‘When they work. ‘Find out anything about them?’
Grant leaned across the desk and tapped the end of his pen on the face of the bearded man. ‘Abbas was straightforward, officially an educational liaison officer but thought by special branch to be triple “A”.’
Dewar raised his eyes.
‘Iraqi secret police.’
‘Fits.’
‘The other bozo however, was much more difficult because London didn’t seem to know anything about anyone named Siddiqui being in the country. They checked their Iraqi picture album and cross checked with intelligence and came up with three guys with that name known to them. The one you’ve picked is … ‘ Grant checked the reference number on the back of the photo and read from his notes. ‘Dr Ismail Siddiqui; he’s on the faculty at Baghdad University and is credited with being a scientific advisor to the Iraqi government. He’s also believed by the military to have been involved in Saddam’s biological weapons programme although there’s no proof. Make any sense?’
Dewar felt his limbs become heavy. He couldn’t say this had come as a complete shock to him, or any kind of a shock at all but it was just so enervating to have his worst fears confirmed. ‘All too much,’ he replied. ‘You say Siddiqui’s presence here is a surprise to London?
Apparently.’
‘How?’
‘That’s for them to find out when I tell them who you’ve identified.’
‘You know what really worries me?’
‘What?’ asked Grant.
‘The fact he’s still in Edinburgh. How long is it since Hammadi died?’
‘Almost six weeks,’ said Grant after checking his desk diary.’
‘Well, Dr Siddiqui,’ said Dewar, picking up his photograph and holding it in both hands in front of him. ‘Just what is it you’re waiting for?’
NINE
‘Anything else you’d like us to do?’ asked Grant.
‘Lots but you’re going to say you don’t have the manpower,’ replied Dewar.
‘Try me.’
‘I’d like to know why Siddiqui is staying on in Edinburgh. I’d like to know what he does while he’s here, what his movements are, where he goes when he goes out — if he goes out, who he sees, that sort of thing.’
‘I don’t think you’ll need me or my manpower for that,’ said Grant. ‘The minute I tell London who it is you’ve identified, they’re going to come quicker than a kid on his first date. You won’t be able to move for surveillance officers on Siddiqui. That’s my bet. Somebody screwed up at immigration so the others will be out for brownie points in recovering the situation.’
‘He could have been smuggled in?’ suggested Dewar.
‘Possible but he’s not exactly been hiding himself away,’ pointed out Grant. ‘I’d say he’s a man with the right paperwork.
‘Who’ll be doing the job? Special Branch?’
‘Special Branch, MI5, you name it. They’re going to be tripping over each other. They don’t get that much to do these days.’
‘You’re right. I should have thought,’ said Dewar, trying to think how the involvement of other agencies might affect things and whether or not he should risk asking Grant to delay making his report. His first thought was that any obvious sign of surveillance might spook Siddiqui but he quickly changed his mind on that score. If Grant was right and Siddiqui was here legally then he must have been prepared for it from the time he entered the country. Even if he hadn’t been aware of people watching him — in reality because of some screw-up — he still would have had to assume that watching eyes were there and act accordingly.
‘Anything else on your mind?’
‘One of the Iraqi students using the centre in Forest Road, a friend of Ali Hammadi, gave me some information about Ali. Siddiqui and Abbas saw him with me; the kid seemed scared out of his wits. I couldn’t persuade him to accept protection. They escorted him away. I’m worried about him.’
‘Name?’
‘Tariq Saadi. He’s a postgraduate student in maths at Edinburgh University.’
Grant wrote down the details. ‘No promises but I’ll see what we can find out. I take it you’ll be staying on in town?’
‘For the moment,’ agreed Dewar although, if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t quite sure why. He’d been assured that anything Ali Hammadi had been working on had either been sterilised or destroyed so the spectre of smallpox virus emanating from Edinburgh had disappeared. But he still felt uneasy and it all seemed to stem from the fact that Siddiqui was still hanging around in the city, now some six weeks after Hammadi’s death.
As he walked down the steps outside police headquarters he thought he’d enjoy the remainder of a perfect autumn afternoon with a walk in the nearby Royal Botanical Gardens. In the late afternoon the sunlight was the same rich gold colour that you found at ten at night in northern climes in high summer. It had a pleasant, mellow feel to it. It was even warm. He took off his jacket and walked with it slung over his shoulder.
He tried to think of reasons for Siddiqui’s continuing presence as he strolled among beautiful trees, heavy with the sadness of a dying year. Could he or more likely others, be planning some kind of operation to recover the fragments he gave to Hammadi? It seemed doubtful. Getting into the institute would be no problem — he’d already seen that for himself, but outsiders wouldn’t know where to start looking once they were in. They’d quickly arouse suspicion and possibly create a major incident. Dewar took comfort from the fact that even if they were foolish enough to risk such an operation, there was nothing left for them to recover. Le Grice had destroyed all Hammadi’s stocks. So why did he still feel so edgy?
He didn’t find the answer growing in any of the huge Victorian hothouses or floating in the placid waters of the lily pond among reflections of weeping willows. It wasn’t to be found in the tea room where he had tea and chocolate cake to the muted sound of Scottish country dance music or in the small cottage gallery that hosted an exhibition of modern art — although it could have been in one of the pictures. He just didn’t recognise it as the answer, or art for that matter.
He spent the evening writing up his report for Sci-Med. In it he indicated that he believed there was an Iraqi intention to resurrect live smallpox virus. Ali Hammadi had been involved but it was not clear to what extent. A friend of Hammadi’s had witnessed the hand over of what was almost certainly illegal linear fragments of the virus DNA to Hammadi but it was unknown if Hammadi had actually done anything with these fragments before committing suicide. Nothing untoward had been found among the solutions and reagents he’d left behind in the lab, suggesting that he might have refused to cooperate and had possibly taken his own life to protect his family back home. Everything belonging to Hammadi in the lab had been destroyed but the Iraqis, for some worrying reason, still showed no signs of leaving the city. It would be up to WHO and the UN to decide what steps they should take to prevent them making any more attempts to get their hands on live virus.
Dewar acknowledged the cooperation and excellent work by Inspector Grant of the Lothians and Borders police in identifying the Iraqis, Abbas and Siddiqui.
Dewar read his report over twice and was satisfied after a few minor changes. He pressed the SEND button on the computer then switched it off after confirmation of transmission. He picked up the phone and called Karen at her work number. She was there.
‘Still got a bad feeling?’ she asked.
‘As a matter of fact, I have,’ said Dewar. ‘And it’s getting worse by the day.’
