Sleeper Cell (22 page)

‘Then the British government dumped me in a psych ward in Durham. Not exactly a glorious end to the mission.’

‘Unfortunately Britain no longer has a poodle government willing to do whatever Washington says.’

‘So how did you find me?’

‘Three months ago Richard Morgan made a deal to sell you back to the PLO.’

‘As a condition of the peace talks.’

‘Exactly. The whole success of the talks hinged on the deal. Hawadi had reported you dead, so when Richard Morgan told the PLO you were alive and well and could be made available, Abu Queria couldn’t get to the negotiating table quick enough. They were being given a second run at you. Only this time it would be in the public gaze, so they’d have to settle for second prize: no deal with the Russians, just getting you into a position where there’d be no future deals with anyone. The West Bank Authority still has the death penalty on its books.’

‘There’s no UK trial then.’

‘By rights you should be on a plane to Tel Aviv by this time tomorrow. You were to be taken back to Ramallah to face terrorism and treason charges. They would have made the charges stick, and there wasn’t anyone coming to your defence.’

‘Surely Mossad couldn’t have allowed that? If it was widely known that I had arranged a meeting with them…’

‘Mossad burned you the moment you were assassinated. They believed you were dead and needed to make sure nothing led back to them. A dossier was prepared against you in case anything ever came out. You were, apparently, trying to smuggle weaponised biological agents into Israel and were resisting capture when you were shot. All of which is just true enough to make it plausible, and it suited their ongoing narrative perfectly. Iranian weapons expert trained in ex-Soviet Russia tries to bring biological material into Israel? You couldn’t make it up!’

‘I would never have exposed Black Eagle. You’ve got to know that.’

‘Your very existence on the public stage would have been a disaster. If this had happened anywhere else it would have been forgotten in a matter of weeks, but in Israel? You’d have unleashed a firestorm of accusation and counter-accusation that would have made it almost impossible for us to continue. Anything that cast any light on the organisation and six decades of work, billions of dollars, our whole operation would have collapsed.’

‘What now then? Black Eagle Executive have decided to rid themselves of an embarrassment?’

‘If we were going to do that, it would have happened at Low Newton. No, you’re worth far more alive than you are dead. Your mission is not officially over, just… repurposed.’

‘You’re putting me back in?’

‘No. Executive need what’s in your head. Raha, you possess knowledge and contacts that could change everything. Tensions between East and West are such that any negotiation is now impossible, but both sides know that without agreement, the world will slide towards a new, even more deadly, cold war. There are powerful elements in Washington and Moscow who are ready to deal. With what you know, Black Eagle could broker that deal and hold the balance of a new power. And where Russia goes, China will follow. What you set out to do fifteen months ago could be about to happen.’

‘What I set out to do was get a better offer. As you said, Black Eagle never sanctioned the mission.’

‘There
are
no better offers. We bring you back in, this time our old enemies come with you. The beginning of a new era.’

‘If you can get me out of here.’

‘You need to sit tight for a few more hours. In,’ he glanced at his watch, ‘eighteen hours you’ll be out of here. In another twenty-four, you’ll be back in Washington.’

‘And then?’

‘With your help, in six months Black Eagle will have control of the UN Security Council. After that, there will be no government on earth capable of writing their own script.’

Leila Reid reassembled her phone and scrolled through the incoming calls list. She found the number of DCI Lawrence’s personal cell and prayed it would not drop her straight into voicemail. She wanted to keep the phone on for as little time as possible.

He answered after four rings.

‘Hello?’

‘Michael, it’s Leila. Don’t say anything. I think this phone is being tracked and I need to see you.’

‘Reid, we got…’

‘Please. Meet me at the first bookshop. Remember?’

‘The…?’

‘The first bookshop, one hour. Come alone and don’t tell anyone you’re meeting me. I found something.’

‘Then bring it in.’

‘I can’t. Meet me.’

She ended the call and quickly flicked the SIM from the back of the phone. If anyone had been listening to her conversation, there was very little chance they would know what ‘the first bookshop’ was. Given the number of bookshops in central London it could keep them tied up for days. She just hoped Lawrence would remember.

On the day of her interview with CTC, Leila had had time to kill before going to Scotland Yard to meet DCI Lawrence and Commander Thorne. She wandered along the Thames, had a coffee and browsed the tables of books beneath Waterloo Bridge. She had inherited an interest in antique books from her father, and still indulged now and then if something particularly tasty came her way. This particular morning she chanced upon a first edition copy of T E Lawrence’s Seven Pillars of Wisdom: a book she loved, the name of her prospective new boss and a first edition at a price she could afford. It was rather tatty, but it felt like an omen. It had been: she’d aced the interview.

As Lawrence walked her out to the front desk he commented on the book. A bibliophile himself, he was curious how she had bought even a tatty first edition for so little. She had told him that the Queen’s Walk book market was the first bookshop she would try for anything. They’d been there together many times, though not for many months now.

She hoped he would still remember its significance.

For most of the hour she rode the underground, randomly changing trains until, five minutes before she hoped Lawrence would arrive, she emerged into the daylight at Waterloo station and made her way over the footbridge towards the South Bank. She stopped at the mid-point next to a group of Japanese tourists and scanned the riverside walkway through the monocular.

DCI Lawrence walked along the side of the Festival Hall three minutes later.

Leila moved as quickly as she could through the crowds and closed the gap to her boss just as he passed into the shadow of Waterloo Bridge.

‘Buy me a coffee,’ she said. ‘And keep you head down. I don’t know who’s watching.’

In the café beneath the bridge they took a table just inside the door. A waiter was with them almost immediately.

‘Two Americanos please,’ Lawrence said.

‘And could I plug my phone in?’ Leila said. ‘I just need to make a call and wouldn’t you know it, battery’s flat?’

‘Sure. There’s a socket just beside you.’

Leila unrolled her leather kit pouch inside her bag and took out the mobile signal jammer. She plugged it in and turned it on. As several drinkers looked around she leaned in close to her boss.

‘Bring me up to speed,’ she said.

‘You were right about Ghada Abulafia. Forensics confirmed it from DNA on the passports and the safety deposit box.’

‘Good, then I’m right about a lot more too.’ She looked out of the café window. A man browsing the bookstalls met her gaze for an instant than looked away.

‘Why all the cloak and dagger stuff?’ Lawrence said. ‘If you’ve got something, just bring it in. We shouldn’t be talking about this here.’

‘I can’t bring it in. I found something, and it’s big. Much bigger than we thought. Someone broke into my house then followed me half way across London. They know I know something. And Ibrahim Abulafia? He pointed me in a whole new direction. Michael, this isn’t an Islamist plot. It’s…’

‘Leila, it
is
an Islamist plot. It’s a sleeper cell activated for a single high-profile attack.’

‘No…’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Look. We’ve had a claim and it’s backed up by very good circumstantial evidence. We’ve got enough to build a solid case.’

‘For what?’

‘For this being Harakat al Sahm working as a cell of IS, single attack, principally as a warning that they could strike wherever and whenever they wanted. Look.’

He took out his mobile phone and swiped through to a video. He placed it between them on the table.

A young man swathed in a keffiyeh scarf addressed the camera. Leila didn’t need to read the subtitles despite the poor sound quality. He spoke educated Arabic with a slight accent she recognised immediately. She herself had learned the language from speakers with exactly these inflections.

The man made all the usual claims: retribution for British interference in Kurdish Iraq, a threat of the unstoppable expansion of the Caliphate, kill the unbeliever… She stopped the video when the singing started.

‘Bullshit,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry, but at this stage we’ve no reason not to believe it. We’re directing all our resources to getting an identity on this guy and moving forwards from there.’

‘You know where you’ll find his identity? IMDB or Equity. This guy’s an actor. He’s no more a terrorist than you are!’

DCI Lawrence shook his head and took a long draft of coffee.

‘He’s just reciting what he’s saying,’ Leila said. ‘How long have you had this?’

‘It first appeared about an hour and a half ago.’

‘Who’s seen it?’

‘Apart from anyone with a computer? Tech are taking it apart as we speak.’

‘Don’t bother. Just get someone who understands Arabic to
listen
to it rather than reading the subtitles. This, for example: he refers to ‘our beautiful martyr’. Listen.’ She scanned back through the video until she found the section she wanted then played it. She repeated it with the sound turned up.

‘It’s hard to hear, but he says ‘jameel’. Ghada was a woman: it should be ‘jameel
ah
’.’

‘Slip of the tongue.’

‘Or whoever wrote his script doesn’t know a damn thing about the bomber. We haven’t released that information. Clean the sound up and I bet every reference is made in the masculine form. Plus, it makes no sense whatever that a Lebanese man would be speaking on behalf of Islamic State.’

‘How do you know he’s Lebanese?’

‘Dialect. He learned formal Arabic at school, but he can’t completely over-ride his natural dialect form. The glottal stops are a big clue. This is a fake. Even if it wasn’t such a ham-fisted one, I already have evidence that this is not an Islamist plot at all.’

‘And your alternative theory is…?’

‘Black Eagle is real. You may be right that this was a specifically-activated sleeper cell, but it’s a cell of a bigger organism than anything we’ve ever faced before. I don’t know what Black Eagle is yet, but it
does
exist.’

‘And you don’t think it’s an Islamist cell?’

‘Michael, Ghada Abulafia was Jewish.’

‘Oh, brilliant. So we go public with your theory and we’ve pissed off another whole community. Just what we need.’

‘I’m not saying she was acting as a Jew; I’m saying she was Jewish, which rather mitigates against this being an Islamist plot, don’t you think?’

‘To what end? There’s never been an Israeli-inspired terrorist attack in the West. Ever. So why now?’

‘The Peace Talks. There is a connection. Black Eagle…’

‘Do not exist! And if they do, they’re so far under the radar that they couldn’t possibly function at this level.’

‘Unless they had help.’

‘From?’

‘SIS, MI5, IDF, CIA would be my bet. Hell, Michael, even we’re just a three-letter acronym. Who’s to say someone at CTC isn’t deliberately diverting attention from the real issue?’

‘You’re right, there is someone who’s been trying to undermine this investigation, throw us off the scent.’

‘Who?’

‘You!’

‘You don’t believe a word I’m saying, do you?’

‘You said you’d follow the evidence. I’m just doing the same. And so far the evidence points away from you and towards what we all expected right from the beginning.’

‘How convenient.’

‘Bring me something concrete – Phillip Shaw would be good – and we’ll look into it. Otherwise, I can’t help you. Now, is there anything else?’

‘Has the second passport yielded anything?’

‘It’s a US issue. We can’t get anything out of them. The Foreign Secretary’s lodged a request with Homeland, but they’re not exactly jumping at the chance to help. They’ve really had their noses put out of joint because the peace talks were set up on the ‘wrong’ side of the pond. And your stunt at the Embassy certainly hasn’t helped.’

‘At very least you have to increase security at Mapleton.’

‘You still think there’s a second attack coming?’

‘I’m absolutely certain of it. If I’m wrong, it’ll cost you some overtime. But if I’m right…’

‘We can’t get anyone else into the house. Each of the participants have brought their own people, and every name on the list has been thoroughly checked by the others. The whole process took months. We couldn’t get the Queen herself into the house without the Palestinians and the Israelis raking through her family tree back to the dark ages.’

‘But you can get more people outside.’

‘We already have. There’s Air Support doing regular fly-overs and increased perimeter patrols. There are checkpoints on all roads leading to Mapleton. Although I have to say, we have some of the most sophisticated security systems in place already. The SHIELD system has the entire perimeter locked down. If a stray deer tries to jump over the wall it would be a venison steak before its back legs hit the ground.’

‘What’s the schedule?’

‘Details are classified. All I can tell you is that each party is being flown in on separate helicopters, all RAF, all checked and double-checked. They’re meeting for a dinner tonight at seven and the talks get underway officially at ten tomorrow.’

‘And they’re all staying on-site tonight?’

‘The PM is returning to Downing Street. Everyone else is staying put.’

‘OK. You’re certain there’s no US participation inside or outside the house?’