Terror Illusion

by James R Conway

Precisely at seven thirty that evening, Karen received a call on her mobile. The driver for her and Jonathan had arrived outside the St. Katharines apartment block and was ready whenever she was. She and Jonathan pulled on their overcoats and went down in the lift to the ground floor. Outside they found a black BMW with a uniformed driver sitting in the driving seat. They climbed into the back seats of the vehicle.

  “I have been instructed to take you to The Skipton Arms in Willesden,” said the driver. “Is that still correct?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” said Karen. The vehicle moved off.

  After a while, Jonathan said, “I’m starting to enjoy this work.”

  “It’s a lot more fun than an office job,” said Karen.

  “I’ve never had a real office job,” said Jonathan. “I mean a clerical pen pushing kind of job.”

  “Lucky you!”

  It took about twenty minutes for the car to reach Willesden. The car pulled up to the kerb of a very nondescript street full of warehouses and industrial premises.

  “I’m going to drop you here rather than in front of the pub,” said the driver. “Mr. McKinnon asked me to do that just in case someone might be watching. The main road is just ahead. Turn left and you will see The Skipton Arms. Miss Karen, give me a call when you are ready to be collected and I will pick you up on the corner up there.”

  “Thank you very much, driver,” said Karen as she and Jonathan stepped out of the vehicle.

  They walked up to the main road and turned left as the driver had instructed and saw the pub just ahead on their left. Before he had left Roger’s office, Jonathan had printed off a small head and shoulders picture of Sean Donnelly and now he pulled that picture from his inside overcoat pocket and took another look at it to remind himself of Sean’s facial features. He showed the picture to Karen who studied it for a few moments then nodded and returned the picture to Jonathan.

  They walked up to the pub and went inside. Jonathan checked his watch. It was five minutes before eight o’clock. The pub was fairly quiet, the after work trade had gone and the steady evening after dinner crowd had not yet arrived. It was a typical London suburban pub, dark panelled walls and dark mahogany furniture. There were bar stools around the semicircular bar. It was obvious to Jonathan that the separate public bar and lounge bar of the original pub had been knocked into one large bar. There were upholstered bench seats along the walls of the pub with tables and chairs in front of them.

  “What would you like to drink, Karen?” said Jonathan as they stood just inside the front doors.

  “My usual glass of white wine, please,” said Karen.

  Jonathan stepped over to the bar and ordered the wine and a pint of best bitter for himself. He carried the drinks over to a table and sat on one of the bench seats with his back to the wall so that he had a good view of the whole room. Karen sat beside him. He looked at his watch. It was exactly eight o’clock.

  “Surveillance can be the most boring part of this job,” said Karen quietly.

  “Perhaps we won’t have to wait too long,” said Jonathan. “At least we can have a drink while we are waiting.”

  The pub started to fill up with a few more customers. A young couple came in and they were followed by an old man with grey hair and a walking stick. Jonathan took out the picture of Donnelly and placed it on the seat between him and Karen. One of the characteristics that Karen had noted about Donnelly when she was reading his description on the computer was that he was relatively short at five foot five, so she was looking for a short man. A man roughly fitting that description came in but he was wearing glasses and as far as they knew, Donnelly didn’t wear spectacles.

  The recent arrivals bought their drinks and dispersed themselves around the pub, some sitting at tables while some sat on stools at the bar.

  The front doors opened again and a short, middle-aged man walked in. Jonathan looked at the man, looked down at the picture and looked at the man again. He nudged Karen with his elbow. She looked down at the picture and said very quietly, “He’s a possible.”

  The short man walked up to the bar. “Your usual, Sean?” said the lady behind the bar and she started pouring a pint of Guinness. This time Karen nudged Jonathan.

  “I think that’s our man,” said Jonathan.

  Donnelly carried his drink over to a corner table on the far side of the room from where Jonathan and Karen were sitting. “I can make eye contact from here,” said Jonathan.

  “We are supposed to be just surveying the place,” said Karen. “At least give him time to get settled with his drink.”

  Jonathan kept watch on Donnelly, whose head was down in a newspaper. Jonathan could not get a memory trace unless he could make eye contact. After a long time Donnelly put down his newspaper, picked up his Guinness, and looked around the pub. Jonathan thought that Donnelly had looked at him suspiciously but decided that it was just his own nerves. As Donnelly put down his glass, Jonathan started concentrating on his eyes. Within a few seconds, Donnelly’s eyes glazed over and he was in a seizure, looking straight ahead. No one else in the pub seemed to be taking any notice of the short man in the corner, staring into space.

  Jonathan started to think of keywords. “Grendan West.” “Terrorist attack.”

  Soon the memory stream started to flow:

  I am sitting in a pub in Kilburn in the middle of the afternoon with a pint of Guinness. Grendan West has asked me to meet him here because he has an assignment for me. Apart from the barman, I am the only person in the pub. This pub is usually deserted in the middle of the afternoon so it is a good place for a private meeting.

  The front doors of the pub are opening and Grendan West is walking in. I have worked with Grendan West before. He was the one who hired me into MI5 Black Ops to help him to defuse bombs. West is dressed in jeans and a leather jacket over a T-shirt. He is buying a pint of lager at the bar and now he is walking over to my table and sitting down.

  He says, “Good afternoon, Sean.”

  I say, “Good afternoon, Mr. West.”

  He says, “I have an assignment for you if you want it.”

  I say, “How much?”

  He says, “Thirty thousand pounds. Half up front, the rest on completion.”

  I say, “What’s the job?”

  He says, “I want a terrorist attack on one of the tunnels north of Kings Cross station. I don’t want any people hurt, just damage and mayhem.”

  I think for a moment. It sounds like fairly simple job. It will probably take a week, maybe less.

  “Thirty thousand pounds, you say.”

  “Half up front.”

  “When do you want it done?”

  “How long will it take you?”

  “A few days. Where are we? Today is the Wednesday the sixteenth. I could do it next Sunday, the twentieth.”

  “Good.” West is pulling an envelope out of his pocket. “Here’s the first fifteen thousand.”

  “I’ll need to take a short break out of the country until the chase dies down.”

  “I’ll organize that. I’ll call you.”

  West has left half of his drink and has stood up.

  “Remember, damage only. No people killed or injured.”

  Now West is leaving the pub.

  Jonathan released Donnelly from his seizure and watched while Donnelly picked up his pint of Guinness and took a long drink from it. He was behaving as if nothing had happened.

  Jonathan took a notebook and pen from his jacket and made notes about the memory trace that he had just received. When he had finished his notes, he pushed the notebook across to Karen so that she could read.

  “That gives us plenty to work with,” said Karen after reading the notes.

  “What do you think that Mac and Roger will do with the information?” said Jonathan.

  “I am sure Mac will want to avoid the tunnels being blown up, so I think he will want to somehow get the bomb disarmed. His main objective is to be a pain in the butt to Black O
ps and to thwart their operations.”

  “I think we should wrap things up for tonight,” said Jonathan. “I don’t want to risk Donnelly noticing what we are doing. Perhaps we can come back tomorrow after we’ve had a meeting with Mac and Roger. Let’s finish our drinks and then you can call up the car.”

  Ten minutes later, they were climbing into the BMW. When they were safely inside the vehicle, Jonathan said, “Are you coming back to the St. Katharines flat, Karen?”

  “No, I think I’ll go back to my own place this evening, if that’s all right with you.”

  Karen leaned forward and gave the driver the address of her flat. She would be dropped off first because her flat was much nearer to their present location.

  “I suppose we will need a meeting with Mac and Roger tomorrow morning,” said Jonathan.

  “I’ll call Mac when I get back to the flat and arrange it for ten thirty,” said Karen.

  As the car pulled up outside Karen’s flat, she gave Jonathan a peck on the cheek and said, “A good evening’s work. Well done Jonathan!”

  “I’ll see you at ten thirty,” said Jonathan.

  It was ten o’ clock in the evening by the time Jonathan was dropped at the St. Katharines flat. When Jonathan stepped out of the lift and into the living room, Mac was watching the television news.

  “Successful evening?” said Mac.

  “Yes,” said Jonathan as he walked over to the kitchen and collected a bottle of wine from the fridge and a wine glass from the cupboard. He sat down in the armchair next to Mac, opened the wine and poured himself a drink.

  “Did Karen call you?” said Jonathan.

  “Yes,” said Mac. “Meeting at ten thirty, right?”

  “That’s right,” said Jonathan.

  Jonathan told Mac about the memory trace and the plan to blow up the railway tunnel just outside King Cross.

  “What do you think our next move should be?” said Jonathan.

  “I think we should have that conference with Karen and Roger before we make any more plans,” said Mac. “We can share a taxi over to Roger’s office. Can you be ready to leave by ten o’clock tomorrow morning?”

  “I’ll be ready,” said Jonathan as he poured himself a second glass of wine. He woke up at two o’clock in the morning with a half full glass of wine on the table next to him. The memory traces made him more tired than he realised. There was no sign of Mac, who had presumably gone to bed. Jonathan hauled himself out of the armchair and walked towards his bedroom. Without getting undressed, he lay on the bed and fell straight back to sleep.

  Next morning, Mac and Jonathan shared the taxi to Roger’s office. Karen was already there and by ten thirty, all four were seated around the conference table. Mary, the office assistant had provided coffee and biscuits for the group. Roger had set up a large electronic whiteboard and had collated together on the board the information that Jonathan had reported from the memory traces together with some background information that Mac had provided.

  “Let’s review everything we’ve got and see if we can spot any gaps in our information,” said Mac.

  “We know who, what, where and when,” said Karen. “What else is there?”

  “I want to keep a close eye on Sean,” said Mac. “For that matter I want to keep a close eye on Black Ops. The main thing here is to discredit Black Ops in the eyes of the public. If we can prevent the bomb going off but publicise the plot, that will be the best of all possible worlds. I had a meeting with one of our supporters yesterday who has pledged a tidy sum of money to boost our coffers if we succeed with this project. I suggest that Jonathan and Karen go back out to The Skipton Arms tonight for one more memory trace on Donnelly. Are you up for that? Jonathan? Karen?”

  Both said they were.

  “We’ll meet here again at ten thirty tomorrow morning,” said Mac. “Everyone agreed on that?”

  There was a general nodding of heads in agreement. Mac continued, “I’ll send the car round to the St. Katharines flat, same as last night. Roger, keep an eye on Donnelly from the control centre, just in case he makes a move.”

  “I’ve got to go into my office for a while,” said Karen. “So, if that’s all I will head out now.”

  The meeting broke up and Jonathan caught the tube back to Tower Hill. He bought a sandwich on the way and after he had eaten his lunch, he lay on the bed and took an afternoon nap.

  Just before eight that evening Jonathan and Karen were back at The Skipton Arms. They sat at a different table than the night before, hoping to minimize the chance that Donnelly might recognize them. They watched as the pub gradually filled with people but there was no sign of Donnelly. They nursed their drinks for nearly an hour and then Jonathan got up and bought more drinks.

  “I suppose we might as well enjoy our drinks if he’s not going to turn up,” said Jonathan as he placed the drinks on the table.

  “I’m going to give Roger a call and let him know,” said Karen. “Perhaps he knows where Donnelly is.”

  She made the call. “We have not tracked him anywhere,” said Roger. “His car is still parked outside his house so we think he is probably still at home.”

  “Are you still at the office?” said Karen.

  “Yes, I’ll be staying all night to keep an eye on Donnelly. I’ve got a camp bed here that I can doss down on. I want to make sure Donnelly doesn’t get away during the night.”

  “We’ll see you at ten thirty in the morning unless something happens during the night,” said Karen.

  Karen ended the call then said, “You might as well relax and enjoy your drink.” She told Jonathan about the rest of the call.

  “It’s a damn pity that we couldn’t do a memory trace on Donnelly tonight,” said Jonathan. “It leaves us with a bloody great gap between now and when he blows the tunnel sky high next Monday, and we don’t know where he is going to go to ground either. Somehow we need to get close enough to him to get another memory trace.”

  “Roger is keeping an eye on Donnelly tonight and we can discuss our strategy with Mac tomorrow morning,” said Karen. “Enjoy your drink and mull over the problem.”

  “Cheers!” said Jonathan and he took a long drink, finishing his pint of beer. “I could do with another one of those. Same again for you?”

  “I’m not driving. Make it a large one!”

  When they had finished their drink, Karen called for the car and they were taken back to the St. Katharines flat.

  They were woken up at seven thirty next morning by a sharp knock on each of their bedroom doors from Mac. He cooked fried eggs and sausages and brewed a pot of coffee while Karen and Jonathan got washed and dressed.

  “Roger tells me that Donnelly was a no show yesterday evening,” said Mac as they sat around the dining table enjoying their breakfast.

  “It seems to me that we have a big hole in our information between now and when he detonates the bomb,” said Jonathan. “It would also be nice to know where he is going to go after the attack.”

  “I really want to avoid the bomb actually exploding, so I need to find out how he plans to detonate the bomb and stop him. Anyway, we can talk about this in Roger's office. I’ll call a taxi while you two finish your breakfasts. At least the good news is that Donnelly has not moved his car overnight.”

  They shared the taxi to Roger’s office. Mary was brewing a fresh pot of coffee as they arrived. “Go on through,” she said. “I think he’s awake. I’ll bring the coffee through in a minute.”

  Roger was awake and in fact, he was just finishing shaving with an electric razor that he kept in a desk drawer for just such occasions.

  “Good morning, crew,” said Roger with a broad smile. “Let’s get settled.” He gestured towards the conference table. They were all seated when Mary brought the coffee through. “Mac, can you bring us up to date with where we are and what we know?”

  “We know his plan is to detonate a bomb in the tunnel north of Kings Cross station sometime next Monday. We don’t know wh
at time of day but we can safely assume that it will be during the small hours between Monday and Tuesday, because he has been told to avoid killing people. There are fewer trains overnight.”

  “What information are we still missing?” said Karen.

  “Pretty much everything before and after the detonation,” said Mac. “We don’t know how he is going to get the explosives and we don’t know where he is going to build the bomb. We don’t know where he is going to hide out after the attack, except it will probably be overseas.”

  “Today is Friday, so if he is going to blow up the tunnel on Monday, he needs to start getting his act together soon,” said Jonathan. “I really need to get another memory trace out of him.”

  “I can make some reasonable assumptions based on his methods in Ireland,” said Mac. “I am pretty sure he is not keeping explosives in the house. That’s not his style.”

  “What is his style?” said Roger. “What do you expect him to do?”

  “I expect the bomb will be detonated by mobile phone,” said Mac. “He will be miles away when the bomb goes off. I also expect he will get his explosives from his mates in the Republic of Ireland. Of course he might steal them from somewhere here in the UK.”

  “Where from?” said Jonathan.

  “Quarries are a good bet,” said Mac. “They usually have a lot of explosives and they are not always too careful with their security,”

  “Everything I have heard here tells me that we need to stick to Donnelly like glue,” said Roger.

  “Jonathan and I should get out on the road,” said Mac “and at least get out around the Willesden area to be ready to follow him when he moves.”

  “You can use my car,” said Roger, “but I think you should wait until he actually makes a move.”

  Chapter 29