The Rift by Rachel Lynch (good book recommendations txt) 📕

have to. I’ve been mulling it over in my head. I’m seconded to Interpol right now. Sir Conrad might have personally asked me to keep him briefed, and I can prove that I tried to call him several times, only to be blocked by Palmer. But, at the moment my line manager is Sylvia Drogan. Actually, I don’t have to involve you at all. When the time’s right, I’ll involve the head of Counter Terrorism, Peter Knowles. I actually don’t know why I’ve been so concerned about what Sir Conrad thinks of me.’

‘It’s because Palmer is in his ear, bad-mouthing you. It’s got under your skin,’ he said. He smiled.

She turned away and read the rest of Angelo’s email, trying to absorb the figures and company names, but she didn’t need to because Angelo had drawn her a diagram, predicting her bemusement.

‘Holy shit,’ she said.

‘What? Are you all right?’ Grant panicked.

‘No, no, I’m fine. This intern has been working all day on that money trail. He’s found out that a single transaction of ten million dollars was wired via Rafik Mining and Minerals to a phosphate mineral company in Morocco.’

‘So? He’s in mining, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, but the goods came from Mali.’

‘Ten million dollars’ worth of phosphate minerals from Mali?’ he asked.

‘Exactly – it stinks,’ she said.

‘You know what’s worth ten million dollars to someone like Fawaz that the Malian government might have lying around from their civil war, funded by the French?’ he asked.

‘C4,’ she said.

Chapter 45

Helen stood in Sylvia’s office, bolstered with coffee, reflecting on the previous evening. She and Grant had travelled through the night, arriving back in Lyon around two a.m. They’d gone back to her apartment and chewed over their theory about C4, the mouldable plastic explosive that had more complete destructive power than TNT. She had no choice but to move on it.

‘I promised you twelve hours at seven p.m.,’ she’d told him when they woke. They’d fallen fitfully asleep on adjacent sofas and when the dawn light peeked through her curtains, she’d rubbed her eyes in disbelief at the man who slept opposite her.

At seven a.m., she’d called Peter and Sylvia. It was Saturday morning, but they both agreed to meet her in Peter’s office.

She hadn’t mentioned Grant by name – yet, and she still hoped she wouldn’t have to.

Everything she’d learned about Fawaz’s operation, the shipment and Rafik was laid out before them. Sylvia stood against the vast window, tapping a pen on her teeth. Peter strode up and down the office. Helen had made her case for delicacy regarding a hard pursuit of Fawaz and the potentially fatal outcome for Hakim.

‘I’ll have to involve the NSCT in Washington,’ Peter said finally.

The National Strategy for Counter Terrorism dealt with all threats to US citizens. Helen had to concede that what she’d uncovered transcended any incidental or localised threat levels and now involved every member of the summit. The timing was too pertinent to ignore. But the biggest and most concerning unknown was Fawaz’s whereabouts.

‘It’s unlikely this will remain our investigation,’ Peter said. ‘Everything needs to be shared from now on. I’m awaiting direction from the FBI and CIA, as well as MI6.’

Helen felt flat. Peter spotted her deflation.

‘It doesn’t mean we won’t be involved, Helen. You’re the one who did all the work on this. The Americans want to meet us in Paris ASAP. I hope you don’t mind me observing that I think you’re wasted in the army. Maybe you should transfer to us permanently?’ Peter said. She looked at him.

‘What, you mean join the civilian police and transfer?’ she asked.

‘Not necessarily. We employ all kinds of experts. We’d have to get it signed off by the MOD, but we can be very persuasive.’

‘You’d do that?’ she asked.

‘I would. I believe in you. What you’ve uncovered is the most important intel we’ve had this year. But we’ve got lots to do.’ He went to his laptop and tapped some keys; a plan was projected onto his white wall behind them. Helen let what he’d just said sink in as he carried on.

‘Surveillance is on the warehouse where the lorry arrived. All European ports, air and sea, are on high alert. Internet notices have been put on social media. By the way, we had intel from Five Eyes via the US Airforce this morning that Fawaz has been confirmed as absent from his property for four days. It came from a Global Hawk surveying the Sahara. I admire your balls for insisting that we don’t go busting in and lose the chance to find Hakim Dalmani, which is still our mission priority as part of Interpol yellow notice. What it does mean, though, as I’m sure you’re acutely aware, is that the price on Hakim’s head is even bigger now and will grow out of control if Fawaz gets a whiff we’re on to him. I should imagine that Washington will have it on their radar for the president’s visit – if they get in before us, Hakim, I’m afraid, might be put down as collateral damage.’

‘If only we could find him,’ Helen said.

‘That’s exactly what we’re going to do,’ he said.

‘Let’s get cracking then,’ Sylvia said in her Irish lilt. ‘We’re calling it Operation Tradewind. Fraud is drawing up a case against Nabil Tradings, and their accounts have been frozen. We’ve made sure that the company has been informed and hope the information filters through to Fawaz, wherever he may be. Fingers crossed, it will act as a smokescreen, and he’ll think it’s yet another poke around in his business affairs. In the meantime, we need to find Hakim Dalmani. We’ve been given extra time to hold the two suspects arrested on Thursday, and they’ve been transferred here to our cells.’

‘Well done, Sylvia,’ Peter said.

‘Helen, you have interrogation experience, I believe?’ Sylvia said.

Helen nodded. She’d taken the Special Investigations Branch qualifications for the job in Afghanistan and had used them countless times. There was a fine line between what was legal