“It’s very worrying. While I was at GCHQ I had some pretty intensive training on espionage tactics. Using sleepers is a bit old school, and rarely used, because normally people like to get quick results.
“But if you have a sleeper asset and then activate it, you clearly have a purpose in mind. We know that Yebedev met a Russian nuclear expert so I didn’t need to put that into the Spectrum to know what it meant. There is a plan and it almost certainly involves a nuclear weapon.
“Just to be sure, I ran everything through the Spectrum anyway and got something strange.”
Hooley looked quizzical.
“The answer came up in a colour I’ve never seen before. It was a sort of muddy red, as though two colours had been mixed together but you could still see both. Normally you just get the one colour.”
“Sounds like a John Le Carre novel,” said Hooley. Listening to Roper, he was starting to realise that, wherever this case was heading, it was going to be beyond a bit of straightforward policing. What Roper said next confirmed this view.
“One of the things I learned at GCHQ is to always try and talk to the people who put the original reports together. You can get a lot more background information and insights - the sort of stuff that often gets left out.
“I’m thinking that the Russian scientist behind our suspected suitcase bomb emerged in the 1980s, so we should be able to find people who were directly involved and can fill in some of the missing details.”
“Good idea. Let’s go and find one of our Cold War warriors.”
17
Bill Nuffield sounded genuinely pleased to hear from Hooley, and, after listening to the request, said he was confident he would find someone who would be willing to talk to them.
“Let me ask around and find out who might be happy to talk to you. Old spies can be a little paranoid - I guess it goes with the territory - so a lot will say no because they will think you are trying to set them up in some way.
“The Soviet Republic may have collapsed in 1991 but for a lot of people, who are still around, the Cold War never ended. They argue that the FSB is an awful lot like the KGB it was supposed to replace, and that it would be a mistake to underestimate them. The old KGB saw the writing on the wall very early on and was ready for change.”
A low chuckle came down the line. “I suppose I’m starting to sound like a ‘Cold War warrior’ myself. What I’m trying to explain is that people on our side would be suspicious of being approached by people they don’t know.
“I’ll probably need to work through intermediaries but that’s no problem. I think most people will accept my bona fides and some of them may well be aware of you guys anyway. As soon as I get something I will be back to you.”
*
It took a week, but Nuffield proved true to his word - although it was Julie Mayweather who confirmed the meeting when she appeared in their office.
“I’ve had the Commissioner’s office on. They’d been asked to confirm you two are who you say they are. Which, as far as I know, you both are. So, a Sir Robert Rose will be coming here, tomorrow at 2pm.”
She was dressed in what she referred to her civilian outfit: a dark grey trouser suit of a classic design that complimented her slim physique without being too showy.
Realising that the DCI was about to protest, she said, “Sorry Brian, there was no negotiation. If you need to talk to this man, then you will have to cancel anything else. It’s 2pm tomorrow or not at all. Apparently, he’s off on a trek through the South American jungles so won’t be around for a month or more.”
“He’s one of the names I’ve been checking out,” said Roper. “He was one of two deputy Director-Generals in the 1980s. He had a reputation for being extremely competent and was regarded as one of the most successful people they had, as well as being well liked by the staff.”
Mayweather folded her arms. “Not a day goes by that you don’t surprise me in some way. I’m not complaining, but how come you’ve been looking into him? I have to admit that I don’t recall his name.”
“I’ve been doing a bit of background on who might be willing to talk to us. I guessed they wouldn’t put us in touch with a real-life agent, and it seemed pretty obvious that it would need someone senior enough to handle our questions and understand what could and couldn’t be discussed without getting special clearance.
“Once I worked that out it was fairly easy to find the names of people who would fit that profile. Sir Robert was top of that list, so I looked into him. If we ended up with someone who was very anti-KGB, we’d have had to take that into account against what they told us.”
“Do you mean that type of person would be more likely to believe there was a suitcase bomb, for instance?” asked Hooley.
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. They might see us as meddling in stuff we don’t understand so they would make it hard for us to get to the truth. But someone like Sir Robert has always been seen as very calm and very organised. He would be much more likely to stay neutral and give us good information.”
Mayweather went to leave, then stopped in the doorway and gave Roper a thoughtful look.
“I’m glad you’re on our side, Jonathan. I wouldn’t like to think how it would turn out if you ever joined up with the bad guys.”
18
They were going in at night, with everything hinging on the most unpredictable element: a crying baby. Since the couple had returned from her mother’s house, the infant had taken to waking at all hours of the night and taking time to settle down. Anne Hudson had established a pattern of taking her daughter downstairs and getting comfortable on the sofa. More often than not, both would also fall asleep.
Once that happened, two teams would move in. One would grab the sleeping Hudson; the other would race upstairs to subdue her husband. He might not have been able to put up any resistance, but he could shout.
There was no certainty about when the baby would start crying. Sometimes it started before midnight or sometimes any time up to 4am. Last night she hadn’t made a sound, sleeping peacefully until just after 6am.
The Courier glanced at his watch again - just after 2am. He stopped himself from sighing as he didn’t want his jitters to infect the operation. Twenty minutes later he jumped as the sound of the little girl starting to cry filled the speakers.
The watchers were always impressed by the speed with which mum responded. She was up and heading downstairs before her husband had shown any signs of realising that something was amiss.
For the next half an hour they watched intently as Anne Hudson soothed her baby, offered her milk and cuddled her close. She went quite still. They waited five minutes to be sure both were asleep.
The snatch squad was dressed in black and merged into the shadows. The closest street lights had been sabotaged days earlier, and the team had pinpointed local CCTV. One camera had been sabotaged by having thick grease smeared on the lens.
The lock proved no barrier and the door was opened with minimal delay and the gang slipped into the house. Barely visible in the gloom, they moved in on the sleeping pair. The leader gave a chopping gesture with his hand: the gesture to move.
Men on either side pinned her arms and legs, a powerful hand was clamped over her mouth and the fourth person picked up the baby and held her with surprising gentleness. The incapacitated mother was injected with fast-acting tranquilliser and bodily lifted into the air.
The baby, miraculously still asleep, was carefully placed back on the settee, surrounded by cushions to keep her stable. Anne Hudson took moments to go under and she was already being carried out by two of the men. Another two raced up the stairs.
The pair with Hudson waited inside until they heard a van draw up. Moving fast, they transferred her into the back of the vehicle. They didn’t expect her to wake up but were taking no chances. She was expertly gagged and zip-locks secured her arms and legs.
Back inside the house a third team of two was grabbing the surveillance equipment. In l
ess than five minutes they had everything apart from the cameras and microphones in the couple’s bedroom.
The wife had left the door open when she went downstairs. Tony Hudson was snoring loudly, knocked out cold by the liquid morphine he swallowed at bedtime. Ten minutes after breaking in, the job was done and two vehicles carrying the gang and their victim were on their way.
Most of the snatch team piled into the first van and the team leader was picked up in a second van driven by the Courier. As both vehicles moved off, there was no-one to hear the baby take a breath to indicate she was about to start howling.
They headed for the A3: the normally busy stretch of road linking London and the south coast. Even at this hour there would a steady flow of traffic. Driving carefully, the Courier kept a few hundred yards back. Up ahead the first van braked as traffic lights went red.
Waiting patiently, they moved off again when the signal changed. The first vehicle was halfway through the junction when a car, moving at high speed, appeared from the right and smashed straight into it. The force of the impact moved the van 20 feet, the car embedded in its side.
The harsh noise of the impact was replaced by a strange silence. Then the Courier became aware of lights coming on in buildings all around the junction. The massive crash had clearly woken people up and they were looking out of their windows.
He needed to act fast if there was to be a chance that anything could be salvaged from this disaster. Shouting at the men in his vehicle to get ready, he ran to the scene. He was greeted with carnage. The men in the back were lying in positions that would have been impossible for anyone alive, and the woman was crunched awkwardly in one corner, bleeding heavily from head wounds; it looked like she had a broken arm.
The operation was over. In this state Hudson would be rejected by the client. His only option was to clean up and get out of here as fast as possible.
He grabbed the still unconscious woman by her feet and pulled her towards him, then taking her head in his hands he gave it a savage twist, breaking her neck instantly. The action gave him a momentary sense of satisfaction.
Walking to the front of the van he saw the driver was alive but trapped in the wreckage. Getting him out was not an option. The man didn’t flinch as he had his neck expertly broken. He knew his family would be well taken care of.
He waved the surviving gang members back into his vehicle and drove away to distant sound of police and ambulance sirens. He was careful to stay within the speed limit.
19
Brian Hooley was looking forward to meeting Sir Robert Rose. Roper had given him a dossier on the retired spy chief which made it clear he had been a hugely influential figure in his day. Not just in the UK, but also working with the CIA back in the days when it was the most powerful US intelligence organisation.
The man had enjoyed a ringside seat for some of the most extraordinary moments since World War II. The DCI had an image in his mind’s eye of Sir Robert in the type of handmade suit worn by Prince Charles.
Instead he was introduced to a very fit man in his mid-70s. He came across as mildly eccentric in a good way. He radiated good humour and this was reinforced by his choice of clothing: an electric blue jacket teamed with oversized black trousers and a pair of very expensive shoes that were firmly in the category of “having seen better days”.
Sir Robert quickly took control. Retirement had done nothing to dilute his natural air of command.
“You two are getting quite a reputation,” he said, settling into one of the chairs in Mayweather’s office which had been borrowed for the interview.
“As you know, my side can be a bit sniffy about policemen, but there is more than a grudging respect for you two; you seem to make quite a team, and the threats we face have blurred the lines between the ways we all operate. I give you a terror leader; you show me a master criminal.
“Everyone is fascinated by Mr. Roper’s Rainbow Spectrum. It sounds like the codename for some sort of undercover operation that we used to run back in the 1960s. I can quite imagine Michael Caine playing the lead role in a film.”
The retired spy chief tugged at the sleeves of his shirt and carried on. “I gather you are interested in what I can recall about Maria Vasilev?” He sipped at the coffee the DCI had poured for him, then looked at the cup with raised eyebrows.
Hooley correctly interpreted his reaction. “I’m afraid that Jonathan and I have developed a shared passion for strong coffee. I forget that it’s not to everyone’s taste. Would you prefer something else, or can I make a weaker version?”
Sir Robert dismissed his concerns with a smile and wave of his hand. “Not to worry; it’s at the top end of my tolerance, admittedly, but it will keep me sharp for the next hour or so - and I suspect I am going to need that with you two.
“Oddly enough, Vasilev is one of those who has stuck in my memory. At the time you imagine you will recall everything, but it’s surprising how many people and events slip the memory. She appeared in the 1980s as one of many young Soviet prodigies.
“She was assigned to their nuclear weapons programme and before long there were rumours that she was making some sort of progress. We didn’t know what that progress was, but it was clear that her bosses were getting excited.
“I don’t think it’s any secret that by that stage we had quite an insight into their operations; a lot of Russians could see the writing on the wall and were making decisions to improve their own situations by making a little money from us.
“Without going into too many details, we were able to build up a reliable picture of her. Vasilev was certainly no idealist. But she was driven by a sense of pride in her work, not some misplaced desire to defeat the West. We confirmed that Vasilev was working on a miniaturisation programme.”
He slowed down, and Roper took the chance to ask a question. “Do you think technology has improved enough to make that more likely?”
The retired spy chief looked thoughtful and took his time answering.
“There have been some big advances, but there are still problems.” He spread his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Allow me to digress a little. You will of course recall Winston Churchill’s famous saying that Russia was ‘a riddle, wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma’.
“While that was a wonderful observation it has given rise to the idea that all Russians are fiendishly brilliant, which is a bit misleading. The old Soviet Union operated in the same way that any bureaucracy does. In a way their job is to manage the allocation of limited resources to all the competing demands.
“Even the old KGB couldn’t just keep pursuing some pet project without proving there was a chance of getting a result. I imagine that is still the same - although I am retired, after all.”
Roper was looking very bright-eyed. “With your experience, and what you said about the pressure to get results, do you think she would have given up the project?”
“Perhaps but also recall that I mentioned events. Maybe Vasilev had given up on the idea a few years ago, but something has brought it back to the front of her mind. The one thing I can tell you with total certainty is that such ideas are very seductive. It is rare for them to die away altogether; more a question of going into hibernation.”
“So you think there is a very real threat: Not just weapons as deterrents, but people looking for opportunities to use them against an enemy?” Roper had leaned forward as he spoke.
Sir Robert took a moment as he gathered his thoughts.
“You have to remember that life was a bit more straightforward in my day. We always knew who our enemies were and could plan accordingly. I think today’s generation have forgotten that there are people out there who wish harm on us and our way of life.
“I’m not talking about terrorists. They will always exist. What I am talking about is state-sponsored aggression. So, yes, I do think there is a real threat.”
That answer seemed to satisfy Roper, and they spent another hour with Sir Robert. By the end of the int
erview Hooley was pretty certain that the former secret service man was holding something back, but he couldn’t quite place what. He supposed there must be a million secrets in that world.
The meeting could have gone on longer but the DCI was happy to end it after two hours. Roper was showing all the signs of becoming too fixated, starting to ask dogmatic questions that earned him quizzical looks.
Hooley knew that Roper could blur the lines from focused work practice to a personal crusade. He was anxious to keep the balance right because getting it wrong was what had led to him being suspended on misconduct charges.
As they showed Sir Robert out, the DCI walked back to his desk wondering what would happen if everyone brought Roper’s directness to the party. He wasn’t sure the world was quite ready for that day just yet.
20
Roper was holding his jacket, his eyes screwed up as he dabbed sticky tape at bits of fluff only he could see. The DCI left him to it. Roper had a surprisingly complex relationship with his clothing and when he was being this careful it indicated he was thinking hard.
But, much as the DCI remained fascinated by the extraordinary way in which Roper’s mind worked, he knew it was perfectly possible that his colleague might not say anything for the rest of the day.
Ordinarily that was never an issue, but this time he was eager to hear what Roper had made of their meeting so took the unusual step of interrupting him.
“Sir Robert wasn’t quite as I expected. I anticipated meeting an old Cold War warrior with a bristling moustache.”
To his surprise, Roper looked cross. “If you had listened properly to what I said about him there would have been no surprise. To my mind he was exactly what I was expecting. As I told you, he was the man who kept the organisation running smoothly; he wasn’t one of the old-school types at all.”
The Long Reach: British Detective (Jonathan Roper Investigates Book 3) Page 7
