Dreams to Die For (30 page)

Fadyar Masri returned to Paris, refreshed and invigorated by her holiday. The journey back was tiring and she relaxed in her bath, letting the hot water soothe away the ache between her shoulders and at the base of her spine caused by driving such a long way in a small car. She had been unable to take her mind completely off her assignment whilst away, but it had helped her unwind and had also ensured that everything about the operation had been firmly committed to memory. She was ready. Tomorrow morning, she would send the necessary instructions to the banks.

She rose at 7:30am and an hour later was sitting at her laptop, typed in her password and waited for the desktop icons to appear. She was calm and unhurried. She accessed the internet and then the online banking service for Hannet-Mar International Bank. She keyed in her bank logonid, then her password and was presented with a final security screen. The bank's computer had randomly selected that she had to infill the first, third and fourth digits of another password, the other four digits being blanked out. She typed them in and ‘Welcome Halima Chalthoum” appeared in large, bold lettering in the centre of the screen alongside, in smaller print, her account number. Listed below were a range of services that she could select. Fadyar marvelled at the technology. The infidels sure were good at developing technology that made life easy for everyone including their enemies. She double-clicked her mouse against the service marked ‘Withdrawals', and a few moments later the screen appeared and she commenced filling in the required fields. She needed a sum that would cover all of Carron's expenses, plus reimburse the Birmingham accounts and also give her some money to draw upon and exchange for sterling. There were bound to be some losses on exchange and currency rates, plus charges from some banks and she had calculated that she should therefore withdraw 150,000 pounds sterling.

She carefully entered the name of an Egyptian bank, its international sort code and the account number into which the money would be initially credited. She completed the remainder of the screen and pressed the ‘enter' key. A copy of the screen she had just input appeared with a message saying to key ‘enter' again if all the details were correct. She carefully re-read the completed boxes and pressed the key. Nothing happened for a few moments, then another screen appeared telling her the transaction had been successful and asked if there was any other service she would like. She declined and logged out of the bank's system. She was unsure just how quickly the funds would be credited into the Egyptian account but she logged onto their system anyway. Having navigated through all the screens and passwords that were similar to those of Hannet-Mar, she was disappointed to find that the account did not record them as being received. She tried again a quarter of an hour later and obtained the same negative response. She started to get nervous. She had understood from the banks that such transactions were immediate, and she really hoped that information was correct as she had not planned for a lengthy delay. She became agitated when she thought that perhaps they would not be credited until the next day since that would seriously affect her timetable.
Surely,
she thought,
there is not going to be a problem so early in the mission.

She waited, nervously tapping a pencil hard onto a pad beside the computer such that the point penetrated the paper before breaking off. She carried on banging the broken end ever harder into the paper, whilst she feverishly kept logging onto the Egyptian system. After an hour she had become quite dispirited, and out of habit pressed the enter key again to view the account screen, following the ‘Welcome Halima' message. Her eyes lit up and euphoria swept over her. There it was, a seemingly huge sum of Egyptian pounds and a few piasters, such was the exchange rate. The delay, unknown to Fadyar, was not that the transfer had not taken place. It had, but it took an hour for the web site to be automatically updated. She navigated to the withdrawal section of the system and this time completed the screens for 75,000 Egyptian Pounds, equivalent to 10,000 euros, to be transferred to the Yemeni Bank. She did not however exit the system when asked if there was any other service she wanted. She answered in the affirmative and selected again the withdrawal facility. She now entered the details of the Banque Privee del Solegit SA that was based just outside of Geneva and transferred to it the remaining money. The Swiss account was particularly important as she knew it was the major vehicle by which the Abu Al-Mazan terrorist group concealed the bulk of their funds, not just for Fadyar's mission but for all their activities throughout Western Europe. As with most Swiss bank accounts where anonymity of ownership was a pre-requisite, the account itself was in the name of corporation registered in the Cayman Islands which in turn was owned by a Panamanian Trust. The trust had purportedly been set up by two apparently wealthy individuals, both from Lithuania – though any country where individuals are likely to be difficult to be traced would have sufficed. The persons themselves knew nothing of the Trust, their stolen passports being used to set it up without their knowledge.

Fadyar again suffered anguish and nervous fatigue from the even longer delay in receiving confirmation of the transaction from the Yemeni bank, but the Swiss transaction went through quickly. Eventually she saw the details on the Yemeni system and immediately transferred that to an account in Dubai. This was her own account, in her real name of Yasmin Hasan, but which had been set up to allow a Fadyar Masri to access and withdraw funds on demand – and it was as Fadyar that she had logged onto the Dubai bank. Becoming weary from staring at what had become a succession of soporific screens, she stood up and made herself a coffee. Her eyes were grateful to be removed from the brightness and slowly adjusted to the ambient light in the room. Refreshed and stimulated from the intake of caffeine and the fifteen minute break it afforded her, she returned to the desk and sat back on the fully adjustable chair before embarking upon the final part of the deception. She successfully entered the passwords and other security details, and using the name of Fadyar Masri electronically transferred a sum roughly equivalent to 10,000 euros to a French bank account in the name of Yasmin Hasan. Thirty minutes later, it appeared on her account as credited. In just over three hours, sitting behind a desk using an ordinary laptop computer she had transferred 150,000 English Pounds half way around the world, into different currencies and back again into Euros. In the note she gave to Carron were instructions for drawing upon the Swiss bank accounts and for that bank to credit her fellow conspirators in Birmingham. That would take longer than a few hours, but the money would be received well before it was needed. Carron, or whoever, would have the cash to finance the expensive items of the mission.

It had all taken place so smoothly, and Fadyar wished now she had transferred the money the following day. She had not done so in order to give herself a day's contingency, whereby if there had been a problem she might have been able to resolve it in time for her planned trip on the Saturday to still go ahead. As it was, she would now spend almost the entire day nervously twiddling her fingers. She also realised that if, just if, the transactions came to the attention of any authorities in the countries involved or were reported to them by any of the banks, there were twenty-four hours to trace her. She did not think such an outcome would happen, being confident that enquiries into the Swiss account would come to nothing, but the theoretical possibilities for her own account were a concern.

Prior to shutting down her computer she had one more task to perform. Fadyar was aware that virtually all internet sites, especially the interactive ones such as online banking, download a small program known as a cookie onto the user's computer without the user knowing. In the main, these cookies are harmless and help to speed up the user's navigation through the various screens, pre-filling as many as possible to save the user time and to minimise errors. Some cookies therefore hold data about the user, and their computer, which can subsequently be accessed by other programs as well as the programs they were originally set up for. Fadyar had set her computer to block such access, but in case any had managed to by-pass the system she now commenced removing all cookies and the automatic log of her internet browsing history from her hard disk using a disk clean-up facility. Tomorrow she would totally erase the disk but she would not do that now in case she needed the computer again.

Cindy ached to be with Gordon, she knew she loved him, wanted him, but completely severing her relationship with Alan had always sent a slight shiver of apprehension down her spine whenever she thought about it. It was such a big step to take, but the meeting with her ex-husband at Red Gables the previous evening had stripped away from her any excuse at delaying her decision. Alan had found someone else, and was lost to her forever. The divorce had been finalised much quicker than she had anticipated, and there was now little reason for her to stay in Worcestershire. It seemed that just at the point when she had completed the furnishings and decorated the cottage to her style, the raison d'être for living in it had disappeared. This was a disappointment but she needed to be with Gordon permanently at his loch side home, experiencing the wonders and excitement of the vast natural wilderness and challenge of the Scottish Highlands, rather than the amiable, unruffled pleasures of rural Middle England. Her thoughts strayed once more to Mealag. She yearned for the gale-driven sleet smacking into her cheeks, the blue black clouds racing between the hills, the angry waters of the loch crashing into the dam wall, the thunderous sound of the deer stampeding across the thick white snow, as well as the calm, crystal clear days where one could watch the soaring eagles and predatory buzzards. She wondered if the vivid images captured in her mind were really an indulgent metaphor of her future life with Gordon; unpredictable, exhilarating and tumultuous. Mealag beckoned, and she responded. She packed a case and within an hour she was driving north on the M6 motorway.

Several hours later as she sat in the large lounge overlooking the loch, she spoke to Gordon about when she might move in permanently.

“Whenever, it cannot be soon enough for me. I miss you terribly when we're not together so why not now, what's to stop you?”

“Well, it can't happen quite like that!” Cindy's voice rose with excitement, not anger. “There's all the cottage to sort out and my things are there, but if you are happy to leave the cottage empty and re-let it later then that's great.” She leant across the sofa and kissed him. “In fact, it's wonderful. Oh, I do so love you, you lovely man. Thank you for rescuing me”

“That's settled then. We have a few weeks before Dean and Paulette arrive, so in a couple of days I'll get the company to start the re-letting process on the cottage. We can arrange from here a removal van for your stuff and we'll fly down the day before. I've never asked, have you ever been on a helicopter or private jet? Would you like it?”

Things were being decided so quickly Cindy was a little stunned. “Mmmm, yes, I guess so. I mean, you know I'm OK with flying but I've never been in anything other than a commercial airliner. Sounds like it might be fun, but how do we get the large items into here, Gordon? Not by small plane or helicopter, that's for sure!”

“No, silly. There are two ways really. In the garages by the dam there is a much larger boat and that will take items up to the size of a single wardrobe and the like. Anything really difficult can come in a container from the Arkaig road, then into the estate at the rear of Mealag. We use a tractor pulling a large, very large, trailer. It's slow but certain, and as long as one uses plenty of foam packaging and makes certain the load is secure, very effective. So, leave all that to me. You bring everything you want. There's an excellent removal firm based in Fort Augustus that I've used several times. They can get any contents you want from the cottage to here. They know Mealag well and can use all the equipment we have on the estate to move stuff into here, so we can leave it to them to advise what method we need to use. So, you have no reason to delay moving in.”

Cindy decided to tease Gordon, “Well, I must check with my other male friends. I have several offers to consider and now that I am a young single girl again I may wish to take my time playing the field.” She laughed as she said it.

“You wish! Young single girl indeed! Perhaps you need some encouragement to make up your mind.” Gordon leant across, held her close and kissed her passionately on the lips.

The following week, the cottage had been cleared. Gordon had arranged a private plane to fly them from Inverness to Staverton Airport, near Cheltenham, where a hire car awaited them and they spent a couple of days preparing for the removers to arrive. Everything went smoothly, watched over closely by Cindy and Gordon. They returned to Mealag arriving a day before the removers who, of necessity, had stopped overnight. They determined that the tractor approach would be easier, not because there were any really large items, but the volume could all be loaded safely onto the trailer and the move completed in one transit from the Arkaig road, whereas several boat trips would be necessary from the Kinloch Hourn road. Cindy spent the following weeks improving her loch fly fishing and becoming familiar with handling a shooting rifle for the deer stalking. The latter was not an activity that greatly interested her, apart from having a day out on the hills, as she did not relish the prospect of killing such a large beast and so she was quite willing to be patient whilst the formalities of her obtaining a gun licence were processed. Trout she could kill, and probably salmon – though she had yet to catch one – but she felt there was a fundamental difference between taking the life of a fish to that of a magnificent stag. She eventually obtained her shotgun licence, and the separate firearms certificate needed for the rifle, and had been surprised at how thorough the police were in their investigations prior to granting the licence.

Unknown to Cindy and Gordon, much of the delay in issuing the certificate arose as Officer Greaves scrutinised every firearm licence application and Cindy's application form gave rise to more than just idle curiosity on his part. Only a week or so earlier, he had been briefed on the September assignment of keeping an eye on Mealag and now he had a firearms check to carry out. He reported to his superiors as to how he should proceed and was told to undertake the usual checks but that if he could, he should try to discreetly ascertain if Truscott was going to be at Mealag in mid-September. Routinely undertaking the searches for Cindy Crossland, he came across the same protected computer record as had Bill Ritson several months previously but, unlike Ritson's boss, Greaves's superior instantly wanted the matter dropped. Whatever was going on at Mealag, or going to go on, one thing was clear to Central Division Area Commander Keith Maythorp; shotgun certificate applications in an area such as the Highlands were almost as common place and routine as the issuing of parking tickets in a city. Truscott himself possessed a licence as did a number of his estate workers. Maythorp was astute enough in the art of self-preservation to realise that to withhold or even delay the licence, especially for someone who had obviously been vetted and cleared by the security services to an extremely high level, was not likely to earn him favour at HQ or anywhere else. Truscott moved in wealthy and influential circles and Maythorp was not going to raise any questions.

As the issuing officer, Greaves however was entitled to visit the place where Cindy's guns were going to be stored in order to be satisfied that all was in accordance with the regulations and conditions appertaining to the issue of the certificate. He knew it would be, for he had been to Mealag on a couple of occasions and each time the storage arrangements were impeccable. On his own volition, however, he decided to visit again as Maggie MacLean's scones were absolutely delicious and it was probably the only way he was likely to find out a little more about what was happening in September. He came away disappointed, though not with the quality of the housekeepers baking.

Gordon's twin large steel cabinets that held the various sporting firearms were sited in the lobby near the kitchen. One cabinet had within it a separate locked compartment for the ammunition. There were several shotguns and three sporting rifles. One was a Browning 0.375 with Schmidt and Bender scope and there were two general purpose RPA 0.308 hunting rifles both equipped with 2 x Weaver scopes, one of which Gordon had earmarked for Cindy. Although he could afford to purchase any gun he wished, he was not interested in expensive status symbols, albeit ones that claimed extreme accuracy and many useful add-ons. He regarded a gun as no more than a tool, and he had been delighted with his rifles which he found accurate enough, easy and light to handle. As the three of them drank their coffee and enjoyed the scones, Greaves commented that he was obliged to point out the close proximity of the ammunition to the guns. “However, I know that Sandy and some of the others on the estate also have secure cabinets, so all you will do is tell me that he will put the ammunition next door and that you will have his guns, so I'll say no more about it,” recognising it would be futile to make it into an issue, and changed the subject. “I suppose you'll be needing the certificate so you can both get in some good sport later in the summer? I'll make sure it all goes through in time.”

“Possibly. It will likely depend on whether any of our friends can come. I don't believe in fixed arrangements,” Gordon replied smoothly.

Having visited Gordon and met Cindy, for whom he had an instant liking (reporting back to his colleagues that Truscott had got a real beauty up at the Lodge), Greaves issued the certificate.