There had been no shortage of things to talk about. Sahira told Hawke the details of the river-based attack on MI5 and Hawke had given her a blow-by-blow account of storming an IRA safe house in Northern Ireland called the Barking Dog. He kept his tale brief. He was more interested in an eyewitness account of the brazen attack on MI5 in central London. The message the terrorists had delivered that day was plain enough: all bets are off.
'Thank God you weren't hurt, Sahira,' Hawke said when she finished, reaching across the table to cover her hand with his. An expression of genuine concern flickered across his face. And in that brief moment, despite all else, she knew that, at the very least, this man cared.
She looked at the big hand covering hers, smiled at his simple gesture of protection, and said, 'Alex, what still rankles is how brazen it was. As if these damn people woke up, looked at each other, and said, 'Nothing on today, mates, let's sail up the river and blow up MI5.' Terrorism works, Alex. The people of London are terrified. That something like this could occur in broad daylight, on a bastion of British-'
'Very few alive remember the Blitz,' Hawke said mildly.
'I suppose not.'
'It's going to get much worse,' Hawke said, 'based on what your intelligence analysts decrypted in the computers we found at the IRA safe house.'
'Yes, much worse.' She thought for a moment and added, 'It's amazing more of us weren't killed. There are two thousand people working at Thames House. We suffered seven deaths and thirty-two wounded. You know, it's so odd the way things work sometimes. Just ten minutes before the attack, Lord Malmsey asked that I come up to his office.'
'Yes?'
'He's never done that before. I'm always summoned from on high by some anonymous secretary to some anonymous conference room. At any rate, he asked for an update on our latest IRA investigations and I gave him what I had, which, prior to your amazing discoveries in Ireland, was hardly substantial. He stood at the window with his back to me, gazing down at the river. I made some silly small talk and took the lift back down to my floor. Had I remained in his office another five minutes it could be me in that hospital room tonight, not him.'
'Or both of you.'
'Yes, I suppose you're right. He's lucky to be alive, you know. A razor-sharp shard of flying glass from his window sliced open the side of his neck, ear to chin. Nicked an artery. Were it not for Five's own first responders, he'd have bled out right there on his own office carpet.'
'LORD MALMSEY IS JUST DOWN that long corridor on your left,' the senior nurse said. 'Near the end. You'll see two detectives outside his door. They know you're coming.'
'How's his lordship faring?' Sahira asked.
'As well as can be expected. There are many others here, also wounded in the attack, who are not doing nearly so well. And those poor others who-'
'Thank you,' Hawke said to the nurse, taking Sahira's arm and steering her down the hallway.
When they entered Lord Malmsey's room, they found Montague Thorne standing at the man's bedside, the two men engrossed in a quiet conversation in the dim light of a bedside lamp. Catching a glimpse of Hawke and Sahira, Thorne turned to greet them.
'Good evening,' Thorne said with his warm smile. 'I was just saying good-bye to our hero here. On my way out, actually.'
Hawke shook his hand and said, 'Monty. Please stay if you can. We're here to give Lord Malmsey an update on what we found in those laptops at the safe house.'
'When did you return, Alex?' Thorne asked.
'About twelve hours ago. I wanted to be present when the army intel group interrogated some of the Arab terrorists as well as the IRA chaps who survived our assault on the safe house.'
The smile on Thorne's face froze. 'Did you say Arab terrorists? In Northern Ireland?'
'Yes.'
'But, my God, that simply does not make any sense.'
'Actually, the way these terror groups are forming unlikely international alliances against us, I was surprised not to find a few North Koreans or Venezuelans scattered among their number.'
'Yes. At any rate, splendid job up there. No sign of our mysterious Mr. Smith, I don't suppose?'
'Apparently we just missed him.'
'Rotten luck.'
Sahira had gone to the foot of Malmsey's bed.
'Lord Malmsey, how are you feeling? You must be terribly tired. Shall we come back tomorrow morning?'
Lord Malmsey, whose entire neck was swathed in thick bandages, snorted, 'After what Alex just told Monty? I should say not. Everyone please pull up a chair and gather round. Alex, would you mind telling the two distinguished gentlemen outside my room to close that door and let no one enter, no one at all, including doctors or nurses, for the next twenty minutes?'
'Yes, sir,' Hawke said and stepped briefly out into the hallway to confer with the two detectives.
'Al Qaeda? In Northern Ireland?' Malmsey said. 'The mind boggles.'
'Extraordinary,' Thorne said as Hawke returned and pulled up the last of the bedside chairs. 'This is beginning to assume obscene proportions. In the decrypted analysis, Alex, any mention of this bastard Smith? The one who seems to be behind the threat to my old friend Charles and the two boys?'
'Yes, Monty. I'd hoped to find him inside. We found him all right, but inside the computers we took.'
'We've got to stop this man, Alex. I'll do anything in my power to help you do so.'
'Thank you, Monty, we can use all the help we can get at this point.'
'Alex,' Malmsey said, 'my last report was you'd the house under surveillance. Trucks were coming and going, making deliveries, presumably weapons. Then what?'
Hawke told him, leaving out no pertinent details, except the run-in with Major Masterman and his subsequent mysterious disappearance. When he finished, Malmsey said, 'The weapons cache. Were you able to determine the source?'
'Yes, by pawing through what remained after the explosion. The preponderance of weapons were out of Syria and Iran, sir. We also found old Stinger missiles, given by the Americans to the Taliban in the Soviet era.'
Malmsey said, 'Good Lord. And these Islamic terrorists you captured? What in hell are they doing in Ireland, for God's sake?'
'They slip in by way of Belfast Harbor, sir. Smuggled aboard merchant ships, tramp steamers, and the like. All young, all fresh and fervent, out of terror camps in northern Pakistan. Come to the aid of England's enemies in the struggle for justice.'
'Al Qaeda? Taliban? Which?' Thorne asked.
'Both.'
'Fighting side by side with IRA soldiers? It's incomprehensible.'
'Indeed. One of the most astounding things we learned from the captured laptops was that, for want of a better phrase, some kind of super worldwide terror alliance has formed around their common enemy. I wouldn't be surprised to find Chavez or the Castro brothers, any enemy of the West, sending fighters to join their growing number. They see us as weak, tired of war, and they believe the time to strike has come. Look at America's southern border. It's not just Mexicans entering illegally. Every month hundreds of Iranians, Syrians, Yemeni, and North Koreans are caught by the Border Patrol.'
'They have a name?'
'Sword of Allah. You'll recall we first heard that name from the group that claimed credit for the Terminal Four bombing. After years of infighting, the warlords in Afghanistan and Pakistan have united under one leader, identity currently unknown. But it is quite possible he has usurped the now impotent Osama bin Laden, now believed to be hiding in Tehran.'
'To what end? Could you extract that level of intelligence from the enemy computers?' Montague asked, staring at Hawke.
'Yes, Monty, all exchanges have been successfully decrypted by the team at Five. These people are bent on ummah, a worldwide caliphate. The global domination of Islam. And they are ramping up for major attacks both here and in the United States. We're already seeing them here, of course, with the attacks on Heathrow, and now MI5. In the States, they've claimed credit for the hospital attack in Miami, and, more recently, the death of forty
