Mike and Andy looked at him unenthusiastically.
Rafi wondered whether he was talking sense. He had a splitting headache. ‘Let’s turn to the CCTV footage. My office in South Place isn’t that near to Bishopsgate. I reckon that there must be thousands of CCTV cameras in the Square Mile. Let’s assume that there are 4,000 cameras – that’s something like 100,000 hours of recordings. Finding the bit showing me handing the money over to the bomber would have been like looking for a needle in a haystack and yet it was found in a matter of hours. I’d make an educated guess that it was found thanks to an anonymous tip-off and not by tracing the movements of the bomber. Where did the tip-off come from? It was the person who arranged for me to bump into the bomber; the person who had asked me to go to the cashpoint before going to the restaurant to get cash for the tip. The same person who knew that there was only one set of cashpoints between my office and the restaurant. The person who set me up is Jameel Furud, and he has conveniently left the country.’
Andy and Mike looked straight at Rafi. Their blank faces gave nothing away.
‘I would now like to explain the items at the bottom of the sheet of paper.’ Rafi dropped his head for a few seconds, partly for effect and partly because he felt like death warmed up. His body was crying out for some rest.
He paused. ‘To reinforce my allegation that Callum was murdered, please consider the following. He’d arranged to borrow a Porsche and drive it to Amsterdam via the German Autobahns. He was really excited about this and wouldn’t have given up the opportunity of driving it lightly. So why was he found in a rented Mercedes, driving east towards Belgium and not west to Germany? My answer is: his assassins put him there and set fire to the car to cover up any evidence.’
Mike and Andy looked at Rafi as if he was as mad as a box of frogs.
‘There is more to this than meets the eye,’ continued Rafi. ‘You’ve quizzed me about impending attacks on police stations, railway stations, airports and other public places. You’ve got this wrong. Jameel is part of a team plotting something far larger. I believe they wanted me out of the way as they thought I’d stumbled onto something that could expose what they were planning.’
Rafi raised his aching head and looked at the interrogators. ‘The data on the USB memory stick holds the key to this conspiracy. That’s why I want an interview with someone from the City of London police. They’re uniquely placed to understand the data and to put them into the context of the workings and intricacies of the financial markets. I implore you to let me be interrogated by one of them. What have you got to lose?’
‘So where is the memory stick?’ asked Andy.
‘Safe,’ Rafi replied.
‘Do continue,’ said Andy.
‘Why was I packed to leave? And why was I not going abroad? Quite simply, I feared for my life and wanted to go somewhere safe to mull things over. I booked ten days’ at a hotel in Cornwall. If I had been involved with the terrorists, surely I’d have gone to a safe haven overseas?’
Rafi looked at his two interrogators. He reckoned he had at best a 50:50 chance as to whether they believed anything he’d said. They remained silent, their faces unfathomable. He sensed he’d lost. He wasn’t going to get out of jail – ever.
Just then the door opened. A smartly dressed police officer stood in the doorway. He paused momentarily to take in the scene in front of him, before striding in, head held up high. He introduced himself as Commissioner Giles Meynell of the City of London police and sat down next to the two interrogators, opposite Rafi.
Rafi was gobsmacked. Oh hell, why did the commissioner have to arrive late? He’d have to do the whole presentation again and realised he physically couldn’t – he was just too tired.
The commissioner studied the prisoner. ‘Mr Khan, I’ve listened to what you’ve had to say. It’s too early to determine whether there’s any truth to your story.’ His voice was calm yet forceful, packed with authority, no doubt gleaned over many years of high ranking service.
Rafi’s hopes rose and then fell.
‘However, even if there’s an outside chance that your theory has substance, I’m duty-bound to investigate.’
Rafi could have leant across and hugged him. He felt he had been given a new lease of life.
The commissioner looked at Rafi gravely. ‘You are no doubt aware that the Bishopsgate bombing has robbed my force of four excellent police officers. A further two are still in intensive care. My first instinct would be to leave you with these professionals and let them break you. However, my police training and experience tell me that I need more information. I have one question.’ He carefully studied Rafi. ‘Where exactly is the USB memory stick?’
‘Could I use your notebook, please?’ replied Rafi.
The commissioner unbuttoned his outside breast pocket and passed a small notebook, open at a blank page, across to Rafi. A biro was attached to the side.
‘Thank you.’ Rafi carefully removed the biro and put it in his swollen right hand. He rolled his shoulders over, sitting hunched over the pad so that the CCTV cameras couldn’t see it, and with a feat of great willpower, started writing. He looked down at his scrawl, closed the pad and handed it back.
The commissioner opened it and glanced at the page as if keeping his cards close to his chest whilst playing bridge, and replaced it into his pocket.
Their eyes met. ‘I’d be happy to explain the contents of the memory stick to your analyst,’ said Rafi.
The scribbling in the commissioner’s notebook had caused a significant amount of consternation amongst the two MI5 officers. Andy and Mike both started to protest.
‘Sir,’ said Andy, ‘May we please see what Mr Khan wrote? As you know it falls under our jurisdiction.’
The commissioner drew himself up to his full height and studied the two MI5 men carefully. ‘All in due course, gentlemen. I am conducting a murder enquiry and it is my duty to determine the validity of what Mr Kahn has written. I can assure you that the information is in safe hands. We shall discuss whatever we find as soon as it is appropriate.’
Rafi moved his gaze from Mike, a character as hard as nails, to the commissioner, who gave a totally different impression: middle-aged, smartly dressed and with a thatch of neatly combed white hair. His blue eyes didn’t have Mike’s ruthlessness; nevertheless Rafi hoped that he never crossed him.
‘Mr Khan. Provided you have not sent me on a wild goose chase, you can expect to see one of my team here later today. They will pick your brains, in particular on the contents of the USB stick. And be in no doubt, if they believe you’re telling lies or half-truths, Andy and Mike will be more than welcome to do whatever they like to you and then throw away the key. While those who helped the Bishopsgate bomber are at large I shall leave no stone unturned,’ with that, the commissioner stood up and left.
The faces of the two MI5 interrogators were as black as thunder. They turned to look at one another and spoke in hushed tones.
Rafi was escorted to his cell, a little less roughly this time. He sat down on the edge of the bed, mentally and physically exhausted, and waited. Time passed slowly. A couple of hours later he had started to worry that the commissioner had changed his mind.
The cell door swung open.
‘Someone’s ’ere to see you,’ said the guard.
Rafi was bundled into the interview room. ‘Sit! They’ll be ’ere shortly.’
There was a knock at the door. Rafi looked up and saw the slightly nervous face of a female police inspector. She rapidly regained her composure and closed the door behind her.
‘Good afternoon,’ she said. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Kate Adams of the City of London police.’
She sat down, as if waiting for someone or something.