the hotel at 8 a.m. He wants me at work early.’

  She passed the phone to Rafi who dialled his sister’s number. There was a delay before the phone was answered. He guessed he’d woken her up.

  They chatted briefly and she updated him on the meetings she and Aidan’s economics team had had with the Chancellor of the Exchequer and representatives of the Bank of England.

  ‘They’re playing their cards very close to their chests. Heaven only knows what the Chancellor is going to do and say tomorrow. At least it’s a bank holiday and the markets will have to wait until Tuesday morning to digest things,’ said Saara. ‘I’m going back to Birmingham tomorrow evening. I’ve missed a couple of deadlines and don’t want to let my colleagues down . . . And I’m missing Steve.’

  ‘How are you getting home?’

  ‘Coach of course,’ came the reply. ‘I got the ticket booked for me earlier today by a helpful man at Number 11. I can’t wait to get back to normality. Let’s talk soon when things are calmer. Please give my love and a hug to Kate. Tell her Steve and I look forward to seeing you both in Birmingham. Bye.’ He put the phone down. He felt guilty, as he had not told Saara about their grandfather. He wanted to tell her face to face, but was it fair to keep the news from her?

  Rafi turned around to see where Kate had got to. She’d gone into the bedroom. He switched off the lights in the sitting room and went to join her. The bedroom lights were on, but Kate was in bed, fast asleep. Moments later he slipped into bed and turned off the light. He lay there thinking back over the day. Unexpectedly, it had been a very good day.

  Part 7

  After a good night’s sleep and a quick breakfast, Kate and Rafi were at their desks in Wood Street by 8.15 a.m. on Monday.

  Soon, though, Rafi found himself alone as Kate had disappeared to work with John and the rest of the team downstairs.

  The office felt strange without the pent-up tension of the previous week. Rafi tidied his desk and then browsed the Internet to see how the main overseas markets were trading. He looked at Bloomberg’s news page first. There, at the top of the ‘Breaking News’, was a headline than made him smile: ‘International markets closed – in respect for all those who lost their lives in London’. Rafi clicked on the link to read the story. It explained how the chairmen of the major international banks operating in London had got together and asked their home stock and derivatives exchanges not to open for the day as a mark of respect, and the idea had snowballed. Rafi smiled; the Chancellor had arranged things in a very appropriate manner.

  After forty minutes he’d run out of things to do so decided to see how things were progressing in the Ops Room. There Rafi was greeted as one of the team – basically no one took much notice of him! He looked at the screens and listened to the discussions going on.

  Puddle Jumper had arrived at Safi in the early hours of the morning with its crew of six and they had cleared customs. Golden Sundancer and the sheikh’s plane were some five hours away.

  The atmosphere ratcheted up a notch as Giles and David walked in, accompanied by Len Thunhurst, the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, John, Kate and the rest of their teams.

  Rafi noticed that video links had been established with regional police command centres. Those around him spoke of Operation ‘Dry Clean’ and explained it would be the largest series of coordinated arrests ever undertaken.

  Giles started the video link briefing. ‘The need for secrecy is absolute. Details of the arrests and the names of the intended targets won’t be released until Len Thunhurst is satisfied that it’s safe to do so. The terrorists’ network of contacts should not be underestimated – let’s not forget that two members of COBRA have been arrested. Operation “Dry Clean” will commence as soon as we receive confirmation that the ringleaders have been apprehended. There will be hell to pay if the terrorists are tipped off and give us the slip at the last moment. The capture of the terrorists is scheduled for 3.30 this afternoon, give or take a bit. Until then we must keep our actions under wraps. Len Thunhurst will be in charge of the UK arrests and I shall be overseeing the arrest of Maryam Vynckt in Luxembourg.’

  Len took up the proceedings. He congratulated Giles and his team on their work and turned to Emma. ‘The floor is all yours.’

  Emma looked worn out. She was a little hesitant at first, but soon got into her stride. She pointed to the electronic presentation on a second screen, which was linked to the conference rooms of those listening. Emma explained, using the diagrams on the screen, the relationship between Basel’s AGVC, Jameel’s Prima Terra, Maryam’s Gulf Trade Bank and the sheikh, who was the chief financier. She also mentioned the clandestine nominee holdings and the raft of public and private companies controlled and manipulated by the terrorist leaders. Jeremy nodded approvingly.

  Emma paused to take questions and then put a new image up on the screen. This contained a very lengthy list of names and addresses linked, where available, to mugshots of the people involved. She turned to Jeremy. ‘Thanks to the work of MI5, so far we’ve been able to trace 289 of the 323 people we’re interested in. MI5 will be seeking your assistance to find the missing individuals.

  ‘For those on our list,’ she continued, ‘we’ve adopted a colour coding of red, blue and black. The names in red are individuals who have been complicit in the recent terrorist activities and for whom we have more than sufficient evidence for a prosecution. The blues have direct connections with the recent activities, but more evidence has to be gathered before we’ve got a watertight case; for example, we may need to find their overseas bank account or where they’ve received their monies from the terrorists. The names in black are circumstantially linked: while we believe that they’ve been very much involved in the terrorists’ plans, we need more information before we can confirm their involvement. The red names are our first priority. However, all the names are important as they’ll complete the picture of what the terrorists have been planning and corroborate the case against those we’re going to prosecute.’

  Emma pointed to the screen. ‘As soon as we have a person in custody, we’ll give their name on our list a yellow background. That way we can quickly see how things are progressing.’

  ‘Thank you, Emma,’ said Len turning to the video camera, as he took over. ‘Many of the people you will be arresting are sleepers. Do not feel any sympathy for them – they are all implicated. Once in custody, we need to build a complete picture and identify any loose ends we have missed. Emma and her team, with the help of MI5, John and his team, have prepared a dossier on those you’ll be arresting. It will provide you with background details of what these individuals have been doing and how they’ve crossed the line. I do stress that each and every one of them should be treated with caution.’ Len paused to let his last statement sink in.

  ‘The resources of this terrorist operation have been likened by MI5 to those of a small- to medium-sized country. They have on their payroll some of the most dangerous mercenaries we have ever had the misfortune to deal with. Be warned: some of the people on this list may be truly nasty and please be aware that these sleepers or invisibles who would usually go unnoticed are valuable to us. The fact that we don’t catch them with a smoking gun should not lessen the gravity of their involvement,’ said Len.

  The commissioner turned to Jack Fisher; one of John’s team. Jack blushed as he stood up. His voice started as a quiet squeak. John passed him a glass of water and gave him an encouraging smile. ‘Jack has spent the last couple of days, with the help of MI5, unravelling the terrorists’ network of outsourcing companies working for the public sector. What he and the rest of the team have unearthed makes for unpalatable reading.’

  The commissioner nodded towards Jack, who had reco
vered his composure. ‘You’ll see there is also an extensive list of companies, limited partnerships and businesses. These are controlled by the terrorists. Key individuals in these companies have been listed above. Also, their paper and electronic records will be needed so that we can identify the internal chains of command and see exactly what they have been doing.’

  Len concluded matters with a stark warning. ‘We have good reason to believe that several of those on the list have a direct line of contact with the terrorist leaders. Until we’ve got all the key leaders in custody we must under no circumstances – I repeat, under no circumstances – let the cat out of the bag that operation “Dry Clean” exists. Is that clearly understood?’

  Fifteen minutes later, after a series of searching questions, the video links were turned off and connection was re-established with those tracking Golden Sundancer and the sheikh’s plane, and those planning the capture of Maryam in Luxembourg.

  Colonels Turner and Gray and a reduced team came back into the room, which was rapidly reverting to a mini war room. On the central screen there now was a large electronic map showing Morocco and the north-west coast of Africa.

  The clock on the wall gave the time as 11.06 a.m. The PM was scheduled to stand up in front of the House of Commons in less than three hours. Even though it was a bank holiday, these were exceptional times and the House was in emergency session.

  Rafi turned his attention to the activities in Morocco. The chart showed a red blob which was making its way across the screen following a thin yellow line towards Marrakech. It was about 700 miles away. There was a second red dot 100 miles offshore following a thin yellow line along the coast towards the port of Safi. Then he spotted another red dot by Marrakech and a number of blue dots.

  Kate tugged at his arm; she was also looking at the central screen. ‘I reckon those red dots are the sheikh’s plane, Golden Sundancer and Jameel. The blue ones must be the good guys. So the blue one in Safi must be showing our friends on board Puddle Jumper.’

  Rafi pointed to the fine yellow line which stopped about fifteen miles off the coast. ‘That, I presume, is where the submarine is to rendezvous with Puddle Jumper.’

  One of the colonel’s adjutants walked over to chat to Kate. ‘It’s all starting to come together nicely. The next few hours should be interesting! We’ve patched into the SBS command centre which is overseeing the operation at Safi. There’s a Nimrod many miles offshore at 40,000 feet monitoring the location of Golden Sundancer. She has her cloaking device on so she’ll be invisible to the terrorists. She’ll pick up the video pictures and radio communications from the SBS men on board Puddle Jumper and the SAS teams on the ground and relay them to the command centre where they’ll bounce them on to us.’

  The adjutant looked concerned. ‘Golden Sundancer, at her current speed, should reach Safi between 1.30 and 1.45 p.m. our time this afternoon. She’s slowed down a bit; it seems she’s sailing into a steep swell. The sheikh’s plane is scheduled to land at Menara airport, Marrakech, at 1 o’clock. If the switch to the helicopter goes quickly it could be at Safi shortly after 2 o’clock our time. We would prefer there to be more of a gap before the helicopter arrives.’

  ‘Are they going to be well guarded?’ asked Rafi.

  ‘The terrorists still seem blissfully unaware that we’re on to them,’ continued the adjutant. ‘The two SAS operatives we have undercover at Marrakech Airport have reported that the helicopter is unguarded, with just the pilot waiting. The sheikh has two minders with him on board his jet. Both are big gorillas of men, but definitely not in the same league as the two Chechen mercenaries on Golden Sundancer. The two SAS soldiers in Safi have identified four heavies watching the harbour and if they’re anything like the Chechen mercenaries, the SAS will have a proper skirmish on their hands. Thankfully, the industrial part of the port is relatively deserted. In contrast, the nearby fishing boat quays are a hive of activity. From the location of the four thugs, we believe that the helicopter plans to land on the quay in the industrial part of the harbour, about 50–100 metres from where Golden Sundancer is likely to berth. As good fortune would have it, our friends on board Puddle Jumper seem to be in the right place: nearby, with a good view across the harbour, but not so close as to raise any suspicions. Now that we’re certain Safi is the rendezvous point, the three SAS men at Mohammedia and the three at Casablanca are, as we speak, driving down the N1 to Safi. Roads permitting, they’ll be there in good time.’

  ‘What’s Jameel up to?’ asked Kate.

  ‘He finished a round of golf half an hour ago and is currently in the hotel bar. He’s packed his bags and ordered a taxi to the airport ten minutes ago. He’s the proud possessor of a couple of tracking devices: one in his shoe, which he left unattended whilst playing golf, and another in his hand luggage!’

  On board Puddle Jumper the atmosphere was calm and relaxed. The retired commander and his wife were sitting on the aft deck, enjoying mugs of tea. They were joined by a scantily clad Lieutenant Anna Gregson, with a colourful caftan wrapped around her waist. She was followed by a similarly dressed Lieutenant Janet Steiner.

  ‘Been enjoying the sun?’ enquired their “mother”.

  ‘It’s fantastic up on the foredeck,’ replied Anna.

  ‘Any idea where your “boyfriend” Clive is?’ the commander asked.

  ‘Yes; he and Jim have gone on a bimble – said they had to see a man about a dog,’ replied Janet.

  The commander nodded. ‘We’ve got about two and a half hours before we will have company, according to our friends.’

  ‘In which case,’ said Janet, ‘time for a bit more sun on the foredeck.’

  ‘Remember the sunscreen,’ said their “mother” tossing a bottle of lotion in Anna’s direction.

  ‘Thanks “mum”!’

  As the two women left for the bow of the boat, Jim and Clive climbed back on board and walked over to chat to the commander.

  ‘That was quick; I thought you were chatting to your SAS friends?’

  ‘We were and we’ve sorted out what equipment we have between us. They’re rather well tooled-up. As long as a small army doesn’t arrive, they should give us more than enough cover.’

  ‘What do they make of the four minders guarding the helicopter landing area?’ asked the commander.

  ‘Piece of piss!’ said Clive. ‘The way they handle themselves and their guns, they’re no more than local hoodlums. All they do is smoke cigarettes; none of them has even done a recce, which is good news.’

  ‘It’s the two Chechens on board Golden Sundancer that we have to be careful of,’ said Jim. ‘Oh, by the way, we reckon that Golden Sundancer will moor up 100 metres across from where we are.’

  In the Ops Room, Rafi turned his attention to the flat screen TV. He watched the commentary preceding the PM’s speech in the House of Commons, where a political correspondent was standing inside the Houses of Parliament with a senior opposition MP on either side of her.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ asked the interviewer, ‘what do you believe the chances are of the Prime Minister surviving this afternoon, and there not being a call for a vote of no confidence?’

  ‘My party will want to find out why things have gone so badly wrong and will wish to see those who have let this country down take responsibility for their negligence,’ replied the first MP.

  The interviewer turned to the second politician. ‘It’s going to be very difficult for the PM and his Chancellor to put a lid on the financial fallout from Stratford, isn’t it?’

  ‘Undoubtedly. It’s going to cost the country tens if not hundreds of billions of pounds. This could sink our economy, our currency and scare the living daylights out of the markets. The last thing we need is political uncertainty. I hope that the PM will find a way of getting the opposition parties involved with the process of getting the country out of this mess.’

  The interviewer looked at the first MP. ‘If there’s a call for a vote of no confidence, what will the implications
be?’

  ‘The Government has a tiny majority and will seek to tough things out. It’s more likely that pigs will fly than a recently elected Government to give up its reins on power.’

  ‘Thank you, gentlemen, and with that we return to the studio,’ concluded the political correspondent.

  The special forces command centre and the Air Chief Marshal were in discussion with Clive and Jim. As things currently stood, the helicopter would land in Safi only minutes after Golden Sundancer berthed. Jim asked whether it might to possible to get them more time to overpower those on board before the helicopter arrived.

  Accordingly, at Marrakech airport, a quick-thinking and inventive SAS operative borrowed the jacket of an airport worker and walked up to the helicopter. He had a water bottle filled with oil hidden in his pocket. The bottle had a tube – commandeered from a drinks machine – tightly inserted into its top which went down his trouser leg.

  The disguised SAS man sauntered over to the pilot to enquire whether the helicopter would be requiring the help of a baggage handler. He was summarily sent away. As he left, he walked towards the back of the aircraft and stopped to tie his shoelace under the tail’s rotary engine. Job done. He got up and walked off. On the concrete apron behind him was a fresh puddle of oil.

  The SAS man walked back to the airport buildings and found an airport security man. He explained that the helicopter he’d visited seemed to be leaking hydraulic fluid from its engine.

  ‘It’s probably nothing, but should someone look at it? We don’t want it to fall out of the sky.’

  The security man had shrugged his shoulders and begrudgingly gone off to tell his boss. Nothing happened for some while. It seemed that the message hadn’t got through.

  A relieved SAS man reported that a man dressed in overalls was on his way towards the helicopter. The conversation between the man and the helicopter pilot looked animated. The pilot eventually got out, looked at the fluid on the concrete and with a shrug of his shoulders agreed to let the man look at the engine. This entailed the engineer walking back to collect his tools and a stepladder.