After four hours sleep, Hannah, Arthur and I gathered in the bosses office for a video chat with Adam and Tim at base camp.
“We'll have another go at them later,” said White, “but I'm confident these two men are just hired idiots. I don't think they even know what was in the lorry and both seemed genuinely shocked that the other one had a gun.”
“We should have had more people covering the street,” I said, “We should have been able to capture him alive.”
“No use crying over spilt blood,” said White, “If he was as much of a pro as his marksmanship indicates then he would also have been proficient in not answering questions. Anyway, we have several puzzle pieces to work with so let's move on. The latest from forensics is that the equipment and the back of the truck was spotless. Apart from us there's no trace of anyone ever having been in there or touched the equipment. It was a sterile environment, which means we're dealing with people who have some sort of forensics team of their own. That rules out a small group of fanatics, aside from the sophistication of the equipment itself. We're looking at people with serious money, tech expertise, and copious resources. It's likely to be a fairly large group.”
“You're not saying we're dealing with another rouge CIA situation?” I said.
“I hope not, but it's a possibility. I've spoken with MI6 this morning and we should have their latest info on known foreign groups with this sort of capabilities within the hour. We're currently searching the homes of the two men downstairs, so far we've found no trace of a passport for either of them but they're almost certainly just being used as drivers.”
“Something about this doesn't add up,” said Adam. “Terrorists don't carry out trial runs in public. Even if they can only cover an area of one mile they could have chosen a place and time that would have caused ten times as many casualties.”
“I've been looking at the footage from traffic cameras,” said Tim. “In the few minutes before the event the traffic slowed considerably in some of the streets in the covered area. I'd have to look at footage from all the streets affected but it's almost as if they set the signal off when it would do least damage.”
“I agree that they could have chosen a much more effective target,” said Hannah, “but if they didn't want to kill loads of people, why didn't they do it in a more remote area?”
“They needed somewhere they could dump a lorry for a day where it wouldn't attract attention,” I said.
“Okay,” said White, “we're veering off into speculation. We need to establish who designed this equipment and what their ultimate purpose is. Nobody has yet claimed responsibility or made any demands but we must assume that by now they know that the lorry has been found and removed. However, as they did such a thorough job of cleaning the equipment and both vehicles were stolen, we have no leads on the people behind this except what we can get from the drivers.”
“Anything on the dead one yet?” I asked.
“He had no ID on him and neither his fingerprints or DNA are on record. I'll get the autopsy result in a few hours.”
“What about the gun?”
“Untraceable, all markings filed off.”
“So he was a pro,” I muttered to myself. “What about the other two?”
“No criminal records for either,” said White. “Both unemployed laborours. More than likely their story about being approached in a pub and offered a few thousand quid to steal the rubbish truck is true.”
“Obviously the dead guy intended to drive the target vehicle away while the others disposed of the garbage truck,” I said, “but the fact that he went to all that trouble, and risk if they are indeed just regular blokes, indicates that he or whoever he works for at least considered the possibility that their equipment might be discovered. If they knew for certain it had been they would have sent more than one armed man to deal with it, or just left it.”
“But stealing the wrong type of rubbish vehicle shows a lack of planning,” said Adam, “or that it was done in such a rush they just took what they could.”
“Or,” suggested Hannah, “that they were so arrogant that they thought a sloppy operation would do.”
“Or,” I added, “that there was a proper plan but the two hired bozos cocked it up.”
“How long can we hold the two for?” asked Adam.
“I'll have to let them go by the morning,” said White, “I'm not sure they can actually be charged with anything criminal other than conspiring to steal the rubbish lorry. Obviously we will keep tabs on them both for a few weeks in case they're contacted again.”
“This is a bit left field,” said Adam, then hesitated.
I looked at the screen.
“Go on,” I said, flashing him an encouraging smile.
“I've been wondering whether the timing is significant.”
“Quarter past eleven?” said Hannah, puzzled.
“No, I mean the date, politically significant,” he said, glancing nervously at Tim. “I mean coming so soon after a General Election.”
“What are you driving at?” asked Tim, looking equally puzzled.
“I don't know,” admitted Adam, “it's just a thought that's nagging away at me. Maybe somebody is planning to destabilise the new government. Maybe they'll threaten something much bigger and they think the new PM is an easier target, more likely to cave in to save his job. Just a thought.”
“I suppose,” I said, “that if the PM were contacted we would be informed immediately?”
“I met him last week,” said White, “he's aware of the way we work and I've spoken to him yesterday and this morning, I've no reason to think we can't trust him. They do check out people before they're allowed to run the country, Jen.”
I gave him a sarcastic grin.
“Yes, but maybe Downing Street would try to deal with a blackmailer themselves, keep it quiet and pay up.”
“Not possible,” said Tim, “all calls in and out of number ten are recorded and strictly monitored, all mail examined. So many people are involved there's no way you could keep something like that quiet - well, not so quiet that we wouldn't find out anyway.”
“Surely,” said Hannah, “the most important thing is working out what to do if they try it again?”
“Yes,” said White, “any progress on that, Arthur?”
“We're working on it, or rather the tech guys are. They've analysed what my implant did to counteract the signal and they're now experimenting with devices which can replicate that. They're also, of course, examining the equipment for any clues as to where it was put together. Agent 7 is fairly confident that they could totally nullify the signal before it takes effect; remember that I detected something a couple of seconds before the first people fainted? That would be the equipment 'warming up' or... I didn't understand the technical details but sort of moving up through the frequencies like gears, until it gets to the right one.”
“Like tuning in an old radio?” I said.
“Something like that, I think,” said Arthur.
“How long before they can perfect such a countering device?” asked White.
“They should have a prototype by tomorrow but then they'll need to test it. But in order for it to work they would have to get fairly close to the source of the signal. Building one with a massive range would be a lot more difficult.”
“Well that's something at least,” said Adam. “If we can find their HQ then we can take the device with us and they can't use the signal against us.”
The phone rang.
“It's Downing Street,” he said, “yes, Bill White.”
An unusual silence followed. White looked as if he didn't quite understand whatever was being said. When he eventually put the phone down he continued to look somewhat confused.
“The PM wants to come here immediately and see the equipment.”
We all exchanged looks of incomprehension.
“Tim,” I asked, “have you any explanation for this?”
“No,” he said thoughtfully.
Since the lapse in concentration that had, whatever anyone else said, resulted in John's death, I'd done some work on myself. I'd read up on some psychology, the proper stuff about how the brain functions, and I'd even done some Buddhist meditation to learn to both properly relax and properly pay attention. I'd tried to be better at my job because I didn't want to get anyone else killed. As a by product of this I also found that I was rather sharper at taking in and processing information.
Seeing the new PM on telly I, for some reason, took an instant dislike to him. There was something about the way he seemed to enjoy being in front of the cameras, a triumphalist sneer to his acceptance speech that just set me against him from the start. However, as this new case would mean we'd be liaising closely with him, it was part of my job to be impartial. Therefore, when he first came to HQ I made it my business to observe him very closely.
Call it retrospective embellishment or whatever you like but I'm sure that I sensed a nervousness in him from the moment he walked through the door. After nodding at one of the Close Protection officers I knew, I fixed my attention firmly on the man who was unfortunate enough to remind me of the slimy, press loving git who'd been PM when I was a girl.
He seemed to be skittish, in a hurry. He was very keen to see the equipment, rather then learning about our progress on the case. Within two minutes I had an even lower opinion of him.
When we got to the tech room where they were examining the gear he made a bee line for the laptop and leant over it with his hands behind his back like a major inspecting his troops. I quickly positioned myself a few feet away where I could keep an eye on him. He stood up and tried to slip his hand surreptitiously into his pocket. I inched my way closer to him. I could tell from the bulge in his pocket that he was fiddling with his wallet and seemed to be trying to quietly extract something from it. After a few seconds his hand slid out of his pocket. He abruptly turned back towards the room and began loudly firing questions at the boss, no doubt in a pathetic attempt to distract everyone.
I saw his hand move.
Not wanting to panic Close Protection I shouted above him.
“Do not move your right hand.”
He froze in panic and tried to palm the Firewire stick up his sleeve.
“I said don't fucking move,” I hissed in my best menacing voice.
I saw his hand begin to tremble violently.
My former police colleague read the situation and moved forward, grabbing his arm.
“Move away from the laptop, sir.”
I took the stick from him and held it up for everyone else.
“He was trying to put this in the laptop.”
“No, no... I...” he spluttered helplessly.
White's face expressed a level of anger I'd never seen before.
“Did you not read the really big sign in the entrance about not bringing any electronic equipment in here?” he said quietly. “Did you not listen when I briefed you about T14?”
I wrenched the wallet out of his pocket, opened it and found the small silver bag he'd used to outwit the detectors. I threw the stick to Steve.
“I think we'd better find out what our colleague has been up to,” I said. He visibly bristled at my disrespectful turn of phrase but really wasn't in a position to say anything at all.
“Arthur,” said White quietly, “what's the protocol for arresting a prime minister?”
Arthur did his characteristic squint as he accessed his implant.
“You... you can't bloody arrest me?” he whined, trying to force some dignity and authority into his countenance, and failing derisively.
“Yes we can,” said Arthur, as dispassionately as if he were reeling off a recipe, “Page one six two, paragraph three. 'In the event that a senior T14 agent has reason to believe that the prime minister is acting in a way which threatens national security or is attempting to impeed the work of the agency, he may be placed under immediate arrest and detained indefinitely at T14 HQ. This overrides all other relevant protocols.'”
“You should have read the small print.”
White glanced at me, his eyes saying “drop it now” but I just couldn't resist that one.
“So,” I asked as the boss sat down behind his desk, “what did the little toad have to say for himself?”
We'd all been kicking our heels for the last two hours, not knowing what to do with ourselves. We'd discussed some of the political and security ramifications with Tim (who we'd sneaked in under a blanket like a prisoner) but without knowing what was going on it was mainly speculation. Considering that this was going to be the global news story of the year, the atmosphere was more akin to bored school children confined to the hall on a rainy day.
“I've yet to verify his story but if it's true he wasn't fit to be PM in the first place.”
“I always thought he was a slimy fucker.”
“Yes, Jen. It appears you were right,” he sighed.
I was surprised at the level of disappointment registering on his face. He gathered himself together and began his summary.
“He claims the equipment was an MOD prototype.”
That was certainly interesting new information. We all looked at Tim. For a moment he was speechless.
“I never signed off on that, nor anything remotely like it. How...” He was lost for any further comment.
“I haven't yet contacted the MOD, I'd like to discuss that with you.”
Tim nodded.
“So...” began Hannah, “I mean, were the MOD trying to conduct a secret test? And what the fuck are they doing developing that kind of stuff anyway?”
“His story,” said White, in a tone which showed he could barely believe it himself, “was that it was stolen. They don't know who took it and he was attempting to erase the laptop so nobody would ever find out where it had come from. He apparently has 'friends' in the MOD and he was trying to save any embarrassment.”
“There has to be more to it than that,” said Adam incredulously, “he'd never take such a risk just to save some friends from embarrassment.”
“Besides,” I said, “I'm sure he only has colleagues and acquaintances, not friends as we humans would understand. Do you want me to have a go at him?”
White managed a smile. “I think we'll spare him that for now. I'll talk to him again when I've read the riot act to the MOD.”
“He's had enough time to think,” I said, “somebody should have a go at him.”
“I need to go mob-handed to the MOD. I've spoken to the deputy PM, who is now in charge of the country and seems to have a bit more nous about him, and he's agreed that we should conduct a thorough and immediate search of the premises where this thing came from. If this is all true, what else are they working on unofficially?”
That was an unsettling thought.
“I'm not really mob material,” said Arthur, “and you'll be a few hours at least going over that place. Perhaps I should interview him?”
“What are you thinking?” asked White.
“Well, I can bombard him with information, see how he reacts. As he talks I can search through his entire life history and see if he's lying about anything. I can ask him about these so called friends and instantly search out info on them.”
“I think that's an excellent idea,” said Tim. “What about me? Am I going to the MOD?”
“I reckon we should take him,” I said. “He knows more about the way they work than any of us, even you.”
White nodded in agreement.
“And it will make it more official and scary for them.”
“I don't think I can ever be more scary than you,” smiled Tim.
“Maybe not, but between you and the boss you'll make this about as official and rigorous looking as possible. Nobody will be able to argue with us giving the place a thorough going over.”
White pondered for a moment.
“Arthur, how long to get to the base?”
“It's way outside London, too long by road.”
“Someone will more than likely be waiting to hear from him that he's successfully scuppered the laptop,” said Adam, “we can't afford to delay.”
“Besides,” said Hannah, “a fleet of choppers will scare the shit out of them even more.”
I smiled to myself. I had been planning a night on the town but this was going to be a lot more fun.
“Arthur, how many agents should I take to secure the whole base?”
“I'm not sure we have enough people to secure the whole area adequately.”
“This is national security,” said Adam, “can't we co-opt the marines like we did last year.”
White looked at Arthur, who displayed his uncanny knack of seeming to read the bosses mind.
“Total staff present today... three hundred and sixty eight. Two hundred and eleven at lowest security level. There's an aircraft hanger big enough to house all of them.”
White brought up a plan of the base and turned the monitor so we could all take a look. Then he picked up the phone.
“Right,” I said, “Hannah, Adam, let's get ready.”
I beckoned Tim over to the door.
“We're going to get tooled up now. I know you're going in a political capacity but you're still an agent and if the MOD has gone native we don't know what we'll be faced with. I'd advise you to arm yourself.”
“You really think that's necessary?”
“Better to be over-prepared than in the shit.”
“I haven't got time to get a suit or anything.”
He was wearing dark trousers and a light blue shirt.
“I'm sure we can find you a suitable matching jacket that can accommodate a holster.” I took out my phone and opened the notepad. “What size are you?” I wrote down his measurements. “Better not have you wandering around the building, we'll get you something.”