47
There was a lot to like about the top floor of the ten-storey building located between Regents Park and the British Museum. It was in one of the nicest parts of London, with the park home to London Zoo, but also close to the restaurants, shops and cafes of the fashionable Fitzrovia.
But it wasn’t for those reasons that Yebedev had been delighted to discover the entire top floor of four two-bedroomed flats was available on a twelve-month lease. It fitted perfectly with the instructions he had been given.
Access was available through a lift in the underground car park, making it easier to reduce sightings of any coming and goings. It was also the right amount of space for accommodating the team that had arrived over the past few weeks.
But its biggest advantage was its location to the west of London. That meant the prevailing winds would take the radiation eastwards, passing over some of the most densely populated parts of London.
While the explosive power of the bomb would be, relatively, fairly small, it was intended to funnel radiation straight up, the higher the better in terms of increasing the potential footprint.
The team that had assembled in London had flown in from all over the world. It was nominally led by a couple of Russians supported by a North Korean, an Iraqi, and a German who was the expert in electronics for such devices.
They had been arriving over several weeks and were all in place almost two weeks before the plutonium would arrive. Not that this bothered them; they were well paid and well used to hanging around after being rushed into position.
Everyone except the Korean spoke reasonable English but he had worked in Moscow so had a decent grasp of Russian, allowing the two Russians to translate anything that was causing confusion. Not that anything did - they all knew their jobs.
Within ten days, the bomb was assembled and waiting for its deadly heart. Once that was in place they could set remote timers and detonate. Now that this first phase was completed, they did finally pause to reflect on the enormity of what was being planned. But not for long, as they all convinced themselves it would never get that far. Surely the British government would pay up rather than face such a catastrophe.
The bulk of the work completed, most of the team, with the exception of the Russians, would be leaving tomorrow; they decided to go out for dinner, voting for a highly rated Lebanese restaurant that was close to where they were based.
To help get in the mood, a couple of bottles of vodka had been produced and the Korean and the German had really got into the swing of things, downing a series of shots before they went out and insisting on stopping at a pub for a couple more before dinner.
The Korean seemed to be in an exceptionally jolly mood, although no one could understand what he was saying. His speech had thickened with alcohol and even his Russian translators were struggling to follow what he was saying.
The man was so jolly that his companions started to wonder if this was going to end in tears, but he remained in an upbeat mood and his humour was so infectious that everyone was smiling even though they had no idea what he was talking about.
After arriving at the restaurant, he had something to eat and calmed down enough for the Russians to start understanding what he was saying.
“He wants everyone to know that it has been a pleasure to work with such a team of professionals and, while he expects we will never see each other again, he wishes everyone all the very best.”
On the way back to their flats the German fell into conversation with the Iraqi.
“Do you think they will go ahead with the plan, or will they pull back at the last minute?”
The Iraqi considered the question for a while, and they walked past a Middle-Eastern cafe with people sitting outside smoking from hookahs.
“I certainly hope not,” he said. “I’ve never been to London before, so I hadn’t realised what an interesting place it is. After this job I can consider retiring and I think I could fit in around here. Might have to stay away for a while, but it would be a shame if something did happen.”
The German nodded and pointed at a couple of seats that had become available.
“I hope you’re right about that, but shall we enjoy it while we can?”
48
Hooley tried the phone again, but it went straight to answer, just like the time before and the time before that. Roper always answered his phone - there was no way he could ignore an incoming call - and now he had missed three in a row.
His worry was being magnified by his guilt, since he was wishing he had trusted his instincts when he had seen his colleague this morning. It wasn’t that he had sat down without saying anything - that was par for the course - but the biggest sign that something was wrong was that he hadn’t turned up with coffee and muffins.
Although he was dressed in his trademark skinny black suit it had looked slightly too large for him, as though he had somehow shrunk in size. Every time someone had come into the office Roper had ducked his head, displaying an awkwardness he had not shown since he had been suspended a few years ago.
He tried to concentrate on a memo that had just been hand-delivered, something urgent from HR, but his heart really wasn’t in it. He glanced at the clock again. Roper had been gone for two hours now and wasn’t taking any calls. He needed to do something.
For a few moments he imagined putting out a general alert, and then dismissed the idea as he knew he would never be able to explain to Roper why it had been necessary to take action that could be said to make him look like a criminal.
He pressed his fingers into his temples; he could feel the first trace of a tension headache building, and he knew that not taking some sort of direct action was the underlying cause. He needed to get out of the office.
Decision made his spirits lifted at the prospect of doing something. He was going back “on the beat”, because he knew he was going to have start walking if he wanted to track his younger colleague down.
It was a daunting prospect, because how are you supposed to find someone in a city the size of London and a population of millions? At least he could eliminate the most crowded spots, and he hoped that Roper had taken himself for a walk and found a spot where he could sit without being bothered. He had one big advantage: Roper was a man of habit.
He calculated that Roper would have made for one of the many Royal Parks that dot the city; all he had to do was decide which one. On a hunch, he decided Roper would have headed east, drawn towards where he lived on the south side of the River Thames close to Tower Bridge, so that made Green Park a firm favourite since it was on one of the routes the young detective took when he walked home.
Before he set out he checked Roper’s favourite cafe. The place was buzzing and the owner smiled when he saw him, but he hadn’t seen Jonathan in a few days. His anxiety was growing and he could almost feel time pressing down. He hailed a black cab and was dropped off at the Buckingham Palace end of the park.
He knew that Roper came down here to enjoy watching startled visitors being ambushed by greedy pelicans. A couple of the birds had mastered the art of stalking up behind people enjoying eating outside and grabbing food straight out of their hands.
Thirty minutes later, he was feeling hot and bothered and wondering if he was in the right place. Suddenly thirsty, he bought a bottle of water and tried to push mounting doubts out of his mind.
London was a dauntingly large place and after fifteen minutes of furious thinking, he still couldn’t come up with a better idea of where to look.
He was about to give up searching and go straight to Roper’s apartment when two men walked past. They were both white, middle-aged, and wearing immaculate pinstriped suits with polished shoes, white shirts and what may have been some sort of club tie.
He had crossed the park and was now close to the Whitehall end, making him think they were civil servants, but then something else came to mind. They could be lawyers, since they weren’t too far away from the ancient Inns of Court at the Temple area nea
r Fleet Street.
Last summer Roper had insisted they take a picnic lunch in the Temple Gardens, insisting it was an area where you could feel the flow of history since legal chambers had been there since about 1300. Roper was particularly keen on the detail that the then-King, Edward II, met a gruesome end thanks to a red-hot poker. Hooley had not shared his enthusiasm but had ended up losing his appetite.
Ignoring the fact that his feet were aching, he hustled into the Temple area. To his extraordinary relief he spotted Roper sitting alone on a wall. He was quite still and had his head bent, staring at the ground.
Hooley walked up and tried to make himself sound as relaxed as possible.
“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes. I think I’ve done enough walking for one day. Mind if I sit down and join you?” The last word came out a bit squeaky from the enforced note of good cheer.
Roper didn’t look up. “How did you find me? I turned my phone tracker off, so it can’t be that.” His voice was flat, and he looked very tired.
“I may not have your Rainbow Spectrum to fall back on, but I am a detective - so when you stopped answering my calls I decided to get out and do a bit of detecting.”
“I know. You must have remembered me saying how much I liked it here; we’re in a very busy part of the city yet this is an oasis of calm.”
“Is that why you’ve come down here - because you need a bit of peace and quiet? Now I’ve turned up and spoiled it, but I was worried about you, especially when you didn’t answer the phone. That really isn’t like you.”
“I had it turned off. If I’d let it ring I would have had to answer it and I didn’t want to answer the phone to anyone.”
“Do you want to talk to me about what’s going on?”
“No. Actually I don’t mean “no” I don’t want to talk to you, I mean “no” I don’t know what to talk about… or I don’t know where to start might be better.”
“So, are you saying you’re confused about something?”
Roper was still looking at the ground between his feet. “It might be that, I suppose. I’m not sure.”
Hooley took his time answering. It was one of the advantages of talking to Roper that he didn’t mind long silences. He decided on the best way to approach this.
“Are you OK to just listen for a moment? I’ve got an idea about what is going on and the best way to explain it might be for me to talk about myself.”
Roper didn’t react at all and the DCI decided he might as well take this as a positive.
“This case is getting to me, especially the idea that someone might be insane enough to detonate a nuclear bomb. I’ve been having trouble getting to sleep at night and then when I do I have really vivid dreams that don’t make any sense.
“Last night I dreamt I went to bed at home and then woke up in a ramshackle river hut on the Mississippi near New Orleans. I’ve never been there and wouldn’t know what a river hut looks like, but in my dreams, I did.
“It was such a vivid dream that I even ended up sort of sleepwalking as I tried to find a way out. It was only when I turned the bedroom light on that I knew where I was. It was horrible, and I was covered in sweat, so much so I needed to take a shower.
“After that I was able to get back to sleep quite quickly, thank goodness, and I didn’t have any more dreams - at least not that I remember - but that one I certainly did, and in fact do. That’s the worst that’s been happening, but there is other stuff too.
“At lunch-time yesterday it was my turn to get the food and when I got out of the building there was a party of schoolchildren. I kept thinking about them caught up in this and felt very strange for a while. I had to sit down and get my breath back.
“So, what I’m saying is this. I’ve been a policeman for a very long time and this is the worst that I have felt, so maybe you are feeling some of the same pressure I am, and that would be no surprise. And not talking about it is something we all do, so it’s not just you.”
Roper finally looked up.
“I keep thinking: what if I make a mistake and we can’t find the bomb? Everyone thinks the Rainbow Spectrum will sort all the answers but even I don’t think it works like that. I haven’t felt like this since I was at school and couldn’t make friends.
“I feel like people are looking at me all the time. Everywhere we go people say things like they have heard all about me. Well, what if that is all wrong? Or I have been lucky up to now, and I have used up all my luck and will never be able to do anything again?”
The normally pale Roper had gone sheet-white while he was talking.
“This morning I didn’t even want anything to eat and I can never remember that happening before, but I just don’t feel hungry. I haven’t had any breakfast or any lunch so far. Last night I was in my flat and started to feel dizzy and the room sort of went around.
“But the worst thing is that my memory is not as good as it was. Normally I only have to read something once to memorise it, but I can’t concentrate… and the other thing is, I can’t find my Rainbow Spectrum.”
49
Hooley had been so shocked by Roper saying he couldn’t access the Rainbow Spectrum he hadn’t known what to do or how to respond. He needed to get Julie Mayweather involved.
Making Roper promise to stay where he was, he had walked a short distance away and called her on her direct line. She answered quickly and listened calmly as he talked, relaying to her what Roper had been saying.
“Right, I’m dropping everything and coming to you. Do you think you can get him to his flat? I think the security of being at home might help.”
The suggestion triggered a thought. He said: “I’m sure I can manage that and, when I get him home, perhaps I can suggest he does some of his flapping.”
He was referring to the unique method Roper used to send himself into a light trance. He did it by listening to the sound produced when he gently wafted sheets of A4 printer paper held in either hand - and it had to be A4-sized. The exercise always helped him slow his racing thoughts and allowed him to take time out when he felt pressure mounting.
In the smallest bedroom instead of a bed it had a black leather reclining chair with a matching footstool. It was handmade, and had cost him more than four thousand pounds, but he had willingly paid the money as he loved the shape, finding it perfect for his relaxation exercise. It was one of the few objects he had ever expressed much interest in. Everything else he bought was for its functionality.
Mayweather said that she should be there within the hour, adding: “We need him on this case. It sounds to me as though he is having a crisis. We have to hope we can get him back on track.
“We are up against the clock. In fact, if Jonathan is right about the bomb being here already, I fear we may be entering the final countdown. We may need our shrink so I’ll call and put her on standby.”
“I presume you’re talking about Dr. Beth?” said the DCI. Eighteen months ago, an American psychologist, Dr. Beth Shapiro, had been signed up by Mayweather to come and take a look at their team.
Mayweather ended the call. One of the things Hooley appreciated about his boss was that she listened to what was going on and was quick to react if she needed to. You knew that, whatever happened, she always had your back.
He sat next to Roper; “Right then, you are getting the Royal visit. Julie wants to come and see you, and says it would be best if we met at your place. She won’t be there for another hour, so I suggest we crack on - and maybe you practice a bit of your flapping.”
The younger man visibly brightened.
“That’s a great idea. You’re happy to wait until I finish?”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I presume you have beer in the fridge, so a nice cold lager and watching that view will do me just as much good as an hour’s flapping session will have for you.”
He saw Roper was about to respond and held up his hand to delay him. “I know you’re going to say your way is healthier, and you would be right. But
my way tastes better.”
Roper was so enthusiastic that he didn’t even argue when the DCI suggested a cab and, twenty minutes later, he had already placed himself in a light trance. Hooley was determinedly taking small sips of beer: one was the limit. They weren’t out of the woods yet and clear heads would be needed.
Roper’s place was immaculate, displaying little evidence that anyone actually lived there. It could have been dressed as a show home to encourage prospective buyers: even the television was a basic model, not the big beast you might have expected to find in such an expensive penthouse.
He sat on the settee. It looked like one you would buy from a Scandinavian furniture catalogue. It was comfortable and he gazed out of the window at the panoramic view. What the flat did have was great soundproofing, and it was only the buzzing of his phone that woke him up forty minutes later.
It was Mayweather, to say she was minutes away. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and then got to his feet. He needed to stretch his back - the settee didn’t make a great bed. There was still no sign of Roper, so he rang down to the duty guard to let him know he should allow access to Julie Mayweather.
He had just ended the call when Roper almost gave him a heart attack by silently walking up behind him and tapping him on the shoulder.
“Bloody hell, Jonathan, you’re as light on your feet as Mayweather. I thought she was the only one who could creep up on me like that.”
Roper looked puzzled. “I didn’t creep, I was walking, and I just wanted to let you know I had finished and was ready for the next phase.”
Before the DCI could respond there was a knock at the front door. Their boss had arrived, and Roper let her in. Many years ago, his grandmother, who brought him up after the death of his parents, had drummed into him the need to show visitors hospitality. The Deputy Commissioner had to refuse a long list of drinks and snacks while still standing in the doorway.
She said, “Honestly, Jonathan, I don’t want anything to eat or drink, but if I could come in and sit down, we have work to do.”
The Long Reach_British Detective Page 18
