THE THESEUS PARADOX: The stunning breakthrough thriller based on real events, from the Scotland Yard detective turned author. (3 page)

The radio crackled into life. ‘Permission 6-1.’

Jake picked up the black hand-held radio. ‘Go, go!’ he said, authorising 6-1 to speak.

The reply came loud and clear. ‘Silver Honda Accord moving up the street toward the target address.’

Jake gripped the radio and pressed the talk button in reply. ‘Contact OP,’ he said,

‘OP now has the eye.’

The silver Honda stopped and parked directly outside the suburban house they were interested in. One of the monitors on the old woman’s nest of tables showed two Asian men climbing out of the vehicle and heading toward their target’s front door. They looked to be in their twenties and were both wearing tracksuits.

‘All units from OP. Silver car has parked outside the target address. Two Asian males, mid-twenties wearing tracksuits, are out of the car and into the target address,’ Jake said into the radio.

‘Did anyone get the index?’ Jake asked the rest of the surveillance team via the radio. He was wondering who the hell owned this car and what it was doing there.

‘Permission 4-2,’ the radio chimed again.

‘Go, go,’ replied Jake.

‘The Honda index comes back to an address in Leeds, I just ran it on the PNC and Intel via reserve. Don’t know anything about it. It’s new to us.’

‘Received,’ said Jake. This was odd. He had a bad feeling about finding new people this far into the investigation. He asked for the keeper’s address and scribbled it down.

The two men were now inside the house; Jake could just about hear them on the listening devices that had been planted inside. These Asian guys sounded different – Yorkshire accents.

Jake handed his headset to Paul. ‘Make sure you listen to exactly what they say. I want to know what the fuck they’re doing this far south.’

Jake used his mobile to call Claire. No point in using the official Security Service channels at a moment like this. It would take hours and this could be important.

‘Claire? It’s Jake. Are you at work?’ he asked.

‘No – night off. What’s up?’ she asked blearily.

Jake could tell from her voice that he had just woken her up. It was barely 2000 hours. Why was she asleep?

‘I need some checks on a car and an address. A new motor just turned up here in Crawley.’

‘OK – will call the office. Give me the intel.’

Jake handed over the details then turned his attention back to Paul, who was still listening to the conversation inside the house on his headphones.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Not really sure. They seem to be talking about money. Don’t think it’s anything important.’

Jake took the headphones and listened intently. He could hear one of the tracksuited visitors speaking in a broad West Yorkshire dialect interspersed with the occasional Pakistani inflection: ‘Well, I’m not looking to come back. The brothers can do what they want when I am gone. Use my name and get the money. You can use that how you fancy, doesn’t bother me. Can you get me there?’

‘Of course I can get you there. But it’s just a question of cost. It’s gonna be three thousand. That’s for my amir, not me.’

His phone vibrated in his pocket. It was Claire. He handed the headphones back to Paul.

‘I checked it out. They’re fresh. Nothing known about the car or the address,’ she said. ‘What are they doing there?’

‘No idea. Just had a listen myself and something’s not right,’ he replied.

‘They’re probably just nobodies. Put it through properly in the morning, Jake, and we’ll confirm things fully,’ said Claire, before ending the call abruptly.

‘I think they’re leaving, guv – the two Yorkshire lads,’ said Paul. ‘They’re saying their goodbyes.’

‘Shit!’ said Jake.

4

16 MONTHS PREVIOUSLY

Saturday

28 February 2004

1955 hours

Crawley, West Sussex

‘All units from OP. We’re going to go with the Honda and the two guys in it, I want to put these two blokes to bed tonight,’ called Jake into the radio. ‘Paul will stay at the OP. I’ll catch you up after you’re off the plot.’

Jake thought of himself as a very good decision-maker, yet this part of the job often caused him problems. The brass would want to run everything past the Security Service to make sure they weren’t stepping on any toes. But that took time, time that was not on the side of someone who had to make a swift call on the ground on a dark and windswept night.

Jake cared little for office politics. Criticism was a constant in the job – although it mainly fell on those who had nothing to show for a bad decision. Jake went by the rule ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’ – or at least he prayed that would be the case tonight.

He had decided to follow the Honda, wherever it might go – even if it went to Yorkshire. In an ideal world you actually needed authority for that, but he decided he would worry about it in the morning.

‘Received 4-2.’

‘6-1.’

‘7-6.’

‘8-4.’

‘2-3.’

‘3-5.’

Each member of the surveillance team called out their numbers to acknowledge the command and that they were aware what they were to do next – follow the Honda and see where it went.

Most of the surveillance team were in cars. Except that was for 4-2. He was the poor guy on a motorbike in the rain. It was a role Jake had done many times and loved. Being of average height and weight, with blue eyes that missed nothing, he was a natural at surveillance and blended easily into a crowd. Then there was the added buzz of being allowed to do 190 mph legally. Yet it could also be a bloody killer, being stuck outside on a bike in all weathers – especially on a night like tonight.

Jake watched on the monitor as the two Asian men with Yorkshire accents hugged the head of the group at the door and walked toward their car.

‘All units wait… Two males into the car from target address…’

‘Honda is off, off, off, toward the station!’

‘Contact contact 7-6. Vehicle is 40 mph toward Crawley on A23.’ The surveillance team had picked up the Honda and were now following it.

Automatic Number Plate Recognition cameras dotted around some suburban areas could give you a rough route, after the fact – but you could never tell where a vehicle had stopped, for how long or the actual address that it had been visiting.

Just knowing who the car was registered to didn’t actually identify who these two men were either. You needed full-blown, full-on surveillance for that. You needed photos, addresses they visited, the credit-card number they used when they paid for petrol – but most of all you needed to know where they slept at night. That’s how you identified people. You ‘put them to bed’.

Jake had made a judgement call on the Honda. He would call it in to the Yard after they had garnered more information about these guys and what was going on. It was no good trying to explain a hunch to a senior manager – not unless they trusted your judgement implicitly. Jake knew which senior officer was on call tonight. He knew they would be one of the tougher ones to convince. Better to get forgiveness than permission in these circumstances.

If he gained nothing, nothing was lost in getting a bollocking. If he turned up something worthy, something of note – then hopefully permission would be given retrospectively, so that what he’d found was ‘evidential’.

Jake told Paul to keep an eye on the address and to let him know by phone if there were any developments.

‘When will you pick me up?’ asked Paul.

‘I don’t fucking know, do I? You’ll be all right. Don’t open the door to anyone and if anyone asks for me, I’m down at McDonalds. Speak later.’

Jake knew Paul would be OK. He was learning the ropes; this was how it worked.

Jake ran down the stairs to the blue Audi A4 tucked into the garages at the bottom. The team were now out of range of his police radio but he managed to get through on his mobile to one of the guys tailing the Honda.

‘Where are you?’ he asked.

‘We’re clockwise on the M25,’ was the response. ‘They’re doing eighty-five, not hanging about.’

Jake put the Audi into gear and pulled off slowly and silently. Half a mile down the road he hit the accelerator hard. Even after all these years he still relished this part of the job. Red light after red light was despatched with ease, despite it being a busy Saturday night traffic-wise. Driving fast outside London was a breeze – wide roads, dual carriageways and few pedestrians. When he reached the M23 he floored the Audi’s accelerator. It always took longer than you expected to catch the rest of the team from behind – even at top speed. Sometimes you never would.

5

TEN DAYS BEFORE 7/7

Monday

27 June 2005

1130 hours

New Scotland Yard, Westminster, London

The meeting room on the fifteenth floor could seat forty people, yet today it held just four. They were sat on opposite sides of the large, rectangular pine table, like two opposing teams going head to head.

The Anti-Terrorist Branch was unlike most police command units – there was no autonomy for the officer; everything had to be actioned and signed off by some bigwig up the food chain who was at least two ranks above you. For Jake, that meant at least superintendent level and discussion after discussion in meeting after meeting. Jake hated that side of his job. If something needed doing he was used to getting on and doing it.

But not at the Branch.

Sat opposite Jake in the Battle of the Meeting Room were his big boss, Chief Superintendent Malcolm Denswood, and a minute taker. Sat on Jake’s left was his immediate boss, Detective Chief Inspector Helen Brookes.

‘OK, Jake – what’s this about?’ Malcolm Denswood began the meeting.

Denswood was six feet tall and slim, with dark receding hair and edging slowly toward his middle fifties. He was an intelligent guy who knew his strengths and weaknesses and was often good-humoured – but if you got on the wrong side of him, you were finished at the Branch. He was a very private character; work and home didn’t mix. A product of the Police Staff College at Bramshill, Jake thought he fitted the pattern of their typical output like a clone – he never swore, never raised his voice and was very careful with the words he used. It was rare for Denswood to look outside the box or do things differently. Jake knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

‘Sir, I know you’re keen to conclude Operation Crevice, but I think we may have missed some things up in West Yorkshire. I’ve gone back over the files. Remember those guys we saw back in February 2004 on surveillance in Crawley, the ones from Leeds? The ones I followed back up north and you bollocked me about?’

‘I do remember, Jake, yes…’

‘Well, sir, I’ve been looking at the intel we collected and I’ve done some cross-checking.’

‘Jake, we had this conversation last March when I found out what you’d done. I told you back then what my feelings were about it. Anyway – we actioned all that stuff out. The Security Service said the conversation was benign and that was the end of it.’

‘But the actions were never followed up. They were written off. We, the police, never even spoke to these guys. It’s obvious why we never did that; obvious to anyone who knows anything about the Security Service that is… My point is, sir, that that conversation wasn’t benign. They were talking about going and fighting in Afghanistan – about not coming back. They were talking about a suicide mission. They
were
talking about finance, as the Security Service said, but in a totally different context to what they meant.’

‘So what do you want, Jake? What are you proposing?’

‘I think there’s a job in those guys – they’re at it – we
should
be doing something about it. We shouldn’t just be leaving it like this… My team are a bit light on work, we have the capacity. It’s a criminal investigation and not a totally proactive fishing expedition – it’s in our ballpark. It should be ours to crack on with.’

‘Jake – you know it doesn’t work like that. I hear you. But we cannot lead. I’ll speak to the Security Service and ask. If they say it’s OK, we’ll talk about it again. In the meantime lay off any unauthorised intel work you’re doing on them please. I know what you’re like. I’ve got a few little things I can throw your way to keep you busy without that anyway. I’ll pass them through to Helen to give to you.’

‘The job’s ready to go, guv – I’ve done loads already!’

Jake had visited Leeds twice and gathered enough material to carry out surveillance and full-time observations on the Honda driver’s home. He was damned if it was all going to go to waste.

‘You heard what I said, Jake. No more unauthorised work!’

Malcolm Denswood and the minute taker got up and left the meeting room.

Helen remained seated. She looked concerned.

There was silence between them until they both knew that Denswood was out of earshot.

‘This isn’t right, Helen,’ said Jake with a slight sigh as he stared out of the window.

Jake liked having a female boss – Helen was one of the few people who could criticise him without making him angry. He respected her; she knew her stuff and had shown she could cut it with the best. She also knew that Jake’s methods were often unconventional and sometimes even illegal, but that he got results. She chose not to interfere or ask too many questions about how he did things – it was safer for them both. But this time his actions might impact upon both of their jobs.

‘You have got to let this go, Jake. We’re both going to end up in trouble if you don’t. This whole Leeds stuff has got to stop. I know you’ve been up there recently – I’ve seen your Amex statement – the hotels, the food expenses on it – not to mention the bar bills! If Denswood asks me, I can’t honestly say that any of that was authorised, Jake.’

Jake was disheartened. He’d often felt that he’d been held back in his career by other men, yet he’d experienced none of that with Helen. They’d quickly struck up a strong working relationship when he’d joined the Anti-Terrorist Branch. She’d become one of Jake’s strongest, and perhaps most powerful, allies. Not only was she a woman
and
tipped for promotion, but she regularly deflected any backbiting that headed Jake’s way. Yet here she was just adding to his frustration.