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

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A former Scotland Yard investigator with twenty years’ policing experience, including counter-terror operations and organised crime, David Videcette has worked as a Metropolitan Police detective on a wealth of infamous cases. He currently consults on security operations for high-net-worth individuals and is an expert media commentator on crime, terrorism, extremism and the London 7/7 bombings.

To find out more about David and subscribe for updates, visit:
www.DavidVidecette.com

 

What if London’s 7/7 bombings were the greatest
criminal deception of our time?

DAVID VIDECETTE

The first title in the
DETECTIVE INSPECTOR
JAKE FLANNAGAN SERIES

 
 
The Theseus Paradox

Published by Videcette Limited

Copyright © Videcette Limited 2015

ISBN: 978 0 99342 630 8

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed, publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the author and copyright owners at Videcette Limited, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and copyright owners’ rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for any errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for any damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

All rights reserved.

Typesetting and proofreading by
www.tenthousand.co.uk

Find out more about the author and his upcoming titles at:
www.DavidVidecette.com

CONTENTS

 
Foreword

FOREWORD

 
I went out to work on 7 July 2005, and two weeks later I came home wearing the same clothes and with fifty-six people dead.

The quest for the truth about the London bombings took years to unravel. Thousands of men and women played their parts in helping to unravel that truth, some of which was presented to a public enquiry. Yet, despite years and years of painstaking work, I still feel that we only ever scratched the surface of what
really
went on.

I was not a victim of the bombings, but in many ways my life was altered forever by that day too, along with a large proportion of the people I worked with on Operation Theseus. What started off as a normal day at work within the Anti-Terrorist Branch turned into a nightmare that still haunts me and many others.

The story you are about to read is fictional and so are the characters within it. I have drawn upon open-source research conducted over the last decade.

Angie, John and Nev – thank you for the confidence you had in me.

To Teena Lyons for her advice and to Caroline Sephton, without whom I could never have created this book. Caroline has helped me to understand myself and make sense of the things that have taken place.

Lisa, without your unwavering support, I’d not be here today.

And to my girls whom I love dearly – this is for you.

I can’t tell you the truth, but I can tell you a story. This is what happened during London’s summer of terror…

1

Thursday

7 July 2005

0301 hours

Dewsbury, West Yorkshire

It was dark and still, the new moon barely visible to the naked eye.

Within hours, the sight of the bus’s twisted metal skeleton and the odour of the charred fibreglass shards ripped from its body would take full control of his senses, but for now all Jake could smell was the scent of the pollen that hung in the air after the long hot day.

‘And the host city for the 2012 Olympic Games… is… LONN-DONN!’ blared the news from the car’s radio, startling him. He reached for the volume control.

The female newsreader’s voice continued quietly, almost inaudibly, ‘…Following a nail-biting vote between Paris and London, shares of British construction companies rocketed with yesterday’s announcement that London would be the chosen venue for the 2012 Olympic Games. Mortgage lenders predicted property prices in the capital would soar, following an eighteen-month race that hinged on a knife-edge in the final voting stages…’

It was time. He could wait no longer.

Jake got out of the unmarked car, deadening the jangle from his keys as he made his way swiftly to the right property.

The rough red brick pulled at the skin of his arm through his baggy DKNY sweater as he clambered up, over and into the rear garden of an ordinary-looking, small, three-bedroomed Victorian home.

He crouched in the darkness of a large bush, looking for lights or movement on either floor of the mid-terrace.

Nothing.

All remained quiet on the sleepy, West Yorkshire street.

The shed and wheelie bins offered him scant protection as he sprinted up the garden toward the shabby back door. Standing as close to it as possible, he grabbed the faux-gold handle and tugged hard.

It was locked. Through the window he could see the key on the other side of the door. There was no time to mess about. With a quick swing from the hip, he slammed his jumper-covered elbow into a small pane of glass in the upper half. It broke easily with just a little thud – with practice, most windows did.

Jake was wearing two pairs of surgical gloves. He was well aware that sweaty hands meant fingerprint-ridge detail could travel through a single pair.

The entry was not an authorised one. He knew that at this stage he was on his own. The boss was going to take some placating, but only if Jake actually got round to telling anyone about his actions.

Normally, this sort of thing was just kept at a discrete level between line managers and operatives; only made ‘official’ if something was found. In those cases, retrospective steps would then be taken to give the impression that all was above board and legal.

This time, though, Jake hadn’t even told Helen in advance.

He knew there was something big going on here, even if he couldn’t convince the bosses yet.

Ten minutes earlier, he’d seen Wasim put a rucksack into the small blue car at the front of the terraced house – same time, same routine as the previous day. Only something had gone wrong the day before. Wasim’s pregnant wife had come running out of the house and grabbed her husband. She’d been holding her stomach. Wasim had gone back inside. Then both of them had gone straight to the hospital.

Jake now knew that Salma, Wasim’s wife, had experienced serious complications with her pregnancy, which had led to the loss of their unborn child. He had watched Wasim type a flurry of text messages shortly after Salma had grabbed him in the street. Major plans had clearly been altered yesterday. Jake could put in a RIPA request to see the content of those text messages, but it might take some weeks to get the stuff back from the mobile-phone company, depending on who the service provider was. Some were quicker than others. He could also ask the Security Service, but getting them to share it might be hard work.

Jake had picked the easy route this morning; the good old-fashioned way: get in, have a look around… and get out.

He was inside. He moved to the front of the house and stood in the small kitchen, surveying the jaundiced Formica units. What had Wasim been doing in here before he left? Jake had a quick scout around; everything looked normal – neat and tidy, nothing out of place.