Full Black

CHAPTER 61

It was early Monday morning and Robert Ashford was taking his breakfast at his tidy little row house at number 22 Portobello Road in London’s Notting Hill. Like many people around the world, he had his television on and was watching scenes from the terrorist attacks that had taken place in America over the last couple of days. Spread out on the dining table in front of him was a cross-section of domestic and international newspapers, along with reports from MI5 and MI6.

When his phone rang, he figured it was yet another call from his office. He had come home only long enough to shower, change, and get something to eat, but the calls had kept coming. Both MI5 and MI6 were desperate to make sure that what had happened in the United States didn’t happen in Britain.

Of course Ashford knew they didn’t have anything to worry about, at least not from the group pulling off all the attacks in the United States, but he had to play along and appear distraught and quite concerned that the United Kingdom could very well be next.

He was surprised when the voice on the other end of the phone didn’t belong to someone from his office at all, but to Reed Carlton back in the U.S.A.

“I’m very sorry for what has happened,” said Ashford, who then moved the receiver away from his mouth so he could take a bite of toast.

“Thank you, Robert. The attacks have been devastating to our country. I’m sure it’s all over the TVs there, but you have no idea what it’s like over here.”

Ashford remembered the 7/7 attacks in London and tried to recollect his feelings from that day to stir up some convincing sympathy for the Americans. “Terrible, terrible business, all of this,” he said. “I understand the prime minister has been in touch with your president and has given our condolences and pledge of support.”

“He has, and I’m sure it was very much appreciated. That’s actually why I’m calling,” replied Carlton.

Ashford was about to take a sip of tea, but, his interest piqued, he changed his mind and set the cup back down. “You know, if there’s anything at all we can do for you…”

“I’m hoping there is. The only problem is that it’s kind of delicate.”

“Delicate in what fashion?” the MI5 man asked warily.

“We have some leads independent of the FBI and CIA back here that we’re running down and it would help us tremendously if we could liaise with your office in a somewhat unofficial capacity.”

“That hasn’t been a problem before. We have a relationship with your organization and if there are any connections to what happened in America and British interests or British citizens, then I can very much guarantee that any resources we have would be at your disposal.”

“Thank you, Robert,” replied Carlton. “That’s good to hear. Especially right now. Between you and me, things are in absolute turmoil here.”

“I can only imagine.” Ashford waited a moment and then said, “Were you calling just to put us on notice that some requests may be coming or was there something specific you needed?”

“Both, actually. I know before the most recent attacks happened, you said you had some information we might find useful and wanted to see what we had been able to compile, particularly as it had to do with Aazim Aleem.”

“And that offer still stands.”

Carlton decided it was time to bait the hook. “Were you aware that Aazim had a nephew?”

“Really? I didn’t know that, but these people do often come from large families, so it isn’t too much of a shock to discover. Was the nephew a British citizen as well?”

“Unfortunately, he is.”

“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?” asked Ashford.

“There’s a good part and a bad part. I’ll give you the bad news first,” said the Old Man. “The nephew ran all of his uncle’s IT operations, and he did so from London.”

“Past tense,” noted the MI5 man. “Does that mean he’s no longer among the living?”

“No, and that’s my good news. We have him.”

“Really?” said Ashford, trying to sound calm. “You know, it’s not going to play well if it gets out that you ran your own little operation and snatched a British citizen from British soil.”

“We didn’t grab him in Britain.”

Even though the MI5 man already knew that, he asked, “Where was he when you took him? Pakistan?”

“Someplace a lot blonder, but I’d rather not get into the details over the phone.”

“Of course not.”

“Our problem is that he had a preexisting heart condition and there was a complication when we began his interrogation.”

“What kind of complication?” said Ashford.

“He had a heart attack.”

“What’s his prognosis?”

Carlton was honest with him. “We think he’ll be okay, eventually. But in the meantime, our hands are somewhat tied, as you can understandably appreciate, as to how forceful we can be in our interrogation. If we’re not careful, the concern is we could cause him to have another heart attack and he could die.”

“You are in a bind, aren’t you?”

“That’s where we were hoping you could help. I’m sure the Security Service has you busy, but if they could see fit to part with you for a few days we’d like to have you come assist us in the interrogation as well as making sense of some of the backgrounds of the terrorists involved in the recent attacks,” said Carlton, adding, “I have to be honest with you, Robert. We are completely in the dark.”

Ashford smiled, lifted his cup, and took a sip of tea. “I’ll call the director general right now.”

“Thank you, Robert. I really appreciate this.”

“Not at all, Peaches. You know I’d do anything for you. After all, we’re allies, aren’t we?”

The men spoke for a few more minutes about the trip. Carlton explained that because commercial air travel had been suspended, he’d be glad to send a plane for Ashford. The MI5 man appreciated the gesture and thought it was a good idea as it would demonstrate to the director general how seriously the Americans needed Ashford’s help.

After the rough details were hammered out, they said good-bye and Ashford hung up the phone. Walking to his study, he removed the encrypted phone he used to contact James Standing and dialed his number. Despite the very late hour back in the States, the billionaire was wide awake.

“I have good news,” said Ashford.

“It can only improve your situation. What is it?”

Standing was still very upset that not only had the LAX attack been nearly completely foiled, none of the other airport attacks had succeeded either. Upon hearing the news, he had called Ashford and chewed him out.

“Reed Carlton has asked me to come over and assist with the investigation in the attacks.”

“Well, you can pack light. He’ll soon learn how useless you are and send you home.”

Ashford fought to keep his anger under control. “For your information, I just learned that it was the Carlton Group who took down the rabbit hutch.”

Standing was silent for a moment. “Finally, you’ve produced something useful. A little bit late, but still useful.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Don’t be a smartass with me, Ashford. If you want attaboys, join a cricket team. I’m paying you for results. So Carlton is dumb enough to think you can somehow help with their investigations. Was there anything else you wanted to waste my time with?”

“They have Oxford’s nephew in custody.”

“Why should we care?”

“Because according to Carlton, Oxford put his nephew in charge of his IT operations.”

“Who the fuck told that hook-handed simpleton that he could do that?” Standing demanded.

Aazim’s handicap should have concerned them from the beginning. In hindsight it wasn’t unthinkable that he would take someone into his confidence to help him with computer-related things, especially a young family member. Believing that the terrorist leader, with nothing but time on his proverbial hands, gladly sat around typing out messages, hunting and pecking on his keyboard with the steel tips of his prosthetic hooks, had been a mistake.

“The good news is that so far, they haven’t been able to get any information out of the nephew. Apparently, he had some sort of heart attack shortly after they took him into custody.”

“And how the hell did they pull that off? I’m assuming the nephew was a Brit. Or was he some backwards-ass relation living in a mud hut in some Arab country?” said Standing.

“He’s British,” replied Ashford, “but to quote Carlton, they grabbed him someplace blond.”

“Uppsala.”

“I think maybe now we know who was seen being laid down in the back of that car and driven away.”

“You’d better make sure the nephew has another heart attack. Do you understand me? I want him silenced.”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Ashford. “Don’t worry.”

“Fuck you, don’t worry. I am worried. Do you have any idea how close we are?”

Ashford had no idea if the question was rhetorical, but knowing Standing, it probably was, so he didn’t bother to reply.

“We’re buying oranges tomorrow,” said the billionaire.

Ashford couldn’t believe it. “So soon?”

“I’m not waiting any longer. I have everything I need in place and that’s all that matters.”

The MI5 man knew that the orange attacks were paired with another color-coded attack, and it reminded him of a nursery rhyme from his youth:

Oranges and lemons,

Say the bells of St. Clement’s.

Bull’s eyes and targets,

Say the bells of St. Marg’ret’s.

Here comes a candle to light you to bed,

And here comes a chopper to chop off your head.

“We’ll need lemons,” said Ashford, pausing. “According to the recipe, that’s the next ingredient. Should I contact our grocer?”

“No,” replied Standing. “I’ll contact him. You go handle things with the Carlton people.”

“I will. I’ll make sure everything is taken care of.”

“You’d better,” said the billionaire. “And one other thing, Robert.”

“What’s that?”

“When the next wedge of black swans sails into their pond, try to look surprised.”

Before Ashford could say anything in return, Standing had once again hung up on him.