‘So the whole thing was a set-up.’ Silva bristled. ‘All you had to do was approach me with a plan and show me the evidence.’
‘It wasn’t quite that simple,’ Weiss said. ‘The intelligence services as a whole know nothing of this. Hence my little performances at the service station and on the Hoe in Plymouth. They were staged so I could say you’d been investigated. I wanted to make sure your name was in the system, but the reports I submitted were tagged with the label no further action. Spooks watch spooks, and anyone observing either incident would have concluded there was absolutely nothing friendly about our meetings.’
‘And the break-in at my mother’s house?’
‘Yes, a ruse. The break-in sowed the seeds of a conspiracy in your mind. As did the act of pushing you into the water.’
‘You could have killed me.’
‘Time was short and we needed to spur you on. By then we’d already identified Positano as possibly the last chance to carry out some kind of attack, at least on non-US soil. The problem was, we needed deniability. A bomb or a close-quarters assault was much more likely to go wrong or be traceable. A sniper attack, on the other hand, could see Hope killed with a single shot, carried a low risk of other casualties and stood little chance of detection. It just so happened you appeared on the scene. Not only one of the world’s best shots, but somebody with the motivation to carry out the attack.’
‘And if I’d succeeded you’d have given me up afterwards, right?’
‘That might have seemed a good option, but it would have been much too risky. At some point connections would be made. Matthew is a freelancer, but he’s been in the intelligence services earlier in his career. Far better for us to ensure you killed Hope and made your escape.’
‘But I didn’t.’
‘No.’ Weiss sighed. ‘And that brings us to the here and now and our little problem.’
‘Which is?’
Weiss scraped his chair away from the table and stood. He glanced across at Fairchild before walking across the room. He stopped at the door and turned.
‘Karen Hope.’ He reached out and hit the door frame with a clenched fist. Tap, tap, tap. ‘And how we’re going to make sure you get another chance to kill her.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Taher stood and looked through the window. This time the vista was not of the crowded streets of London, but of rows of olive trees on a vast plain that stretched to the border with Algeria. Sand dunes rippled the horizon, reminding him of home, reminding him of why he was here in Tunisia waiting for the weapons.
He’d fulfilled his side of the deal. He’d set up the route and arranged all the details. They’d carried out a dozen trial journeys with the containers and not once had there been any sign the authorities knew what was going on. On the last trip Latif and Saabiq had ridden in the container from Naples to Rotterdam. Once on board the Excelsior they’d emerged from their hiding place and retired to an empty cabin, courtesy of the captain. Later, when the ship had unloaded, they’d left the ship along with the crew. There’d been no checks on either of the containers.
That had been the final test and now Taher was confident the operation could succeed. Every month or so a large delivery of armaments would arrive at the airfield near Cambridge. The Saudis would send an aircraft to collect them, but a single pallet would go missing from the consignment and end up on the Excelsior bound for Rotterdam and beyond. And these were no ordinary weapons. Not cast off Russian goods from decades ago. Not cheap Chinese copies. There were the latest in hi-tech rocket launchers. Laser guided. Massive destructive power. In the coming months the weapons would be distributed, ready for an offensive early next year. The plan was to disrupt tourism in Morocco, Tunisia and Egypt, from West to East Saharan Africa, and the rockets would help to accomplish that aim.
For Taher it wasn’t enough. Africa was a long way from northern Europe where the previous attacks had done little to bend the minds of the sanctimonious British, the arrogant French or the smug Germans. They needed to be reminded of what it was to be afraid, of what it was like to have death call at their own front doors. When he’d informed Haddad he was ready for the big one, the Saudi had smiled.
‘Of course you are,’ he’d said. ‘Once all this is over I promise you will have what you desire.’
So Taher had done everything asked of him. As well as setting up the smuggling route, he’d eliminated Francisca da Silva and dealt with Ben Western and Neil Milligan. The reward was continued support from Haddad and something else too. A present from the Saudi that Taher had stored in the roof space of a lock-up garage he rented in west London. Long and sleek things they were. Massive destructive power. He smiled to himself. When the deal was done and the first tranche of weapons had been handed over, he’d head back to the UK. Latif was waiting for him, and together they would avenge the deaths of Taher’s family.
He took a second to
