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  Jeremy took down the address. ‘Could we meet there in, say, twenty-five minutes?’

  ‘Fine,’ agreed the journalist. ‘How do I recognise you?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Jeremy, ‘I look fairly nondescript – 6’ 2”, brown hair and in a grey suit. My name’s Jeremy, by the way.’

  ‘See you in half an hour.’

  ‘Twenty-five minutes would be better,’ said Jeremy and hung up. He looked across at Kate. ‘Any bright ideas on how I get to Canary Wharf and back?’

  ‘No problem. If you go downstairs, I’ll arrange for you to be looked after.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Jeremy picked up his notepad and hurried off on his errand.

  The pressure was on. The team had uncovered a number of crucial leads, but the overall picture was still far from clear. There was tension in the air.

  ‘Emma, how have you been getting on with your maps?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Rather well, actually,’ replied Emma. ‘Before I show you what I’ve got, though, I think we should consider how many targets there could be.’

  ‘Good point.’ Kate nodded for her to continue.

  ‘They have five missile launchers. Of the twenty missiles they started off with, four were used in Estonia, leaving three or four missiles per launcher. This gives each operative probably one or two targets only. The missile launchers and their tripods are bulky. If the terrorists don’t want to be captured and are keen for a quick getaway, I’d go for one target per launcher and use the three or four missiles to knock the living daylights out of it. A well-trained operative could fire four missiles in less than two minutes and then leave the area discretely.’

  ‘What if they fire their first couple of missiles at one target and then take their missile launcher with them to some pre-stashed missiles at a property or a vehicle parked near to their next target?’ added Rafi.

  ‘So we could have ten targets!’ whistled John. ‘Flaming heck! And if they had access to the roof of a suitably located property, they’d have a great launching pad!’

  ‘Or if a vehicle is involved, a nearby property would be useful to keep it out of sight prior to an attack,’ added Emma.

  ‘OK then… I suggest we look for ten targets and scale the number down only when we have conclusive proof,’ said an agitated Kate.

  ‘I have been making progress on the property front,’ said Rafi. ‘The mortgage register of PREH gave us an interesting set of addresses. Emma has chatted to John’s team who have been helping us rule out the true investment properties. We are left with our original four properties as possibles for the terrorists to use: Peterhead, Hartlepool, North Walsham and Prestwick.’

  ‘Now for the clever bit,’ said Emma. She was standing next to a large, touch screen monitor which Greg had set up.

  ‘First, let’s put up a map of the UK and add on to it the four suspect properties.’ Emma tapped the LCD screen, highlighting the four locations with bold blue crosses. ‘We can now add an exit port where we know there is one of their trawlers.’ As if by magic a little icon depicting a trawler appeared next to Peterhead.

  ‘I’m still working on where the other trawlers are. However, I have done some work on the location of our major energy installations.’ She moved back to her PC and, with several clicks of her mouse, a mass of coloured dots appeared on the screen.

  Rafi let out an appreciative whistle.

  ‘To make life easier I’ve colour-coded them,’ said Emma. ‘The green dots are for major gas and oil plants, red dots for the nuclear powers stations, the large red blob is for the Sellafield reprocessing facility in Cumbria and, lastly, the numerous black dots are the oil, gas and coal fired power stations.’

  John swore. ‘Bloody hell! I didn’t realise that there were so many of them.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ replied Emma. ‘But I reckon we can safely remove the black dots. The fossil fuel power stations, whilst large, aren’t in the same league as the others.’

  A couple of clicks later and the black dots disappeared from the screen.

  ‘What precisely are those dots close to the four properties owned by the terrorists’ PREH?’ asked Kate.

  Emma pointed at the screen. ‘Peterhead is between the vast gas facility at St Fergus and the main North Sea oil pumping station at Cruden Bay. The Hartlepool property – here,’ Emma tapped the map, ‘is right on top of a nuclear power station. If we go down a bit, the North Walsham property – here,’ Emma tapped again, ‘Is next to the huge gas terminal at Bacton and just down the coast is Sizewell nuclear power station. And, over here, Prestwick is only twenty miles from Hunterston nuclear power station.’

  ‘Phew!’ exclaimed Aidan under his breath. ‘What percentage of our gas supply comes through St Fergus and Bacton?’

  ‘I guess around thirty to forty percent,’ replied Emma.

  ‘It’s highly inelastic,’ said Aidan. ‘A shortfall of just ten percent would cause problems; thirty would be catastrophic – sections of UK industry would have to shut down. There would be electricity blackouts; the financial markets wouldn’t like it at all, sentiment would be hit and the falls could be dramatic. On top of this, crippling the North Sea oil pumping station would shut down the oil refineries it serves, causing considerable knock-on effects.’ Aidan looked worried.

  John looked thoughtfully at the map. ‘If we added this up, what would we have?’

  ‘Potentially six substantial energy targets, of which three are nuclear,’ replied Emma frowning. ‘The bad news is, if you look at the screen, there are a number of other possible targets.’

  ‘Oh my God! It’s like looking for ten bloody needles in a frigging haystack if you ask me,’ said John.

  ‘I’ve got a question.’ Kate was looking worried. ‘How does the nuclear fuel travel to and from the power stations and the reprocessing units – and how often?’

  ‘By train,’ answered Emma, rummaging around for some paper on her desk. ‘Ah, yes, here it is. The trains average one round trip a week.’

  ‘Do any of them by any chance go near London?’

  ‘Yes, the Sizewell train does,’ answered Emma. She flipped through her notes. ‘It uses the North London line from Stratford round to the marshalling yards at Willesden Junction, before going on to Sellafield.’

  ‘Next question,’ said Kate. ‘How robust are the canisters that carry the nuclear fuel?’

  Emma looked through her paperwork. ‘It says here that their design and specification have been certified by Government experts.’

  ‘Does this include the ability to withstand state-of-the-art missiles, like the Kornet missile that our terrorists most likely have?’ continued Kate.

  ‘Their thickness is…’ Emma looked for the figure. ‘Yes, 900 mm – about three feet.’

  ‘Could a direct hit penetrate a canister?’

  ‘Yes, I reckon so,’ replied Emma slowly, looking at Kate to see if there was yet another question winging her way.

  ‘And a glancing blow would probably ricochet off?’ added Kate.

  ‘Probably,’ replied Emma, uncertainly. ‘However, the experts who determined the safety specifications don’t seem to be worried. Somewhere it says that – Ah yes! Here it is – the worst radioactive release following a terrorist attack is calculated to be only 0.0024 of one percent of the nuclear waste escaping as particles capable of being inhaled. Each canister contains three and a half tonnes of spent nuclear fuel.’

  Emma paused. ‘So by my calculations their figures point to only 0.1 kg of nasties being released, which they think isn’t too calamitous. And as I read them, the reports don’t consider there to be a remote possibility of a successful missile attack. What scares me,’ continued Emma anxiously, ‘Is that I reckon the contents of each canister contains about a quarter of the fallout from Chernobyl and spent nuclear fuel is around a million times more radioactive than the uranium initially sent to the nuclear power stations. I know they say it’s as safe as houses, but if a terrorist were to…’ her voice trailed off.
r />   The uneasy silence was interrupted by John. ‘The question that the terrorist leaders would have to ask themselves is: how easy would it be to hit a moving canister accurately? And are the odds ones that they would be prepared to gamble on? Having said that, a successful attack at Willesden would have a devastating impact on north London.’

  ‘I suggest you put Willesden marshalling yards on your map,’ said Kate.

  ‘John’s got a good point – nuclear power stations seem more likely targets, don’t they?’ said Emma sifting through a pile of papers. ‘And I’ve browsed through the reports from the House of Commons and the Mayor of London’s office, which have looked at the issue of nuclear waste transport. Neither is best pleased with the nuclear cargo going through London, but they both conclude that the canisters are safe – as advised by their experts.’

  ‘For the time being, let’s focus on key oil and gas plants, the nuclear power stations and reprocessing plants,’ said Kate. ‘Excellent work Emma.’

  ‘I have been thinking,’ said Aida. ‘Hypothetically, let’s say Hartlepool nuclear power station was compromised following a terrorist attack and shut down due to radiation leaks. Public opinion could easily swing against all things nuclear. If nuclear power became politically unpalatable and phased out sooner rather than later, the Government would get hit with a bill of, say,?75 billion for the radiation clean-up and decommissioning costs. If at the same time a couple of large gas plants were to go out of action causing power cuts and if their public sector outsourcing business went belly up… A tipping point would be reached and the UK financial markets would be pushed over the edge.’

  Aidan paused. He looked deadly serious. ‘The financial markets would drop like a lead balloon, enabling the terrorists to make a fortune from their positions in the derivatives markets.’

  ‘I agree with Aidan,’ said Rafi. ‘Their plan is to attack a number of energy installations and at the same time burden the Government with increased financial liabilities.’

  ‘So, to put it bluntly, they want to crucify our markets and our economy and then walk away with billions,’ observed Emma.

  ‘It looks as if we have two separate issues to deal with,’ said Kate. ‘The attacks, and then what they are doing in the financial markets. Aidan, you focus on the financial markets and the rest of the team will concentrate on the attacks.’

  ‘Will do,’ replied Aidan.

  ‘Well, who do we think will deploy the missiles?’ Emma enquired. ‘A student fanatic might be trained to use a semiautomatic gun or explosives, but Kornet missiles are a very sophisticated piece of equipment.’

  ‘I’d go with terrorists with military experience,’ said Kate.

  ‘But such people wouldn’t be easy to get into the UK, would they? Even on false passports,’ Rafi asked.

  ‘Who knows?’ replied John. ‘As things stand we can not rule anything out.’

  ‘We have to substantiate these suppositions and convince our bosses,’ said Kate. ‘It won’t be an easy task.’

  ‘Oh hell!’ The exclamation came from the direction of Emma’s desk; she turned to Kate. ‘I said that the sides of the steel canisters were 900 mm thick. I was looking at the wrong figures – the ones that are normally used in the UK are only 400 mm, i.e. fifteen inches thick. A thermobaric Kornet missile would literally rip the container apart and spew the contents here, there and bloody everywhere.’

  ‘My God!’ said Kate. ‘The consequences would be unthinkable.’

  There was a stunned silence in the room.

  It was broken by Rafi. ‘Aidan, we both believe that part of their plan is to make a financial killing in the derivative markets, don’t we? What if they have placed bent people into the dealing rooms of a number of UK financial institutions. There must be handfuls of people who are now missing their bonuses who could be bought. And if they were discreetly acting as counter parties to the terrorists’ transactions, it would enable the terrorists to build up very big positions, wouldn’t it?’

  Aidan cursed under his breath before adding, ‘The impact would be like walking in front of a speeding Chieftain tank.’

  ‘It doesn’t bear contemplating,’ Rafi added. ‘And it would make it very expensive for the Government or the Bank of England to stop the financial system going into complete meltdown.’

  ‘And they would have to react very fast…’ added Aidan.

  A quiet determination filled the office as they concentrated on the work at hand. Suddenly Emma stopped what she was doing and sat bolt upright. She was looking frustrated.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Kate.

  ‘It’s just that I can’t place something; I’m looking at the cold store and packaging operations of the terrorists’ fishing business. Something is bothering me; I just can’t recall what it is that I’m trying to remember!’

  Aidan looked up from his desk. ‘What makes you think that you are missing something?’

  ‘Well,’ said Emma, ‘I was reading something which mentioned fishing – and I can’t remember what it was!’

  Aidan smiled and popped his head back down below his parapet of papers.

  ‘It’s a wonder you manage to get any work done, sitting there daydreaming,’ he muttered, just loud enough for Emma to hear him.

  Emma got up and walked determinedly across to his desk. Aidan sensed that he’d gone too far with his banter. Emma, who was shorter than Aidan, looked straight at him and said, ‘Stand up, please.’

  Aidan looked a little apprehensive; he stood up and Emma moved closer. Rafi had his fingers crossed that the team wasn’t going to come apart at the seams. Emma stood there, milking the anticipation and doubt in his mind. She leant forward, raised herself up on to her tiptoes and placed a fleeting kiss on his cheek.

  ‘What was that for?’ asked Aidan, astonished.

  ‘Oh, you’re just brilliant,’ Emma said looking at him. ‘It’s you and your sense of humour. It gets me thinking in strange ways.’

  Aidan blushed slightly.

  ‘No, not that way – you mentioned the word work and that helped me remember what was niggling me.’

  Everyone looked blankly at her as she made a beeline for a filing cabinet and rooted through the contents of a drawer.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ asked Kate.

  ‘A briefing note on immigration; we got one a little while back setting out the priority employment sectors and how these might be exploited to gain fast track work permits and entry into the UK. It highlighted certain industry sectors. Found it! Yes! Fish packers are on that list and the terrorists have large fishing and fish processing activities. This would give them a legitimate and easy way of getting undesirables into the UK.’

  ‘It’s a long shot. Leave it with me and I’ll see what I can find.’ Kate phoned the switchboard and got the number for their contact at the Immigration Department.

  ‘Oh blast,’ said Kate, ‘They’ve got the answerphone on.’ She left a message asking for her call to be returned with utmost urgency.

  A few minutes later the phone rang. It was a man from the Immigration Office. Kate explained what she needed.

  ‘Here are a couple of names and mobile phone numbers. If they are busy, please ring me back and I’ll see whether I can find you someone else who can assist you,’ he said helpfully.

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Kate. She hung up and dialled the first number – it was switched off. The second was answered with a quiet, ‘Hello, Steve Lee here.’

  Kate explained her pressing need for information and the importance of confidentiality. ‘Can you help?’ she asked.

  She was greeted with, ‘Oh shit! Oh shit not again, why now?’ Kate’s face turned very serious; she was about to read the riot act to the person on the other end of the phone when she heard him shout, ‘Lucy!’ and then louder, ‘Lucy, can you rescue me please? The little tyke has done another projectile poo!’ There was a brief silence. It seemed that Lucy had arrived in the nick of time and had taken charge of the situat
ion. ‘Darling, let me have him; I‘ll finish off the nappy changing. You can sort out your work.’

  Steve was most embarrassed and very apologetic. ‘It’s meant to be my day off. Oh hell, I need to put the phone down again; he got me all down the side of my trousers as well. Lucy is going to love it; I’ve just backed into the side of the sofa! Look,’ he said, ‘The sooner I get out of here, the better for everyone; give me a couple of minutes to change and, say, twenty minutes to get to the office. Ring me on this number in twenty-five minutes and I’ll be at my desk where I’ll be in a better position to help. I promise that this isn’t a brush off.’

  ‘It’d better not be!’ said Kate and hung up.

  Aidan looked up at Emma, who by coincidence had been looking his way; their eyes met for a brief moment but both thought better of saying anything. A couple of smiles later they were heads down, focused on their paperwork.

  Kate phoned Steve. ‘I’m looking at a couple of companies. I need to know whether they’ve employed any non-nationals via fast track visas, working as, say, fish packers or filleters over the past three or four years.’

  ‘Fire away,’ came the reply. ‘Let’s see what we can find. Can you give me the company name and its address?’

  Kate spoke to Emma, who passed her the information Steve requested.

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Steve. I must apologise, the system is always slow bringing up information. I suspect it’s feeling a little overworked at the moment, though please don’t quote me on that. Ah yes, your fish processing company has seen a significant growth in their workforce over the past couple of years. They’ve put in six – no sorry – seven fast track visa applications for fish packers and filleters. Of these, we were able to process three on the nod as they were for EU citizens from Eastern Europe. The other four were non-EU nationals and their visa requests have been approved too. All in the past sixteen months! I see from a note on the file from my colleague Roger that they’re opening up a large new cold store and packaging facility later this year, hence their recent requests.’

  ‘Would you know where?’

  ‘Unfortunately, that’s not on the electronic notes. Roger, my assistant who deals with this company, is away on holiday. He’ll be back tomorrow morning though. By the way, what’s your email address?’ asked Steve.