The Chief Constable said, ‘Yes. I can see the problem. We need to put pressure on McManus to get him to help, but we’ve got to do it in such a way that he doesn’t tell Jackson what’s going on. In other words, we’ve got to scare him rigid.’
The Chief thought for a moment, then said, ‘Here’s what I propose. I said we were just about ready to confront him with what we’ve learned in our investigation. Well, we’ll bring that confrontation forward and we’ll do it tomorrow morning. I’ll make it quite clear to him that we have enough on him to prosecute him for corruption, and if he’s convicted he’s likely to get a good stretch in prison, which he’ll know anyway.
‘If you agree, I’d like to add that we have now learned that he may be involved in acts preparatory to the commission of terrorism. He won’t know what I’m talking about so I’ll tell him that you will be meeting him in the afternoon. You’ll be seeking his help and what you’ll be telling him is Top Secret. If he doesn’t fully support you or if he leaks what you say, we’ll throw the book at him and he’ll be in prison for the rest of his life.’
‘Right,’ said Liz, her breath taken away by the Chief Constable’s decisive response. ‘That should sort it.’
‘We’ll have him in at eleven tomorrow. I’ll tell him to be ready to see you at two pm, but I don’t think I’ll tell him who he’ll be seeing – unless you want me to. Surprise sometimes helps on this sort of occasion. What do you think?’
‘I agree,’ said Liz weakly. The Chief Constable was well into his stride now.
‘If you care to come here at about one o’clock I’ll brief you on how it went before you see him. Does that suit you?’
‘Yes. Thank you,’ said Liz.
Chapter 41
At one o’clock the following day Liz was standing in the Chief Constable’s office looking out of the window. Pearson had not appeared and Liz was wondering whether that meant the interview with McManus was going well or badly.
She was feeling nervous, uncertain how McManus would react when he found out that it was his old flame Liz Carlyle who had come to put pressure on him. It wouldn’t take him long to work out that she would know all about the accusations of corruption against him. Would that make him more or less willing to cooperate?
As she was mulling this over, the door suddenly swung open and the Chief Constable strode into the room. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said cheerfully, shaking Liz’s hand with a firm grip. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. You must have been wondering what was going on. Well, I’m pleased to say that we’ve put the fear of God into him. He obviously had no idea that we knew what he’s been up to. I suppose he’s got away with it for so long under the last regime that he hadn’t noticed things have changed.
‘He denied everything at first, of course, but when he saw the amount of evidence my team has collected, he went silent. I think he’s scared enough now that you can be confident he’ll cooperate with you. When I told him that he was at risk of a charge under the Terrorism Act if he leaked anything you were going to tell him, he went pale.
‘So he’s all yours now. He’s been taken to get some lunch with one of my investigating officers; he’ll be back at two. Is there anything you’d like to ask me?’
‘I don’t think so. Not at this stage. I take it he still doesn’t know who he’ll be meeting this afternoon?’
‘Correct. I just told him it was someone from the Security Service.’
‘Have you any free time later on so I could look in and tell you how it went?’
‘I’ll be in the building all afternoon, though I’ve got various appointments. But Constable Symes will find me if you come back here when you’ve finished.’
An hour later Liz was sitting at one end of a long table in a conference room two floors down in the Police HQ, waiting for McManus to arrive. She had resolved to keep the conversation strictly on the subject of Jackson and the arms delivery and not to get drawn into any reminiscing.
When McManus walked into the room his appearance shocked her. His face was gaunt and pale and he seemed to have shrunk since she last saw him on the stage at the conference in London. His eyes were cast down as he walked into the room, but when he looked up and recognised her, they flared with anger.
‘So, it’s you,’ he said. ‘I should have guessed it would be, after your phone call. I suppose you’re the one that’s been investigating me.’
‘Sit down, Jimmy,’ she said. ‘Of course I haven’t been investigating you. That’s nonsense, as you know perfectly well. Whatever trouble you’re in has nothing to do with me and I don’t even know the details of what’s gone on. I’m here for one reason only, and that is to get your help with a counter-terrorist investigation.’
‘That’s what the Chief said, but I don’t know anything about any terrorists. I just deal with ordinary villains.’
‘Deal’ is the right word, thought Liz. But she went on, ‘I want to ask you some questions about Lester Jackson. When I spoke to you on the phone, you told me he was just a small-time crook, not one of the real bad guys. If that ever was true, it’s not true now. What I’m going to tell you is strictly Top Secret and you must keep it to yourself.’
‘The Chief told me that already. I don’t need a lecture from someone I bedded years ago.’
‘There’s no point in insulting me, Jimmy. It won’t help you or the investigation. Let’s get the business done without getting personal and then I can go away and leave you alone.’
‘To my fate,’ he responded bitterly.
‘So, Lester Jackson. Our information is that he’s got himself involved with a shipment of weapons and ammunition coming into the country for terrorist purposes.’
‘I don’t believe it. That sort of thing wouldn’t interest him. He’s not an extremist; he’s not religious. Why would he want to get involved with terrorists?’
‘For money, I should think. I’m not suggesting he is going to carry out a terrorist attack himself. I believe he regularly brings merchandise into the country covertly – girls, drugs, maybe other contraband as well. I also believe he has contacts in Dagestan, the ex-Soviet republic in Central Asia where weapons are easily available. What do you know about any of that?’
There was a pause while McManus shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked out of the window. Then he said, ‘I suppose this conversation’s being recorded?’
‘Not as far as I know,’ Liz replied.
‘That doesn’t mean a thing. I know that if Jackson finds out I’ve told you stuff about his business he’ll kill me.’
‘And if you don’t tell me, the Chief will throw the book at you. So get on with it, Jimmy.’
McManus sighed and shuffled his feet. Then he said in a low voice, ‘He has a contact with a man in Dagestan. He gets girls there and brings them in, hidden in lorries. He gets other stuff as well, drugs and legit stuff – cheap clothing that gets sold in the markets here. Some of the girls are for the club and some he sells on. It’s not like proper trafficking,’ he said defensively. ‘Most of them know what they’re coming here for, and they’re so glad to get out of that hellhole that they don’t mind. The ones who work at his club, Slim’s, are treated fairly well. If they don’t like it, they can go home, the way they came in. But most of them stay.’
‘How did he get to know anyone in Dagestan?’ asked Liz. ‘It seems an unlikely place for him to have a contact.’
‘It’s someone who used to live in Manchester. I think he came in on political asylum from Chechnya when the war was on there. But I don’t know much about him.’
‘So he provides the goods and the transport for Jackson. What do you know about the way it’s done? I mean the route, the name on the lorries, that kind of thing.’
‘He told me once that they come through Turkey. I don’t know what registration they have when they set off, but by the time they get here they have Bulgarian number plates and documents. I think they come into this country through different ports. I can’t tell you more than t
hat.’
‘Come on, Jimmy. Do the lorries have a name on the side? How do we recognise them? We’re talking about weapons coming in for terrorists to use. You don’t want to have the deaths of innocent people on your conscience, do you?’
‘Along with all the other things, you mean.’ He put his head in his hands and muttered, ‘They’re Mercedes, rigid sides like a box with double doors at the back. Not huge – medium-sized, long-distance lorries, I’d say. They’re blue – a sort of royal blue, with a white stripe low down on the side, and they’ve got DSA written on the side in white capital letters with a big white flash in front of it – shaped like a tick in a kid’s schoolbook. I don’t know what the letters stand for, if you’re about to ask.’
Liz wondered how he could give such a good description. What exactly was his relationship with Jackson’s trucking operations? But she would leave that to the Chief Constable and his team to find out.
‘So can you tell me where the lorries unload their cargoes?’
‘He’ll know it’s me, if I tell you that. Who’s going to protect me when he finds out? He’ll get me – even if I’m in prison. I’ve had it now: if Jackson doesn’t get me, Mr Clean, the new Chief Constable, will.’ McManus got up from the table and went over to the window; he rested his forehead on the glass and rocked backwards and forwards, gently banging his head on the pane. ‘I want protection,’ he said, without turning round.
‘It goes without saying, that as far as my Service is concerned your help will remain entirely confidential, but I can’t give any undertakings about what will happen if Jackson is prosecuted. That’s for the Chief Constable.’
McManus snorted, and Liz continued, ‘I’ll tell the Chief how helpful you’ve been and I’m sure he’ll arrange to have you looked after.’
‘He’d be pleased if I was killed. It would save him the embarrassment.’
‘Come on, Jimmy. You know that’s not true. Just tell me what else you know and then we can get this over with.’
McManus sat down again, at the other end of the table from Liz and started to talk freely for the first time. It was as though something had clicked into position in his head.
‘He’s got four lockups – warehouses – on industrial estates. They’re all off the ring road round the south side of Manchester, the M60. I could point them out on a map. There’s one on the south-east side, near Denton, one near Stockport, the other two are up the south-west side, one near Sale and the other near Eccles. He reckons if one of them gets busted, he’s still got the others. They’re all in different names. You can get to all of them straight off the M60, without going anywhere near central Manchester. That’s the attraction for him. The lorries always come in from ports on the south or the east coasts.’
‘Thank you. That’s just what I needed to know. Is there anything else you can tell me that will be helpful – we’re trying to stop these weapons from getting into the hands of terrorists.’
He shook his head. He was knocking his wrist on the edge of the table. ‘When I first knew you, Liz, I was determined to get the villains, whatever it took. The system just wasn’t capable of punishing all the bastards I came across – too many were getting away with it. You said it wasn’t the right way to go about it and I should have listened to you.’ He added bitterly, ‘I never thought I’d end up on the side of the bastards.’
He looked so drawn and despairing that Liz couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. But she said nothing. She rang the bell attached to the underneath of the table to indicate that the interview was over. A uniformed sergeant came in to take McManus away. Liz didn’t shake his hand, but just said, ‘Goodbye, Jimmy. Thanks for your help.’
Chapter 42
By half past five Peggy, in Thames House, was talking to her contact in the Border Agency, passing on the description of the lorry that might contain the weapons. She asked for all ports to be alerted but stressed that it was most likely to turn up on the east or south coasts. ‘Please let us know as soon as it’s sighted, but we don’t want it searched, or anything done to make the driver think he’s under suspicion. We need it to get to its destination, because what we are most interested in are the people who will meet it there.’
‘How are you going to keep tabs on it if we don’t delay it?’ asked the contact.
‘I was just coming on to that,’ Peggy replied. ‘We want your people to put a marker on it, and that’ll help us pick it up even if we miss it at the port. We’ll be able to keep our distance as we follow it. Have they got the equipment at all the likely ports?’
‘Yes.’ But he sounded doubtful. ‘That is provided it doesn’t turn up somewhere very small.’
‘No. Our expectation is that it’ll be on a normal freight route.’
‘What about the tunnel?’
‘I suppose that’s a possibility.’
‘OK. I’ll alert our people there as well.’
Peggy went to see Wally Woods, the chief A4 controller, responsible for the implementation of all surveillance requests. ‘Just giving you early warning,’ she said. ‘It’ll most likely be in the next week or so, and we may not know till it arrives at a port. The Border Agency will try to put a marker on. It’ll be going up to the outskirts of Manchester. One of four possible destinations. I’ll come down tomorrow and give you as much detail as we’ve got.’
Wally Woods grunted. ‘I don’t know where we’ll find the manpower. We’re chock-a-block already.’ Wally liked Peggy but he reserved the right to be grumpy with case officers.
‘Oh, Wally. Please do your best. Liz says it’s really important,’ said Peggy, knowing perfectly well that Wally would die in a ditch rather than let Liz Carlyle down.
Peggy’s next call was to Ted Poyser. Known to everyone in the Service as Technical Ted, he was the head of its eavesdropping operations. Ted had joined MI5 from the army after a legendary career in some of the most dangerous spots in Northern Ireland at the height of the Troubles. He was getting on now and due to retire in a couple of years, so he left most of the sharp-end work to his younger colleagues, spending most of his time on planning and research.
Peggy found him at his bench in the basement workshops, surrounded, as he nearly always was, with strange-looking bits of electrical kit, wires and laptops, their screens showing changing patterns of wavy lines. Ted seemed to like to work in a clutter. Once a compulsive smoker, the smoking ban had turned him into a compulsive sweet-eater instead, and his bench was always littered with discarded sweet papers and mugs containing cold coffee dregs. As he never seemed to put on weight and no one had ever seen him eating a meal, it was widely rumoured that he lived on a diet of Werther’s Originals washed down with coffee. Some of the younger intelligence officers called him ‘Grandad’ after the Werther’s advertisements, but Peggy always addressed him as Ted. Even though Ted was nearly sixty now, he wore his hair, which was very black (unnaturally black, some said), in a ponytail, and he rode a flashy Harley-Davidson motorbike while wearing the latest in leather gear. No one, except probably Personnel, knew anything about his private life, and no one had ever met a partner, or even a friend.
Ted still liked to play an active part in the occasional, particularly interesting operation, and his eyes lit up when Peggy told him that she needed eavesdropping and cameras planted in four warehouses on the outskirts of Manchester, as part of an operation to prevent a group of jihadis taking delivery of guns and ammunition. By now one of the police officers from the Chief Constable’s inquiry team had sent down the map coordinates for the warehouses, and also a description and approximate dimensions, all of which they must have got from McManus. By the time Peggy left him, Ted had summoned a Planning Team for first thing the following morning and was contentedly poring over maps.
Peggy went back to her office just in time to pick up a call from Liz, who had returned from Manchester and was back in her flat.
‘How was it?’ Peggy asked. ‘It can’t have been easy.’
‘It wasn’t – a
t first. He tried to embarrass me by making it personal. But in the end I found it rather sad. It seems such a pity that he’s got himself into such a mess. And he really has. I don’t know all the details, but it looks as though he’s in pretty deep with some very unsavoury characters, and not just the one we’re interested in. He’s facing a long stretch in prison according to the Chief Constable. Whom I liked, by the way. He’s young and seems very straight.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ said Peggy.
‘How have you got on?’ asked Liz.
‘I’ve alerted the Border Agency, Wally and Technical Ted. I got the coordinates through from Manchester, and Ted and his team are going up tomorrow.
‘I’ve warned Wally and Borders that it could come in at any south or east coast port. Borders mentioned the tunnel and I asked them to warn them as well, though it’s probably unlikely – they’re much more alert there because of all the illegal immigrants. I’ll get on to the French tomorrow to ask them to keep a lookout. It would be great if we could know when it’s boarding the ferry on their side. The ferries to Harwich come from the Hook of Holland, so I’ll get on to the Dutch as well tomorrow first thing.’ She suddenly stopped, breathless.
‘Go home, Peggy,’ said Liz. ‘You’ve done all you can for one day. You sound exhausted.’
So Peggy went home, but later that night she dreamed of lorryloads of guns arriving at darkened ports all round the coast – ports that she hadn’t thought of – and driving off unwatched into the night.
Chapter 43
Peggy was always early for appointments. She wished she wasn’t, because it often meant standing around for ages with cold feet, especially at railway stations where there were never any empty seats in the waiting areas. But she knew herself well enough to know that she would always be the same. She just seemed to have a chronic fear of being late. Today was no exception. She was waiting at Paddington Station for Jacques Thibault, the young computer wizard from the DGSE who was responsible for monitoring Antoine Milraud’s computer.
Close Call Page 18
