Gray Vengeance (2 page)

Chapter 1

23 January 2014

Andrew Harvey brushed the hair from his forehead and made yet another mental note to visit the hairdresser before it got completely out of control, despite it being only a couple of inches in length. Work had taken up every waking moment of the last three weeks, and the news that Da Sunan Annabi, or DSA, had appointed a new leader only added to his section’s workload.

Harvey walked over to Hamad Farsi’s desk and asked the intelligence operative for the latest news from Nigeria. He was rewarded with a frustrated sigh.

‘None of our contacts knows anything apart from the name, and they’re pretty sure it’s a pseudonym.’

‘You think?’ Harvey asked, with a touch more sarcasm than he’d intended.

It had been yet another long, unproductive shift, and three days since the announcement had come in, they still knew nothing about the mysterious Takasa except that the name meant ‘purifier’ in the local language.

Harvey put his hands to his temples. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Just keep digging and see if any of our sources can get a break. This guy didn’t pop up out of nowhere, so there must be some clues to his identity.’

‘No worries. Hey, maybe you should ask Ellis for some time off.’

Harvey found the idea tempting, but going to Veronica Ellis wouldn’t solve the problem. The director general of MI5 wasn’t responsible for the heightened security alert, and with everyone in his team working above and beyond, Harvey didn’t feel as if he could let the side down by slinking off to bed for a couple of days. Two new fundamentalist groups had cropped up in recent weeks, and efforts were being concentrated on establishing their
structures
and goals, as well as dealing with a spate of suicide bombings that had targeted British military personnel in
Gibraltar
and Cyprus. No group had yet claimed responsibility for the attacks, which made Harvey’s job even harder.

The arrival of a new boss reinvigorating DSA was the last thing he’d needed.

‘I might have a late start tomorrow,’ he told Farsi, though he knew he’d be the first in the office, well before the sun came up. As usual. ‘In the meantime, see what the forensics people in Gibraltar have come up with.’

Harvey walked back to his office, a small space he’d been
allocated
a few weeks earlier and one that he already d
espised. He
felt out of the loop, and missed the bustle of the main office. Sure, it was noisy at times, but somehow the chaos had helped him concentrate. Still, Ellis thought it important that the section leader have his own space, and he wasn’t about to argue the little things with his boss.

He found himself going through the most recent intel on DSA, even though he felt he knew the organisation inside out. They had been formed in the northern region of Nigeria less than three years earlier, and so far their activity had been limited t
o th
e
surrounding
region. As they grew, they had formed into separate, cell-like
factions
, and so their overall structure had become unclear. It seemed anyone with an axe to grind could now throw themselves under the DSA umbrella, which had begun to muddy the group’s original Islamist ideals.

Their latest intel suggested the main body was planning to broaden their reach, though MI5’s analysts had played down the threat level. They hadn’t entirely dismissed it as pure rhetoric, th
e ra
vings of a new leader determined to make an impression on his own followers, because doing so would leave their arses hanging out if they got it wrong. Instead, they’d suggested that DSA had limited funds, so despite the chatter they were picking up from the rank and file, the chances of the group expanding beyond its own city limits remained slim to none.

Harvey’s computer beeped, signalling an incoming internal message, and he opened it to find a summons from Veronica Ellis. Locking his computer, he walked to her office and gave a cursory knock before entering.

‘You wanted to see me?’

Ellis nodded towards a chair and he took a seat. She remained standing, her impeccable grey pencil skirt hugging her figure as she pushed a wisp of platinum hair over her ear and leaned on the desk.

‘You remember James Farrar?’

‘Not a name I’m likely to forget,’ Harvey said.

Farrar had once run a covert government wet team, designed to carry out foreign sanctions. When he’d turned his attention to killing British citizens, it had been Harvey’s department who had shut down his operation. ‘The last I heard, he was on remand, awaiting trial.’

‘That was the plan, but it seems he was granted bail.’

‘Who the hell authorised that?’

‘His lawyers argued that by being incarcerated, he wasn’t in a position to liquidate his assets in order to fund his defence, so the judge confiscated his passport before tagging him and letting him go.’

‘And you’re telling me this because . . . ?’

Ellis rose from her chair and straightened her pencil skirt before pacing the office, arms folded rigidly across her chest.

‘He skipped town. We’ve been tasked with finding him.’

‘Quelle surprise,’ Harvey said. ‘Did no-one see that coming?’

‘We’ll leave the recriminations for another day,’ Ellis said. ‘What matters is tracking him down now.’

‘I thought you said he was tagged.’

‘He was,’ the director general said, ‘and he was being monitored remotely, but somehow he managed to remove his
electronic
tag and put it on a substitute. Apparently he was renting a small flat after selling his house, and he paid a homeless guy a grand to stay there for a few weeks. The place was stocked with alcohol and cigarettes, so the old drunk had no reason to leave.’

‘And this guy knows nothing, I assume.’

‘Nada,’ Ellis said. ‘All we know is, Farrar left around a month ago.’

Harvey immediately thought of Tom Gray, the man Farrar had been trying to eliminate when he’d crossed paths with Harvey. If Farrar were out for revenge, Gray would surely be his first target. After all, he’d been instrumental in getting Farrar to confess his crimes live on TV.

‘What do you think Farrar is planning?’ he asked.

‘I know what you’re thinking, but I don’t believe this is about your friend. More likely he just wanted to avoid prison and used a fake passport to take him to some backwater country that has no extradition treaty in place.’

That made sense, but Harvey made a mental note to give Tom Gray a heads-up anyway.

‘That doesn’t leave us much to go on, assuming he ever left the UK in the first place. How high is this on the priority list?’

‘Near the top,’ Ellis said. ‘You can imagine the political backlash if this makes the papers, so we need to be seen to be looking. I’ll need daily progress reports to pass upstairs.’

Harvey wondered exactly how his team were supposed to fit in the extra work. Needle in a haystack didn’t come close, and unless they had a trail to follow, there wasn’t much they could do apart from alert Interpol and wait for Farrar to pop up somewhere.

‘Okay, I’ll put the word out and let you know if he appears on our radar.’

Ellis resumed her seat and interlaced her fingers atop her desk, looking Harvey in the eye. ‘As I said, this is politically sensitive, so we can’t go broadcasting this to every agency in the world. If word leaks, the PM isn’t going to be happy with us. We have to do this in-house.’

‘So no Interpol and no extra-agency support. Do I get extra resources to work it up?’ Harvey asked, but he already knew the answer.

‘Not at this time. Once we have something to go on, we might be able to borrow a couple of people from Six, but that’s about it.’

Harvey stood suddenly to leave, his frustration showing. ‘I’ll get things moving and have the first report ready for you in the morning.’

Back in the main office, he returned to Farsi’s desk and delivered the bad news.

‘If he skipped the country, he won’t be anywhere friendly. Dig up a list of countries that we don’t have extradition treaties with, then get all flight departures to those destinations for the last six weeks. Once you have the passenger lists, screen each person against the passport database. Farrar was using a fake, so we’ll be looking for close matches on the photo, first-time use or anything else out of the ordinary. If that doesn’t give us anything, expand it to seaports and the Channel Tunnel.’

With the orders relayed, Harvey went back to his office and locked the door, hoping to keep the world at bay lest it throw any more crap at him.

SPRING

Chapter 2

11 March 2014

Paul Roberts powered down the ancient Dell laptop and packed it into his dishevelled backpack. After ensuring all the office lights were off, he closed the door and locked it before descending the stairs to the street, passing the Chapter Nine logo plastered on t
he wa
ll. The elements had taken their toll on his poster, its clenched fist with razor wire around the wrist barely distinguishable from the faded sepia background.

At the bottom of the stairs he turned into the alley and exited onto the main road. A Chinese takeaway and a small grocery store were the only businesses still open at seven in the evening, and the area had a desolate, depressing feel to it. With his shoulders hunched against the early spring breeze, he set off for the ten-minute walk to the bedsit he called home.

Twenty yards into his stroll, a black saloon pulled up beside him. The rear window glided down and Roberts found himself looking at a dark-haired man of medium complexion who looked to be in his mid-forties.

‘Paul Roberts? Can I have a word with you about this?’

The man held out a leaflet, and Roberts immediately recognised it as one of his own.

He eyed the man warily. ‘What about it?’

‘I work for someone who would like to fund your
organisation
.’ The man swung the door open, inviting Roberts inside, but he hesitated. The only people who had shown any interest in
Chapter
Ni
ne—
apart from its members—were the police, whom he loathed with a passion.

The man reached into his jacket pocket, and Roberts tensed, expecting him to pull out a weapon, but all that appeared in the gloved hand was a thick, white envelope.

‘I can understand your reticence. Here’s a grand in cash. All I ask is that you take a short ride while I explain the proposition.’

‘What if I don’t like your offer?’

The man shrugged. ‘Then I’ll drop you off at your place and you’ll be a thousand pounds richer.’

Roberts considered the proposal. The money would be extremely helpful to his organisation, covering his latest printing costs at the very least, not to mention the arrears on the rent for the tiny office.
Risk versus reward . . . . Always the calculus
. . . . All he had planned for the evening was a trip to the laundrette, and as his clothes had been festering in a black bin liner for nearly three weeks, another half an hour wasn’t going to make much of a difference.

He took the envelope, climbed into the car and closed the door, and the driver pulled away.

‘Are you the police?’

The man chuckled. ‘No, not the police. Nor do I have any involvement with any government department, if that was going to be your next question.’

‘Have you got a name?’

‘You can call me Efram.’

‘And your surname?’

‘I think Efram’s distinctive enough.’

‘So how do you know my name?’

‘You ask a lot of questions for a man who’s been paid a lot of money just to listen,’ Efram said.

‘Call me paranoid, but I trust no-one, least of all strangers.’

Efram pulled a file from his briefcase and opened it. ‘Paul Roberts, born at Brighton’s Royal Sussex County Hospital on June the seventh, 1980. Left school and went to Sussex
University
in 1998, studied philosophy and sociology before dropping out in your second year with a poor attendance record. Moved to London shortly afterwards and had a succession of poorly paid jobs for a couple of years, then were approached to join the Direct Action Movement, or DAM. After a brief spell in their ranks, you left, seeing them as too liberal for your
liking
. You found the same problem with the Anarchist Federation, and so you formed Chapter Nine, along with a few other disillusioned members of DAM and AF. You currently have seventeen members and just over two hundred pounds in your bank account.’

‘I thought you said you weren’t government,’ Roberts interrupted. The conversation had taken a distinctly uncomfortable turn. ‘How could you know all this about me?’

Efram chuckled. ‘A decent private detective could dig up this information within a couple of hours, especially one with a disregard for privacy laws, so don’t be shocked.’

Efram glanced down at the file. ‘According to this, you have three convictions for criminal damage in the last two years. Tell me about them.’

Roberts briefly explained how he’d attacked a car belonging to the head of a major bank, covering it in blue paint, and how he and some fellow members of Chapter Nine had sprayed their slogans all over the walls of the buildings in Egerton Crescent, Britain’s most expensive street. The final act had been to pelt the prime minister’s car with paint bombs as it left Downing Street.

‘I’m confused,’ Efram said. ‘You claim to be anarcho-
syndicalists
, and you state that through direct action, workers will be able to liberate themselves, yet all you’ve done is throw a little paint around. How exactly is that supposed to bring down the government?’

Roberts’s face burned. True, his actions so far hadn’t exactly caused ripples through parliament, but what was such a small group supposed to do?

‘Our acts were designed to drum up support,’ he said. ‘As our numbers grow, our voice will be heard.’

‘Is that really the case,’ Efram asked, ‘or are you just a whinging pussy who’s using Chapter Nine as an excuse not to do a real day’s work?’

The insult was too much for Roberts.

‘Stop the car,’ he said. ‘I’m not listening to this shit, no matter how much you’re paying.’

Efram put a hand on his chest and pushed him back into his seat. His demeanour instantly changed, gone the genial soul who’d made the initial offer.

‘When I think of smashing the state, I’m not interested in waving a placard about, or a little vandalism: I envisage a country with no effective government where the people rise up and take what’s theirs; where the rich become the poor; and where anarchy reigns. The workers determine their own conditions and answer to no-one.’ He stared into Roberts’s eyes as if peering into his soul. ‘What do you see?’

‘The same,’ Roberts said, ‘but there isn’t much I can do with less than two dozen men and no funds.’

‘You see the size of your group as a disadvantage, but that’s exactly why we sought you out. The only question is, how far are you willing to go to realise your dream?’

‘I’m ready for anything,’ Roberts insisted.

‘That’s the answer I was hoping for, but let me warn you: once you accept our offer, there’s no going back.’

‘Yeah, red pill, blue pill. I get it.’

‘I’m serious,’ Efram said. ‘We can help to bring about your dream, or you can carry on as you are, making no difference whatsoever. Just be aware that this will be far beyond anything you’ve done so far. People will die, and I mean lots of them.’

‘That happens with all real revolutions,’ Roberts said. ‘The elite aren’t just going to hand over the reins and step aside: we’re going to have to take them down.’

‘I agree, but I’m also thinking of the common folk who will get caught up in the violence. Do you think you could live with that?’

Roberts didn’t hesitate. ‘Eggs and omelettes.’

‘So the end justifies the means?’

‘Exactly.’

Efram closed the file and put it back in his briefcase. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ he said, as the car pulled up to the kerb. ‘If you decide to accept our offer, we’ll have to move fast, so have your passport handy.’

‘Where will I be going?’

‘If you’re in, you’ll find out when you get to the airport. In the meantime, find three others from your ranks that you’d like to take with you. No more, no less. And make sure they’re hard-core. I don’t want any tree-huggers.’

‘I know the three I’d choose,’ Roberts said, ‘
if
I agree to go along with this. It still stinks of entrapment.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself. Your little organisation isn’t even an irritation to the authorities. They know you exist, but you’re so far down the watch list that you’re invisible. Like I said, exactly what we need for our operation.’

Feeling both a bruised ego and excitement at the possibility of real change, Roberts opened the door and climbed out.

‘Think about it,’ Efram called after him. ‘This will be your one and only chance to make a difference.’

Roberts closed the door and the saloon pulled away, leaving him slightly confused, if not a little better off than he’d been for a long time. He stuffed the cash into his pocket and headed back to his bedsit for another night alone, only this time he would treat himself to a bottle of vodka while he reflected on the man’s offer.