Cyberstrike by James Barrington (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

‘So what do you think killed him?’

The man from Five shook his head. ‘You know that their boat was rammed? Well, perhaps he hit his head on something when that happened. That could have caused bleeding inside his skull, but the doctor didn’t find any evidence of head injuries when he gave him the once-over, so maybe it was something else. I don’t know.’

North was experiencing something akin to déjà vu. What the man from the Security Service was describing seemed to him to be remarkably similar to what he had personally experienced in the helicopter above Brize Norton: a person apparently acting normally and then suddenly totally losing consciousness and with death supervening seconds or minutes later. But that suggested links and motives that appeared to dramatically increase the seriousness of the situation. And it could of course all be some kind of bizarre coincidence, though North really wasn’t a fan of that kind of explanation. It was certainly worth investigating, to get an answer to the obvious question.

‘You’ve probably got more top weight around here than I have, so let me suggest something for you to follow up. When they do the autopsy make sure they pay particular attention to the composition of his blood. What they’re looking for is a couple of unusual chemicals, but more importantly they need to fractionate a blood sample and check for a discolouration above the plasma layer.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘This was all new to me until a few days ago,’ North replied, ‘and I haven’t got time to explain it to you. Just remember what I’ve said and make sure that the pathologist who does the autopsy is made aware of this. I’ll submit a formal request to Millbank as soon as I get back to Vauxhall Cross to get it all in writing. But if what I suspect is true we – all of us – are looking at a much bigger problem than a couple of nasty bastards trying to blow up the Houses of Parliament using a sodding great IED.’

‘I still have no bloody clue what you’re talking about, but I will pass it on.’

Chapter 19

Heathrow, West London

Mahdi Sadir knew that something must have gone wrong, simply because all the news broadcasts he watched that evening on the wall-mounted flatscreen television in his hotel room just north of Heathrow Airport were mainlining on yet another government crisis. When they weren’t interviewing a couple of MPs or officials or alleged experts with diametrically opposed views, the newsreaders did their best to dissect the half-truths and rumours that passed for investigative journalism in British newspapers or banged on about sporting events about which Sadir knew nothing and cared less. But what they didn’t mention was an explosion, or indeed any other sort of an incident, on the River Thames.

So Sadir knew that the carefully planned attack must have failed, but what he didn’t know was how or why. The last mobile phone call he’d received from Hassan had suggested that the cabin cruiser had been on track and on time and that the vessel had attracted no attention whatsoever on its voyage. About the only thing he could deduce, from the lack of any further contact from the shahid, was that there hadn’t been a malfunction of the IED because in that case Hassan had been told to abort the attack and return to the boathouse, and to immediately call and explain the situation. If the blasting cap had been faulty, for example, it was possible that Sadir’s contact would be able to supply another one to allow the attack to be attempted again over the next few days. This probably meant that somehow the two shahids had been intercepted and stopped before they could detonate the explosives, and also that this had happened so quickly that Hassan had been unable to make a call to explain what was going on.

The only news item that appeared in any way relevant was one of those little filler pieces, tucked in to quite literally fill the time before the next ad break. It just stated that the sittings in both Houses at Westminster had been disrupted for about twenty minutes that afternoon because of a suspected gas leak. The building had been cleared as a precaution while the matter was investigated, and it turned out to be a false alarm. Most of the newsreaders made some kind of a weak joke about a gas leak in a building where people went to gas – to talk – and where leaks of one sort or another were all a part of normal government procedure.

Sadir did not find any part of this news item amusing in any way but it did peripherally confirm that the attack must have been detected and the building evacuated while Hassan and Khalid were either captured or killed.

Perhaps the only surprising thing was that there was also nothing on any of the social media sites that he visited about an incident on the Thames, and he was quite certain that somebody on one side or other of the river must have seen what happened. But he was also aware of the power of the British intelligence services and assumed that pressure had been brought to bear on the providers to ensure that nothing was promulgated. And of course if the press had got wind of it they could well have been told the incident was subject to a D-notice to prevent any publication.

Later that evening Sadir did find a couple of social media posts referring to what one person described as a collision on the water quite near the Palace of Westminster, the man who’d written the post suggesting it might have been a part of a film, a staged event. But after that, nothing.

Just before midnight, having spent the last five hours channel hopping on the television system and looking for any further information on the Internet, Sadir