The Ultimate Truth (13 page)

‘Use him for what?’

‘His brother had been murdered. He was angry, vengeful, eaten up with hatred and bitterness. He despised the people who’d caused his brother’s death. He’d do anything to
strike back at them. At least, that’s how MI5 would have seen him. Even if he wasn’t angry and vengeful, it wouldn’t take much persuading to make him that way. He was vulnerable.
Vulnerable people are easy to persuade. All MI5 had to do was convince him that if he worked for them, he’d be hitting back at the people who killed his brother.’

‘So Bashir was working for MI5?’

‘They recruited him as an informant, and within a year he’d infiltrated a home-grown terrorist cell in London. The members of this group were mostly British-born Pakistanis. MI5 had
been watching them for some time, so they knew they’d been visiting al-Qaeda training camps in Iraq and Yemen, and they knew they were planning an attack somewhere in the UK, but they
didn’t know where or when. Bashir not only managed to get in with the terrorists, he actually ended up living in the same house as them in Stratford. That’s how he eventually found out
that they were planning to attack the American Embassy in London. Apparently it was a very sophisticated plan, and if it had gone ahead . . . well, thank God it didn’t.’

‘What happened?’

‘The details are a bit sketchy, but it seems like it was a very close thing. From what I can tell, Bashir only just managed to warn MI5 in time for them to stop it. When counter-terrorism
officers raided the house in Stratford, the bombers were already making their final preparations. Fortunately they were all there at the time, and every one of them was safely apprehended and
arrested, including Bashir.’

‘To prevent his cover being blown,’ I said.

Grandad nodded. ‘He’d done an excellent job, and MI5 were hoping to use him again. And apparently Bashir was quite happy to carry on working for them. But he never got the
chance.’

‘Why not?’

Grandad sighed. ‘Well, this is where it gets a bit complicated. It seems that when MI5 found out that the terrorists were targeting the American Embassy, they decided
not
to share
this information with their American counterparts, the CIA. I’m not sure why they wanted to keep it quiet, but I can’t say I’m surprised. Security services the world over are
notorious for keeping things to themselves. But, of course, the CIA eventually found out about the planned attack, and because it was the American Embassy that had been targeted, they immediately
started pressing the British government to release all the details of the thwarted bombing and the arrested terrorists. The way they saw it, because the bombers had planned to attack the US Embassy
and US civilians, they should be tried and sentenced in the USA.’

‘That would have blown Bashir’s cover,’ I said.

‘Exactly. And MI5 didn’t want that to happen. They didn’t want the USA to kick up a big fuss about it either. Mainly because that would bring everything out into the open,
which they wanted to avoid. But also because the UK needs all the help it can get from the US, and a flat refusal to give them what they wanted wouldn’t have been good for international
relations. So in the end, MI5 did what they always do. They didn’t agree or disagree to anything, they just let their lawyers take over and hoped they could drag things out for as long as
possible.’

‘Did the CIA know about Bashir?’ I asked. ‘I mean, would MI5 have told them that one of the arrested terrorists was actually an informant?’

‘I don’t know,’ Grandad said thoughtfully. ‘But if you asked me to guess, I’d say no. From their point of view, the fewer people who knew about Bashir, the
better.’

‘So if the CIA did find out about him, they might actually think he
was
a terrorist?’

‘Quite possibly.’ Grandad looked at me. ‘Are you following all this so far, Trav? I mean, I know it’s all a bit confusing . . .’

I nodded. Although I didn’t understand everything he’d told me, I was beginning to see where the story was going. Bashir had tried to do the right thing . . . he’d
done
the right thing. But he’d ended up being an innocent pawn in a sinister game of chess.

I remembered what Grandad had told me about the rivalries between different intelligence agencies. so
There were so many different organisations involved, all of them with different
strategies and different motives, that sometimes it was almost impossible to get anything done . . . it was
so
complicated and confusing that after a while a lot of us became totally
disillusioned.
And that’s where Omega had come in, I recalled. A group of intelligence officers who really believed in what they were doing
but were sick of being constrained by all
the rules and politics of intelligence work.

I thought about that for a while, then looked at Grandad and said, ‘What happened to Bashir? I mean, what did MI5 do with him?’

‘Well, that’s the thing,’ Grandad said. ‘That’s where it all went wrong.’

It was getting late now, almost midnight, and I could see that Grandad was getting tired. I was kind of worn out myself – physically and mentally – but despite
feeling drained and exhausted, there was a part of me that felt strangely buzzy and excited. It was an odd feeling, not unpleasant in itself, but somehow it just didn’t feel
right
to
be excited about any of this. My mum and dad were dead, and there was a distinct possibility that all this stuff about Bashir and spies and terrorists was somehow connected to what had happened to
them. And there was absolutely nothing
exciting
about that at all, not in a million years. Losing Mum and Dad had ripped out my heart. It was
the
worst thing in the world. How
dare
I feel anything other than emptiness and despair? How
could
I? How could I even
think
of anything else?

It was hard to work it out.

Too hard for me.

I wiped my eyes and turned my attention to Grandad.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked me.

I nodded. ‘You were telling me about Bashir,’ I reminded him.

‘Right . . .’ he said hesitantly, a worried look on his face.

‘What happened to him after the arrests in London?’ I asked.

Grandad cleared his throat. ‘Well, he
should
have been looked after by his MI5 handler, the agent who’d recruited him in the first place. The agent should have made sure that
Bashir was safe, and kept him under wraps until all the wrangling with the CIA and the US government was over. But that didn’t happen.’

‘Why not?’

Grandad rolled his eyes. ‘Because, believe it or not, the agent was fired by MI5 after a Sunday newspaper ran a story about his wife’s involvement in some stupid political scandal.
Apparently she was paid a
lot
of money for some incriminating photographs she took of a so-called Very Important Person. It’s not clear whether her husband was actually involved in the
scandal himself, or whether he was just duped by his wife into providing her with sensitive information. Either way it was acutely embarrassing for both MI5 and the government.’

‘MI5 sacked him because he was an
embarrassment
to them?’

‘They not only sacked him,’ Grandad said, ‘they also closed down all the cases he was working on and terminated the contracts of his undercover assets. They basically washed
their hands of him.’

‘So where did that leave Bashir?’

‘He was given assurances that his undercover work wouldn’t be revealed to anyone, and that his name would be kept out of everything, but apart from that . . . well, he was pretty
much left on his own.’

‘They just let him go?’

‘So it seems.’

‘Is that why he left London and moved to Barton?’

‘Probably. From what I can gather, it seems as if MI5 were true to their word. Because for a couple of years everything went OK for Bashir. He moved back in with his parents, concentrated
on his boxing, and just got on with his life. No one bothered him, no one was looking for him, no one seemed to know who he was or what he’d done. But then . . .’ Grandad shook his
head. ‘I don’t know how it happened. Maybe someone in MI5 slipped up and mentioned Bashir’s name by mistake. Or it could be that they’ve got a leak somewhere. But somehow
the CIA found out about his involvement with the Embassy bombers. Once they had his name, it wouldn’t have been hard to find out where he was.’

‘He wasn’t actually
involved
with the bombers though, was he? I mean, just because he lived in the same house as them, that doesn’t make him a terrorist.’

‘The CIA wouldn’t see it like that. When they’re dealing with potential terrorists, their principle is guilty until proven innocent. Bashir knew the bombers, he lived with them
. . . that’s more than enough for the CIA to assume he was one of them.’

‘Do you think they’ve got him?’

‘It’s possible, I suppose. Anything’s possible. I mean, he might have gone into hiding himself.’ Grandad paused for a moment, thinking. ‘If the CIA
have
got
him though, I don’t understand why MI5 agents are still sniffing around. If the CIA already had Bashir, he wouldn’t be in Barton any more. He’d be locked up in a cell somewhere in
the USA. Or worse.’

‘If Evie Johnson’s right about seeing Bashir in the Audi,’ I said, ‘and the Audis are MI5 vehicles, that means that Bashir was meeting with MI5 agents
before
he
disappeared.’

‘It also means that MI5 are interested in you.’

‘Or Courtney. It was her car they followed.’

‘They’re probably keeping an eye on both of you.’ Grandad paused, thinking. ‘The way I see it, that can only be because you’ve been looking into your mum and
dad’s investigation into Bashir.’

‘Why would MI5 suddenly be interested in Bashir again?’ I asked. ‘I mean, they didn’t want to know him two years ago, did they? What changed their minds?’

Grandad shook his head. ‘That’s one of the things my contact wouldn’t tell me. It could be a simple matter of not wanting to let the CIA get their way. Or maybe someone at MI5
realised that letting Bashir go was a big mistake. Or maybe they just needed him again for another undercover operation.’ He shrugged. ‘I really don’t know, Trav. But if MI5
agents are still in Barton, which they obviously are, and they’re still interested in anyone or anything to do with Bashir, it’s a pretty good bet they don’t know where he
is.’

‘What about the CIA? Do you think they’re still here too?’

Grandad looked at me for a moment, then he got up and went over to the window. He casually gazed out, and then without turning round he said to me, ‘Come over here.’

I went over and stood beside him.

‘Don’t make it obvious,’ he told me, ‘but if you take a look down the street you’ll see a white van parked behind a red Mondeo.’

Without turning my head, I glanced down the street. ‘The van with the writing on the side?’ I said. ‘The one that says
J. Block & Son Plumbing Solutions
?’

Grandad nodded. ‘It’s been there for a couple of days now. I haven’t had a chance to take a really good look at it, but I’m fairly sure it’s not a plumber’s
van.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘Well, firstly, as I said, it’s been there for two days – all day and all night – and I know it doesn’t belong to anyone who lives round here. And even in
emergencies, plumbers don’t work round the clock. Secondly, if you watch the van for long enough, you’ll see that it moves very slightly every now and then. Parked vans don’t move
unless someone’s inside them. And thirdly . . .’ Grandad smiled at me. ‘I asked my contact to check the registration number. He didn’t actually say it
was
a CIA
vehicle, but he didn’t say it wasn’t either.’

I flicked another quick look at the van. ‘You really think there are CIA agents in there?’

Grandad put his arm round my shoulder and guided me away from the window. ‘It’ll just be a surveillance team. There’s nothing to worry about. They’ll just be keeping an
eye on us. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve had us under surveillance ever since your mum and dad started looking for Bashir.’

‘Do you think Mum and Dad knew about any of this?’

‘I honestly don’t know, Travis. They didn’t usually discuss their cases with me – we had an agreement about that – but I would have thought they’d have said
something to me if they’d known that the CIA and MI5 were involved. So I’m guessing that they didn’t know.’

I sat down on the bed. ‘You don’t think . . . ?’

‘What?’

‘Well, you know, the accident . . .’ I looked at him. ‘I mean, it
was
an accident, wasn’t it?’

Grandad put his hand on my shoulder. ‘There’s nothing to say it wasn’t, Travis,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve seen the official police report, I’ve spoken to
the accident investigators. There’s absolutely no evidence to suggest that anyone else was involved in the crash.’ He crouched down in front of me and looked into my eyes. ‘Even
if the CIA or MI5 were following your mum and dad, they had no reason to harm them. Your parents were quite possibly their only leads to Bashir Kamal. So, if anything, they’d want to keep
them as safe as possible.’

‘But the CIA and MI5 aren’t the only ones mixed up in all this, are they?’ I said. ‘There’s Omega too. You said yourself that they’ll do whatever it takes to
get the job done, no matter what.’

‘Well, yes, but—’

‘“No rules, no restrictions, no accountability.” That’s what you
said
, Grandad.’

‘I know,’ he sighed. ‘But at the moment we don’t know where Omega fits in to all this. We don’t even know for sure that the men in the photographs
are
Omega.
So there’s no point in jumping to conclusions about anything. We just need to calm down and—’

‘Did you ask your contact about Omega?’

He nodded. ‘No one knows anything about them. Or if they do, they’re not talking.’

‘What about the company in Dundee that owns the BMW? Can’t Omega be traced through them?’

‘The address in Dundee is just a mailing address. There’s no actual office or anything there. Smith & Co Digital Holdings Ltd
is
a legitimate company, but it’s a
subsidiary of a company based in Dublin, and
that
company is owned by a South African corporation, which in turn is a subsidiary of yet another company . . . it’s an endless trail,
Travis. It doesn’t lead anywhere. We don’t even know that the BMW has got anything to do with Omega anyway.’