Light of the Sun: They always make a mistake and when they do, we kill them... Read online

  ‘What do you mean, that the Spanish have the DNA of a British citizen?’ asked Bryant.

  Aspinall looked at Fraser and the other man in the room Jim Broad for approval to continue.

  ‘Go ahead please Caroline,’ said Fraser.

  She looked back to Bryant before continuing. Aspinall pressed a button on the table in front of her and the screen on the wall brought up the video of a young woman.

  Margaret Brown looked every bit her young age. Her clothing was Western, her dark hair pulled back severely in a ponytail, her blue eyes looked straight ahead at the screen, and she seemed to be speaking without a script. There was a white sheet hanging on the wall behind her with words written in black in Arabic across it. She spoke clearly in English her London accent was still strong as she spoke.

  ‘All praise to the father, Allah be his name. I am Margaret Brown, but my chosen name is Fatimah, and I am a soldier of the Islamic Jihad. My eyes were covered by the scales of the many false gods of the Western devils, but the work and love of the Prophet all praises to his name removed those scales and filled me with the desire to serve him however I can. Now I will bring his wrath as a soldier to those same infidels who blaspheme and ignore the will of the one true God that is Allah. I call on all our brothers and sisters to join our cause and attack these infidels wherever you find them.’

  She then seemed to look at a space above the camera at someone hidden there for approval, then a male voice spoke in English with a slight Middle Eastern accent, ‘Allah be praised, God is Great.’ Just before the camera was switched off and the screen went blank.

  ‘You see Sir Martin; this was no ordinary woman. Margaret Brown was originally as has been said from East London. The family still live there, and Special Branch are raiding the family home as we speak but I don’t think they’ll find anything. Margaret Brown left the UK over five years ago and as far as we know has never returned. When she lived here she got involved with a crowd of Palestinian activists and was arrested during a demonstration outside the Israeli Embassy here in London. She was only sixteen at the time but because of that arrest she was fingerprinted, and her photo and DNA taken. When she was questioned the report showed that she was into the whole Middle East scenario as she felt the Palestinians were being persecuted by the Jews and the rest of the Western World. She was thought by her interviewers to be a low risk and not of any use from a recruitment point of view. A few years later we find her name popping up again logged as a passenger on a flight to Egypt, but it would now appear that the trip was one way and she never returned to these shores. We, as you know Sir Martin, share a database with other European intelligence agencies and Interpol. After the Barcelona suicide bombing last week, the Spanish fed the bomber’s DNA, fingerprints, and a photo of the woman’s head, which considering she’d blown herself up, was pretty much intact, into the system and up popped that long-lost file of Margaret Brown. The video was released to the various Arab and Islamic Networks and put on social media sites which proves that the DNA and fingerprint evidence is correct confirming the bomber was indeed Margaret Brown or as she has now identified herself Fatimah.’

  ‘Can we find out where she went, who she got involved with and why she did this,’ asked Bryant.

  Aspinall looked to Sir Ian Fraser once more before replying.

  ‘As with all these situations, it will have to be a combined effort. The Anti-Terrorist Squad have already started with the searches and follow-up enquiries where she lived and grew up. They will be looking into her school life and any other involvement in Middle East activities. Five will chase up any information here at home, we’ll also be checking the family’s phones and computers for any contact with her. Then I believe it will be over to Six to see what she did outside the country.’

  Now it was the turn of Fraser to present the part MI6 would have to play in researching the life of Margaret Brown.

  ‘You have to understand Martin, although we have Embassies in most of the countries in the Middle East and Africa, we have very few actual agents on the ground. We have sent out the usual request, asking them to find out what they can as a matter of urgency. However, between ourselves and the NSA we do have good technical and eavesdropping coverage. The people at GCHQ and the NSA at Fort Meade have become experts in giving us a heads up on what they call chatter.’

  ‘So, no heads up this time then?’ asked Bryant.

  ‘Not as such. They got nothing in the build-up, they’re getting too smart for that, a few seconds conversation on a mobile phone can bring a Hellfire Missile fired from a drone down on their head. But GCHQ and the NSA did get some chatter afterwards when the jihadist groups started to cheer and celebrate Barcelona. They all started to mention the Arab. We have an idea who he is, from years of following any mention of him. The file shows he has been at this sort of stuff for some time. He may have even lived in this country for a time as a student.’

  The MI6 chief sat behind his desk and pressed a couple of buttons on a remote control. The curtains on the large windows closed and the video monitor on the wall lit up to show a grainy headshot of what looked like a bearded man wearing sunglasses and the traditional Arab headdress a red and white checked shemagh. From the background it looked like the picture had been taken in what could only be described as any Middle Eastern town.

  At the same time, a man of around thirty-five years came into the room and stood in front of the screen.

  ‘Can I introduce for those of you who don’t know him Matthew Simons our head of the Middle East desk.’ said Fraser. ‘He will talk us through all we know about the Arab. Matthew over to you.’

  Simons was about six-foot-tall, slim, short dark hair with the tan and brown eyes of someone who might have been born in the Middle East, clean shaven wearing a short sleeved open neck shirt he had the body of someone who looked after himself.

  ‘Thank you, Sir Ian.’

  The voice was Oxford educated as Broad knew from his many past meetings with Simons. He also knew Simons was born in Gibraltar where his father met his wife while serving with the Royal Navy. He spoke Pashto and many of the other Arabic languages with the gift of sounding like a local when he did.

  ‘This photo was taken at a Palestinian camp in Gaza by an agent working for Mossad. There was a party going on in the streets to celebrate 9/11, and the Mossad agent was there celebrating with the rest of them taking a few snaps with his camera phone. It turned out after questioning by the agents’ handlers, the man in the photo seemed to be important. He had a few bodyguards and people referred to him as the Arab. Mossad then took up some interest in this man, and they’ve spent some time in finding out who he was. The reason Mossad told us all this and gave us some access to the file, was because it turns out our Arab friend here may have attended university in this country. Plus, we are inclined to think the job our SG9 people did in Manchester taking out the joint IRA and Islamic Jihad team might have endeared them to us for a little while. We like to think that when it comes to the Islamic threat, we are all in this together when sharing intelligence that affects everyone of us.’

  These words stirred some recent memories in all present, especially those of Jim Broad who, as Director of Operations for the SG9 unit during Operation Long Shot, had seen his team take out three terrorists and arrest one with one escaping. The operation had prevented the assassination of the Prime Minister of the UK. SG9 was now, to put it crudely, the killing arm in the clandestine war against terrorist groups operating against the people of the UK wherever they might raise their heads, it was now the job of SG9 to find them and eliminate them. The decision to create the Department or SG9, was known to only a few, as a necessary evil to combat the rising war of terrorism that was attacking every civilised country in the world, especially in the West. It had been decided that prison only made Islamic Terrorists more dangerous for three reasons, being Martyrs to the cause, they indoctrinated their fellow inmates creating more terrorists, and they cost countries a fortune in security
before eventually having been released after serving their term in prison, then they inevitably went straight back to their old ways, deadlier and wiser.

  Broad remembered the words of Winston Churchill, when he said in the context of the Second World War ‘The only way to defeat terror is with greater terror.’ The Israelis, the Russians, the Americans had all come to realise this and formed their own Black Ops units to combat the disease that terrorism, especially Islamic Terrorism brought to the world. Broad thought you couldn’t negotiate or talk to these people, they did not want to talk, they only wanted to kill you. It was now the job of intelligence agencies throughout the world to track them down and kill them first, ‘Big Boys Rules’ as it was known in the undercover war the Secret Agencies around the world now had to work in.

  Matthew Simons turned once more to the screen on the wall and pressing a button on the remote once more brought up a file page marked TOP SECRET.

  ‘Now let us have a look at what we have on the Arab, the man in the grainy photo. This file has been compiled by the analysts from many agencies working together, including our own intelligence agencies from Five, Six, and GCHQ. If Mossad are right, then this man did attend university in this country some time ago. If you can keep your questions until after I’ve finished we can discuss further at length. The file shows the basic background, and I have to say we should not get bogged down in all this, a lot of it is guesswork and speculation. Our friend is better known as Abdullah Mohammad Safrah. Born in Gaza in 1978 we first find him in this country attending the London School of Economics between 2002 and 2005 where he obtained a First in Economics. This part is fact, five have checked the records and he was here during that time and lived in a bedsit on Edgeware Road. The usual student life, but no sign of student politics or groups. After leaving the LSE; he then, according to Mossad, turned up for more educational training at the Bir Zeit University on the West Bank, where he studied Physics, before moving to the Mansoura University in Egypt to study medicine, graduating as a Doctor in General Practice. Mossad believe this is where he may have been fully radicalised, becoming involved at first with the Islamic Brotherhood, and then moving on to the PIJ, an offshoot of the Palestinian Liberation Organisation. Founding members of the PIJ believed that the PLO had become too soft, and their founding charter is the destruction of Israel by Holy War or Jihad as we know it. Our friend Abdullah, it would appear, put his education to good use at first; practising medicine in Kuwait, Bahrain, and then back in his homeland of Gaza. It is believed he then joined up with his comrades in the PIJ to help Hezbollah in Lebanon in their war with Israel. While in Beirut we have him in the hospital there, putting his medical knowledge to good use, and according to reports from the Red Cross and the UN, he was good at his job and well liked. He is the eldest of seven children and the thing that might have changed his whole outlook on life from helping people to killing them, may have been an airstrike by Israel on a suspected PIJ commander in Gaza in May 2008. The bombs not only hit their target, but one at least overshot hitting a civilian area killing two of his family - a brother Hassan and a sister Yasmin. He then disappears off the radar in Lebanon, but it’s believed he ended up in Iran, specifically Tehran where his links to extreme Islamic Jihad movements, such as Hezbollah and al-Qaeda, became stronger. Again, his masters recognised him as a leader, a man of quality. He was trained in all the terrorist ways on how to kill, using bombs, guns, knives, and his hands. But where he excelled, was as a planner. He would impress his trainers with his ideas and how to carry them out. As I said at the start, a lot of this is second-hand hearsay, but from our experiences of the Middle East and how these groups operate, it can be assumed to be fairly accurate. Over to you if you have any questions.’

  As he spoke Simons had changed the pictures on the screen from the Red Cross and UN symbols to what looked like a terrorist training camp somewhere in the Middle East for effect.

  Sir Martin Bryant spoke first.

  ‘I can see your concern with the fact he went to university here, and that Margaret Brown also spent time in this country, but how does this link the two. I need to confirm there is a threat before I see the Prime Minister?’

  ‘I understand Martin,’ said Ferguson, ‘but as we said at the start it was through the chatter picked up by the technical spooks that has linked the Arab with Margaret Brown. We will put all our people on it and come back to you when we have more. In the meantime, I would suggest the PM say as little as he can about Margaret Brown. He should only state that for a time she lived in this country many years ago, and after she left there is nothing more known. That way we make the Arab and his friends think we are totally in the dark. In a slight fog maybe, but not totally in the dark. As you know, Martin, I’m taking the opportunity to meet with my fellow Directors of the CIA and Mossad in London before the end of December. At the same time, I’ve already asked them that we put the Arab top of the agenda when we meet.’

  ‘So, while we wait for more information, we don’t need to upgrade our state of alert for the moment?’ asked Bryant.

  When there is intelligence that indicates a threat to the UK mainland it is assessed by the Joint Terrorism Analysis Centre (JTAC) which makes its recommendations on the level of threat to the country, independent of government. Bryant knew that the threat level was currently at its second highest level out of a list of five, judged as severe meaning a terrorist attack to be highly likely.

  ‘No,’ answered Fraser, ‘it should remain as severe for the moment, and I think we can leave it there for now.’

  The highest state of alert in the United Kingdom was imminent and that would be only announced when clear information indicated an attack was going to take place. For now, severe indicating a threat of attack which realistically was always the case, would be enough. No need to panic the population, the press, or most importantly the politicians just yet, thought Fraser. The meeting broke up with Bryant leaving to brief the Prime Minister on how to spin the Brown girl’s story. But Fraser asked Jim Broad to stay behind.

  Chapter 3

  The Arab had stayed in Rome for three days, taking in the sights and relaxing in the sun while drinking black coffee outside the many pavement cafes. He always drank his coffee black when he travelled outside the Middle East. The Western coffee was not strong enough, and he missed the coffee of his homelands of Egypt, Palestine, and Iran. The coffee there would always be sipped with a side glass of water, and when he could get it some fruit, an orange or apple. His days spent in London had been good training on how to keep below the radar and fit in to the picture around him. People and waiters would pass him by, taking no notice of the clean-shaven well-dressed man of Middle East appearance with the Pilot Sunglasses, smart suit, and Italian leather shoes. After three days the Arab had booked out of his hotel. He took connecting flights first to Istanbul in Turkey then on to Damascus in Syria. There he had a meeting with his contacts in the Syrian intelligence to discuss a weapons supply across the border into Iraq, to be used by Islamic Jihad fighters. From there he took a plane to Iran. When he arrived at Imam Khomeini International Airport in Tehran the taxi from the airport took him north on the Tehran South Freeway to his villa in the district of Said Abad on the outskirts of the city. He opened some windows to let the air flow through. Although he had aircon, he had found that if he opened windows at the front and rear of the house the air flowing through created a natural wind tunnel making it more refreshing. He started up the motor to pull back the pool covering and went and changed, throwing his bag on to the bed, he could unpack later; he needed a swim first. After ten lengths of the pool, he went through his ritual of prayers to Allah kneeling on a mat on the grass beside the pool. When he was in the West his prayers were done in secret. He avoided any contact with the local Muslim communities or Mosques, which he knew were under constant surveillance by the intelligence agencies in those countries, why take chances when you did not need to. He dressed in fresh Arab clothing and ate a cold dinner alone. He made
one phone call to let his masters know he was back and arranged to meet the next day.

  The next morning brought a clear blue sky with a slight breeze that once more flowed through the house. He loved the mornings here best. It made him feel alive and alert, ready for whatever the day would bring. Today he dressed in light casual slacks and a white short-sleeved open neck shirt and pulled on his favourite Italian leather moccasins. Collecting his wallet, mobile phone, and keys to his white Mercedes, he left the villa and drove the car east towards the centre of Tehran. Traffic was busy even for the late morning, but he had given himself plenty of time to arrive early for meetings, taking that time to check the area and your surroundings for enemy surveillance. In the centre of Iran there should be no enemy surveillance, but he had been fighting his enemies far too long to take chances. The CIA and Mossad were more than capable and could operate anywhere in the world where they believed danger to come from. He parked in a shopping centre multi-storey car park in the Panzdah e Khordad city centre area and made his way on foot through the centre entering and leaving some of the shops but not buying anything until a newsagents, where he bought the Tehran Times. By the time he had circled the café twice, the two men he had come to meet were already sitting outside drinking their coffee. The café was on the edge of the city’s famous Grand Bazaar, and hundreds of people were milling around the shops and stalls, making it easy to get lost in a crowd, or hard to spot someone in the crowd; so the café location had both its good points and bad. As he approached he could see at least four bodyguards, two sitting at one of the tables close to his contacts and two standing a short distance away. None of the four made any attempt to conceal who they were. They were here to protect their masters, not act as secret agents.