Gray Vengeance (23 page)

‘That was a no-brainer,’ Mackenzie said. ‘I asked around for the best agency and your name came up every time. I plan to make myself indispensable for the next few years, and then once I’ve got a little tucked away I’ll go into business for myself. I haven’t decided what I’ll do yet, but I like the thought of being my own boss.’

‘There’s nothing better,’ Gray agreed.

‘So what’s this mission all about?’

‘A simple security detail,’ Gray told him. ‘We’re heading into DSA country, and as tensions are quite high, we’ll need to be on our toes.’

Smart pulled off the A4 and onto the approach road for
Heathrow
Airport. Flights had resumed thirty-six hours earlier, though there was still a backlog of passengers trying to get away for the Christmas period. Thankfully, Abuja wasn’t high on the
destination
list and Gray’s three companions had been able to secure seats. As for Gray and Melissa, flights to southern Italy were at a premium, and he had no choice but to show up at the desk and try to get standby tickets.

Gray had booked them rooms at a hotel in Abuja for the next couple of days, which should be plenty of time for him to get to San Giovanni in Fiore, drop Melissa off and join up with his men.

‘I need to hit the toilet,’ Mackenzie said. ‘See you
in-country, boss.’

He walked off in the direction of the gents, and Gray gave Smart and Sonny some final instructions.

‘When you see Kyle, bring him up to speed on what Andrew’s looking for. Hopefully he can get things arranged by the time
I get there.’

They parted company at the departure area, and Gray took Melissa to the desk of one of the budget airlines that flew to Rome and other points in southern Italy. He explained to the middle-aged woman behind the counter that his parents had been involved in a serious car crash and that he had to get to Lamezia Terme
International
Airport in Italy as soon as possible. His story was met with the requisite amount of sympathy and the news that everything was booked solid for the next few days.

‘Could you at least put out an announcement that I’m willing to offer five hundred pounds for two seats?’ Gray asked, desperation in his voice. ‘I need to get there before they . . . .’

He let the words tail off.

The woman considered his dilemma, then relented, calling a supervisor and explaining Gray’s situation. The moustached
manager
offered to do what he could, and returned fifteen minutes later with an elderly couple who had agreed to the offer of waiting for the next flight. Gray thanked them profusely and handed over the money, which they grasped as if it were Solomon’s treasure.

With tickets arranged, Gray took his daughter to the check-in desk and handed over the single suitcase. Everything Gray needed for his onward journey was in his backpack, which he carried through to the departure gates.

The flight took off forty minutes later, the fully laden Boeing 737 climbing into a rain-soaked sky.

Veronica Ellis gripped the phone, wondering just what the hell was going on.

‘I’m sorry, Juliet, but are you telling me I’m no longer allowed to decide which investigations I can touch?’

Ellis rarely used Home Secretary Harper’s first name when conversing with her, but after being told to drop the Farrar case, she wasn’t concerned about the breach in protocol.

‘Not at all. I just think Sarah Thompson is best equipped to take this particular enquiry forward.’

‘I don’t understand how,’ Ellis argued. ‘From what I’ve heard, she’s been tasked with following up on the Nigerian aspect of the bombings. I would have thought she’d appreciate us taking Farrar off her hands.’

‘Sarah’s team may be overloaded at the moment, but you will soon find yourself in the same position. I’m looking at more than thirty terror threats on my screen right now, all picked up by
Haddon
Hall. They’ll be routed through to you shortly.’

‘Okay,’ Ellis said, trying her best to sound contrite. ‘I’ll let my team know.’

‘You do that,’ Harper said. ‘And one last thing. Any further requests for access to the new system have to go through me.’

The phone went dead in her hand, and Ellis slowly replaced it in the cradle. She didn’t like to admit it, but Gray might have been on to something when he suspected Farrar of being involved in the bombings.

And her shaking of the tree had yielded fruit. Manello had clearly contacted Thompson to report Ellis’s interest in
Farrar
. E
llis kne
w this because Gerald Small’s eavesdropping on
Thompson’s
mobile phone had already proved successful. The
second
call placed by Thompson had been to the home secretary’s own mobile phone. The message had been brief and to the point.

Ellis is looking into Farrar.

Now, having spoken to the home secretary, Ellis knew why nothing about Farrar had been forwarded to her by Manello, and that it never would be.

Ellis stuck her head out of the door and asked Harvey to join her. When he arrived, she told him to shut the door.

‘It’s official. We’re not to go looking for James Farrar.’ She relayed the conversation she’d just had with the home secretary, and how Manello had told Thompson about her request to find information on Farrar.

‘So we suspect that Farrar might have had something to do with the bombings,’ Harvey said with disbelief, ‘but the minister doesn’t want us poking our noses in?’

Ellis nodded.

‘You know, I came up with a crazy take on this, and that just about seals it for me.’

‘This whole thing has crazy written all over it,’ Ellis said. ‘What’s on your mind?’

‘Well, I was wondering about the timing of it all.’

‘Go on.’

‘See, Farrar was suddenly released on bail late last year, just a couple of months before Paul Roberts and his crew were recruited. Now I know the home secretary can’t decide which judge gets to hear a particular case because that’s the Lord Chief Justice’s job. However, Harper might have been able to influence him enough to have someone sympathetic hear
Farrar’s
appeal.’

‘Clutching at straws,’ Ellis said, ‘but carry on.’

‘According to Manello, Brigandicuum had been sitting idle for a year, just waiting to be activated, and suddenly they get orders to fully staff it a week before the attacks begin. Quite why it wasn’t already operational, I don’t know, but the PM has been spouting transparency like he means it. Maybe he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of snooping on a global scale, and needed a massive jolt to convince him to unleash it.’

Ellis’s eyebrows narrowed. ‘Are you suggesting the bombings were staged—by us—as an excuse to turn Brigandicuum on?’

‘The home secretary seems to be treating it like her own pet project. She decides what information we see and, from what you’ve told me, which investigations we can undertake. I also got news that the SAMs that took out the planes were ours. Old stock tha
t ha
d been taken away to be decommissioned. Looks like someone had different plans for them.’

Ellis sat down at her desk, considering Harvey’s theory.
Eventually
, she shook her head.

‘No, that can’t be right. Juliet Harper is as ambitious as they come, but she would never condone an attack on British soil, aimed at her own people. More to the point, she knows what would happen if it ever got out.’

‘Who would ever know?’ Harvey asked. ‘The DSA leadership blew themselves up, and the person assigned to search for James Farrar had us looking everywhere but central Africa. And when we try to launch our own investigation, we’re told to drop it.’

‘I think you’ve been hanging around Tom Gray for too long,’ Ellis said, but she still mulled over the possibility that Harvey was right. ‘Say I believe you. We’d need
irrefutable
proof before we started making accusations.’

‘That’s where it gets tricky,’ Harvey said. ‘The person controlling the information we need is our number one suspect.’

‘Then we’ll have to hope Kyle manages to unearth something useful.’

They were interrupted as Gerald Small knocked on the door and walked in, his laptop open and ready for use.

‘I just got a couple of interesting text messages from the phone you asked me to monitor.’

He set the laptop down and turned it towards Ellis.

Gray and 3 others on their way to Kano via Abuja.

Reason?

Not yet known.

Stay close.

‘Someone knows Gray is on his way,’ Harvey said. ‘They must have been watching him.’

‘I thought I told you not to send Gray,’ Ellis said sharply.

‘There was little I could do. When he made a connection to Farrar, there was no stopping him. He isn’t under any travel restrictions, and I could hardly have him arrested for leaving the country.’

‘Of course you could!’ Ellis said. ‘I could think of a dozen reasons for taking his passport, not least hampering our investigation.’

‘Which we’re not officially undertaking,’ Harvey pointed out.

Ellis slumped in her chair and rubbed her temples. She’d met Gray only a couple of times, but knew how hard-headed the ex-
soldier
could be. He exuded a steely determination and was fiercely loyal to his close friends, though he could be as slippery as a Teflon eel when it suited him.

‘If this goes pear-shaped, it’s on your head.’

Harvey nodded, her words clearly hitting home.

‘Judging by those texts,’ he said, ‘pear-shaped would be a great outcome. I’ll have to warn Kyle to expect trouble.’

‘Do it, but be careful,’ Ellis warned.

‘I’ll send someone out to get me an unregistered cell and give him a call.’

Ellis stood, walking to the door and opening it. ‘I also want you to ask Hamad to speak to Paul Roberts. If Farrar really is involved, then this Efram character might be a friend or former colleague. You said Roberts couldn’t identify him from current staff, so we might as well check those who left in the last couple of years. And anyone associated with Farrar.’

‘Will do.’

‘Gerald, any luck getting into Harper’s phone?’

‘Locked down tighter than the PM’s since the hacking
scandal
,’ Small told her.

Ellis had expected as much. ‘I’d like you to keep trying,’ she said. ‘And find out all you can about the phone that texted Thompson.’

As she watched Harvey and Small walk back to their stations, Ellis collapsed in her chair, knowing that she must now contemplate the ultimate in worst-case scenarios.

Chapter 32

18 December 2014

‘Melissa!’

Mina Hatcher plucked her granddaughter from Gray’s arms and squeezed, planting a big kiss on the girl’s head. ‘You’re getting so big!’

Gray was glad to let someone else take control of his daughter while he dealt with the suitcase and hand luggage. Ken Hatcher helped out, taking one of the lighter bags while he led Gray to the airport car park.

‘How long are you staying for?’ Mina asked. ‘At least until Boxing Day, I hope. We want to see this gorgeous creature open her presents.’

Gray looked sheepish. ‘Sorry to spring this on you, but something big came up. Can you please take care of Melissa while I go and do a job?’

The Hatchers looked concerned. ‘What kind of job?’ Mina asked, and Ken wanted to know how long they were talking about. Months? A year?

‘Only a week,’ Gray assured them. ‘A Saudi prince personally requested that I lead his security team while he’s
visiting
Britain, and I can hardly turn down one of my biggest
customers
.’

Gray felt uncomfortable with the lie, but he didn’t want to worry his in-laws unnecessarily. The gig he’d mentioned sounded a lot less ominous than travelling into DSA territory.

‘Of course we’ll look after her,’ Mina said. ‘I just wish you’d let us know when you called.’

‘I’m sorry, but the prince is paranoid when it comes to phone conversations. His representative insisted I not mention the visit to anyone, not even close relatives.’

His explanation seemed to satisfy them, and Ken asked when he planned to leave.

‘My flight’s in an hour,’ Gray said, loading the suitcase into the boot of Ken’s car. ‘Everything Melissa needs is in there. She likes her vegetables, but I can’t get her to eat red peppers.’

They spent a few minutes discussing Melissa’s other needs, including the nappy rash that had started to develop over the last couple of days. Mina assured Gray that his daughter would be fine with them, and he took his time saying goodbye to her, promising to be back as soon as possible.

After a final kiss, Gray tore himself away from his daughter and walked back to the terminal, the ticket to Abuja tucked in his top pocket.

Hamad Farsi pulled up at the gates to Haddon Hall and found himself confronted by two guards, the bulges in their jackets clearly concealing side arms. One of them approached the car and Farsi wound down the window to show his ID. The guard checked the name against a clipboard and gave a nod. A moment later, the gates swung open.

‘Park it round the back.’

Farsi thanked him and drove to the rear of the building, where the once-manicured lawn had been transformed into a car park. Two helicopters sat off to one side, their pilots sitting in the cockpits, ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

More security guards patrolled the area, and one of them checked Farsi’s credentials again before indicating where to leave his saloon. The MI5 operative parked up and climbed out, laptop bag in hand. An escort took him into the building, where Tony Manello was waiting.

‘Hamad, welcome.’

Farsi shook hands and asked where Roberts was being held.

‘This way,’ Manello said, leading him up the wide staircase.

Farsi knew that, apart from Roberts, thirteen other suspects from neighbouring regions were being held here. Ideally, all of the bombers would have been transferred to Haddon Hall, but with limited space, they were being rotated in and out as often as possible. Roberts himself had been scheduled to move to a recently re-commissioned maximum security facility that had been closed down a year earlier, so Farsi’s request for access had come just in time. An hour later, and he’d have faced a five-hour drive to the north of England to interview his man.

He found Roberts sitting in a room not much bigger than a closet. Farsi thought it implausible that the sad figure before him could have caused such devastation. The slumped figure looked nearly inert, the bruises on his arms and face recent. He sat in a wheelchair and had a cast covering his lower leg and foot.

Roberts briefly looked up as Farsi entered the room, then let his head droop once more, looking every inch a beaten man.

‘Have you got another room available?’ Farsi asked. ‘I need to go through some mugshots with him.’

Manello guided Farsi and the handcuffed, chair-bound
Roberts
down the hall and into the interrogation suite. Farsi declined the offer of a guard inside the room, and Manello closed the door on his way out.

After setting up the laptop on the metal table, Farsi brought up the list of ex-government employees and asked Roberts to take a close look at each one. While the prisoner skipped from one profile to the next, Farsi stood behind him.

Prior to leaving Thames House, Farsi had checked each record to see if any of the men had a connection to James Farrar. There was one hit, an intern who’d worked for him for a couple of years before moving to the Home Office. Farsi had placed the prime suspect at number nineteen on the list, hoping to avoid any chance of a false-positive identification.

When Roberts reached number nineteen, he skipped past the picture, then paused and went back.

‘I think that’s him.’

‘You sure?’ Farsi asked. ‘You said he had black hair. This
guy’s blond.’

‘It’s him,’ Roberts insisted. ‘The hair’s different, but I know the face. I saw him just a couple of days ago.’

Satisfied that they had the right man, Farsi took the laptop, closed it down and knocked on the door.

‘Am I going to get anything in return for my help?’ Roberts asked, unable to conceal his desperation.

As the door opened, Farsi turned and locked eyes. ‘Sure. I’ll see to it that you get to share a cell with the most vicious sodomist in the system.’

Farsi left the room, Roberts’s pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. He thanked Manello for his help, and once back in his car he pulled out his phone and dialled a pre-set number.

‘We have confirmation,’ he said, heeding Harvey’s warning not to share anything specific over the phone. ‘Have you made
progress
?’

‘Plenty. I’ll fill you in when you get back.’

‘Okay. On my way.’

Once he reached the main road, Farsi turned on the radio and tuned it to a news channel, where the reporter brought him up to date on the clean-up process. Traffic was just about back to normal throughout the country, and airports indicated that the backlog of flights would be clear in the next three days. The power companies were still taking things cautiously, though they believed they could have ninety-five percent of the electricity supply restored within a week.

On the down side, the official death toll had risen to more than nine thousand and was expected to reach five figures in the coming days. The economic cost was also mounting, with clean-up estimates ranging from six billion to thirty billion, and that was before the knock-on effect was factored in. Businesses were suffering as investors fled the country, while the stock market was at its lowest in more than twenty years.

The home secretary’s announcement of ‘enhanced surveillance methods’ had made the headlines, though the opposition parties claimed she’d done too little too late, and that the worst atrocity in Britain’s history had happened on her watch. Despite calls for her resignation, Juliet Harper remained defiant, highlighting the fact that the attacks had been neutralised within forty-eight hours, thanks to the skill and dedication of the security services.

Farsi knew it was a bullshit statement meant to pacify her detractors. If it hadn’t been for the new system, they’d still be sifting through what little CCTV coverage was available while the attacks continued around them.

He arrived back at Thames House just over an hour later, the light traffic having been kind to him. Once he reached the office, he went straight to Harvey’s desk.

‘What do we have?’

‘Our friend Joel Haskins—AKA Efram—disappeared
yesterday
. As you know, he quit his post at the Home Office a
couple
of days before the attacks, and the last sighting was by
Roberts
. Since then, no credit- or debit-card transactions, his mobile phone is off, and the lease on his flat expires in three days’ time, all paid up.’

‘Looks like he wasn’t planning to hang around,’ Farsi said. ‘Any record of him leaving the country?’

‘Not on his own passport, and facial recognition at the major airports hasn’t found any matches.’

‘If he’s involved, he’ll have planned an escape that can’t be tracked,’ Farsi mused. ‘I’ll get someone to dig up a list of private airfields and see if any flights left for the continent in the last seven days.’

‘There’s another possibility,’ Harvey said. ‘I did a check on
Farrar’s
assets and he had a boat moored at Brighton Marina. It’s nothing special, but could easily make it across the Channel. I called the harbour master an hour ago and he told me it left l
ast night.’

‘Destination unknown, I’m guessing.’

‘You guess correctly, but I’ve alerted the French, Belgian and Dutch authorities to be on the lookout for it.’

‘And what have you asked them to do if he turns up?’ Farsi asked. ‘Take him in?’

‘No,’ Harvey said. ‘I’ll bet a month’s salary that he’s going to join up with the others behind this. I want to put a tail on him and see who he leads us to.’

‘Who are you going to send?’ Farsi asked.

Harvey’s smile said it all.

‘Go get yourself a new legend and be ready to move.’