‘Would you know where?’
‘Unfortunately, that’s not on the electronic notes. Roger, my assistant who deals with this company, is away on holiday. He’ll be back tomorrow morning though. By the way, what’s your email address?’ asked Steve.
There was a brief silence after Kate provided him with the information and then Steve came back on the line. ‘I’ve emailed you the details we have on each of these individuals. I’ve tried Roger’s mobile but it’s switched off, as is his voicemail. I’ll send him a text message and put a note on his desk letting him know to get in touch as soon as he’s back. Wait a minute! I am a berk -of course he’s not answering; he’s flying back from his holiday in the States. What’s your timescale?’
‘Yesterday would be ideal. As soon as possible, please. It’s really important,’ urged Kate. ‘Steve, if you or Roger can’t get through to me, here is my fax number. Please mark any faxes as Urgent.’
‘Will do,’ he said, I can’t promise that Roger will remember where the new cold store is located. He keeps a number of notebooks, but I’ve never been able to decipher what he puts into them. One of us will be in touch first thing tomorrow.’
‘Oh, by the way, while I’ve got you on the line,’ said Kate, ‘What other fast track ways into the UK are available?’
‘Off the record, news agency journalism is a good one,’ Steve replied. ‘Interestingly, representatives of overseas newspapers who are employed and paid in the UK don’t need a work permit. All they have to show is evidence that they’ve been engaged by a news organisation outside the UK, that the posting to the UK is a long-term assignment and they have sufficient funds to live here. We don’t always have the time to check that the foreign organisation is in business. The process is remarkably straightforward. Like fish processors and filleters, journalists aren’t seen as a priority area to scrutinise. The paperwork often gets only a cursory glance. And did you know that after four years they become eligible to apply for residency?’
‘No I didn’t… Could you look up a few more companies and check if they’ve made any visa requests that look in any way out of the ordinary?’ asked Kate.
When they came to the venture capital business, AGVC, Steve said, ‘Yes! They have an individual who fits your description: an overseas journalist who joined them six months ago. He’s setting up a weekly newspaper on the venture capital sector. I’ll email his details to you.’
They found nothing more.
‘Thank you Steve. You’ve been really helpful,’ said Kate. ‘Best wishes to Lucy. Tell her from me that you’re a star for coming into the office on your day off.’
Kate printed out the details on the eight individuals and bounced the email on to Jeremy who, as luck would have it, returned a couple of minutes later. ‘Jeremy, could you help me track down the eight people I’ve just emailed you? They are employed by the terrorists’ businesses and have all taken advantage of the fast track visa application process. It seems that they’ve been here, acclimatising to the UK way of life, for between four and sixteen months. The likelihood is that they’re using false names.’
As an afterthought, Kate forwarded the email to Colonel Matlik in Tallinn, with a short covering note: These people have come up on our radar screen. Do any of them look familiar to you?
She then called across to Emma. ‘Have you made any progress with the trawlers?’
‘Yes; they’ve got a fleet of eight modern vessels. Four are registered at Peterhead, two at Grimsby and two in Tallinn. I’ve confirmation that three of the Peterhead trawlers are out in the Atlantic Ocean, somewhere in the vicinity of Iceland, and they’re due back next week. The fourth, Northern Rose, is in port at Peterhead. The two Estonian trawlers in the Norwegian Sea are due back in Tallinn late Sunday or Monday. Unfortunately, Highland Belle and Rosemarie from Grimsby are still unaccounted for.’ Emma continued, ‘And I’ve been talking to the coastguard. The talk is that Northern Rose in Peterhead is due to sail tomorrow around lunchtime.’
‘Good work.’
‘And, they have a cold store and processing unit in Peterhead,’ added Emma, ‘From which they supply hotels and restaurants country-wide. I wonder why they don’t have a cold store in the South of England. It would make the distribution process simpler?’
‘The north side of London would be ideal,’ commented Kate. ‘Somewhere near Willesden, perhaps?’
‘Exactly!’ said Emma. ‘Anyway, I phoned their sales office in Peterhead, posing as the manager of a fish restaurant in South London. I enquired whether they operated around London. The reply was that their nearest depot was up North. They do deliveries to London, but there was a large minimum order. The person I spoke to believed there might be plans afoot to open a facility outside London, but she hadn’t been formally told as yet. She asked me to give her a ring in six months time.’
Kate frowned. ‘That ties in with the comment from Steve at Immigration about them looking to expand. So they could well have bought a property in the South of England.’
The phone rang. John picked it up. It was one of Jeremy’s MI5 colleagues. ‘Jeremy asked to be kept informed of the whereabouts of Basel Talal. Sorry for the delay; some information has just come through from the Belgian authorities. Your man, Talal, landed in Paris last Tuesday morning almost two hours before Jameel flew out from there to Marrakech. We don’t know if they met.’ The MI5 man hesitated. ‘As Basel had no onward flight we had assumed that he was staying in Paris. The boss, however, wanted us to be more thorough and we gained access to the French, Belgian and Dutch passenger manifests. It transpires that Basel hopped onto the TGV to Brussels, boarded a flight to Copenhagen and then flew on to Reykjavik. He must have antifreeze in his blood to go there at this time of year! We’ve sent an operative up to Reykjavik to investigate and another is keeping an eye on Jameel.’
‘Thanks,’ said John and hung up. ‘All of you, our man Basel has done a runner and – would you believe it… Gone to Iceland?’
Jeremy’s journey across town was straightforward and he arrived at the coffee bar with a couple of minutes to spare, wondering whether he had whetted Pete Lockyer’s appetite, or if he would be wasting his time.
Pete was on time. Jeremy watched him saunter into the cafe. He was of medium build, slightly paunchy with receding mousey-brown hair. His face told a story of too many late nights. Pete was smiling, which was presumably a good sign.
Pete spotted Jeremy, came over and sat down opposite him. Introductions out of the way, the coffees were ordered and they started chatting.
‘What have you got that makes it worth my while being here?’ asked Pete bluntly.
‘I am doing a bit of undercover work on a rather wealthy individual who has his fingers in some interesting pies and I’m not certain what’s in it for you yet.’ Jeremy watched Pete. He didn’t look overly pleased.
‘Have you ever met a real spook before? I thought not. Well at least this can be marked down as part of your professional training.’
Pete had been studying Jeremy, who was athletic in build and had one of those faces that was handsome but didn’t stand out. Pete realised he wanted to find out more.
‘Are you really MI5?’
‘Yep, have a look at this.’
Pete scrutinised Jeremy’s MI5 warrant card, looked up at his smiling face and considered things. He’d just put a good story to bed and had a second almost completed. He didn’t really need another one right now. But he did have a spare hour or so. What the hell! The spook was fascinating.