Zero Option

With him came a sidekick in the form of a burly detective sergeant called Denis Haynes, wearing a hairy tweed jacket, and a blonde, pale-faced young woman detective constable with looks reminiscent of Barbra Streisand. At the first introduction I missed her name, but it turned out to be Karen Terraine.

In the ops room Mac gave the newcomers a short brief. Fraser's most urgent request was for a room that could act as a control centre for the duration of the incident: somewhere with secure comms in which his own staff and the CID could work alongside each other, with immediate recourse to the military if they needed it. The request presented no problem, because up there, on the first floor of the Kremlin, one room was kept ready for just such an emergency. After a quick look, the commander pronounced it ideal.

Mac realised that the visitors' next most pressing need was to get some food and drink down their necks, so he handed Fraser a print-out of the statement I'd given earlier in the night and despatched us all to the sergeants' mess for breakfast.

As the others started down the stairs I hung back with Mac and asked, 'How much can I tell him, Boss?'

'Anything he wants to know,' he replied. 'With Special Branch, no problem.'

Until that moment I hadn't felt hungry, but as I led the party through the dining room towards the kitchen counter, the smell of bacon brought my appetite alive, and I got myself a big fry-up: two eggs, bacon, sausages, potatoes, tomatoes — the lot. So did Fraser and his sergeant, but I noticed that the woman DC, who had a cracking figure, stuck to tea and a piece of toast.

For privacy we took over a separate table, and as we sat down I saw Fraser look at me in an appraising but sympathetic way. 'Just in from South America, are you?'

'That's right.'

'Not a very nice homecoming, I'm afraid.'

I suddenly felt choked, so I simply shook my head.

'Not to worry- we'll get the villains sorted. You may not know, but there's a major incident plan permanently in place for just this kind of emergency.

Within that framework there are three planned responses — one for airport hijack, one for siege and one for hostage-rescue. In your case, the hostage recovery plan, Operation Beehive, is already under way.'

'Sounds OK. But what does it involve?'

'In this case, surveillance on all flights to Ireland, north and south. Increased surveillance on suspected I1LA players resident in this country, and increased surveillance on safe houses used by them. Numerous other checks. We'll be looking to see if certain characters are going about their business as normal, or whether they appear to have taken a sudden holiday.

We'll put word out through our touts that special payments are in prospect for the right information. Of course, I can't promise anything — but what I can tell you is that our responses are frequently tested on major exercises, and we're confident they work. Now — wait while I read these notes.'

Nobody spoke while Fraser went through the printout, eating as he read. Then he brought out a mobile phone, dialled, turned away from us, and had a short conversation, his voice too low for me to hear.

Turning back, he said, 'I just threw three or four names into the frame. What about this fellow Farrell?

What was he doing in Colombia?'

I gave him an outline of what had happened: how, after Farrell and his colleagues had lifted our rupert and two diplomats from a restaurant near the British Embassy in Bogoti, our follow-up attempt to rescue them had taken us to a brand-new laboratory built deep in the jungle. Fraser listened carefully as I explained how the woman had been killed and the two men saved, but I sensed that his real interest lay in Ulster.

'When your wife was killed… how did you find out who was behind the bomb?'

'Through contacts in the RUC.'

'Who do you know there?'

'A man called Morrison, mainly — a chief superintendent. He came over to lecture us when we were on the Northern Ireland course.'

'Morrison, Morrison… I know him. A good man, that; he'll help us. Are there any of your colleagues I can talk to?'

'About Farrell? Not really. None of our guys saw him in Northern Ireland. The people who do know all about him are the Det — the int boys in Belfast. They've got a big file on him.'

'All right. We'll get anything relevant sent over by secure fax.'

'Can I ask you something?'

'Of course.'

'What's this kidnap in aid of? I mean, what do they hope to get out of it?'

The reply was what I'd been expecting. 'Simple: they want Farrell back.'

'But what can I do about that? The man's in the nick in Bogotfi. At least, that's where I last heard of him. The Colombians could have topped him by now. They could have moved him somewhere else. I can't get anywhere near him.'

'I know, I know.' Fraser gave a flicker of a smile, quick but friendly. 'But now that these guys have managed to grab a bargaining counter they'll exploit it to the hilt.'

'What do you expect them to do?'

'They'll wait for a few days. Then they'll come up with a demand for a swap.'

'By phone?'

'Yep. They may call your home or the barracks here.

We'll get a tap on your own line — in fact, it's being done already.'

'What if they do come on?'

'Keep them talking as long as possible. The longer they're on, the better the chances we have of tracing the call. They'll try to keep things short, to cut down that possibility, so it's up to you to prevaricate.'

'So I pretend to negotiate — say that we're getting some action over Farrell or whatever…?'

'We'll come to that later — but basically, yes, make it sound as though things are moving at your end.'

'They won't ring from an ordinary number, though.

If they did, we could get straight on to it.'

'No. They'll use a mobile or a phone fitted with a chip that blocks any attempt to back-track calls.'

'Any idea where they'll be?'

'London, most likely. West London.'

'Why there?'

'Safety in numbers. It's such a vast conurbation, swallows people up. They've got safe houses there in places like Ealing, Acton. One problem is, the players keep shifting their ground. Here today, gone tomorrow.'

'Would they move the hostages too?'

'Less likely. There's always a risk someone will see them. Once they've got them somewhere secure, they'll probably keep them there.'

'Are these the people who've been planting the London bombs?'

'Could be.' He gave an enigmatic smile, as if he knew more than he wanted to say. 'The London Active Service Unit's pretty strong. By the way, where's that photograph?'

'The CID guy has it. Why?'

'I'll take possession of it presently. There are various techniques we can use on it — computer enhancement, for instance. I gather the two men are holding weapons?'

'That's right.'

'Well, if we blow the picture up and enhance areas of it with the computer, we may be able to make out numbers or other distinguishing marks on the pistols. It may turn out that one of the weapons has been used in a known crime elsewhere. Equally, there may be a small area of tattoo or a scar showing on a wrist or neck — something that may give us a clue to the identity of the men. You'd be surprised how much information an infinitesimally small piece of evidence can produce.