Chapter Six – Guess Who's Back?

"Detective Goren, Detective Eames, I'm DS James Hood." The man shaking hands with them at the Scotland Yard reception desk was, even if you were trying to be charitable, remarkably ugly, with a snout of a nose that looked as though it had been broken at some point in the past and never healed properly, bristly short brown hair with a large bald spot at the back of his head, and old acne scars across both his cheeks. He was nearly as big as Goren, but not as well-proportioned, with a slight pot belly and rounded shoulders. That meant, Goren reflected, that he must have had to be very good indeed to overcome the natural tendency people had to promote the attractive-and-competent over the ugly-but-brilliant.

"Sorry we're late – the taxi the hotel booked for us for quarter to turned up at quarter past."

Hood shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Please, follow me." They navigated the corridors of the police station, which was both like One Police Plaza, and not like it. The same rhythms, the same atmosphere, but different accents, different uniforms, different slang. And no guns, he realised. That was bugging him. He and Eames were both carrying their usual sidearms. Hood wasn't carrying as far as Goren could tell, although he would almost certainly have firearms training.

They turned round a corner and into a small office at the end of the corridor. Hood's name wasn't on the door, and Goren guessed that it was probably a shared office for several middle-ranking officers who didn't yet rate an office of their own. Beside him, Eames stifled a yawn, smiling ruefully as Hood raised an eyebrow and asked "Still on New York time?"

"Yeah. We slept a bit on the plane over and the hotel's okay, but… I guess I'm still getting used to the time difference." Eames shrugged, and smiled again. Hood responded with his own smile, as indeed men generally tended to.

"Yes, jetlag's a bugger," he replied jovially. "I was in the States myself recently; took me two days to get over it, just in time to come back and end up staying awake all night all over again... coffee?"

"Please."

He flipped on a machine and retrieved three mugs. Goren shifted impatiently, hoping they could soon ditch the small talk and get on with what they were there for.

"Right. You're probably wondering why I'm talking to you, and not someone from a regular detective squad."

Correct. "Yes, we are," he replied. "You're Special Branch, right?"

Hood seemed slightly surprised, then smiled. "Yes, I am. They told me you were good. Glad to see they were right." He passed across the mugs. The coffee was good, freshly ground and not too bitter, and they both sipped gratefully. Hood continued. "I'm part of the team assigned to overseeing security at the England match against Germany in five days' time. You'll be meeting the others shortly. The reason we're here now, apart from the coffee, is that I wanted a chance to bring you up to date with what we'll be discussing."

He sipped his coffee and continued. "About a week before he met his untimely end, Mr Elahi visited his local police station saying he wished to report a break-in at his house. Unfortunately, he chose to make his visit on a day when half the force was trying to contain a small riot on the nearby Brunswick housing estate and the other half was trying to keep order in the cells after they'd arrested the rioters. Consequently there was no-one available to discuss that with him for some time. By the time a police officer had become available, Mr Elahi had left, saying it wasn't important and he'd come back another time. Next thing we know, MI5 are on to us saying that he's been killed in New York, and are we looking into it?"

MI5, or Ministry of Intelligence Five; the British intelligence service which dealt with national security, Goren recollected. He and Eames looked at each other, Eames' eyes saying I'll take this one. She spoke up on behalf of both of them. "We're missing something here. Why exactly was Elahi of interest to MI5 or Special Branch?"

"He, personally, wasn't. We've checked the backgrounds of everyone who had access to the plans for the new stadium where the match is being held. Elahi was involved in designing the seating for it, and later on, worked on the team designing the temporary roof."

"Temporary?"

"Originally the stadium wasn't supposed to be ready for another six months; when it became apparent that the Wembley build would take longer than expected, the company building City of London agreed to put completing the permanent roof on hold and erect a temporary structure, then leave off construction to allow the grass to grow on the pitch in time for the match. Anyway, Elahi checked out just fine, but he has an estranged cousin, Omar Khaleel. Khaleel's a known ringleader of a student Islamic extremist group, The Newcomers, whom MI5 have been watching for some time." He frowned thoughtfully. "So far they haven't done anything other than rant about the decadence of modern Britain and go on about the need for cleansing and retribution, but there's always a first time."

"You think that Elahi's cousin was involved in the break-in? That's a bit of a leap."

Hood nodded briefly. "True, but we'd rather be too thorough than risk missing something important…." He looked at his watch. "Sorry, we'd better get going. I'll try to fill you in on the way."

Again, they followed him through the corridors. Their destination proved to be a large meeting room with a conference table, currently holding eight other people, the senior officers in charge of the stadium security team. They sat down and Hood did the introductions, then glanced round the room as if seeking someone else. "Looks like we're just waiting for the spooks… ah, here they are." Behind Goren, there came the sound of the door opening and two hurried-sounding individuals entering. Realising that he and Eames would be first up to brief the meeting on the circumstances of Elahi's death, he checked that all his notes were present in his brown folder, hearing rather than seeing the newcomers sit down.

"Okay, let's get down to business," began the man at the head of the table, Detective Superintendent Barrett, then paused as Hood nodded in the direction of the newcomers, then at Goren & Eames. "Of course, I'm sorry. Detectives Goren and Eames, meet our contacts at MI5; Graham Mulligan and Andrew Davenport."

At that last name, Goren looked up sharply, and found himself looking into a pair of sharp grey eyes, set in an unremarkable face with a pointed nose and topped with short, scruffy-looking blond hair. The army fatigues he'd last seen the MI5 agent in had been replaced by a grey suit and white shirt, and he had a scar above his left eyebrow and a small silver ring with a black stone on his left ring finger, but other than that, nothing else had changed.

"Detective Goren." The same light, slightly ironic accent, the same sardonic shark's-grin. "Good to see you again." Was he imagining it, or was there just the faintest emphasis on the see in that sentence?

I wish I could say the same. Beside him, Eames muttered "Jeez, Bobby, you've got old acquaintances coming out of the woodwork."

"Shall we get started?" Barrett cut across the conversation. "Detectives Goren and Eames, perhaps you'd like to brief us on the circumstances surrounding the death of Mr Elahi…"