by Matt Johnson
I telephoned Kevin as soon as I got through the door. He answered immediately.
‘Kevin, Bob here, been trying to get hold of you, fancy a drink tomorrow?’
We arranged to meet at Debenhams in Romford. Ten o’clock. It was good to hear that Kevin was safely home as well.
Only as I put down the receiver did my mistake dawn on me. All this time, I’d avoided using my own phone to make calls. Now, if there were a tap on the phone, anyone listening would know who I’d called and where we were to meet. On the positive side, the normality of our conversation was such that it gave nothing away about what we had been up to earlier on in the day. For a moment, I thought about ringing back to cancel the planned meeting. I thought better of it. The mistake had been made. The next day, I would tell Kevin my fears.
Chapter 77
Declan Costello sat quietly in the shadows.
He had watched this target for two days now, checking his departure and arrival times. This one appeared to work strange hours. Costello had seen him arrive the previous evening, clearly in a rush. His car was parked in the road as he didn’t appear to have a garage, and when he came out at nine o’clock the following morning, he hadn’t checked under the car or taken any other steps to indicate that he thought he was a potential target. It also looked like he lived alone. He should be an easy kill, Costello mused.
Now that he was working on his own, it had been necessary to find a new safe-house to work from. The Kalashnikov had been in the Alma House flat so it was lost, but he still had his Browning. Yildrim had managed to source some additional explosive. There was just enough for one more device. A car bomb seemed the easiest and least risky method.
To enable the device to be attached to the target’s car, Costello had purchased a large magnet and glued it to a cigar box. The timer would delay the bomb going ‘live’ until he was away from the scene. He moved out of the darkness and walked calmly to the bus stop. It was time to assemble the bomb. Next day, another copper would die.
Chapter 78
At ten the following morning, Grahamslaw and Parratt were in the middle of a heated conversation with Assistant Commissioner (Crime), George Mason.
The subject of their discussion, Detective Constable Stuart Anderson, was sitting outside the closed doors of the thickly carpeted office suite.
Inside, it was clear to Grahamslaw that the Assistant Commissioner didn’t like what he was hearing. Mason was no fool. A career detective who had now made the move into uniform, he had worked hard to achieve high rank and had been tipped to go even further. Although middle-aged, with swept-back grey hair and a spreading waistline, he remained true to his detective roots and looked uncomfortable in the heavily braided uniform that he now wore. He had instructed his two subordinates to sit opposite him but there was nothing relaxed about the meeting. Mason clearly had a problem and had every intention of getting to the bottom of it.
‘Let me get this straight, Bill,’ he said. ‘Anderson was on the Alma House raid where our boys were compromised by two SAS look-alikes? He is part of the team watching this Finlay chap, he was the man who spotted Yildrim at the St Pancras Hotel and it was him that took the photograph of Yildrim meeting with Declan Costello?’
Grahamslaw loosened his shirt collar to allow some body heat to escape. ‘More than just that,’ he replied. ‘He was on the observation point at Alma House that actually gave the command to go.’
The AC looked perplexed. ‘We trust DCs to do that these days, do we?’
Grahamslaw felt a little defensive. ‘If he was in the best position to see, then, yes.’
‘See what exactly?’
‘That the attack team wouldn’t be compromised by a terrorist on the landing or at the flat door. See that the targets were in such a place in the flat that it was the best time to go…’
The AC interrupted. ‘Or to time things right, so that two men who looked like they were SAS just happened to be on the landing as our boys turned up?’
Grahamslaw and Parratt both nodded in agreement.
Parratt was the next to speak. ‘If what we’re concluding is right, he created that firefight between SO19 and the two SAS men.’
‘Not a firefight.’ The AC jabbed a pencil on his blotting pad as he spoke. ‘He couldn’t have known that one of the men would open fire. I’m thinking that he may have timed his command to coincide with seeing the activity on the landing. And, you’re right. It’s too much of a coincidence that he was the engineer of a similar event yesterday.’
‘We think Anderson is working for someone else,’ said Grahamslaw. ‘Possibly the Security Services.’
‘As you said in your email. It wasn’t quite what I was expecting to be dealing with this morning.’ The AC’s pencil snapped.
‘The coincidences are inescapable,’ said Parratt.
‘Well, it wouldn’t be the first time that Special Branch and the Security Services have shared staff.’
‘That’s true.’
‘You said earlier that Finlay and Jones are both former SAS soldiers?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Have you spoken to the Commissioner about them?’
‘No, should we have?’ asked Parratt.
‘Maybe … I’m not sure. If you recall, he is still in the process of finishing off an enquiry into some ancient shoot-to-kill stories in Northern Ireland. He has some good contacts.’
‘I’d be reluctant to trouble the Commissioner,’ interrupted Grahamslaw.
‘I understand. Leave it with me, I’ll raise it at our next meeting.’
‘Any thoughts on why Finlay and Jones should be set up to be caught? Why someone might do such a thing?’ asked Parratt.
‘No idea.’ Mason threw up his hands and the broken pencil tumbled to the office carpet. ‘I’m not even convinced that’s what happened. Maybe they were supposed to get killed? And like you said earlier, maybe Anderson is working for this Yildrim character. There is obviously something going on that we are not party to and, as you say, it could well be MI5. Perhaps Anderson might tell us something. I’m intending to interview him as soon as we’re done.’
‘We’re pretty sure that Finlay and Jones are the two men in black, so maybe they are moonlighting for MI5 as well,’ said Grahamslaw.
‘I think that’s a pretty fair assumption, Bill,’ agreed Mason.
Grahamslaw continued. ‘Assuming they are, could it be that whoever has employed them now wants them out of the way? They may have done similar little jobs in the past and now, with what they know, they’ve become an embarrassment.’
‘No, I think it’s something else. If they were a potential embarrassment I think they would have been taken care of in a far more discreet way. In this case, the aim appears to be that they should be captured. Why the hell that should be, I don’t know.’
‘To ruin their lives,’ Parratt said, solemnly.
‘What was that?’ The AC seemed confused at the short statement.
‘To ruin their lives … their careers. Someone wants them to suffer,’ Parratt continued. ‘It’s just occurred to me: We’ve been looking at this from the wrong angle. Instead of “why” we need to look at what the effect would be if it had come off. What would have happened? If we nick them, their lives are ruined. Finlay’s got a family and a kid. Would he suffer more if he was in prison or if he were dead?’
‘I see your point,’ said the AC. ‘So maybe what we’re looking at is a nasty little game played by someone with the intent of putting Finlay and Jones in prison?’
‘If it’s a game, it’s a bloody wicked one,’ said Parratt.
Grahamslaw had been listening with his nose resting on his index finger. The way the conversation had developed had set his mind working. Now, with the room momentarily silent, the portraits of various previous senior officers looking down at them with confident smiles, he spoke softly. ‘I think we’d better go and have a word with Finlay and Jones. It’s time we put our cards on the table and started working
together.’
‘I agree,’ said the AC. ‘You go and see to that, Bill. Mr Parratt and I will have a little chat with DC Anderson.’
Grahamslaw guessed that the Detective would know very little and would be unlikely to admit working for another agency outside the police. Still, they had to try. As he closed the AC’s door, and crossed the waiting area with its office-issue easy chairs and well-tended pot plants, he cast a furtive glance to where Stuart Anderson was now standing, expecting to be shown in.
The AC called out to his secretary and, as he did, Grahamslaw noticed the detective adjusting his blazer and tie. Poor bastard thinks he’s getting a commendation, he thought. As Anderson stepped forward and the door to the AC’s office swung closed behind him, Grahamslaw allowed himself a wry smile.
Chapter 79
I quickly ushered Kevin into the lift at Debenhams. The doors closed and, as we started to move off, I switched the emergency stop button. We came to a halt between the floors.
‘We can talk in here. How did you get home?’ I asked.
‘Real easy. I was expecting to get jumped on at any moment but, as it turned out, it was a breeze.’
‘What did you do with your gear?’
‘Buried, quite safe. What about you?’
‘Left-luggage locker,’ I said, sheepishly.
Kevin drew breath sharply. ‘Bit risky, boss, they nick you with the key in your pocket and you’ll be in deep shit.’
‘Yeah, OK … Now what about yesterday? I’ve been thinking it’s too much of a coincidence that SO19 compromised us again.’
‘I’ve thought about nothing else,’ said Kevin.
‘OK … let me ask you something. Is there any way that Monaghan could know about you and his missus?’
‘Not a chance.’
‘So why did he bring you into things?’
‘To persuade you, of course. He knew we were mates.’
‘So, you don’t think Monaghan might be running some sort of crazy plan to get us killed?’
Kevin shook his head. ‘You’re starting to sound paranoid, boss. It’s our old CO you’re talking about. If he thought I’d been shagging his missus, he’d kill me himself.’
Reluctantly, I agreed.
We ran through things over and over again to see if we had been the cause of our own downfall. We were agreed: if the Einstein theory was right, it had to be more than coincidence.
Kevin came up with one new idea. It was possible that SO19 had compromised us, not to make sure that we got arrested, but to make sure the Arab got away.
‘I wonder what Monaghan is thinking right now,’ I said.
‘Probably livid. He’ll no doubt want us to have another try for the Arab.’
‘I thought he said the Arab was leaving the country soon?’
Kevin was silent for a moment before speaking quietly. ‘He won’t be hanging around for long, that’s for sure. Do you mind if I ask you a straight question?’
For a moment I was puzzled. ‘Try me.’
‘Look, I know you denied it before but just between us, did you ever fuck Vicky Monaghan?’
It looked like my idea had gotten through to Kevin. He was thinking along the same lines as me.
‘No,’ I said. ‘But I think I know why you’re asking.’
‘It’s not me being crazy then is it?’ Kevin paused. ‘What if Bridges and Skinner were others? We’ve got a link and a motive.’
‘Like I said in the beginning, and one that takes us back to Monaghan,’ I said.
‘You don’t think Blackwood might have had her too, do you?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought he was her type. But you can never tell. And look at Skinner, face like a sack o’ spuds.’
‘We used to call him “Amoeba”.’
‘“Amoeba”?’ I asked.
‘Single cell for a brain, no chance of reproduction through normal methods.’
I laughed. ‘Ask their old mates, one of them might know,’ I suggested.
‘Bridges’ wife might have an idea,’ replied Kevin.
‘She might. Do you want to ask her?’
It was Kevin’s turn to laugh. ‘Not a chance. I’ll go back to Hereford in the morning and ask around. Cochran might know something.’
‘One last thing, Kev.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The Arab, Yildrim. He had blue eyes.’
‘Damn it, I said I knew him.’
Plans arranged, we exited the lift and went our separate ways. What we would do about Monaghan if our theories were confirmed was yet to be decided.
Chapter 80
Costello reached his victim’s home at just after midnight. The target car was parked in the same place as before.
The previous evening, he had watched the gates to the local police station and smiled at the predictability of the night shift, as they all came in for a midnight tea break. For over fifteen minutes, the streets were devoid of a police presence. It meant virtually no risk of being disturbed by a patrol car and a good delay if some Nosy Parker saw something and dialled 999.
Costello stood and watched the street for a few moments. The September night air now had a chill to it. Condensation from his exhaled breath told him that summer was drawing to a close. There were no dog walkers and only a few lights on in the nearby properties. The target’s house was in darkness. With the exception of one or two people watching television, everyone was asleep.
Costello slipped his hand into the carrier bag under his arm and turned the memo park timer on the small package it contained. The movement disconnected the circuit to enable him to arm the bomb.
Next came the bit he hated most. His mouth was dry and his heart pounded as he started to pull the doweling plug from the side of the box. The plug released a spring which completed the circuit to the timer. Once the timer finished its cycle, all that would be needed to connect the battery to the detonator was the tilt switch. He gently eased the plug free and breathed deeply. It was at this point that most ‘own goals’ were scored, when the bomber met an untimely end. Despite years of practice and many live operations he never lost his fear at the moment of arming a bomb. There was an almost inaudible ‘click’ as the spring was released.
Senses gathered and breathing deeply, Costello walked briskly forward. With well-practised familiarity, he dropped to his knees on the pavement next to the car. Slipping the small bomb underneath, he rolled onto his side. He had rehearsed this part on a similar car the previous day and knew that he could reach the underside of the battery tray. He found it. The magnet attached the bomb onto the metal with a solid clunk. He prodded it gently to check it would stay in place and then rolled away. The whole process took less than ten seconds.
As Costello left the East London street behind, there was little to indicate his having been there. The shadows were the same and the trees still fluttered gently in the breeze. Birds still slept in the trees, a hedgehog continued his night patrol. Only the soft, unrelenting, ticking of the clockwork memo park timer gave any clue as to the peril that lay hidden beneath one of the parked cars, waiting for its intended victim.
Twenty-eight minutes later, the timer fell silent. The bomb was armed.
Chapter 81
Grahamslaw got the call just after eight-thirty. It was the Information Room Chief Inspector at New Scotland Yard.
‘Guv, there’s been another bomb.’
‘Where?’
‘East India Dock Road.’
The Chief Inspector reported it was a car bomb. There was one confirmed dead, several walking wounded. Local police were dealing with it and the area had been cordoned off.
Telephone call completed, Grahamslaw ran across the main office and along the corridor to Mick Parratt’s room. Heads turned as he thundered past. But this was no time to worry about decorum. Within five minutes, they were in his Superintendent’s car.
Even with sirens and blue lights, it took nearly twenty minutes before they reached the taped-off scene of t
he explosion. They were met at the inner cordon by the local Duty Inspector. An hour since it had been hit by the force of the explosion, the fire brigade was damping down the gutted remains of a Ford Focus. The similar burned-out skeleton of what looked like a Vauxhall lay on its side on the footpath, and in the centre of the road were the blackened remains of what could have been anything.
Grahamslaw looked over the scene of devastation. The shattered remains and twisted metal in the middle of the road had surely been a car at one time; the vehicle that contained the device. On the far side of the wreck, an engine had come to rest, its oily contents spewing over the road. Next to it, a blue blanket was covering a small figure. The edges of the blanket were stained a deep crimson, and a thick stream of blood and body fluids flowed slowly across the tarmac to the gutter.
Grahamslaw flashed his warrant card to the Inspector who seemed to be in charge.
‘I assume that’s the victim under the blanket?’ he asked.
‘Half of him, sir. The bottom half is still in the car. The explosion tore the poor bloke in two.’
Grahamslaw grimaced. That meant a particularly gory post-mortem. ‘Have you identified the car?’
‘According to a rear index plate that we found, it’s an Audi. Police computer details of the owner are blocked. All it says is refer to SO12, Scotland Yard.’
‘Special Branch?’
‘That’s right. We’ll be as quick as we can. Once the brigade are finished, it’ll have to be declared safe by an EXPO. I’ll give you the nod once that’s done.’
Grahamslaw thanked the Inspector as he headed off to continue his work. He turned to Parratt.
‘Finlay?’
‘Or Jones? Who knows? Maybe it’s someone new. Jones has an Audi. So does Finlay’s wife. Finlay’s been using a hire car. We’ll find out soon enough. Forensics have just arrived. I’ll brief them and get to work as soon as the explosives officer has given it the all clear.’
