The Rift, Rachel Lynch [books recommended by bts .txt] 📗

it quickly. There were several high-ranking officers from the US military, all male, as well as some suits, sat at a large table, over which was positioned a huge screen. Special Agent Roy White strode over to her and extended his hand, but she saw no sign of Sir Conrad. The arrogant idiot, she thought. Better for her, though.

Peter introduced her, and she sat down opposite the uniformed officers and suits, including Peter and Roy.

‘Major Scott has been piecing together the facts from the very beginning,’ Peter said, ‘and we now have solid evidence that an attack will take place directly on the members of the summit, notably the UK prime minister and the British ambassador here in Paris.’

‘Where is he?’ Roy White asked.

‘The ambassador is busy making final arrangements for the prime minister’s arrival early tomorrow morning,’ Peter answered.

Helen took a deep breath and ran over the facts in her head. The room went silent, and all eyes were on her.

‘This morning, before I left Lyon, I was part of a team that recovered Hakim Dalmani from an address in Le Croix-Rousse, an area in which we long suspected he was held by associates of Fawaz bin Nabil.’ She took a breath. ‘Hakim’s stable.’ Sylvia had texted her while she was in the air to say so. ‘We have four men currently in custody and have raided over fifteen addresses so far. There is strong evidence to suggest that bin Nabil is planning an armed drone strike here in Paris. He is now confirmed as inside Europe – something that slipped past us all.

‘We did think that we’d apprehended contraband shipped by Fawaz on Sunday evening, but it turned out to be a dummy, and once again, we’re reminded of how complex this operation is. We have been told by Khalil Dalmani that Fawaz Nabil used his son as a pawn to leverage shipping vehicles to import contraband to Europe. We don’t know for sure, but we think it’s C4 bought in Mali, off the government, for ten million dollars.’

She waited while this information sunk in.

‘C4? God damn! How in the hell did a douchebag like Fawaz get hold of ten million dollars’ worth of C4?’ a three-star general butted in, but she’d expected it.

‘Were there any Global Hawks up in the air over southern Morocco and Mali in the last week?’ she asked. The three-star had so many medals, it was hard to see past his chest. He looked to the man to his left, who ruffled through some notes. He nodded. ‘Yes, there were several fly-bys over the new pipeline being built in southern Morocco.’

‘Right, we need to search that footage for vehicles crossing the Moroccan border along the border with Mauritania and down to North Mali. Maybe a convoy, but surely busy traffic for those parts. They’ll have headed to Algiers after that. A shipment came in to Marseilles yesterday evening carrying Fawaz’s contraband, and we hope we’ve traced it to a warehouse here in Paris, close to the Gare du Nord district.’

‘Wait a minute, what about motive? Fawaz has never been political or a zealous nut,’ another general interjected.

Peter nodded to her.

‘The transaction for the C4—’ Helen began, but was interrupted.

‘What you think is C4,’ said the general.

‘What we think is C4,’ she conceded. ‘The transaction went through a company registered in London called Rafik Mining and Minerals. Rafik was Fawaz Nabil’s eldest son. He was picked up in London five years ago on terror charges, and extradited back to Morocco, where, we believe, he was tortured to death. Sir Conrad Temple-Cray signed the order, and it came out of the then Home Secretary’s office.’

‘Who is that?’

‘Our current prime minister,’ Helen said.

The two generals whistled.

‘We know he’s making drones – we now think they’re going to be armed with C4,’ she added.

‘You’ll never get close to Versailles with drones,’ Roy White stated.

‘I would have agreed with you but I did some digging. If the drones aren’t assembled until they’re on site, there’s no reason why any sniffer dogs, cardon-dioxide sensors, thermal imaging or any such technology would pick up the components.’

The three-star laughed. ‘There’s no one on the planet who can assemble drones that fast, ready to set off at the summit tomorrow.’

‘Actually, we think there is,’ Helen said. Peter pushed some buttons, and a photograph came up on their huge screen. They studied the man’s face; he looked amenable, gentle and harmless, like anyone’s grandad.

‘This is Mustafa ibn Tafila. He’s been Nabil Tradings’ structural engineer since he was in his late twenties, when Fawaz put him through college. The man’s a genius. We’ve put a tail on him, and we’re raiding his workshop at his home in Marseilles, where he’s semi-retired, in about ten minutes.’

She had maintained their interest and now they were taking her seriously. Peter nodded to her.

‘We understand that the president won’t change his plans. The same goes for our PM. I’m taking charge of his close protection, but can I borrow some of your guys?’

Roy White nodded and made some notes.

‘We’ve got less than twenty-four hours before sixty VIPs sit down to the welcoming dinner in the Hall of Mirrors tomorrow evening,’ Roy White said. ‘I want the place turned upside down. I haven’t even got any nets covering the airspace,’ he added.

‘Shoot them down,’ suggested the three-star.

Roy White looked at Helen.

‘With respect’ – Helen smiled – ‘drones can’t be shot down – they’re too quick and small. Only nets deployed from aircraft or launchers can be effectively used, and then you need to see them coming.’

‘But if they’re being built on site, surely we’ll know?’

‘Let’s make sure of it,’ Roy White said.

‘How much damage can a small mechanical drone really cause?’

Roy White looked at her again.

‘With a cigarette-packet size of C4 in it, plenty,’ Helen replied. ‘The question is, who will arm them and from where.’

Chapter 53

Helen hadn’t slept. The ambassador had arranged for her to have a room at the embassy, usually reserved for visiting civil servants