Don't... 04 Backlash (9 page)

Rachel
was already tucked neatly behind her desk, sorting through the
documents that had been given priority for the day. Hearing the
door ease open, she glanced up, giving Gray the once-over despite
the checks that had already gone on downstairs. Late twenties, she
came smartly dressed in a crisp, white short-sleeved blouse and
suit trousers, the latter short slim-lined enough to turn a few
conservative eyebrows in public, and probably get the blood pumping
in private. Long brown hair was tied tightly away from her
perfect
Oil of
Olay
face, and big
green eyes finished the killer look. But Gray employed her for her
management skills, her two years in the field, her uncanny ability
to tell the difference between bureaucracy bullshit and field-op
priorities.

“The
district-general would like you in his office by 9:00 a.m. for a
meeting with the SSTP.” She handed over a file. “This also came
through for you, marked Restricted Circulation.”

Gray looked
over the file. “Let Andrews know I want to see him in ten
minutes.”

She watched him
for a moment. “That meeting with the district-general is marked as
a priority.”

Gray handed her
the file back. “Pass on my apologies to Stuart for any
inconvenience caused by Reignfold’s visit. Give Reignfold my
apologies too.”

Rachel scanned
the file, then raised a brow. “A PIIC... and delivered this
morning? Sir Stuart Worthington will be relieved. He has a COBRA
meeting at ten thirty.”

“Then fax that
through with the Restricted Circulation notice. Also, nice of you
to offer to get me a coffee from the cafeteria in about... five
minutes.”

“Oh?” She eased
back a touch. “You need coffee in... five minutes, sir?”

“I have a
feeling a nice gent by the name of Mr Reignfold will be down there
then, needing coffee.”

“In five
minutes?”

“Find out what
intel he’s after. See if you can get a name other than Logan Keal
on who sent him here. SSTP members come in twos, so if they put
their heads together, make sure you breathe discreetly enough on
their throats to listen so that they question their own
sexuality.”

Rachel smiled
and pulled up a ministerial file off the computer. She sat studying
Reignfold’s image. “I need a coffee anyway, sir. Oh....” She handed
over a slip of paper. “This came from Grantham. He’s the field
operative working the Bhasin case.”

“Thank you.”
Gray frowned as he read the note. “Tell Andrews to be here in five
minutes, not ten.” He headed into his office, taking Grantham’s
note with him. He didn’t need to be there for the district-general
to ask the Security Service Tribunal panel to take the hint and let
sleeping whores lie. The PIIC would do its job and ensure they
wouldn’t return and no doubt gnaw bone-deep into those who pushed
Logan Keal for playing time. Rachel would do her best to find out
who sent it. That just left the private matter of Jack’s mother to
wrap up this morning.

A knock came at
the door, forcing Gray to cast a distracted look away from the
window as Andrews pushed on through. Gray switched off the data on
display on the Durbar database and picked up Grantham’s note as
Andrews came over and took a seat.

A bruise
lined the man’s lip and his usual light-frame glasses had been
replaced, no doubt a throwback from the latest case he worked. The
Westwood suit he wore added a few years to him, making him more
Jack’s age, when he was closer to Jan’s at twenty-eight. Andrews
had gone through a few MI5 departments already, the various bosses
shifting him around because there was “never something
quite right
about him.” He’d passed top of
his class at Oxford University, but he had that quiet bookworm
nature and look to him that had... worried some.

It hadn’t
worried Gray.

“You wanted to
see me?” Andrews gave a push up of his glasses, making him look
like he was more ready to take notes and type them up, over going
on a field operation.

“Two things. Do
you remember Bhasin’s arrest over a year ago?”

“The Indian
banker?” Andrews eased one leg across the other. “He was found with
a street value of heroin of over one million at one of his London
properties, and was charged under Anti-terrorism law with
Narco-terrorism. He sold the drugs here and sent the money back to
India.”

“There had been
months of intelligence-led investigation that led up to the Counter
Terrorism Command raid in Bhasin’s South London apartment, mostly
run by Grantham.” He tapped the note on his desk. “But it was
Bhasin’s screw-up, or more his panic to get out of London, that
pushed Grantham to request the raid.”

Andrews frowned
over his glasses. “India’s known for its narcotic traffic zones.
That’s nothing new. With his panic to get out of London, was he
tipped off about the raid?”

“That was the
thought back then, but I received that off Grantham this
morning.”

Andrews picked
up the Internal Note. “Another terrorist cell has migrated in the
past few days?”

“Over the past
year that makes four known franchises to Al-Qaeda who have gone
underground, cutting ties and flying out to America. CIA, FBI, and
the Department for Homeland Security have been notified, with MI6
heading the migration and collaborating with Interpol.”

Andrews leaned
forward, his interest piqued. “And it ties to Bhasin, how?”

Gray heard his
beeper go and shifted to pull it out. The district-general had
received the PIIC. The code that came through demanded business as
usual now. “Under questioning,” said Gray. “Bhasin predicted four
cells would migrate, just after his arrest, with one of them being
linked to Al-Qaeda. One of the others came from a suspected ISIS
cell that Grantham’s report shows migrated within the past few
days.”

“So not a
coincidence, not with predicting four?” Andrews saw the concern.
“Al-Qaeda and ISIS broke all ties years ago. They never did make
good bed partners. Are you suggesting Bhasin was playing both sides
and that he knew something would spook them enough to migrate?”

“Hm. I’d really
like to know how Bhasin could have gone Nostradamus on this.
Whatever it is that’s making the cells migrate, it spooked Bhasin a
year ago too.”

“Is he still
available for questioning?”

“Committed
suicide a few months after the trial.”

“Okay. What
would you like me to do?”

“Get word out
to your sources on the ground and see if they’ve caught any
undercurrents. I don’t like how it suggests that Bhasin had
connections to both ISIS and Al-Qaeda. It hints at a merge that’s
been going on for a while. If there’s evidence of a macro merge, no
matter how minute the evidence, I want it on a board visible in all
departments from here to the Metropolitan Police. But I want to
know what’s spooking them. Why it started a year ago. Is the
Israeli Intelligence Operative from Mossad and the one from
Interpol still acting as liaison with MI6?”

Andrews
nodded.

“Make sure
they’re kept up-to-date via the channels and are aware ISIS and
Al-Qaeda have ties. See what they’re prepared to divulge from their
end, and get it out to Grantham.”

“I take it this
is why the district-general is at a COBRA meeting this morning?”
Andrews handed the note back.

“Partly.” He
saw how Andrews fidgeted.

“Anything else,
sir?” He knew this could have been done over email. “You said ‘two’
issues.”

“Personal
favour,” said Gray, pushing over a file he’d kept on his desk.

Andrews picked
it up and looked it over before flicking a look up at Gray. “During
subject 639’s interrogations, this list of six numbers is repeated
three times.” He frowned. “And 639 used this specific penmanship
under interrogation?”

Gray
nodded. “It’s
Devan
ā
gar
ī
Sanskrit.
Take note of the vowel diacritic, and pay attention to how all
repeats are never in the same order.”

Andrews
thumbed through the rest of the file. “639’s a computer specialist,
where Sanskrit is known but....” He had that look about him that
Gray shared. “It could be an encrypted code for something beyond
technical language. Do we have access to 639’s computer
system?”

“The Met has
been through them, but they weren’t looking for this.”

“And you don’t
want them to look for this?”

“No. You find
out what; you find out why, and if you obtain any names from them,
you don’t engage; you don’t act. You report solely to me. Are we
clear?”

“Understood.
I’ll get the computers back from the Met.” Andrews tapped the file.
“The word ‘Richards’ is repeated four times.”

“I’m aware of
who Richards is. If you come across any other mention, you make a
note, then discard the name. The same goes for mention of Jack and
Gregory Harrison; those leads stay dead. All three are under
protection.”

“Protection?”

“Hmm?” said
Gray, pausing a moment.

“You said
protection, not witness protection.”

Sharp
man.
“I said
protection.”

Andrews fell
quiet for a moment and Gray could see him evaluating the validity
of their detainee.

“An Italian
missing person report was filed a few months ago over a woman who
was deported from here.... A Mrs Fortello.” Andrews glanced over.
“Gregory Harrison’s ex-wife.”

“So the report
said.”

“This
information isn’t to be reported to MI6 either, who are handling
the case.”

“No.”

“Okay.” And it
was evaluated as quickly as that. He’d connected the dots between
Elena, the missing person report, and external business beyond
MI5/6 control. Gray wouldn’t want it any other way. Andrews was
pure culling capability. “I’ll prioritise this,” added Andrews.

“Keep intel via
the shared email address. No connections through MI5; no calls
unless it’s urgent.”

“I’m due in
your main debriefing meeting with you at eleven, would—”

“Skip it.”

Andrews nodded.
“Okay. I’ll email as soon as I dig something up. Is 639 still
available?”

Gray took the
file back and shelved it. “Only directly through me.”

He stood to
leave, paused, then—“I’m here for any business you need clearing
up, sir. Contact through the usual channel.”

Gray gave a
nod. “Thank you. Concentrate on this and the Bhasin file first. I
want to know why and who on both counts.”

Andrews paused
by the door. “Looks good, by the way.”

Gray frowned
up.

“The whole—”
Andrews circled his own jaw. “—rough look. Is that why you’re
avoiding the district-general and SSTP this morning?”

“You heard
about that, hm?”

“Even made sure
I held Reignfold’s door for him whilst he got out of his
Rolls-Royce this morning.”

“Very... decent
of you.”

“The planted
tech should let you know who he calls once he leaves.” Andrews
smirked and left him alone.

Gray focused
back on subject 639’s case file.

Not all of his
time had been spent avoiding his life. In fact, he’d gone out of
his way to socialise and see who cried longer than Jack and Jan in
the darkness. Not enough to keep the quiet at bay, but enough to
feed the addiction until he could touch those who had spoon fed
Elena’s sickness with financial backing.

Jack only
thought he was a bastard.

Elena knew he
was. Now. The only question that remained was why Elena mentioned
these numbers and letters in particular, and what tie, if any, they
had to Jack and Jan’s kidnap and rape. He didn’t believe in
coincidence either. Not with the sudden push for the SSTP meeting
this morning. Two sides were being pushed to breaking since he’d
taken Elena: his and now Logan’s.

Someone else
knew he had Elena. Why had that spooked them?

It was nine
o’clock by the time Gray pulled up outside his usual spot along the
perimeter wall of his manor. Again it was already dark, and that
lack of fear of the darkness had his gaze easing towards the woods.
A security guard looked over the moment he’d parked, but no
acknowledgement was given.

He needed
peace, he needed quiet, if only for a little while, but his mobile
phone didn’t let him find any.

You
shut things down early last night. Before you even got to the
party?

Gray briefly
closed his eyes.

Trace.

Quiet,
then—
Brennan would
say bringing Jan into this lifestyle is a bigger shit storm than
arranging that party. You could’ve listened back then and avoided
all of this.