Saleem stood over the bodies, fascinated. Brothers and friends had turned on each other like wild animals. The spectacle had been watched by two men who were not in Saleem’s command. Saleem knew one to be a senior member. He was to discover the other was a member of Al-Baghdadi’s inner circle who was looking for something and seemed to find it in Saleem.
Three weeks later, Saleem was summoned and briefed on an operation. He was to drive into the desert, to a precise GPS location, and call a number on a satellite phone. A man would answer. A Russian. The man would give Saleem a piece of information. Saleem was not to take notes. Just listen and remember. He was to tell no-one the contents of the conversations, not even Baghdadi’s officer who was giving him the orders at that moment. There would be several of these meetings at the exact same location. It was during the last of those conversations that the jets attacked. But Saleem had received enough information to know what the task consisted of and exactly how those thousands of Londoners were to die.
Saleem returned to his room and closed the door. He sat at his desk, removed the map of London from the drawer and spread it out. His journey was to begin. Afghanistan was clearly a part of his route to the UK. The powers that be saw great potential in the plan. They would put their best efforts into ensuring it was a success. And why not? It had the potential to eclipse the Twin Towers, in numbers of dead and theatrical splendour.
Chapter 10
Bethan pushed her way in through the main doors of Scotland Yard pulling a wheelie bag. As she crossed the busy lobby, a woman’s voice called out her name. She headed towards a matronly lady behind the reception counter who smiled sweetly as she approached.
‘Hello, Bethan,’ she beamed. ‘How was your leave?’
‘Short,’ Bethan replied, feigning sadness.
‘Bliss. Aren’t they all?’ The receptionist directed her gaze towards a far corner of the room. ‘Got a chap here to see DCI Dillon. Perhaps you can take him up. He’s been cleared and has his pass.’
Bethan looked at various people the other side of the room, unsure which one she meant.
‘The one in the budget khaki jacket looking out of the window,’ the receptionist explained. ‘He’s got a rash.’ She pointed to her own throat. ‘He could also benefit from an exfoliation treatment.’
‘I’ll take him up.’
‘Bliss,’ the receptionist said as Bethan headed away.
Bethan approached Gunnymede’s back. His clothes were outdoor casual, inexpensive indeed with sharp creases where they’d been shop folded.
‘You’re here to see DCI Dillon?’ Bethan said.
Gunnymede snapped out of a daydream as he faced her. ‘Yes,’ he said.
His shirt was open at the top revealing the rash which Bethan did her best not to look at more than two or three times.
‘I’ll show you to his office,’ she said.
Gunnymede picked up his holdall and followed her to a security door which she accessed with an ID card and they carried on to some elevators. They were joined inside by several people and the elevator ascended. Gunnymede followed her onto the third floor and into a large room bustling with personnel, most of them in police uniform.
She pointed to several offices with opaque glass walls at the far end. ‘DCI Dillon’s office is the one on the right.’
Gunnymede gave her a nod and headed away. She watched him go, certain he wasn’t a police officer. She checked her cell phone and listened to her messages as she went to her desk and sorted through her in-tray.
The elevator doors opened and a man in retro civilian clothes with long hair and several days facial growth stepped into the room. Serpico came to mind to those who didn’t know him. Something less flattering came to those who did.
He saw Bethan and made his way towards her. ‘Bet, honey bunch!’ he said loudly, long before he reached her.
Bethan groaned inwardly and forced a smile as he arrived. ‘Jedson, honey bunch,’ she echoed with feigned delight.
‘Congratulations,’ he said with over-the-top enthusiasm. ‘Great result. You are the most amazing profile analyst in the entire force. They’re gonna be calling you Trencher of the Yard.’
‘All I did was his profile.’
‘Without which they’d never have followed him to his last victim. Brilliant work.’
‘A bit over the top but I’ll take it.’
‘How was your week off?’
‘Perfect,’ she said, examining a file.
‘I called you.’ He sat on the edge of her desk, uncomfortably close to her, his legs wide apart.
She inched away from his crotch. ‘I missed it.’
‘I left a message.’
‘That was my work phone.’
‘I don’t have your private number.’
‘Which is where it gets its name from,’ she said, scribbling a note and sticking it to a file.
‘I was going to take you out to celebrate.’
‘My loss, then.’
She looked up as DCI Dillon stepped out of his office and, seeing she’d caught his eye, signalled her to come over.
‘First day back, pile of work to do, must rush. Excuse me,’ she said, getting up.
He eyed her body lasciviously as she moved past him. ‘Bet? I’m completely harmless you know.’
‘It’s your
