PART IV

Monday 11 December
The Grid

Ruth was early in getting to work. Even earlier than usual, in the hope of getting to her desk and being too busy for chitchat by the time the others got there. And still Harry was there before her. He was in his office, stood behind his desk whilst he talked on the phone, his eyes fixed on her from the moment she stepped through the pods. The distance between them was too great to read the subtleties in his expression, but she thought his face softened and he almost smiled at her, before he stopped himself. His gaze followed her all the way to her desk before he turned away and gave his full attention to the phone again.

She sighed. She'd had a horrible weekend, second-guessing her decision and almost calling him on countless occasions. A few times she'd even picked up the phone, but then Zaf's gleeful face would pop up before her eyes and she would put it down again. Ruth furtively watched him over her monitor as she switched on her computer; he looked tired and frustrated. She tried to tell herself that it was because of the Pilkington case, but deep down she knew it was more than that. The pods whirred and her attention shifted to it to see Malcolm struggling through with a mangled umbrella. He glanced round the workspace until he spotted her.
"Morning. Beastly weather," he complained amiably as he finally won his battle with the umbrella and tucked it under his arm.
Ruth watched him closely but there were no knowing looks, no increased interest towards her. Perhaps Zaf had not yet informed everyone then. But still she could not relax; he would do so eventually and then it would begin. The endless whispers.

0o0

By the time they had gathered in the meeting room for the nine o'clock weekly briefing, Ruth was sure that everyone knew. The air was thick with a suppressed excitement and many a sly glance was cast her way. She hunched her shoulders and stared at the table, and wished that the floor would open up and swallow her whole. A few minutes later Harry stepped in and took his seat, and immediately a hush fell as every eye in the room watched eagerly for some sort of interaction between their boss and analyst. Without any apparent sign that he had noticed the charged atmosphere, Harry looked to Zaf.
"Zafar, brief everyone on what you found out on Friday."
There was a stunned silence and Ruth's gaze, till then firmly focussed on the paper in front of her, flew to Harry in shock. His attention was on the file in his hand, oblivious. She looked at Zaf in consternation; he had a huge grin on his face and for a moment she feared he would actually do it – he would say out loud that he had seen her and Harry together. But then Adam lightly cleared his throat and gave Zaf a warning look, and the younger spook shrugged slightly and began a detailed description of his conversation with his asset. Once all attention was on Zaf, Harry lifted his eyes and briefly glanced at Ruth before dropping them back to the file.

When Zaf had finished, Harry shuffled some papers and brought out a stack of photographs that he passed around. He continued the briefing. "The truck driver was shot on Friday evening. They found these photographs in a safety deposit box belonging to him. It seems he had reason to be afraid."
Adam whistled. "Talk about a gallery of the high and mighty," he exclaimed as he passed the last photograph back to Harry, who carefully deposited them back into the file.
"Exactly," he confirmed. "And if any of them found out that the late Mr Cook had been sneaking around with his camera they would have been tempted to silence him."
"Not to mention the people he had been ripping off," Zaf added.
"Yes. We have a whole gaggle of suspects," Harry agreed.
Jo frowned. "Is it really our concern who killed this truck driver?" she asked, looking to Adam. "Or dealing with human trafficking? I thought we were supposed to deal with terror threats."
Adam looked at Harry. "She has a point."
"Yes. Distressing as those women's plight is, it is not really our concern."
Fiona opened her mouth but Harry held up a hand. "However, there is a wider scope to this that concerns me. First of all, there is the existence of an unsupervised smuggling route between the UK and Syria. What – or who - else have they brought in via this route? Secondly, who supplies the weapons going to Syria? Is this action secretly authorised by the government? Not impossible, short-sighted and ill-conceived though it may be."
Ruth couldn't help herself. "And by strengthening Assad's regime, we are fomenting further unrest in Syria and increasing the refugee numbers. And the hate towards Britain among the Muslim communities."
"Precisely," Harry confirmed. "Not to mention the fact that all these prominent men," he tapped the folder with the photographs, "have opened themselves up to blackmail. God knows what some of them might be willing to do to protect their dirty little secret."
He looked round the table. "This will be a sensitive operation. We will have to tread extremely lightly, because if there is government backing for this our investigation will be shut down faster than you can blink, and some of us hung out to dry to boot. There must be no discussion with anyone outside of this Section, and no rash moves."
They all absorbed the warning silently. There was no need for verbal affirmation; Harry's word was law.

"So how do we proceed?" Fiona asked.
Adam looked at Zaf. "We need to identify this Wasim chap."
"Easier said than done," Zaf countered. "There will be thousands of Pakistanis named Wasim in England. Plus, we don't even know whether it's his real name."
"This may help," Harry said and fished in his file once more. He produced a photograph of a man standing in front of a warehouse, clearly taken from a distance. "It's the only photograph in here of a fully clothed individual, and it may be our man." He slid it over to Colin. "See if you can identify him."
The techie nodded and gathered the photo.
"What are you thinking?" Harry asked, and Adam took a moment to order his thoughts.
"If we can put Wasim under surveillance we could identify his government contact-"
"No," Harry said immediately. "Too risky. No surveillance."
Adam frowned but let it go for the time being. "All right. They will need a new truck driver, obviously. We could try to get a man in." He turned to Zaf. "You have a heavy vehicle license, right?"
"Yep." He smiled at Jo's incredulous look. "Misspent youth," he whispered and winked at her.
Harry digested this suggestion. "I would prefer that we allow them to choose their driver, and then get to him."
"Or her," Fiona interjected and Harry rolled his eyes.
"Or her," he corrected reluctantly and the others smiled.
"Yeah, that could work," Adam agreed. "Let the original driver go into Syria and pick up the goods, then we take a look inside once the truck comes back into friendly territory."
"I'll ask my asset to keep his ears open – he uses a lot of transport companies so maybe he'll pick up something," Zaf volunteered.
"Good," Adam stated. He looked at Harry. "But that won't bring us any closer to identifying the government contact."

Harry glanced at Ruth. "I already have a good idea who that might be," he said casually. He opened his file again and removed a sheet of paper. "Malcolm, these are the bank account numbers of Andrew Pilkington. Can you take a look at his finances without him realising?"
"Of course," Malcolm responded as Adam stared at his boss.
"You think it's Pilkington?"
Harry was silent for a beat. "Not 'think'. Know."
"How?" Adam demanded, but Harry merely set his jaw.
"Not your concern. Now, what else-"
"So we're just supposed to take your word for it?" Adam asked incredulously.
Harry glared at him and the others shifted in their seats. "Yes, Adam, you are to take my word for it." He enunciated every word individually, precisely, and Ruth lifted her eyes to him. Perhaps he was aware of the sniggers and whispers about them, after all. He was clearly not as serene as he had let them think thus far.
"You and Ruth," Harry continued, and Ruth jumped at the sound of her name. Everyone noticed, and Harry blinked wearily. "You and Ruth go through these mobile phone records," he instructed and slid over a sheaf of print-outs. "Those are the records of all his phones. Including the unofficial ones. I want to know who he's talking to on a regular basis, especially those that are not in the photographs as well."
Ruth leafed through the pile. "There're five phones' records here," she said incredulously. So that's what he'd done over the weekend. "How did you get these records so quickly?"
Harry watched her for just a breath longer than he should, and once again they all noticed. "I called in some favours," he said enigmatically, and she knew it was the only explanation she would get, at least in front of the rest. She stacked the papers neatly without further comment, and Harry looked around the table one more time.
"Anything else?"
"Yes," Fiona leant forward. "Those women must be kept somewhere. I still have some contacts in the Syrian immigrant community – I can probe a bit and see if I can find out where they are."
They all expected their boss to veto this idea as too risky as well, but Harry, mindful of the empty eyes of the women in those photographs, surprisingly nodded agreement.
"Do it carefully," he cautioned again before getting to his feet.
Ruth didn't move until he disappeared from view, but her gaze followed him for as long as possible. She gathered her things with a small sigh and trudged after the others.

0o0

Malcolm had barely reached his cubbyhole and settled behind his computer when Harry materialised.
"Malcolm, when you do the check on Pilkington's finances, can you do it in such a way that he realises someone is looking, but that he can't trace it back to us?"
The techie stared at him, surprised by the strange request. "Er, sure, but I thought you said we should be careful not to alert anyone…?"
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," Harry responded mysteriously, before wandering back to his own office.
Malcolm looked after him, bemused, then shrugged and began to do Harry's bidding.

0o0

Monday evening
Kensington Gardens

Wasim strolled along the path, now and again pausing in the darkness between the street lamps to check his tail. He was sure he was not being followed, but one had to be sure. His contact would be most displeased if he led the authorities to him. Eventually he turned from the path towards a bench situated in the shadows of a huge oak. Its wide-stretching branches blocked not only the sun during the day, but also the light that ensured London was never totally dark during the night. A man was already seated on one end and Wasim murmured a respectful greeting, then settled himself on the other.
He waited; patience came more easily to non-Westerners and he did not fidget.
Eventually the other man broke the silence. "You acted foolishly." There was no need for further explanation – both men knew exactly what he was referring to.
"He was stealing from us," Wasim retorted, but he made sure to keep his voice low.
"That is immaterial," the other man shot back. "Your rash action has brought the attention of the authorities to us. You may have jeopardised everything we have worked for."
"How?" Wasim objected. "There is nothing to connect him to us. I made sure of that. And besides, our contacts will warn us of any unwanted attention."
The man turned his head and his eyes glinted in the muted light. "You underestimate the British – they are not as stupid as you think. Let us hope they don't make the connection before we can bring in the final load." He stood and looked down at Wasim. "But if they do, you better hope they get to you first. Because whatever they will do to you will be child's play compared to the fruits of my wrath."
With that final threat he melted away into the night, leaving Wasim to ponder the precariousness of his future.

tbc