Authors: Hector Macdonald
Rogue Elements
Published by Advance Editions 2014
Advance Editions is an imprint of Core Q Ltd
Global House, 1 Ashley Avenue, Epsom, Surrey KT18 5AD
All correspondence: [email protected]
Copyright © Hector Macdonald 2014
The right of Hector Macdonald to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 Sections 77 and 78
Cover by Emily Gray
Formatted into an eBook by
www.BluewavePublishing.co.uk
advance edition 1.1
ISBN 978-1-910408-00-1
All rights reserved
Hector Macdonald began writing thrillers after completing a zoology degree at Oxford University.
The Mind Game
was a bestseller published in 18 languages.
The Hummingbird Saint
and
The Storm Prophet
followed, and then Hector turned to spy fiction with
Rogue Elements.
He is co-founder and editorial director of
www.BookDrum.com
, a website that takes readers beyond the page with interactive content related to their favourite books.
Alongside his writing career, Hector works as a strategy and communications consultant in industries as diverse as telecoms, banking, pharmaceuticals and healthcare. He has, on occasion, provided consulting services to various agencies of the British government.
Hector grew up on the coast of Kenya and now lives in London.
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ABIN
Agência Brasileira de Inteligência (Brazil)
ACTOR
Codename for SIS
AQ
Al-Qaeda
CIA
Central Intelligence Agency (USA)
CNI
Centro Nacional de Inteligencia (Spain)
CSIS
Canadian Security Intelligence Service
CX
Intelligence ‘product’ (SIS)
DCRI
Direction Centrale du Renseignement Intérieur (France)
DEA
Drug Enforcement Administration (USA)
DGSE
Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure (France)
DHS
Department of Homeland Security (USA)
DIA
Defense Intelligence Agency (USA)
Dry cleaning
Checking for and evading surveillance
DS
Directing Staff (training officers)
EPV
Enhanced Positive Vetting
FCO
Foreign and Commonwealth Office (UK)
Firm
Informal term for SIS
Five
The Security Service, also known as MI5 (UK)
Fort
Fort Monckton: SIS training centre near Portsmouth
Friend
Informal term for SIS officer
GCHQ
Government Communications Headquarters: UK signals intelligence agency
General Service
Technical and administrative SIS officers
H/NARC
Head of Counter-Narcotics (SIS)
H/SECT
Private secretary to the Chief of SIS
H/TERR
Head of Counter-Terrorism (SIS)
H/TOS
Head of Technical and Operations Support (SIS)
HPD
Head of Personnel Department (SIS)
I/OPS
Information Operations: propaganda and psychological operations
Intelligence Branch
Fast stream SIS officers
IDF
Israel Defense Forces
Increment
Special forces detachments supporting SIS
IONEC
Intelligence Officer’s New Entry Course (SIS)
ISC
Intelligence and Security Committee: oversight body of UK parliamentarians
JIC
Joint Intelligence Committee (UK)
Kidon
Mossad unit responsible for assassination
Mabahith
Saudi Arabia’s domestic security service
Magav
Israel’s border police
Mossad
Israel’s external intelligence agency
NCA
National Crime Agency (UK)
NIS
National Intelligence Service (South Africa)
NSA
National Security Agency (USA)
OSA
Official Secrets Act (UK)
PD
Personnel Department (SIS)
PMPD
Prime Minister Protection Detail (RCMP)
Porthos
Secure internal electronic messaging system (SIS)
RCMP
Royal Canadian Mounted Police
Shabak
Israel’s domestic security service (also known as Shin Bet)
SIS
Secret Intelligence Service, also known as MI6 (UK)
SO15
Counter-Terrorism Command of London’s Metropolitan Police, formerly Special Branch (SO12) and Anti-Terrorist Branch (SO13)
SOCA
Serious Organized Crime Agency, now part of the National Crime Agency (UK)
TD7, TD8
Training officers (SIS)
TOS
Technical and Operations Support (SIS)
UBL
Usama Bin Laden
WMD
Weapons of Mass Destruction
YZ
Highly classified
01
ENGLISHMAN’S BAY, TOBAGO – 23 May
The staff at Emerald Sea Resort had grown familiar with the routine of the tourist staying in the garden villa suite. He ran on the beach every morning before breakfast, and at night he drank well and tipped generously. In between, he disappeared with his companion in a rental car for much of the day. On their return they shed muddy boots, bird books and cameras, and spent the remaining daylight hours sunbathing. The supine companion drew admiring glances from male guests and staff alike; Emerald Sea’s activities coordinator offered the couple a free kite-surfing lesson off Pigeon Point in the hope that he might get to lay a guiding hand on various parts of her anatomy. But it seemed she didn’t speak much English, and the tourist brusquely declared that his girlfriend was afraid of the sea.
No wonder, then, that they spent their days trudging through damp rainforest instead of enjoying the easier pleasures of Tobago’s fine beaches.
Despite his tips, the tourist was not much liked by the staff at Emerald Sea. They sensed something unfamiliar about him, a rigidity of purpose even in his sunbathing, an intensity that was out of place in a Caribbean resort. His lithe, sweat-free body should have impressed; instead, it unnerved. When discreet but searching questions were later asked by foreigners with clipped accents, a number of the staff cited his disquieting manner, although none would go so far as to say he was anything other than he purported to be. There was no memory of unusual equipment, or overheard telephone calls, or an alien language that might have suggested the Middle East.
The only recollection of substance came from a teenage waiter who had served the companion a rum punch by the pool. Attempting to clear a space for the drink on their table, he had picked up a tablet computer with a view to stacking it on top of a German-language novel. He never got that far. Instead he found his wrist rigidly, agonizingly seized. What did he remember most of the man staying in the garden villa suite? The bleak iciness of his gaze as their eyes met over that simple misunderstanding. The threat implied.
On the last day of his vacation, the tourist requested a late check-out, which was granted on payment of an unofficial consideration to the reception manager. Then, as usual, he and his companion put on hiking boots – scraped clean of yesterday’s mud – and carried binoculars, mineral water, a packed lunch and two bird books out to the rental car. Neither of the resort staff loitering in the car park noticed the small black suitcase already stowed in the boot of the Ford saloon.
The night had brought heavy rain, and along the Claude Noel Highway pools of water steamed lightly under the flamboyant trees. The tourist did not observe the 50kph limit more conscientiously than any other driver, although he matched his speed to the slowest of the vehicles around him. From Scarborough he cut north across the island on Providence Road, deftly navigating the confusion of unsigned junctions in the capital’s northern suburbs to reach the lush rainforest of the interior. At Les Coteaux, he stopped by the roadside stall with the colourful Rasta paintwork, as he had done every other morning of his holiday. The companion remained in the car while he greeted the radiant proprietress in figure-hugging pink and paid for the four mangoes and bunch of bananas she had set aside for him.
At the viewpoint above Castara Bay, the tourist noted the same three police cars that had kept watch over the scant Northside Road traffic for the last three days. He allowed himself a casual glance in their direction, and was rewarded with a wave from one of the officers. His daily routine had been noticed even by the police. He waved back and continued on, keeping his speed just below the limit.
Two more police cars were parked on the verge beyond Castara, their officers standing in what little shade was available and scanning eastbound vehicles with rather more vigilance than might have been expected on a regular balmy day in paradise. Nevertheless, the tourist doubted they knew why they were there. They had almost certainly been told to watch for anyone ‘unusual’ approaching Englishman’s Bay.
There was nothing unusual about two holidaymakers in a rented Ford saloon.
Belvedere House stood in eighty-three acres of private hillside estate, midway between the fishing villages of Castara and Parlatuvier. Once a splendid colonial mansion, it had been rebuilt after Hurricane Flora demolished its hipped roof, Victorian fretwork and carved teak columns in 1963, and then lavishly refurbished by its new American owner in 2008. From its abundant verandas and balconies, the views across the Caribbean were a match for even the most dazzling cocktail-hour conversation. Some hundred metres below its steeply sloping lawns, Englishman’s Bay lay untouched by developers, a sliver of golden sand just visible through the sea almond trees and palms. The rainforest took hold in the valley behind the beach and rose uninterrupted through the Belvedere estate. From there it continued up the hillside into the Main Ridge Reserve, the backbone of Tobago.
Said to be the oldest rainforest reserve in the western hemisphere, the Main Ridge was the vantage point from which the tourist had for six days observed the layout and activity of the Belvedere grounds. The island’s most popular forest hiking trails lay to the south and east, but the tourist had identified a small river that flowed north to the Caribbean coast, meeting Northside Road just past the turning to Englishman’s Bay. Each day, he had pulled over by the river and made his way on foot upstream. The companion would slip into the vacated driving seat and continue on to one of the trails on the Roxborough–Parlatuvier Road. There she passed the time photographing manicou crabs and leafcutter ants, before returning to pick him up at the same spot four hours later.
The plan on this final day was only a little different.
An unmarked truck was parked a short way up the track leading to the Belvedere estate. The tourist gave no sign of having seen it, but drove on into the valley behind Englishman’s Bay and parked under a large immortelle tree. A minibus blaring rapso came roaring down the hill towards them. The tourist raised a map, simplistic and colourful, half-covering his face. When the road was clear he stepped out of the saloon, collected the suitcase from the boot and disappeared into a stand of giant bamboo. The companion switched seats and drove off.
The next car didn’t pass the spot for ninety seconds, and by then the tourist was deep inside the rainforest.