Gray Redemption (Tom Gray #3) (5 page)

“It’s not quite that simple,”
Ellis said.  She was worried that too many people were being dragged into
her little conspiracy, but she had no choice but to involve Small: without him,
she had little chance of discovering what Farrar was up to. 

She gave Small a summary of
recent events, including Farrar’s request to find Campbell and Levine, his
reticence in sharing any further details and the request for network access.

“Am I right in thinking that
every request, every search made through our accounts is audited and reports
made available to the JIC?”

Small confirmed that she was
correct.  Every database search and VOIP — or Voice
Over
IP — telephone call was recorded and the Joint Intelligence Committee had
access to these reports.  It was a way of ensuring that the information
held on their systems was not abused in any way.

“Is there a way to spoof an
identity so that their searches appear under someone else’s name?”

Small thought about it for what
seemed an age.  “I suppose it
could
be done,” he eventually said, “but
it would take a couple of days to set up.”

“What will it involve?” 
Ellis asked.

“I’ll have to create a virtual
server and route their requests through it.  I’ll also need to write a
Windows service that intercepts the request.  At that point I can switch
principal identities.”

“Before you forward the request
with the new identity, can you make a note of every search they make?” Ellis
pressed.

“That shouldn’t be too hard,”
Small said.  “I can set up a separate database to record everything they
are looking at.  You’ll want to view the results real-time, I suppose?”

“If you can, that would be
great.”

“No problem.  I should have
it all in place by Thursday morning.”

With that matter dealt with,
Ellis asked Harvey for an update on the search.

“When they went into hiding last
year they had friends pay for everything so that they couldn’t be traced,” he
explained.  “That doesn’t seem to be the case this time.  None of
their known acquaintances have any credit or debit card payments that suggest a
planned disappearance.”

“Are you saying they haven’t
left a single trace?”

“No, we have the use of their
debit cards at an ATM, but that was late on the evening before the search
started, and it was at South
Mimms
services on the
M25.  It’s at the junction with the A1, which means they could be anywhere
north of London by now.”

“If they actually headed north,”
Farsi pointed out.  “Let’s assume they know the card transactions will be
picked up: do you think they’d use an ATM on their actual route?”

Harvey had to concede that his
colleague was right.  “Then they could have headed in any direction, which
gives us even less to go on than we had a minute ago.”

Ellis knew that with a cold
trail it would be almost impossible to locate their quarry. “What about phone
conversations: they must have spoken to someone in the last few days.”

“That’s where it gets
interesting,” Harvey said.  “We asked GCHQ for a list of all calls to and
from their known numbers in the last two weeks and got a couple of interesting
hits.”

“Interesting how?”

“Most of the calls in the
preceding days were mundane, but Levine got one at midday the day before they
disappeared.  The number was an unregistered mobile originating from
Singapore.  A minute later Levine called Campbell and that was the last
call either of them made.”

“Do we have transcripts?” Ellis
asked.

“They came through this morning
and we’ve been working up a lead,” Farsi said.  “The call from Singapore
was brief. The caller introduced himself as Timmy and said he had a message
from the Sarge.”

“The Sarge?”
Ellis asked.

“We’re working that up, just
waiting for the MoD to get back to us,” Harvey said.

“What was the message?”

“That’s the interesting
bit.  All he said was ‘Saturday the ninth of April, option three.’”

“That was just a couple of weeks
ago,” Ellis said.  “What’s the significance?”

“Actually, the ninth of April
this year was a Monday.  We think he was referring to the same date last
year.”

Ellis couldn’t make the
connection and asked them to spell it out.

“That was the day Tom Gray’s eight
associates went into hiding, and five days later his website went live,” Farsi
explained.

“So this Timmy has told them to
do what they did a year ago, which is disappear.  Could option three be an
alternate hideaway they were planning to use?”

“It could be,” Harvey
admitted.  “Unfortunately, we expected Tom Gray’s death to be the end of
the matter, and no-one thought to question them about any other preparations
they’d made.”

Ellis thought for a
moment.  “So we don’t yet know where they are, but someone has told them
to go into hiding.  Have you checked the whereabouts of the other four
members of Tom Gray’s team?”

“Paul Bennett was killed in a
road traffic accident at the start of the year and Tristram Barker-Fink died
while on a security detail in Iraq. Phone records suggest the remaining two,
Baines and Smart, took a contract job in Manila last Monday.  We checked
the number they were called from and it’s no longer in use, so we’ve asked the
British Embassy to check it out for us.”

“Have you got a recording?” She
asked.

“Not available, according to
GCHQ, though they did send over the auto-transcript.  The contact in
Manila was someone called James, no surname mentioned.”

“If we find Baines and
Smart
, they should be able to tell us what option three
was,” Ellis pointed out. 

“It could be our best chance of
finding Levine and Campbell,” Farsi agreed.

“Then let’s concentrate on the
leads we have,” Ellis said.  “Find out all you can about Timmy and the
Sarge, and track down Baines and Smart.”

Chapter
4

Monday
April 30th 2012

Vick woke once more to the smell
of body odour and curry and began having second thoughts about tagging along
with Tom Gray.  Oh, for a hot shower and a soft comfortable bed rather
than a stinking mattress on the floor of the cargo container they shared with
more than a dozen others.  Even an hour in the sun would have been
appreciated, but the captain had made it clear that anyone sticking their head
above deck would be dealt with severely, and she suspected that in the people-smuggling
trade, severely often meant permanently.  That meant two weeks in the
lower hold and goodbye to her tan.  At least there was a chiller unit
pumping cold air into the compartment, otherwise the heat would have quickly
become unbearable — perhaps even fatal — given the temperature in the Indian
Ocean, especially during the earlier part of the journey.

She looked down at Gray, who was
still sleeping, as were most others in the cramped container.  She ran her
finger over the crescent-shaped scar on his cheek and tried to imagine what it
must have been like to be in that building when it blew up around him. 

Vick had asked Gray to share the
whole story with her, from the death of his son to his arrival on
Basilan.  He had tried to gloss over certain events but she’d insisted on
hearing all of the details, even from Sonny’s and Len’s perspectives.  It
had certainly passed the time, but with another week to go until they reached
Africa she was beginning to wonder if she’d made the right decision.  There
had been nothing to stop her from just going to the British embassy in
Singapore, explaining her story and getting a flight home, but her heart had
told her to stick with Tom.

After a quick visit to the
toilet, a
Porta
-Cabin-like structure located just outside
the container, Vick returned and rummaged through one of their bags to find
something to eat.  They were served hot food twice a day but there was a
limit to the amount of curry she could eat, so she found a tin of ham and
tucked in.

Gray woke next to her and
yawned, immediately regretting the action.

“Christ, it stinks in here.”

“You’ve just noticed?” 
Vick asked, trying to ignore the smell as she chewed.

Gray ignored the jibe and went
to relieve himself.  When he returned he grabbed a fork and helped Vick to
finish off the cold meat.

“Last night I thought of a way
we could locate Farrar, but it’s a risk,” Gray said.

“What’s your plan?”

“We need someone on the inside,
and I think I may have just the person.”

“Anyone I know?”

Gray shook his head. 
“An old adversary.”

“Then yes, it does sound
risky.  Care to tell me more?”

“I met him for just a few
moments, but something about him told me he was honest and could be trusted,”
Gray said.

“How do you know he isn’t
involved in the whole thing?” Vick persisted. 
“What if
he just turns you all in?”

“It was something Farrar told me
last year.  I remember he said something disparaging about MI5, which
suggests they weren’t involved in all this.”

Vick wasn’t convinced, but it was
Gray’s call and he had made a few good ones in the last couple of weeks. 
Having said that, she’d have been a lot happier if Gray had packed an air
freshener, and she told him as much.

“Yeah, I never have one when I
need one,” he sighed.

*
* *

Azhar Al-Asiri prepared for one
of his infrequent jaunts into the outside world.  As always, he strapped
on the bullet-proof vest and over that went the padding to add the appearance
that he weighed a hundred pounds more than he actually did.  The ensemble
was completed by the full-length black
burqa
, transforming him from
Al-Qaeda leader to humble wife.

Outside, the vehicle was
waiting.  The Toyota Land Cruiser appeared to be ancient, but under the
hood was a finely-tuned V10 engine, and the side panels were armour-plated. 
Al-Asiri stepped out into the street for the first time in weeks and made the
short walk to the car, looking to any casual observer like a harmless
octogenarian.  He took a seat in the back and cranked the window a little:
not so much that he would be exposed to any incoming small-arms fire, which the
bullet-proof glass could easily handle.

The drive was a short one and
within ten minutes they arrived at the hotel, where his fellow passenger helped
him out and escorted him through the lobby to the small elevator.  They
rode in silence up to the third floor and when the doors parted, Al-Asiri
waited until his bodyguard checked the hallway for danger.  After getting
the all-clear, Al-Asiri followed him to room 317, where they found two men, one
sitting on the bed, the other on a chair.

Al-Asiri recognised one of them
as part of his security detail, which meant the balding man in his fifties had
to be Professor Munawar Uddin.  Although he’d never met the man, Al-Asiri
had been financing his work for the past five years, and as reports suggested
the project was almost complete, he wanted to get the latest update in person.

He removed the
burqa
and
waited for the shock to pass from Uddin’s face. 

The professor had been told nothing
about the purpose of his visit, just that he would be away from his facility
for as short a time as possible.  The last thing he’d ever expected was to
meet the leader himself.

Al-Asiri offered his greetings,
dismissed the escorts and took a seat in the chair opposite the professor.

“I understand the project is
nearing completion,” he said when they were alone in the room.  “Tell me
about the latest test results.”

Uddin took a moment to gather
himself
before explaining that the experiments carried out
on Bonobos — once known as the pygmy chimpanzee and more closely related to man
than apes — had shown a ninety-three percent success rate.

“The virus we have developed
successfully targeted the male Y chromosome in all of the test subjects. 
A few suffered testicular
azoospermia,
which is a complete lack of sperm in the semen, while the majority suffered a
highly-reduced Y chromosome sperm count, roughly two percent of all sperm
produced.”

Al-Asiri was pleased with the update, but wasn’t about to celebrate a
victory quite yet.  “What are the chances of similar results in humans?”
He asked.

“The genetic differences between the two species are negligible, and the
process of spermatocytogenesis is virtually identical.”

The look Al-Asiri gave Uddin suggested a simplified explanation might be in
order.  “The formation of sperm starts with cells called
spermatogonia.  The spermatogonium splits to form two spermatocytes, which
in turn split to become spermatids.  These spermatids mature to become the
spermatozoa.”

Al-Asiri nodded for him to continue, though he didn’t pretend to understand
the whole process.

“Consider the spermatogonia to be templates:  they are not in infinite
supply, and so when they split some remain in the basal compartment to create
further spermatogonia, while the others move to the adluminal compartment to
enter the spermatidogenesis stage, the next step in the production of the
spermatozoa.”

“At what stage do the subjects become affected?” Al-Asiri asked, beginning
to grow impatient.

“W...well,” Uddin stammered, acutely aware of the
need to get his point across, “at the initial spermatocytogenesis stage we have
found a way to latch on the spermatogonia containing the Y chromosome, which
produces male offspring.
  The virus destroys these cells, leaving just the female X chromosome
spermatogonia.  Eventually only X chromosome sperm will be produced by the
subjects, which means all offspring will be born female.”