Authors: Stella Rimington
He must be heading towards Manchester, thought Peggy. Nothing else makes sense.
‘Our team is ready to join in in case he goes off the M6 up a minor road,’ went on Wally. ‘Don’t worry, Peggy. I think we can cope with little Mr Zara whatever he does.’
‘He may be picking up some others somewhere.’
‘Yeah. That occurred to us. He’s hired a big enough car.’
‘You’ve got all the addresses he might be going to, haven’t you?’ asked Peggy anxiously. ‘The four warehouses and his mother’s house.’
‘Relax, Peggy. We’ve got it all in the brief. And we’re in touch with Manchester CT Unit.’
‘OK, Wally, thanks. Keep me posted please. I’ll be on my mobile.’
‘You going somewhere?’
‘Yes. I’m going up to Manchester to liaise with the police. I’ll be in the Ops Room up there.’
There was no point in hanging around in London. Not with both Zara and the lorry apparently heading for Manchester. So Peggy went back to the open-plan office and told the others where she would be, then headed out of Thames House and hailed a passing taxi. As she leaned back in her seat, she pulled out her mobile. The last thing Liz probably needed now was a phone call, but knowing Liz she would be wondering what was going on and, after all, she had asked Peggy to keep her informed. So Peggy sent her a text:
Off to Manchester – lorry and Z on their way.
The other package’s whereabouts still unknown.
Hope you are all right. PK
She hoped Liz wouldn’t be away too long. She wasn’t at all sure that she could fill her shoes.
Peggy made it to Euston with just enough time to buy a ticket. The train to Manchester was packed but she managed to find a seat that wasn’t booked, though she had to ask a rude young man to move his coat and briefcase so that she could sit down. As the train pulled out of the station she closed her eyes and rehearsed in her mind everything that had happened and what she thought was about to happen. She was worried that they had seen no trace of the jihadis. Where were they? Were they travelling together or separately? Perhaps they were on the train. Perhaps they didn’t exist. Had they all misinterpreted the intelligence? And if they did exist and were on their way to meet Zara, what was it they were planning to do?
She was relieved that Manchester Police had set up an Ops Room. The responsibility to prevent whatever was planned no longer lay entirely on her shoulders. The police were now in charge of the action and she was their adviser.
Her thoughts drifted to Paris and to Liz. She wondered what she was doing and how she was getting on. What had happened in Paris the previous evening and why had Martin been shot? She tried to imagine the chain of events but she couldn’t make any sense of it.
When the refreshment trolley came through the carriage she realised she was starving. She had had no lunch and hardly any sleep the night before. She bought a sandwich and a black coffee and began to feel a bit better. She tried to relax, watching the reflections in the window and the bright lights of occasional stations. She had a feeling she wouldn’t be relaxing again for a while.
There was a long queue for taxis at Manchester Piccadilly Station, and when Peggy eventually got to the front and the cab drove off, she remarked to the driver how busy the place seemed. He laughed. ‘It’s the pop concert.’
‘Who’s playing?’
He named a boy band Peggy had only vaguely heard of and added, ‘It’ll be worse tomorrow. There’s another performance
and
the match – United’s playing City at Old Trafford. There’ll be gridlock, so I think I’ll stay at home.’
At Police HQ Peggy signed in at the front desk. ‘Third floor,’ she was told. ‘They’re expecting you.’
When the lift doors opened she found a tall, youngish-looking police officer waiting for her. It took a minute before she realised who it was.
‘I’m Richard Pearson, the Chief Constable. You must be Peggy.’
‘Yes,’ replied Peggy, rather breathlessly. ‘Good evening.’
‘I wanted to meet you to say how pleased we are to have you with us – but also how sorry I was about the sad events in Paris. I don’t know exactly what happened but I understand that Liz Carlyle has lost someone close to her. Please pass on my sympathy when you see her.’
‘Thank you,’ said Peggy, very surprised. ‘None of us knows the details, but Liz has gone over there and I expect she’ll have heard the full story by now. It seems that the group of jihadis changed their plans. They seem to have bypassed Paris and now we think they’re coming straight here. Your people will be more up to date than me – I’ve been on the train for the last couple of hours.’
‘Yes,’ replied the Chief Constable. ‘There have been some developments. Let me take you into the Ops Room and introduce you. The officer in charge is Chief Superintendent George Lazarus, Head of our Counter-Terrorist Unit. He’ll brief you on what’s going on.’
He led her down a corridor and into a large, brightly lit room. A big square table with chairs around it filled one end, and at the other a line of eight or ten desks, each with a computer, a phone and headphones, faced a wall of screens. A large digital clock on the wall showed 8.27 pm.
The desks were all occupied; there was a mix of men and women, some in uniform, some in plain clothes, some talking on the phone, some tapping on keyboards, some sitting back in their chairs. The atmosphere seemed busy but calm.
The Chief Constable introduced Peggy to Chief Superintendent Lazarus. Then with a quick, ‘Let me know, George, as soon as anything starts to happen,’ he left.
‘Come and sit down and have a cup of coffee and a bun and I’ll tell you what’s going on. Then I’ll introduce you to the team,’ said Lazarus, shepherding Peggy to the table. He was a big man, with large hands and feet. He quite dwarfed Peggy. As they sat down he picked up a paper from the table. ‘There was a call for you from Thames House Duty Officer about half an hour ago. He said that someone rang on one of your agent lines and asked you to ring back. Here’s the number.’
‘OK, thanks,’ said Peggy, taking the slip of paper and glancing at it before putting it in her pocket. ‘I’ll ring them later.’
‘Right then,’ said Lazarus. ‘The situation at present is that the Stena ferry carrying the lorry should be just about in to Harwich. The lorry will be allowed through Customs with no fuss, as you requested, and a marker will be put on covertly as it goes through. We have surveillance waiting to go with it wherever it goes. If it comes up here, as we expect, it should arrive any time from two o’clock onwards, provided it doesn’t stop or get lost. Zara in his hire car has arrived at his mum’s house in Eccles. We have three teams of A4 there, but they’re having to stand off a bit as the area is difficult for surveillance. They are doing drive-bys and Zara’s rental car is still there outside Mum’s house. If he goes out they should pick him up. My only worry is if he leaves over the garden wall, but that’s unlikely if he’s going to make contact with the lorry. He didn’t seem aware of surveillance. I gather he led your lot a bit of a dance on the way here, so he probably thinks he’s clean now.
‘I’m sure you’re briefed on McManus,’ he went on. ‘Well, he’s working with us now. He’s got no choice,’ and he smiled grimly. ‘He’s been told that if he doesn’t hear from Jackson, he’s to drop by the club at about twelve thirty and try and find him. If Jackson’s going to meet the lorry he should make a move any time from one o’clock onwards. We’ve got an armed team standing by and we’re going to conceal a couple of surveillance officers by the entrances to each of the industrial estates to warn us of who’s coming in. We’ve got all the comms and the cameras coming in to us here, so this is Mission Control,’ he said with a grin. ‘But what I want to know from you is what’s happened to your band of terrorists. I gather they didn’t turn up in Paris.’
‘No,’ said Peggy ‘but we’re pretty sure they’re out there somewhere and intending to meet up with Zara. What we don’t know is what they’re planning to do.’
‘Well, let’s hope we find out before they do it,’ said Lazarus, sucking his breath in through his teeth with a faint hiss. ‘Now come and meet the people.’
They walked side by side across to the desks. At the first desk was Lazarus’s deputy, a balding man with a pate that gleamed in the bleaching glare of the overhead strip lighting. His headphones were hanging round his neck. Lazarus said, ‘Andy’s got all the surveillance comms on his desk. What’s happening at the moment, Andy?’
‘Not a lot,’ was the reply. ‘The ship’s just docked.’ Andy turned a knob and the sound of the A4 teams at Harwich,
talking to each other and to A4 control, floated into the room.
Peggy and Lazarus moved along the line of desks meeting all the officers. A young woman Detective Sergeant, Emily something, was monitoring the cameras that Technical Ted and his team had placed at the warehouses. ‘Do we know yet which warehouse they’ll be going to?’ she asked Peggy.
‘No. ’Fraid not,’ Peggy replied. ‘Could be any of them. The one in Denton seems to hold all the paperwork of Lester Jackson’s club, but the one in Eccles has beds.’
‘Let’s have a look, Emily,’ said Lazarus. She leaned forward and clicked her mouse. Suddenly the screens on the bank of monitors on the wall cleared, replaced a moment later by views of the warehouses. Two were old brick buildings that looked pretty run-down; the Denton facility was a long, hangar-like building and the Eccles one was a large aluminium shed that was indistinguishable from those dotting the outskirts of every town in England.
Technical Ted and his team had put cameras inside and outside each warehouse, and Emily panned through the pictures from each.
A curly-haired man called Ames who had his headphones on sat up quickly and raised his hand.
‘Yes?’ said Lazarus.
‘McManus has heard from Lester Jackson. Jackson wants to meet him at Slim’s at midnight. McManus wants to know if he should go.’
No one said anything for a moment. To Peggy’s surprise she saw they were all looking at her. Yes, she thought, it was a question for her to answer.
‘He should go. Definitely,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why Jackson wants McManus there, but it gives us an opportunity to know where Jackson is while we wait for the lorry.’
Ames said, ‘Jackson may suspect McManus.’
‘Good point.’ It was Lazarus now, giving his view. ‘But we’ll have to take that risk. It would only create more suspicion if McManus refused to meet him.’
‘But what if Jackson doesn’t go to the warehouse?’ asked Ames.
‘If Jackson leaves the club, McManus should tell us right away.’
Ames asked, ‘Should he follow him?’
Lazarus turned to Peggy again. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Far too risky. But at least we’ll know from McManus when Jackson’s on the move. Probably just as the lorry arrives. Or at least we hope so.’
Slim’s Club was full. On a week night the customers were beginning to drift home by midnight, but this was Friday, and people seemed happy to stay out late. McManus found a space at the very end of the car park and walked back towards the club’s entrance. He could hear the loud music from the dance floor while he was still fifty yards away. He nodded at the bouncers standing by the front door and went through into the restaurant, surprised to find that most of the tables were still occupied.
Lester Jackson, in an elegant dark suit with cream shirt and crimson tie, was sitting in his usual place against the back wall. He nodded almost imperceptibly when he saw McManus, who walked over and joined him, sliding in behind the table to sit on the banquette next to his host.
‘Bang on time,’ said Jackson without looking at McManus.
‘Have you ever known me to be late?’ The waiter came to the table. McManus saw that Jackson was drinking his usual fizzy water with a slice of lime. ‘Whisky and soda,’ McManus said, thinking it would look odd if he ordered anything other than his usual. ‘So what’s happening?’ he asked casually.
Jackson didn’t answer at once. He was looking around the room, as if counting heads – or the money the heads would bring in. He took a small sip of his water and said, ‘I got a nice little deal proceeding.’
‘That’s good,’ said McManus, as if it had nothing to do with him.
‘Big delivery. From abroad.’
‘Girls?’
Jackson shrugged and pulled one of his cuffs. ‘And then some. I could use a little help with this one.’
McManus said nothing. The waiter came back with his drink, and he took a large swallow, then put his glass down. ‘I’ve been meaning to speak to you.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘I’m going to be retiring soon.’
‘Retiring? You ain’t that old, man.’ Jackson’s voice had suddenly lost its polish.
‘My pension says I am.’ McManus tried a smile. ‘Things are going to change.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Well, once I’m no longer working I’m not going to be much use to you, am I? It’s not like I’ll know what’s going on.’
Jackson looked amused. ‘You’ll still know plenty as far as I’m concerned. And you’ll know how to find out what you don’t know. Your buddies will still be working in the department, won’t they?’
McManus didn’t say anything. He sensed this was not the time to push the story of his retirement.