Going Rogue, page 9
part #2 of Tom Novak Series
‘We have been recruiting fairly well. Our intention is that no other operatives will be arrested. Smith was a tactical decision to announce our arrival and spread the fear that we know is essential to our cause. We don’t intend to recruit heavily at this stage for security reasons.’
‘Well it certainly worked. It seems that your actions have raised fears very nicely, Major. Racial tensions in these communities are approaching boiling point, which is most agreeable. One thing is bothering me, however,’ he paused, his eyebrow raised.
McEwan held the oligarch’s gaze.
‘The Honourable Member for Tower Hamlets is becoming something of a thorn in our side, Major,’ continued Zelenko. ‘Unfortunately for us, he is a voice of reason that we really don’t want at the moment. He is managing to keep a lid on the Muslim community with his message of non-violence and tolerance on all sides. I know for a fact that he prevented a riot in Central London following the first attack. He has an unfortunately pleasant manner which seems to appeal to the rabble rousers. I think we may need to take some serious and urgent action against him. Unfortunately, he is extremely well protected at present. I trust this is a situation that you will be able to resolve? I think we need a public and permanent solution to Mr Akhtar, yes?’
‘I understand, Mr Zelenko.’ This was an unexpected development. McEwan had seen Nasir Akhtar addressing the crowds on television recently. The MP, a rising star of the Labour Party and a Shadow Home Office Minister, had been addressing a volatile crowd that had seemed to be on the brink of disorder. His relaxed, assertive manner had had a calming effect on the crowd. Even with his loathing of Muslims, McEwan couldn’t help be impressed by the handsome MP’s charisma.
‘He has extra police protection so I will need you to be creative as to how you achieve the goal. My personal security team have assessed his protection and have arrived at the conclusion that a close-up attack will not succeed. They feel that a sniper will be required if the operative is to not be arrested.’
‘I will of course look into the problem and will come up with a plan, but will that advance the cause?’
‘Major, I have some overseas associates sympathetic to our cause who are relying on us to precipitate a level of disorder that will allow certain arrangements to be made. They have billions to invest which will have the added benefit of helping spread their world view which, by the way, aligns with ours. However, we need to create a degree of chaos that we can predict adequately in order that any sudden fluctuations in currency prices can be exploited to our advantage.’
‘World view?’
‘Oh dear, Major. This is much bigger than you realise. My associates and I are weary of the grip the Jews have on finance, business and the media. We are tired that the Crimean Tatar Muslims have been welcomed into our country by the corrupt government. We intend to bring the grip that they have on our country to an end. Similar acts are happening in Ukraine, Belarus and Russia. Together we intend to rid Europe of the Jews, the Muslims and the other Untermenschen. We believe that the racial tensions that exist throughout Europe including Great Britain make it ripe for shaping as we see fit.’ Zelenko’s use of the Nazi term, “Untermenschen”, should have horrified McEwan but, in reality, his heart leapt at Zelenko’s passion. This was it. This was their time to reach out and realise their destiny.
Zelenko spoke again, his face red and suffused with anger and passion, his voice a mere hoarse whisper. ‘So… No, Major. We don’t want the fucking Muslims or Jews weak and intimidated. We want them fucking angry, violent, and taking direct action against each other. Make no mistake, we want a race war that will bring this country to its knees so we can re-build and re-shape it as we see appropriate. Soon, Major, Great Britain and then Europe will fall to our will.’
14
The jangle of keys in the cell door took Tom’s attention from the book he was reading. The enforced bang-up caused by the commotion had only lasted about ninety minutes and all had been fairly peaceful ever since.
‘Association!’ called the unseen voice.
Tom leapt to his feet, eager to get to the phone as soon as possible before the inevitable queue formed. He rushed down the stairs to the bank of phones, pleased to see that only one of them was occupied.
Keying in his PIN he dialled the number from memory.
‘Borat. How’s my favourite convict?’
‘Buster, I’m doing good but it’s time to get the plan of my release moving, sharpish.’ Tom replied without preamble.
‘No worries, we’ll get straight onto it. You’ll be out by tomorrow; your crack legal team will request an urgent court appearance in the morning with evidence that the EAW is incorrect and you are being unlawfully held. It’s all set up and ready to go. The advice is that you won’t be required to attend court and the application to withdraw the warrant won’t be resisted. All being well you’ll be out of jail tomorrow morning.’
‘That’s perfect, Buster. Gives me the chance to have another heart-to-heart with our friend in here and hopefully get the contact,’ Tom said, feeling some relief that his time at Belmarsh was drawing to a close.
‘Right-ho matey. Be careful and don’t drop the soap in the showers.’
Tom laughed and replaced the receiver, which was quickly picked up by another waiting inmate.
Tom ascended the stairs and walked along the walkway to Smith’s cell. ‘Knock-knock,’ Tom said as he walked into the cell. Smith was sat on a chair reading a book which he threw on the bed as Tom walked in. ‘Dave, how you doing? What was all the drama about downstairs?’
‘One of the spice-heads had overdone it, I think. All quiet now. Listen, I have news. It looks like I am getting out of here. I just called my lawyer and they are applying to the court in the morning to have the warrant cancelled as there are errors on it.’
A slow smile crept over Smith’s face. ‘Dave, that is fucking great news, mate. We could do with someone like you on the out. What are your plans?’
‘Well, I’m not going back to Slovenia, that’s for sure. I don’t know exactly. I need a way to make some money; I’m not sure if my landlord will have kicked me out of my flat.’
‘I can make an introduction to one of our people. They have some good financial backers and will pay for the right people. You could do some good, help us take the fight to the bastards.’
‘Lenny, I want to help. But how?’
Smith smiled. ‘I will give you an email address and password. All you have to do is put your name and my name as a draft message. Don’t send it, just leave it in the draft folder and close the email. Our people will make contact with you. They will probably want to check you out first and they have sources everywhere.’ Smith picked up a dog-eared copy of an old looking paperback and turned to the middle of the book. He scrawled an email address: HotelHotel1892@gmail.com. He quickly flicked through the book, searching for a word or passage. When he found what he was looking for he underlined the word.
‘Email address is on page 150, password is on page 242. They will be expecting a message from you. They know about you already.’ Smith said as he handed the book over to Tom. He flicked through the pages to look at the email address, and then turned to the page where he noted that the word “love” had been underlined.
‘Unusual password,’ Tom remarked.
‘Innocuous, Dave. Just add the numbers 18 after it. It won’t trigger anything that GCHQ may be looking for.’
Tom tucked the paperback under his arm and nodded. ‘I should go, Lenny. I understand that our association has not gone unnoticed by some undesirables on the spur. I want to get out of here tomorrow, so I need to keep a low profile.’
‘That’s good thinking. If you do get out tomorrow, I want you to know that it’s been an honour to meet you. I only wish I could be joining you on the outside to take the fight to the wretched Untermenschen.’ Tom didn’t react to the use of the term as Smith suddenly moved forwards and hugged him. He returned the embrace, clapping Smith gently on his back.
‘Take care, Lenny,’ said Tom, turning and walking out of the cell.
As he walked back to his cell he flicked open the paperback, looking again at the password and email address. Something felt familiar about them, something unpleasant. It was the use of the term “Untermenschen” that had made him think of it. At first sight they appeared to be random and mundane. Then the realisation hit. HotelHotel1892@gmail.com. “Hotel” was the NATO phonetic term for the letter H. HH. “Heil Hitler.” Tom did not know what Hitler’s year of birth was, but he felt pretty confident that it would be 1892. The password, “Love18.” The first and eighth letter of the alphabet. AH. “Love Adolf Hitler.” Tom sighed and shook his head as he continued walking, the novel tucked under his arm.
15
Inspector Rafferty from the Metropolitan Police Protection Command sat opposite Nasir Akhtar MP, the Shadow Home Office Minister, in his constituency office in East London. The young MP coolly appraised the plain-clothed police officer opposite him.
‘Mr Akhtar, thank you for seeing us today,’ said Rafferty. ‘We have undertaken a full review of your security arrangements in the light of the most up-to-date threat assessment. We feel that your needs for personal protection have increased in line with your rising profile, particularly given recent events. Our recommendation is that we increase your protective detail.’
‘Inspector, I fully appreciate that my profile has risen a little following my promotion and the fact that I am determined that my community does not react with violence to the recent terrible events.’ The politician spoke in a soothing and calm manner and Inspector Rafferty began to understand why he was being seen as the rising star of the opposition party. He was not a barracking and argumentative politician but seemed to genuinely want to be a peacemaker.
‘However,’ he continued, ‘I really feel that the interests of the population require that I remain an accessible member of the community. So no outriders, no armoured vehicles, and no overt displays of heavy protection. I accept that I will have a protective detail but I must insist that it remains as unobtrusive as possible. Many members of my community view the police with mistrust. I am trying to assuage that mistrust, but I feel I must remain a member of the community I serve. Do you have any specific threats against me or my family?’ He fixed the officer with his warm, brown eyes.
‘No, sir. Nothing specific. But it is clear some of the far-right activists view you with contempt and the more militant members of your own community seem angry at what they see as collaboration. The current events force us to risk assess that you are a likely target.’ Despite the absence of any specific threat intelligence, the research and risk assessment analysts had identified some seriously worrying views on the extremist internet forums that were routinely monitored. Far-right forums were berating the MP for his approach that they felt was false, smarmy and “Islam by stealth” as one of the posters had eloquently noted. Several of the more extreme Islamic forums viewed Akhtar as an appeaser and, as a Sunni Muslim, he was not popular with some of the more extreme Shia factions.
Akhtar sat back in his chair and placed his manicured fingers together. ‘Inspector, I very much appreciate your concerns. And be assured that I will keep this under review. But at this stage I do not want any protection above that which I am already subject to. I feel it is vital to my aims and credibility that I remain as accessible as possible at this difficult time. I am accompanied at all times by my personal protection officer and we have a driver and backup car. I think that will suffice for now.’ Akhtar stood, indicating that the meeting was over. He smiled an easy smile that displayed even, white teeth, radiating charm and warmth in equal quantities.
‘Now, Inspector, I do not wish to appear rude, but I have a constituency surgery that is due to start soon, and I have a number of appointments. My community is very afraid, Inspector and I do not want to lose the trust I currently have.’ He smiled and shook hands warmly with Inspector Rafferty.
Mr Akhtar’s secretary appeared at the door, ready to usher Rafferty out.
As Rafferty left the building, he couldn’t help but think what an impressive man the MP was. He was used to dealing with many of the self-important careerist ministers with enormous egos and pomposity to boot, but he detected none of that in Akhtar. He genuinely seemed to want the best for his constituents which, in Rafferty’s experience, was uncommon.
Rafferty was, by nature, a pessimist. Should the worst happen, and Akhtar was killed, the best-case scenario was that there would be major disorder. Worst-case, it was very likely that it could cause a bloody race war. Rafferty shuddered at the prospect.
16
Buster was as good as his word. Just before lunchtime the next day, the rattle of keys in the cell door pulled Tom away from his novel.
SO Jacobs entered the room, looked at Tom and said, ‘Vidmar, get your stuff, you’re being released.’ He stared directly into Tom’s eyes and Tom detected a spark of respect from the prison officer.
Jacobs handed him a single sheet of A4 paper. It was a legal document from a solicitor that confirmed that his extradition proceedings were being discontinued owing to “Procedural errors that necessitated the immediate withdrawal of the European Arrest Warrant.” Tom was impressed at the speed his team had worked to produce authentic legal documents that, without doubt, Jacobs had studied in detail. If, as Tom suspected, Jacobs had some involvement in Smith’s cause then it would add real authenticity to the legend.
‘It seems the Slovenians have withdrawn the warrant, so your solicitor has successfully applied for your release. You’re out of here. Quick as you can, get your stuff and follow me,’ Jacobs said in his rich, sonorous voice. He didn’t tap his feet in impatience but he may as well have done, so obvious was his desire for Tom to get moving.
Charlie stood and shook hands with Tom with genuine warmth. Despite the crime Charlie was incarcerated for and the hint of menace that surrounded him, he was a good man.
‘Whatever happens to you, David my friend, take care. The world is full of danger.’ There was no irony in the older man’s voice.
‘Thanks, Charlie. Look after yourself,’ Tom smiled.
‘Come on, Vidmar. Get your stuff,’ Jacobs said.
Tom looked at his bed and mostly empty cupboard. ‘I’ve nothing I want to bring,’ he said with a half-shrug. ‘Charlie can take the books and any toiletries or canteen he wants. I have nothing else in here.’
‘Okay then. Let’s go.’
*
Tom walked out of the prison gates, which clanged firmly behind him. He didn’t turn around and was glad not to have to look back. He wouldn’t miss the grinding prison routine.
Jacobs had said barely anything to Tom as he had gone through the release procedure and handed his plastic bag of belongings emblazoned with “HMP BELMARSH” back to him. Tom waved away the offer to check the contents against the list and instead just signed where indicated then made to leave. He couldn’t wait to get away from the fug of thousands of men all incarcerated together.
He continued along the pedestrianised area towards the car park, reaching into the bag and switching on his phone, thankful it still had some battery life despite having sat idle for several days. He dialled a number from memory, which was quickly answered.
‘Borat. About time. Now I realise that walking may be a problem after all your bummings, but we are in the Blue Vauxhall at the far end of the car park.’ Tom was pleased to hear his friend’s voice chiming in his ear.
‘There in a second, Buster.’ He tucked the phone in his pocket and continued walking.
It only took a few minutes to locate the anonymous car. He walked straight up, opened the back door, and climbed in.
Jane Milligan sat in the passenger seat, Buster behind the wheel,
‘How are you doing, Tom?’ Jane said, swivelling to look at him with warmth in her eyes and a slight smile on her lips.
‘I’m good. Let’s get out of here, that place is a shit hole.’ Tom felt himself begin to relax for the first time since entering the jail.
‘Sore arse, Borat?’ Buster’s eyes smiled at Tom in the rear-view mirror.
‘Just drive, you cockney twat.’
Buster snorted a laugh, started the car and drove away from the car park. After a few minutes Jane said, ‘Anything of significance since the last update?’
‘Hopefully a breakthrough.’ Tom described the last couple of meetings with Smith and dictated the email address and password that he had given him. She began composing a message on her phone as he spoke.
‘I’ve passed the details on to the researchers. They will run the email address through all the systems and see what they turn up. I imagine they will be something of a dead end, but nothing ventured and all that.’
Tom imagined the intelligence unit springing to life back at the office, running the email address through all the databases and beginning the battle with social media and telecoms companies to try to get a speedy release of whatever information was held by them.
Milligan spoke as if reading Tom’s thoughts. ‘Our best hope is that the email has been accessed from an unsecured computer, but if they’ve used a virtual private network it will be an uphill struggle.’
‘I got the impression that it won’t have been used to send messages and is essentially a virtual dead letter drop.’ Tom spoke realistically; there was little point in using solid tradecraft of not sending material over the internet and then breaking that rule.
‘I know, but we’ll try.’
‘Anything on Lenny’s friend, SO Jacobs?’ Tom asked, referring to the prison officer who he suspected had demonstrated sympathy for Smith’s cause.
‘Not a great deal. He’s ex-army, retired a few years ago with an unblemished record and joined the Prison Service soon afterwards. Internet records for his home network shows he’s been active on some questionable internet forums. There’s no obvious link between him and Smith or anyone we have connected to Smith.
