Mad Dog, page 6
-Agent Bradley, are you sure the listing is complete? -
-Yes sir, absolutely sure, why do you ask? -
-Never mind why, I want you to get someone to check out all the hotels and lodgings in a fifteen mile radius of the explosion. We are looking for a group of three Asians the night of 14th , probably been staying at least one night prior and will have booked out first thing on the fifteenth, prior to 6.00am I suspect. I don’t care how many man hours you need on this, do it immediately and report back directly to me as soon as you have anything. Then, get someone to contact all the pizza delivery services in the same area and get a list of their deliveries for the night of the fourteenth also, if that list coincides with the first one let me know immediately, by the way anything from the cleaners? -
-No Sir everything seemed to tie in and the footwear all had damp soles so they would appear to have been out that morning. -
-Fine, that’s all then, I suppose. -
Once again he cut off the call before Agent Bradley could respond.
“Best to make sure” thought Harvey, “they could have made the pizza themselves of course, I just can’t believe that he’s dead! Not accidentally! He would never have allowed that to happen. Too professional, too good.”
After a week of chasing shadows, commercial representatives that had been in the area, tourists that had moved on to their next destination or returned home and in one case a homosexual trio that three men from the Bradford area had organised without the knowledge of their wives, and there being no coinciding listings with those of the pizza deliveries, Harvey resigned himself to the inevitable conclusion that the remains were indeed those of their suspects. As Harvey himself had said to Harris “if you want the right answers, ask the right questions”, if he’d have taken his own advice he would have saved a lot of heartache. If he’d received the right answers he wouldn’t have let his guard slip when he heard that the person he considered their main threat, Imam Hussein Al Sayeghi Alam had been killed by an American missile.
Being followed by MI5 cannot be described as one of life’s great pleasures but having someone follow your every move has one great benefit. You know where the people that are following you are at every moment. For Jamil, Rashid and Tawid this was vitally important if they were to die successfully.
On Wednesday 14th June they were delighted to discover that the car that followed them to the Muslim Community House was still there. As a result they spent the whole day travelling from one mosque to another and one community centre to another, arriving later than usual at their lodgings, tail still in place. By the time they arrived 41 Firs Street had been thoroughly cleaned of their fingerprints and all traces of their hair that could be used to test their DNA, having been replaced by those of the three martyrs that Al Qaeda had sent over to sacrifice themselves the following day. Behind the entrance door were the plastic suits and caps that they wore until the following morning removing them only as they opened the door to leave. When they arrived at the Muslim Community Centre, reassuringly with tail in place, they joined their three substitutes in prayers before donning the cleaning women’s Hijabs complete with Burqahs that their substitutes had worn to enter the building that morning, shuffling along as calmly and discreetly as the cleaner women themselves would have done when leaving the building. From the Community Centre they went straight back to Firs Street to recover the plastic suits and then walked back to Hall Street where they picked up their substitutes hire car and returned the Hijabs and Burqahs to the waiting cleaning women who rushed back to their homes, then drove to the flat that the substitutes had used since their arrival on Wednesday 14th June and that still smelled of the pizzas that had been eaten there the night before, a flat that had been organised and paid for by the Muslim Community Centre. They were to stay at the flat until Hari Sayeghi Alam and two others arrived with the instructions to carry out their plans. On Monday 26th June they left the flat for the last time.
Jamie Woods sat outside Townley Lodge, the security building at the Townley Road entrance to Alleyn´s School nervously waiting the second of the two worst moments of his day. He was picking up the brats that he had driven there first thing in the morning. To Jamie Monday 26th June was just the same as any other Monday, he had picked them up at the Danubius Hotel off Park Road where their rich parents or in Peter and Julian’s cases the chauffeurs of their very rich parents had dropped them off and now he was collecting them in order to deliver them once more into the embrace of their doting families. It was the same trip every evening, Thurlow Park Road to Christchurch Rd to Steatham Hill, Brixton Hill, passing by the Kensington Oval, over the Westminister Bridge Road crossing of the Thames, straight through St James Park past Buckingham Palace where he joined Park Lane then Edgware Rd, Marylebone Rd, Baker St and finally onto Park Road where once he had passed the London Central Mosque he turned left to the Hotel. He longed for something to happen, something to break the monotony of it all, something to shake the little brats out of their perfect little worlds. What was worse was Monday was by a long way the worst day of them all. Every Monday he had to endure the endless chatter about where the spoilt little shits had been pampered over the weekend, if it wasn’t the theatre, it was the opera, if it wasn’t the opera it was a visit to the country home of a friend of Papas, if not Papas own country seat, if it wasn’t the country seat it was a private box at the Emirates Stadium or a quick jaunt over to Eurodisney in Paris not to forget of course the visit to their favourite restaurant where the Maitre who they knew by his first name treated them like the future leaders of society that they were. God he hated them! This Monday morning had been one of the worst, Jennifer had held a party at her fathers office, 24 Grosvenor Square, better known as The American Embassy, where they had all been invited, even Henry who was generally kept on the edge of things, and now he was going to have to listen to them twittering on about their roles in the latest of the school dramas they were to act in, each replaying what they considered the best of their overpoweringly pretentious interpretations. He never had a clue what the plays were about nor had heard of half of the places they visited, he just knew that he would rather die than spend any of his free time watching the plays or visiting places where they or any of their likes would be found. He was much better off with his mates having proper fun and having a proper laugh without the slightest sign of a guffaw or of anyone who knew what one was.
Jennifer was the last to enter the mini bus having been too distraught to leave the changing rooms. It appeared that Miss Wainswright had criticised her for overacting in her role as Lucy in Alan Aykbourn´s Confusions, her…Jennifer…OVERACTING! It was just too much for the poor little indignant mite. After all she knew better than anyone how to play the part of a mother who treats everyone including her neighbours and friends as children, it’s what her mother did all the time, she even treated her… Jennifer…as a child and she was FIFTHTEEN! The truth is hat Jamie couldn’t believe that anyone could treat Jennifer as anything other than the little stunner that she was, she was certainly physically no child, he had spent many a night tossing and turning, mainly tossing, as he imagined himself releasing her firm breasts and protruding nipples from the lace cups of the bras he could clearly see outlined in the rear-view mirror.
As a result of Jennifer’s trauma they arrived at Park Road before any of them was even aware of the fact and it was only when Jamie swore as he became aware of the diversion sign that directed him down the heavily wooded Hanover Gate at the rear of The Central Mosque that they paid any attention to the journey. So near to the Hotel yet so far, he was going to have to drive all the way around Regents Park and at 17.45 in the evening that was going to take him forever.
-STOP! - demanded Peter,-PULL OVER! -
-What’s up Sir? -enquired Jamie pulling over,
-Where are you going? -demanded Peter.
-Well sir, I’m taking you to the hotel sir, we’ve been diverted off Park Road and we need to drive around Regents Park in order
-No you’re not, -stated Peter quietly as he opened the door, - I’ve got my language tutor this afternoon and I’ve got both Spanish and German exams tomorrow so I’m not going to lose time doing a stupid detour around Regents Park that will take forever when I can walk to the Hotel from here in less than five minutes! -
-HOLD ON! -ordered Jamie, -you can’t do that I’m afraid. I’m responsible for you until I drop you off and I’m not letting you just walk off like that, I mean anything could happen. -
-I BEG YOUR PARDON? -sneered Peter, -What makes you think I’m asking you? I’m going and that’s all there is to it. -
-OH NO YOU´RE NOT! - barked Jamie, -I’ve just told you, I´M RESPONSIBLE FOR YOU AND YOU´LL DOES AS YOUR TOLD! -
Peter’s colleagues started to feel that he was being threatened and that certainly didn’t fit into any of their plans. No bloody chauffer was going to tell them what to do.
-EXCUSE ME YOUNG MAN! - started Jennifer reassuming her role as Lucy, -not only is Pete going to walk to the hotel but so are the rest of us. I will take care of them and you can do nothing about it. Now be a good boy and toddle off. Take the sports equipment with you we will collect it tomorrow. -
-NOW JUST HOLD ON -stammered Jamie as he climbed out of the vehicle as did the rest of his passengers, -You’ll get me the bloody sack. -
-Oh don’t be such a silly young man, -responded Jennifer or was it Lucy, no it was definitely Jennifer, OVERACTING, -I’ll talk to those responsible when we get to the hotel, I’ll explain it all so don’t you worry, just get yourself off home. -
Jamie was about to answer but realised it was pointless as they all started to stride in the direction of Park Road.
-You’d better be right -shouted Jamie futilely in the direction of their backs and dismissive hand movements as he climbed back behind the driver’s wheel and sped off in the direction of Regents Park quietly grateful that he’d got rid of them.
-Thanks for your support, -said Peter turning to Jennifer.
-And Miss Wainswright says I can’t act, -she blurted laughing.
Their laughing died to a sudden stop as the dark Ford swerved to a halt directly in front of them.
Jamil Matar, Rashid Al Maktoum and their accomplice Hassan Al Turabi who had arrived on the previous Friday evening with the instruction that they should implement their planned tasks, sprang from their stolen Black Ford Mondeo the moment that Jamie drove past them and down Hanover Gate. They froze in their steps as the vehicle suddenly screeched to a halt only two hundred yards down the heavily wooded lane, still some hundred yards short of the point where they were to be ambushed, fearing that they had been spotted. This fear seemed all the more founded as one of the passengers got out of the rear of the vehicle but the scenario changed completely when the driver and the other occupants all got out of the vehicle only for the driver, after a brief but animated conversation, to get back in and speed off.
-Let him go, repeat, let him go! -barked Jamil excitedly into his mobile unable to believe their luck.
Once Jamie had turned left onto the Outer Circle and out of sight they hurriedly moved the diversion signs from Park Road to the entrance of Hanover Gate thereby blocking the entrance to the one way street. As they jumped into the car and sped towards their targets he once more gave instructions to Tawid Abdallah who was waiting some three hundred yards away in his stolen Silver Opel Antara alongside the last of their cell, Abdul Qassin Shirazi, who had arrived late on the Saturday afternoon.
-Block off their escape! We’ve got them.-
The four youngsters had literally walked straight into their trap.
For Alan, the first two months at Josie’s Rest Farm had been total bliss. At last he could rest and relax. He had supervised via the internet the renovation work that had been done and had seen the scenery also but none of what he had seen prepared him for the morning view of the magnificently unspoilt Entrut Lake or the majestically clear starry nights and sublime nightly displays of the aurora borealis. He felt totally at one with his surroundings and couldn’t help but think how much the twins would have enjoyed the lifestyle at the Farm.
Hunting was plentiful and water was certainly in no shortage so with the help of the provisions which included an ample supply of dried lacteous products, he had no need and indeed no desire to make the arduous trek to the nearest supply station at the Mine Centre on Route 11 which wandered in the direction of Thunder Bay.
Time seemed to stand still for Alan as he investigated his surroundings. It hadn’t taken long for him to come into contact with the wolf population but at that stage he had no intention of bonding with them preferring rather to observe them and leave unaltered the natural hierarchy of the pack although in reality what he didn’t desire was the responsibility that came with leading the pack, the responsibility of protecting it. There was apparently nothing to threaten him in this environment yet gradually he became ever more uneasy, there was something at the back of his mind that needed attention, that he knew would sooner or later require action, something that was indeed a threat.
Alan kept in touch with the developments in the outside world through the internet and avidly searched for news that could concern him and that was the problem, he found nothing. He fervently hoped if not believed that his death had been accepted by the authorities, that the same had occurred with the death of Jock but that some form of contact with Jay would have been attempted and that on discovering that he had never returned to Ely and that Wakefield had disappeared around the same time in approximately the same area, someone would have raised an alarm that someone from the press would have investigated the possibility of a link. The fact that there was no news indicated to him that there was room for concern, that if there was no news it was because it was being suppressed and that if it was being suppressed then it was being suppressed by someone with influence, someone like MI5 or the CIA.
This is the chain of thought that steadily consumed him and began to be obsessive. If they were searching for him, how were they searching for him? And if they were searching for him was there a way for him to be traced? He was convinced that they were searching for him, that they were MI5 with the necessary help or at least collaboration of the CIA and that they, were not doing a physical search, a sweep of such a large area was simply unthinkable. To search the whole area north of where they were last seen would require a search of thousands of square miles, the majority of which was deserted wilderness and even then they would fall short as he was in Canada not North America, No a physical search was impossible, so how and where were they searching? It was a question that he had no answer for and that combined with the fact that there was a link to him for them to discover was the root of his concern. He needed to eliminate the link!
On Wednesday 14th June Alan sent an e-mail to Gregory Brine associates of Duluth to the personal email address of Gregory Brine Jnr. the only person in the buffet that had any knowledge of the dealings with Warmth Mark Jackets Inc, a stipulation of Alan’s when he contracted their services;
“We want to sell the company, please advise if you have had any recent interest. There is some urgency but discretion is as usual of prime importance”
The next morning the need for speed intensified with the news that the body of Wakefield had been found and that the police had immediately discarded foul play putting his death down to an animal attack produced by his own imprudent behaviour, no mention of his travelling companion Jay Jacks nor any suggestion that he was missing or remained so. It was the confirmation that Alan needed that they were on his trail. The fact that the Canadian border was so close would certainly not escape their attention and therefore he could expect all the trading posts to be receiving his details via
Tuesday 20th June brought the response he had waited for;
“Clarkfield Outdoors have reiterated the interest that they showed a year ago when you we’re not tempted by their offer. They are willing to offer 2.5 million dollars for a rapid sale. They will require all customer listings and details; they require all design work for the forthcoming autumn winter season and the pre-sale estimates both from your own provisions and the estimates of your customers. I believe I can improve the offer with a little patience. Please advice.”
Alan replied immediately;
“Agree to the deal, please send a full listing of their requirements as soon as available, I will prepare what you have already solicited today and will send you a further email this afternoon. Please advise your commission.”
As a result Alan was tied up for two days preparing emails with mountains of information and passing it on to Gregory Brines Jnr. who happily worked the necessary extra hours for the 15% commission that he was to receive, a commission that Clarkfield Outdoors agreed to incorporate into the deal augmenting it’s value to a little under 3million dollars. By the Friday morning the paperwork was ready and forwarded to all concerned by email, agreed and signed by all parties and officially registered without any of the parties ever having met. Alan’s bank account had just got 2.5 million fatter; he could now remove the last incriminating link to him and prepared for the journey that lay ahead.
At two o’clock that very afternoon Alan headed off east on a 200 mile trek that was to take him to Thunder Bay.
Alan followed Route 11 at a safe distance for the first twenty five miles until he came to the Sturgeon Falls Indian Reserve where at eight o’clock under an already dark but clear sky he decided to camp for the night. The following morning at seven o’clock on a brisk but bright morning Alan was walking along the side of Route 11 hitchhiking.