Fair Game (54 page)

Two Knives nodded and helped himself to more khat.

‘It’ll be good to get back,’ said Crazy Boy. ‘England was making me soft. I know that now. I’ll never be soft again.’

Shepherd put down a cup of tea in front of Button and she smiled her thanks. He sat down opposite her and sipped his coffee. CCTV images from around the country were flashing across the monitors as technicians worked away on their computers.

‘I didn’t realise that you could do this,’ said Shepherd, gesturing at the screens. ‘Use automatic number plate recognition on CCTV feeds from anywhere in the U.K.’

‘Since 2006,’ said Button. ‘We have feeds from the motorways, main roads, all the council systems, the ring of steel around the City, down to petrol station forecourts. And we’ve got feeds from mobile police CCTV units. All the feeds are run through the National ANPR Data Centre at Hendon.’

Shepherd nodded. Hendon in north London was the site of the Police National Computer. ‘That must be thousands of cameras,’ he said.

‘And every single one can be scanned for a specific plate,’ said Button. ‘The computer stores fifty million records a year. And we have total access.’ She smiled. ‘It really is Big Brother, actually. The government can cross-reference registration numbers with MoT test certificates and insurance companies and flag any vehicle that shouldn’t be on the road. Not that MI5 does that, of course.’

‘Not yet, anyway,’ said Shepherd.

‘The point is, Spider, police forces around the country and our good selves have instant real-time access to every single camera with the ability to pick out a single specific vehicle.’

Shepherd gestured at the technicians. ‘So why aren’t they pulling out any needles from the haystacks?’

‘It takes time,’ said Button.

‘How long is this information stored for?’

‘Five years,’ said Button.

‘Do you mean that you can track everywhere a vehicle has been over the past five years?’

‘Not exactly everywhere because there are still places in the United Kingdom that don’t have CCTV coverage,’ she said. ‘But certainly we can see what major roads they have been on.’

Shepherd sipped his coffee. ‘You know where this is going, don’t you?’

Button shook her head. ‘Tell me.’

‘They’ll be tying this data to facial recognition systems and then you’ll be able to follow every single person, no matter where they are.’

Button nodded slowly. ‘You’re probably right,’ she said.

Shepherd opened his mouth to speak but he was interrupted by a female technician. ‘I’ve got a hit!’ she said excitedly. ‘On the M3 outside Southampton.’

‘On the screen, please, Daisy,’ said Button.

The technician’s fingers played across her keyboard and a view from a motorway CCTV camera filled the screen. Among the traffic was the truck and its container. ‘Freeze and zoom, please.’

The image zoomed in on the truck and they could clearly see the two black men in the cab.

At the bottom of the screen was a time code. It was three hours after the
Athena
had docked.

‘Right, that’s a start,’ said Button. ‘Let’s concentrate on the M3. Where is that exactly?’

‘Five miles from the city, heading north,’ said the technician.

‘Right, let’s focus our search on the M3, and of course I don’t have to point out that the M3 heads straight to the M25, which circles London.’

It was a relatively simple circuit but the two men wanted to be absolutely certain that it would work so they checked and rechecked it before activating it. The bomb had been well constructed by experts – Russian technicians who had been well paid for their work. They had put the bomb together in a disused factory on the outskirts of the seaport city of Aden using radioactive waste that had been obtained from a group of Chechen rebels. The Russians had designed and built the detonating circuit but had kept the individual components separate to be assembled when the container was close to its target.

The radioactive material was sealed in aluminium barrels and they had used a Geiger counter to check that the radiation levels in the container were not dangerous, so long as they wore their government-approved radiation suits and helmets.

Both men had been born in Scotland and attended university there, but when they spoke they spoke in Urdu because they did not want the two Somalis to understand them. ‘It’s done,’ said the elder of the two. His name was Gadi Hussain and he had a degree in chemical engineering from Edinburgh’s Heriot-Watt University. That was where he had met the second man, Chishti Akram, who was studying electrical engineering. They had joined the university’s Muslim Society and after graduating had spent three months together in an al-Qaeda training camp in northern Pakistan.

Akram looked over his shoulder at the two Somalis who were sitting at a wooden table, eating leaves from a polythene bag.

‘What is it with the leaves they chew?’ he asked.

‘That’s khat. It’s a stimulant.’

‘And it’s allowed? They are Muslims, right?’

Hussain chuckled. ‘They are Muslims but they are Africans. They don’t know any better.’

‘But they are shahids. They must go to meet God in a state of purity and cleanliness, surely.’

Hussain lowered his voice, even though he knew that the two Somalis could not understand Urdu. ‘They do not know, brother. They think that the bomb is going to be detonated by a mobile phone. They do not know that it is on a timer.’

‘And they will die without knowing?’

‘Inshallah,’ said Hussain.

‘Because they cannot be trusted?’

‘They are Africans, brother. Who can trust an African? You have to count your fingers every time you shake hands with them.’

He turned and flashed Crazy Boy a beaming smile. ‘We are ready,’ he said. ‘Everything is done. Help us close the doors.’

Charlotte Button paced up and down behind the technicians. On the screens on the wall behind her were six CCTV feeds showing the progress of the truck along the M3. One of the screens showed the truck leaving the M3 at the Basingstoke turn-off and since then there had been no sightings.

‘Come on, everyone, let’s find it,’ she said, even though she knew they were working flat out and that the lack of success wasn’t for want of trying. She rubbed her hands together and looked across at Shepherd. ‘At least Basingstoke probably isn’t the target.’

‘You don’t know that,’ said Shepherd. ‘You heard what Dr Wilson said, a dirty bomb anywhere in the country brings the economy grinding to a halt. And London is always going to be a harder target because . . .’

He was interrupted by one of the male technicians, who raised his hand. ‘I have a hit,’ he said. ‘Camberley, thirty minutes ago.’

‘Heading north?’

The technician nodded and put the recording on to one of the large monitors. The truck was in the inside lane, hemmed in by heavy traffic.

‘They must have stopped off in Basingstoke and started their journey again,’ said Button. She went over to a large-scale map of the country, tapped the M3 and ran her finger along it to the M25. ‘They’re probably on the M25 already,’ she said. ‘I need a live feed and I need it now, please.’

Liam was lying on the sofa watching an episode of
Two and a Half Men
on the television when Katra popped her head around the door. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

‘Fine.’

‘Homework all done?’

‘Sure,’ he replied, his eyes never leaving the screen.

‘Do you want to go and play football?’

‘With you?’

Katra grinned. ‘What, scared to play a girl?’

‘It’s not that,’ said Liam.

‘You need some exercise,’ said Katra. ‘It’s not good to lie around all day.’

Liam pulled a face.

‘OK, what about going shopping? We can go to the Maylord Centre.’

‘I don’t need to buy anything.’

‘We could get a game for your PlayStation.’

‘Nah, there’s nothing I want.’

‘What about a movie?’

Liam sat up. ‘Yeah, OK. What’s on?’

‘I don’t know. We’ll take pot luck. We’ll go to the cinema and see what they’ve got. It’s been ages since we’ve been.’

‘Cool,’ said Liam, using the remote to switch off the television.

Katra picked up the keys to the X3 and waited for Liam to get his jacket. They walked together to the BMW. ‘Why did Dad take the CRV?’ asked Liam.

‘The BMW needs a service,’ said Katra. She pressed the fob to unlock the doors.

‘What do you think of the X6?’ he asked.

‘X6? What is that?’

Liam looked at her in disbelief. ‘You don’t know about the BMW X6? It’s the coolest car.’ He opened the passenger door and climbed in.

‘I think this car is pretty cool,’ said Katra, getting into the driving seat. She put the key in the ignition. ‘Fasten your seat belt,’ she said.

One of the technicians jumped to her feet. ‘I have a live feed!’ she shouted. ‘I’ve found it!’ Everyone in the room turned to look at her. She was a Chinese girl in jeans and a baggy sweater that seemed several sizes too big for her. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement and her head was bobbing back and forth as she stared at her monitor.

‘Where?’ said Button, hurrying over to her.

‘M25 heading east, between Junctions Eleven and Ten.’

‘Patch it on to the main screen.’

The technician sat down, tapped on her keyboard and the CCTV image filled one of the monitors on the wall. The truck was moving slowly, hemmed in by traffic.

‘Thank goodness for weekend roadworks,’ said Button. ‘OK, we have to take care of this before they reach London.’

‘What do you have in mind?’ asked Shepherd.

‘The Increment,’ said Button. ‘We can’t afford to take any chances with whatever they’ve got in that container.’

‘You don’t know how they’re going to trigger it, Charlie,’ said Shepherd. ‘If the Increment goes in they might panic and detonate.’

‘You think it might be a suicide bomb?’ asked Button.

‘If Crazy Boy is on the run he might think he’s got nothing to lose,’ said Shepherd. ‘But suicide bomb or not, I’m not sure that the Increment is the way to go. Too many cooks.’

‘How do you think we should handle it?’

Shepherd grinned. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

Two Knives swung his feet up on to the dashboard and stared at the slow-moving traffic ahead of them. ‘It’s Sunday, where are all these people going?’ he asked.

‘It’s a sunny day so people want to go out,’ said Crazy Boy.

‘But go where? To sit in traffic with thousands of other people? The British are crazy. Maybe we should leave the motorway. We can drive up to London on the smaller roads.’

‘We’re safer here,’ said Crazy Boy. ‘Less chance of an accident, less chance of anything happening.’ He pointed up ahead. ‘And look, the traffic’s starting to move.’

He reached over and took another handful of khat leaves. As he chewed a CCTV camera stared impassively down at them.

There were three police motorcyclists parked in front of MI6’s headquarters, their engines running. Button handed Shepherd his motorcycle helmet. He had changed into a regular Metropolitan Police uniform and a yellow fluorescent jacket and had a Glock in a nylon underarm holster. ‘Good luck,’ she said.

Shepherd grinned. ‘At least you’re not telling me to be careful,’ he said. He had a radio transceiver fixed to his belt and he fitted the earpiece before he put on the helmet. ‘Just make sure that the cops are close to the truck, but not too close to be seen. And tell the Increment to hang well back.’ He clipped the microphone to the collar of his fluorescent jacket.

‘Will do,’ she said. ‘We’ll keep tabs on the truck here. If they leave the M25 we’ll tell you but otherwise we’ll assume that you’ll intercept them around about Junction Five, providing that they stay on and head north. But if they leave at the M26 you’ll still be able to get them.’

‘Got it,’ said Shepherd.

‘If they leave the M25 earlier and cut north into central London we’ll let you know and you can do what you have to do.’

‘Charlie, it’ll be fine,’ said Shepherd. Button nodded and Shepherd climbed on to the pillion of the second bike. He tapped the driver on the shoulder. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

The three bikes sped away, heading south. The three riders were experienced and they cut through the traffic like sharks through a shoal of fish. They had a well-practised technique for getting through red lights. The lead bike would hold up the traffic that had the right of way while the bike with Shepherd sped through, then the third bike would move to the front ready to deal with the next set of lights. The riders were so efficient that at no point did Shepherd’s bike drop below thirty miles an hour, and for most of the time they were travelling well above the legal speed limits, sirens wailing and lights flashing.

They were soon driving through Bromley, and the traffic was lighter so they picked up speed.

‘Spider, they’ve just passed Junction Seven,’ said Button. ‘We’re looking at you on the map and I don’t see that Junction Six is going to work so we’ll stick with the original plan and get you on at Junction Five.’

‘Roger that,’ said Shepherd.

‘We have two traffic cars behind the truck, one has eyeball on the vehicle and they’re expecting you,’ said Button.

The three bikes sped south along the A21 and then turned on to the A224. As they approached Junction 5 Shepherd called up Button. ‘Just about to join the M25,’ he said. ‘Where are they?’

‘Five minutes away,’ she said. ‘The traffic is thinner now and they’re moving at about thirty miles per hour. Best you hang back and we’ll see what they do.’

The riders were all tuned in to Button’s frequency and they pulled in to the side of the road. Five minutes later she came back to say that the truck had passed Junction 5 and was still on the M25.

Shepherd’s rider nodded at his two companions. From now on they would be travelling alone and without sirens and lights. The single bike sped off down the approach ramp and joined the motorway traffic. They kept on the hard shoulder until Shepherd saw the traffic car ahead of them. The rider had also seen the police car and he accelerated to bring them alongside. There were two officers in the vehicle. The passenger looked across at them and Shepherd motioned for them to pull in on the hard shoulder.