The Alpha Particle

CHAPTER ONE

He could hardly feel his hands anymore. For almost nine months – nine whole months – he had been stuck in this depressingly bleak, desolate, artic hellhole. A featureless desert of snow, for as far as the eye could see. He thought only prisoners and those who worked on the pipelines got sent to Siberia. It never occurred to him, when he put himself forward for this programme, that the Russian army would choose that as a location for testing their latest weapon. All down to making sure that it could handle extremes of weather, apparently. Well, thankfully, this was to be his last day. Tomorrow, he got to go home to southern Russia – and some long overdue warmth. He couldn’t wait.

Lieutenant Alexei Nevsky had not spoken to his wife or children since he started his training. Top secret, the army told him. Couldn’t risk him accidentally mentioning something that he shouldn’t. His phone had been taken off him, but today he was reunited with it and he wasted no time.

Disappointingly his wife had not picked up her phone when he rang. Nevsky had decided that while he waited for her to call back he would step outside the base for a cigarette. But he had finished that five minutes ago. Despite having resorted to jogging on the spot and repeatedly blowing in his hands, he had reached the point where he couldn’t take the painfully bitter temperature anymore. As if he needed any more convincing, a huge snowflake had just hit his hand, indicating the start of yet another snowstorm. Perhaps remembering to take your gloves outside with you would have been a good idea, he considered. But in his defence, the excitement of speaking to his family had completely taken over his normally sensible thought process.

‘God, if I never see snow again, it would be too soon,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Come on, Maria. Where the hell are you?’

Nevsky turned on his heels and started walking back to the entrance door to the base, when his cell phone rang. He looked at the screen. At last, the call he had been waiting so long for. He could feel a surge of excitement. He knew his wife would be feeling the same.

‘Hi honey,’ said Nevsky.

‘Hi sweety,’ a man’s voice replied.

Nevsky stared out into the frozen landscape – initially unsure how to respond.

‘Who is this?’ he asked.

‘I bet you got a lot of stick for marrying a westerner, didn’t you Alexei? Well, a New Zealander to be exact. Does that still make her a westerner? More of a southerner really. But anyway, what a lovely story. There you were enjoying a relaxing holiday in Turkey and you literally bump into the girl of your dreams who has been back-packing across the world. Six weeks later and you’re engaged to be married. It’s just sooo romantic.’

‘Is that you, Anatoly?’ smirked Nevsky.

‘Who? Anatoly … Anatoly. Give me a second. Don’t tell me. Oh, yes, I remember now. Your best man at your wedding – right? No, sorry, not your friend Anatoly. Can I just say how pleased I am that your English is so good now. Another tick for you, Alexei. My Russian is terrible, so this will really help with our future communications.’

‘What future communications? Who is this?’ demanded Nevsky. ‘And where’s my wife?’

‘I’m someone who has been closely following your progress, Alexei. And, may I say, someone who is very impressed with the results. Especially from the course that you have just been on. I have to say for a man who is as dull as dishwater, you have a real talent there. Top of your class! Bravo!’

Nevsky repeated again, ‘Where’s my wife?’

‘Your wife is here with me. She’s alive and well. For the moment anyway. Your children too. And they will not be harmed if you do exactly what I tell you to do.’

‘I want to speak to them.’

A short silence was then broken by the sound of a familiar voice on the other end of the phone.

‘Alexei?’

‘Maria? Oh my God! Are you OK?’

‘Who are these people, Alexei?’

The man’s voice returned to the phone.

‘She’s lovely, your wife, isn’t she? Very pretty. Punching a bit above your weight, don’t you think? Well, a lot above your weight, actually. It must have been your sparkling personality that won her over.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I have a little job for you, Alexei. When you leave the army base tomorrow, a couple of my associates will meet you. We need those skills that you have perfected. If you do what I want, then you get to see your family again. If you don’t … well, I have a reputation to preserve.’

‘Who are you?’

‘Who am I? I am the instrument that will deliver God’s divine justice.’

CHAPTER TWO

Director General Sir Iain MacGregor gazed over the MI5 Operations Room table at the woman sat opposite him. There she was. Luna Rivers.

Magnificent … really, quite magnificent, thought Mac. Who honestly would think that this wife and mother of two, with her girl next door looks, would be one of the deadliest women on the planet? That mix of slight tan with green eyes and highlighted blonde hair doesn’t exactly scream genetically superior killing machine, does it? Honey Badger. That’s what she would be if she was an animal. Looks harmless and even quite cute but actually is completely fearless and deadly, he thought, remembering a nature documentary that he watched recently. And then there, sat beside her, in his favourite formal attire of black suit and white open-collared shirt, was her husband, Tom. Living proof of the success of the ‘Sleeper’ project. Successfully thwarted the biggest terrorist attack on Britain ever seen. A middle-aged guy who even has a bit of grey around the temples and who, for the last twenty years, had been working as an architect – completely unaware of what he really was. On the face of it, just an ordinary man. But in reality, anything but. With incredible abilities plus the physical strength of a silverback gorilla and the constitution of an ox, he was someone never anticipated by the terrorists.

Mac’s self-congratulatory thoughts ended abruptly as CIA Director Theresa Muller finished shuffling her papers and cleared her throat. Muller was a short woman of just five feet two inches, and of a petite frame. Her brunette hair swept back neatly and held by an ornate oriental design hair-grip, might lead the unsuspecting to assume a meek and mild personality. This couldn’t be further from the truth.

‘Good evening, everyone. Firstly, I would like to thank Sir Iain MacGregor for hosting this meeting. Can I start by introducing the Secretary for Homeland Security, Rachael Goldberg, and FBI Assistant Director, Hayden Marshall,’ said Muller, indicating with her hand the two people sat on either side of her.

Mac nodded in reply. ‘And this is Tom and Luna Rivers,’ he said, mirroring the CIA Director’s introductions.

‘To get straight down to it,’ Muller said, ‘the reason we have asked for this meeting, and the assignment of Luna to us, is that we have received reliable intelligence that a terrorist attack on the United States is imminent. This threat is so significant that the president personally instructed us to come over here and meet with you.’

‘Yes, she’s spoken to the prime minister,’ said Mac. ‘I believe that Mohammed Baqri has decided to move on to you now.’

‘It seems so,’ Muller agreed. ‘But as this is a direct domestic threat, then it means that Homeland Security and the FBI will be taking the lead, instead of the CIA. With that in mind, I’ll now hand over to Rachael.’

‘Morning, Mac,’ said Rachael Goldberg with a friendly smile and a slightly prolonged amount of eye contact. ‘Oh, and congratulations on your knighthood, by the way.’

‘Thanks Rachael,’ replied Mac, mirroring her facial expressions.

Goldberg’s affirmation of Mac’s successful career within MI5 actually meant a lot to him. Mac had known her since they were both section chiefs in their respective intelligence services and he had always greatly admired and respected her. Strong, competent, and highly intelligent. Her move to Homeland and subsequent promotion to the top position was well deserved.

On a personal note, she was also his sort of woman. Slightly younger at thirty-nine, slim, and with a dark bob hairstyle that wrapped around her face. Always in the most immaculately tailored suits. Her appearance seemed to have changed very little since he had known her.

Mac, however, had what could only be described as a ‘well worn’ face for as long as he could remember. The years and his career had now added a few extra facial lines, as well as the odd fleck of grey to his head of black hair. He always thought that they would have made a great power couple, had they ever got together. Shame she was now married. Missed a good one there, he mused.

‘So, as Theresa mentioned, our intel suggests that Mohammed Baqri has, with hardly a pause, moved on to the US,’ said Goldberg. ‘This, to me, means that he has probably planned this some time ago – perhaps at the same time as the recent events here. It would be reasonable to assume then, that an attack on us is imminent. Mac, I think you have something to add?’

‘Yes, I do. I’ve got a really good personal contact who is very well connected. Ears everywhere. This is the sort of thing that he might have heard whispers about. But he’s not the sort that will just volunteer information easily. It will probably need someone who has their own style of persuasion. I think it would be a good idea for Luna to go and see him.’

‘Sounds good to me. Right then. So, I’ll now hand over to Hayden for the briefing,’ said Goldberg. ‘Hayden is head of the FBI’s Counterterrorism Division or CTD, as it’s known.’

Bit of a beanpole, Mac observed, noting the FBI assistant director’s very tall and thin physique.

‘Thank you, Sir Iain. And good to meet you both,’ said Marshall, in a distinctive New York accent, nodding his acknowledgement to the other side of the table.

Tom looked down at his wheelchair. ‘I’m sorry but I’m stuck in this for a little while longer apparently. The personal cost of Baqri’s attack on London.’

‘You definitely have no need to apologise, Tom. You are already a legend in my department … throughout the whole FBI, actually. What you managed to do was incredible. And the fact that you survived your injuries is … well … quite simply amazing.’

‘I appreciate that. Thank you,’ replied Tom.

‘And as Baqri has now targeted the US, we’ve asked for you, Luna, to be assigned to us.’

‘Sorry but can I just ask why you want me? You have other similar assets over in the States, don’t you?’ asked Luna.

Marshall said, ‘Two reasons. Firstly, you have the advantage of being an American national who is familiar with Britain too. Baqri and some of his associates are British by birth, don’t forget. Secondly, we have looked at your results from when you were reactivated from Sleeper status, and they are … well … off the charts. We need the best and I reckon that’s you.’

‘Perhaps it would be a good time to introduce Luna to the Adalah terrorist cell that she will be dealing with,’ said Goldberg. ‘I’m sure Tom will give you his own thoughts on them at some point as well. If you would, Sir Iain.’

Mac pressed a button on the remote control in front of him and three of the screens in the middle of a huge row of monitors that hanged over the end of the table changed from their MI5 logos to photos of individuals.

‘So, Luna. Here they are. On the very left is Mohammed Baqri. He is British born from Yemeni parentage. Best described as a charismatic, eccentric psychopath,’ said Marshall.

‘Or to put it another way, off his head,’ muttered Mac under his breath.

‘OK, that’s quite a change of look,’ said Tom. ‘In the last picture that I had seen of him, he looked like your average guy. Albeit, with a goatee. Now he’s shaved his head and … seems to have some marks under his eyes?’

‘Tattoos,’ Marshall said. ‘He’s had three tears tattooed under his right eye.’

‘Because?’ asked Tom.

‘We believe they represent the loss of the three most important people in his life. His friend Sal – killed in the attack on London; his brother Rahim – executed by the Egyptian authorities … and … his mother.’

‘And yes, this is the mother that he blew up with a letter bomb,’ said Mac.

‘So, he kills his mother and tattoos a tear on his face to remember her by. How lovely,’ said Luna.

‘Not that it makes it any better,’ Marshall said, ‘but the bomb was meant to kill his father.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Luna. ‘That makes it so much better.’

Tom said, ‘Be careful with him, Luna. As Mac mentioned, Baqri may, on the face of it, appear nuttier than squirrel shit, but don’t let that fool you. He’s actually very intelligent and calculating.’

‘OK. So why does he hate America so much?’ asked Luna.

Muller leaned forward, ‘He was a lieutenant of Osama bin Laden. The British captured him and then handed him to us. It seems the CIA team interrogated him without too much restraint. Before my time, I might add.’

‘But to be clear he has always hated us,’ said Goldberg. ‘Although his time in our custody seems to have just taken it to a whole new level.’

‘Moving on,’ said Marshall. ‘The next screen is the picture of someone who you’ve already met, Luna. A young woman from the United Kingdom by the name of Brigid Doyle. I understand she made the mistake of trying to kill you?’

‘Yeah, psycho bitch! What the hell was that about?’ said Luna, causing the American contingent to raise their eyebrows. Despite having lived in Britain for the last twenty or so years, the famous English reserved manner had not rubbed off on her as they had expected.

‘She seemed to take exception to Tom killing her fiancé. So, she set about killing your husband in his hospital bed as revenge,’ said Mac.

‘And then after she thinks that she has killed him, she decides that I should die as well. Really?’

‘She probably thought that you were an easy target – not knowing who or what you really were, of course,’ said Marshall.

Mac said, ‘Brigid’s anger stems from witnessing the murder of her father by paramilitary loyalists, by the way, during The Troubles in Northern Ireland. Blasted him in the chest with a shotgun while he was sat drinking in the pub and then they put a bullet in his head. The killers got off at court thanks to a police procedural failure, and then the security services killed all her brothers when they tried to take justice into their own hands.’

‘Baqri stepped in and put a bomb under their car and then let Brigid press the button. Now she is completely loyal to him,’ added Tom.

Luna looked at the face of her would-be assassin once again. She was certainly pretty. Bright blue eyes, fair skin and shoulder length red hair – rather than the dark hair that she had when she had turned up on Luna’s doorstep with the intention of killing her. Sort of get why she’s such an angry person.

‘And the third and final one is Doctor Alim Farooqi,’ said Marshall pointing at the last screen. ‘The technical brains who build the electromagnetic pulse device that nearly sent Britain back to the dark ages.’

Mac said, ‘He’s in hospital after Brigid stuck a knife in his back in an effort to prevent him telling Tom how to stop the EMP.’

‘Wow. She’s such a lovely person too. I can see why she gets on with Baqri,’ said Luna.

‘The point is, Luna, that Farooqi will know that she was acting on Baqri’s orders. So, our thinking is that he may be reconsidering which side of the fence he should be on. We want you to go and pay him a visit at St. Thomas’s hospital and try to persuade him to help us find out what Baqri is planning against the US.’

‘Where’s Baqri now?’ Tom asked.

‘He’s been spotted in North Korea. Casually sitting outside a café in Pyongyang, having a coffee and dressed like a tourist,’ replied Goldberg.

Tom smiled and nodded. Of course, he would be.

‘He then met up with a North Korean general by the name of Kim Sun-woo,’ continued Goldberg, as Mac switched the next monitor over to a photo of the general in full military uniform. ‘It’s fair to say that North Korea isn’t our greatest fan, but this guy has made it clear that he would love nothing more than to level the US. Worryingly, he’s in charge of their nuclear weapons development.’

‘God. That really is worrying,’ Mac added.

‘So, Mac, you can see why the President wanted us to see you personally. Our on-going relationship is critical – particularly on intelligence sharing. She’ll be attending the Coronation of King Edward at Westminster Abbey tomorrow, as you know. I would then like us to be able to provide her with a positive update when we fly back on Airforce One,’ said Muller.

‘Yes, of course. Whatever we can do.’

‘So, with that in mind, we have one more request,’ said Goldberg. ‘We would very much like Tom to be seconded to the FBI for the duration. His knowledge of Baqri and his terrorist cell will be vital.