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  Undeterred, John and Jeremy entered, closed the doors and walked towards him.

  ‘If you cooperate this won’t take long, or would you perhaps like to see where we work?’ said John.

  Jeremy took up the running. ‘We’re here to get information on two of your former PhD students: Jameel Furud and Basel Talal. What can you tell us about them?’

  The VC stalled. ‘When did they study here?’

  ‘About ten to fifteen years ago.’

  ‘Ah! We’ve a problem there – we archive most of our old student records; data protection and all that, you know. It doesn’t pay to get on the wrong side of the law.’ He looked at John over his half-moon glasses as if he were a student who had just had an appeal turned down.

  ‘We’ll come back to your former students in a moment. Tell us about the college’s PhD programme,’ said John.

  ‘We offer one of the largest PhD programmes in the field of Finance. The college takes on between fifteen and twenty-five new applicants each year. We have over 100 PhD students coming from more than fifteen countries.’

  ‘And how many non-EU students are there here?’ asked John.

  ‘Nearly 500 out of almost 850,’ came the reply.

  ‘So, roughly speaking, I guess your college earns, say,?10 million a year from its overseas students… And without them would it be fair to say that you wouldn’t have a business?’ enquired John.

  ‘Er… Yes, I suppose so, but that’s not relevant,’ snapped the VC.

  Jeremy stepped forward. ‘It is, as I can arrange for the visas of all your non-EU students to be rescinded. It would take just one phone call.’

  ‘Who the ruddy hell do you think you are – barging in here, threatening me with something outside your powers? The City Police can’t take away visas.’

  ‘Correct,’ said Jeremy, ‘But MI5 can! Here’s my identification.’Jeremy flashed his warrant card under the VC’s nose.

  ‘Now let’s start again,’ said John.

  ‘What do you know about Drs. Furud and Talal?’

  ‘Nothing! Why do you ask me this banal question?’

  ‘OK your time is up,’ said John. ‘Gerald Staniland, I’m arresting you in connection with knowingly hindering police investigations into a terrorist activity. I must advise you that under the new anti-terrorism laws, you do not have the right to legal representation.’

  A deep scowl came over the VC’s face. ‘It is Sir Gerald to you. And you have no right to accuse me of some trumped up charge. Get out of my office and don’t forget to close the doors behind you.’

  ‘You just don’t get it, do you? You’re implicated and in the proverbial shit.’

  ‘You can’t talk to me like that! Get out of here or I’ll call security and have you thrown out.’

  ‘Gerald Staniland, I have reason to believe your college is being used as a recruiting ground for terrorists and, should you be convicted, you will formally and publicly be stripped of your title by the Palace,’ said Jeremy. ‘John, pass me your handcuffs. If the bastard wants to play hardball, so be it; read him his rights and take him away.’

  The VC’s confidence crumpled. His face turned ashen grey.

  ‘Alright, alright, I’ll help. Their files are in the registry building – next door. Margery knows where to find them.’ He picked up the phone.

  Moments later Margery appeared at the door. ‘Vice chancellor?’

  ‘Please show these two gentlemen to the registry where the student files are kept.’

  It was 7.20 p.m. on Wednesday evening, and it was all hands to the paperwork at Wood Street. Emma was busy printing out and collating all the documents coming in from MI5.

  The door swung open. ‘My goodness, you’ve been busy,’ said Jeremy as he entered the room. ‘Where on earth did all this paper come from?’

  He was followed by John, who looked equally surprised and impressed.

  ‘Had a useful time?’ asked Emma, trying to sound upbeat.

  ‘Too right,’ replied Jeremy beaming from ear to ear. ‘I reckon that the vice chancellor just aged a year or so, don’t you John?’

  ‘Well, he was being rather obstructive.’

  ‘OK, the suspense is killing us,’ said Emma, ‘what did you find out?’

  ‘We have three more names for you,’ replied John. ‘Jeremy has his colleagues at MI5 digging up as much as they can on them. Before we start briefing you, we’ve got a few things in our notes to sort out,’John shot a momentary look at Jeremy, who nodded. ‘Perhaps we could chat over a bite to eat in a few minutes?’

  ‘Pardon?’ said Kate.

  ‘Oh, we stopped off at Luigi’s and ordered a selection of things to keep us going – a sort of buffet supper. It should be here shortly,’ said Jeremy with a grin.

  Minutes later the food arrived in reception. Jeremy and John deep in conversation, went off to collect it.

  ‘I’ve no idea what we’ve got here,’ remarked Jeremy as he came back in. ‘I hope you find something you like. Help your-selves. We’ve organised our notes. John, do you want to start or shall I?’

  ‘OK, I’ll go first. The vice chancellor we visited is living the life of Riley. He’s on a different planet,’ said John.

  ‘Lord Muck was well out of order. He tried to pretend he knew nothing. Didn’t take John seriously, refused to help. We sort of leant on him, didn’t we John?’ interjected Jeremy with a cheeky grin.

  John quickly finished a mouthful of food. ‘Our two original suspects, Jameel Furud and Basel Talal were part of a clique of five students, who all frequented the same mosque. Sheikh Akram Tufayl and Miti Lakhani, an Asian-African were fellow PhD students and close friends. The fifth member was Maryam Vynckt, Basel Talal’s younger sister, who studied for a Masters in Law nearby.’

  ‘Bloody hell! I think she could be related to the Luxembourg financier that Callum visited just before he died,’ interrupted Rafi. ‘Sorry – do go on.’

  ‘We tracked down one of their contemporaries, Dr Mario Lutchins, who is now a senior lecturer at a business school in London. We dropped in to see him on our way back,’ said Jeremy, reaching over to help himself to more food, whilst John took up the running.

  ‘To cut a long story short, the VC is caught between a rock and a hard place. His problem is that Sheikh Tufayl makes a hefty donation of half a million pounds a year to the College, but there is a non-disclosure clause… The money stops if the sheikh’s name is made public. And without the money the VC’s lifestyle would go down the pan.’

  It was now Jeremy’s turn. ‘These five individuals certainly made an impression on our Dr Lutchins, who at the time was going out with a secretary in the Faculty Office. Unfortunately for him, Jameel turned on the charm, had his way with her and then dumped her. Mario has never forgiven him and has since then taken a sinister interest in Jameel and his colleagues’ activities. He has been particularly helpful in filling in some of the gaps.’

  Jeremy looked down at his notes. ‘Sheikh Tufayl was the man with the money. He had a lovely duplex flat in NW8 overlooking Regent’s Park. He led the high life.’

  John continued while Jeremy took a mouthful of food. ‘The sheikh was outwardly religious, a driven man, always on the go. He was seriously wealthy, enjoyed a luxurious Western lifestyle, and thought studying for a PhD was a great way to live, particularly as it kept his father off his back. He liked to hypothesise and seemed to be more interested in the big picture side of things.’

  John looked down at his notebook. ‘To quote Mario: The sheikh despised us for Iraq, disliked our meddling foreign policies. He thought the UK had become too soft and trusting and forgotten one of the key rules of economic and personal survival – when the chips are down, the oil-rich countries look after themselves. Or put another way – if a country runs out of energy, it is stuffed,’ John took another mouthful and nodded towards Jeremy.

  ‘The sheikh completed the last eighteen months of his PhD from his home in the Gulf, following his father’s death in
a freak skiing accident,’ continued Jeremy. ‘A MI5 source tells me that he fell into a small ravine. The fall didn’t kill him, but he was injured sufficiently badly that he wasn’t able to climb out, and died from hypothermia… Sadly for him, his mobile phone’s battery was knackered. Sheikh Tufayl was on holiday with his father at the time.’

  Jeremy looked at his notes. ‘Sheikh Tufayl took over the family business – or should I say, the oil wells. When the sheikh received his PhD two years later, the VC talked him into funding a high profile annual lecture… and the sheikh’s money started rolling into the College. The great and the good are invited to the lectures and to a sumptuous dinner afterwards at one of the finest City of London livery companies. The vice chancellor plans the lectures and dinners with military precision.’

  ‘Now let’s turn to the number two in the clique: Basel Talal,’ continued John. ‘According to Mario he was moderately wealthy by Arab standards – bloody rich by yours or mine – and lived within walking distance of the sheikh. He had an incisive but practical brain, and paid great attention to detail. He was an excellent manager and manipulator. According to Mario, Basel has been successful in the venture capital business, but keeps a surprisingly low profile. And Mario believes that Basel has a wealthy offshore backer… His guess is that the money comes from the sheikh.’

  ‘Oh, did we mention that Basel was the sheikh’s cousin?’ interjected Jeremy.

  ‘And now on to number three in the clique: your erstwhile boss Jameel Furud,’ continued John. ‘He was a close friend of the sheikh and his cousin, but lacked their money. He shared their interests in discussing economic strategies and how markets worked, and whether they could be manipulated. He loved the high life and his particular talent was his ability to charm the ladies. This talent went down especially well with the sheikh, who loved to party and to have a beautiful woman on his arm. After his PhD, Jameel spent time setting up and running a fund management business in the Gulf and looked after the sheikh’s newfound wealth. The business grew and moved to Zurich for a short while, before moving to London where it was rebranded as Prima Terra. Mario finds it strange that since his return to the UK, Jameel rarely promotes the fact that he has a PhD…’

  ‘I suppose he likes his wheeler-dealer image,’ said Rafi.

  ‘According to Mario the fourth member of the group was Maryam Talal, now Mrs Maryam Vynckt. She’s the younger sister of Basel and of course cousin to the sheikh,’ said John. ‘She read Law at Cambridge, followed by a two-year Master‘s in Law in London. Her masters dissertation was on: Cross border investment vehicles and cross border taxation. According to Mario, she an Eastern beauty and a fantastic linguist – she speaks most of the main European languages as if they were her native tongue.’

  John looked at his notes. ‘Maryam worked for the international legal firm Tollemarsh Ruddock and Leveritt in the City where she specialised in corporate acquisitions. There she renewed her acquaintance with Mr Hubert Vynckt – he’d read Business Administration at the Judge Institute and had been in the same Cambridge University college as her. Hubert’s family investment business, CPR Investment Funds, became a big client of hers.’

  ‘John, you’re losing out on the food,’ commented Jeremy. ‘Let me do the next bit. Maryam, visited Hubert frequently and then Hubert made Maryam an offer she couldn’t refuse: to head up his private clients division and a wedding ring. They married and she moved to Luxembourg. Then, out of the blue, her division was bought by the Gulf Trade Bank. Maryam, is CEO, of the merged private clients departments and now works from the Bank’s headquarters in the Gulf and from its offices in Luxembourg, which are in the same building as Hubert’s CPR Investment Funds.’

  Rafi sat bolt upright. ‘Oh yes! I really do bet Callum met her.’

  ‘OK, I’ll get that checked out,’ said Jeremy.

  ‘According to Mario,’ said John, ‘the Gulf Trade Bank is part of the sheikh’s business empire and that the bank’s acquisition of Hubert’s private clients division was the sheikh’s way of ensuring that Maryam was close by… Ah yes, I nearly forgot. Mario says that Maryam is the most driven of the clique.’

  ‘That leaves us with the last member: Miti Lakhani,’ said Jeremy. ‘He struggled to make ends meet whilst in London. It seems that the money was there but his father wanted his son to work and not play and so kept Miti on a tight financial rein. Unfortunately, after five years he went home to Mogadishu with an MPhil and not the expected PhD. It seems he drew the short straw, in that his supervisor was more interested in his consultancy work than tending to his academic flock… Miti’s family owns a thriving import/export business based in Sudan and Somalia. Mario reckons they also own a lot of land there.’

  ‘Now for the scary bit,’ said John looking at his notes. ‘To quote Mario, In a crazier world, the PhD dissertations of Tufayl, Talal and Furud, when put together, could be viewed as the instruction kit for building a financial atomic bomb…’

  Kate, who up to this point had been listening quietly and intently, suddenly sat up and took notice. ‘Explain, please.’

  ‘Rafi knows more about these things than I do,’ said Jeremy. ‘If I read out the dissertation titles, perhaps Rafi can explain? Sheikh Tufayl started his on: Sovereign credit ratings and public sector debt, but amended it after his mid-stage viva to: The impact of energy shortages on the financial markets. Basel Talal’s thesis was on: The identification of business failure and contagion in finance, insurance and banking sectors. He looked mainly at the reasons why these businesses got into financial trouble and the ripple effects that this could cause.’

  Jeremy looked at Rafi. ‘Does that make sense?’

  Rafi nodded.

  ‘Jameel Furud’s thesis,’ Jeremy continued hesitantly, reading carefully from his notes, was on: The risks of financial products in destabilised markets. His thesis considered whether it was possible for a significant number of small items to go below the risk management radar screen, with the consequence that if the markets took a plunge one or more institutions might become insolvent.’

  ‘I agree with Mario,’ said Rafi, ‘If one puts the three theses together – energy shortages, with business failure and large losses in the derivative markets – it makes for a very volatile and potentially dangerous cocktail.’

  Emma and Kate looked concerned. Emma was about to say something when John carried on. ‘Oh… I quite forgot. We spotted that two of the PhDs had dedications. The sheikh’s dissertation was dedicated to Yousif and Basel’s to Khalid. MI5 are trying to find out who they might be,’ said John.

  Wisps of ideas were swirling around inside Rafi’s head. They did not paint a reassuring picture. The bombing was only a distraction. Jameel and his associates were after a far larger target.

  Sensing Rafi was deep in thought, Kate stepped in. ‘Thank you both. That was an extremely useful synopsis! You did well to find Mario. We’re fortunate that he took such a keen interest in the group.’

  ‘All thanks to Jameel’s fling with his girlfriend!’ said Emma.

  Kate ignored her comment. ‘I reckon you’ve found us our ringleaders. I’m uncertain where Miti fits in, though. Thank you both. Any questions?’

  ‘I’ve one,’ said Emma. ‘Where is the vice chancellor now?’

  ‘I have arranged for him to spend a few days enjoying the hospitality of MI5… As we couldn’t trust him to keep his mouth shut,’ added Jeremy. ‘His PA overheard John and I talking. We let her think that we’d charged him for molesting one of his daughter’s underage friends. You should have seen his face when the squad car arrived to take him away. Serves him right!’

  ‘I have a big problem,’ said Kate. ‘I worry that this is all too circumstantial. Are we going in the right direction, given the starting point of the Bishopsgate bombing? Shouldn’t we be looking at other scenarios? Though I’ll be damned if I know what they might be.’

  John looked at her in a reassuring way. ‘Kate, by all means keep an open mind and if another scenar
io comes along, use my team downstairs to work on it. But for now, you must run with what you’ve got.’

  ‘Emma and Rafi, keep researching the companies,’ instructed Kate. ‘John, Jeremy and I will focus on the individuals involved. Let’s touch base in an hour’s time.’

  Emma pushed her chair across to Rafi’s desk. ‘Can we go back a step? Is Prima Terra valuable?’

  ‘Yep,’ replied Rafi. ‘Something like?1.5 billion.’

  ‘And the ultimate owner of Prima Terra is the sheikh?’

  ‘Yes, I now believe so.’

  ‘So if the sheikh is willing to jeopardise Prima Terra and as a consequence lose an investment worth many hundreds of millions of pounds… He must be confident of making a great deal of money from whatever he is planning to do.’

  ‘And as I see it,’ said Rafi, ‘The two dodgy companies that Callum found plus the venture capital business are too small to make the sort of returns they’ll need.’

  Emma frowned.

  Rafi could almost see the cogs going round in her mind.

  ‘If one takes their PhD topics and then add in Jameel Furud and Maryam Vynckt’s expertise and financial clout… I’d put my money on the terrorists targeting the derivatives markets,’ said Emma.

  ‘I agree… If they could find a way to make the markets crash, they could then walk away with shed loads of money,’ added Rafi with a large yawn.

  ‘Precisely,’ continued Emma, ‘And there must be enough dishonest international bankers out there who – for a fee – would provide a front for dubious derivatives trading. And it would be practically impossible for the authorities to track down where the profits went – let alone get them back again!’

  ‘OK, so the terrorists will want to give the market a fright,’ started Rafi. He was about to say something more, but was interrupted by a series of large yawns.

  ‘You look dead on your feet,’ said Emma.

  Kate looked across at Rafi. ‘Time for you to take a nap I reckon.’

  Rafi stifled another yawn and nodded.

  ‘Follow me.’ She led him down to the basement cells, with a blanket over his head. When they reached their destination, she picked up a second blanket and a pillow and ushered him into a cell.