Stella Rimington - Breaking Cover

Out in the streets, cars were moved, the occupants changed, coffee was drunk, takeaways bought and eaten, until suddenly at three-thirty Peggy said ‘That’s him!’ as a tall dark-haired man, dressed in a smart suit and carrying a briefcase, came out of the door of Georgian Apartments, turned right and walked off down the street in the direction of City Road.

‘On the move, on foot, heading to City Road,’ said Wally over the microphone as he pressed a button to send the picture from the remote camera to the teams waiting in the cars. Back came pictures from the street as Laurenz headed towards one of them. He walked on, down the City Road in the direction of Old Street tube station. ‘He doesn’t know we’re there,’ said Wally to Peggy. ‘He’s completely relaxed. I thought you said he was a pro.’

‘We’re pretty sure he is. But he’s been getting away with it for quite a bit and he probably feels secure.’

‘OK. It’s our job to make sure he goes on feeling that way.’

The little procession went on, sometimes with Laurenz leading, sometimes one of the A4 team out in front, until at Old Street Station, Laurenz took the escalator down to the southbound Northern line with just two observers behind him. The others climbed into the cars that had been following and headed off fast to Moorgate station, the next one down the line, as well as stations further on. And it was at Moorgate that Laurenz got off, walked a short distance to a tall block of flats, let himself in with an electronic key fob and disappeared from sight.

‘Couldn’t see the flat number,’ came the report from the team, ‘and it looks like an unstaffed block – no porter.’

Wally looked at Peggy, eyebrows raised. ‘What next?’

‘Could we hang around to see what he does next? And photograph everyone else who goes in.’

‘OK.’

‘I’m going back downstairs to see what we can find out about those flats. Ring Liz if you need us.’

This meant another long wait for the A4 teams, though the area was ideal for hanging around in – well supplied with cafés and coffee shops, with one right next to the apartment block’s entrance. For an hour and a half no one went in or came out. Then from about five-thirty there was a steady stream of residents letting themselves in, mostly young people in office clothes, and some couples. A few came out, went across the road to a convenience store and went back in again. At half-past six came the first visitor. A young woman, brown-skinned, Indian origin probably, thought Wally, still on duty in the control room, receiving all the pictures. She pressed a bell and was let in.

Wally contacted Liz Carlyle, who had rung several times during the afternoon to see what was happening.

‘There’s a visitor to the block of flats. It may be the one you’re interested in. Indian-looking young woman, early thirties I’d say. Do you want to come and look at the picture?’

‘Yes. That’s the one,’ said Liz when she went to Wally’s room and saw the photograph of Jasminder, standing at the door.

‘She doesn’t look too happy,’ remarked Wally, who had not been briefed on who this was or the full background to the case.

‘No. She looks miserable,’ agreed Liz. ‘Please will you hang on there and house her if she leaves? And him too if they leave separately.’

Liz went back to her own floor and found Peggy hovering outside the office. ‘Any news?’ she asked anxiously.

‘Jasminder has gone to meet Laurenz at what appears to be a cover flat. She has got herself well and truly in the net. We need to get Geoffrey Fane and Bruno over here to put them in the picture and it’s time to brief Miles Brookhaven too. Have we heard from Charlie Simmons what he’s made of that phone of Tim’s?’

‘Just that he’s finding it difficult but I’ll ring him again tomorrow. Perhaps we should ask him to come down to brief us all. Shall I set up a meeting for the afternoon?’

‘Yes. Do that. Perhaps we’ll have a bit more on Laurenz by then.’

Jasminder left the flat in Moorgate by herself at ten-thirty and took the tube to Angel then walked home to her flat. She was accompanied all the way by a team of A4, who commented on how very sad and depressed she looked. Laurenz remained in the Moorgate flat until Liz had Wally stand down the teams at eleven-thirty. She thought it unlikely anything more of interest was going to happen that night.

The camera outside Georgian Apartments saw Laurenz return at ten the following morning. Then everything went quiet until suddenly at four-thirty that afternoon the feed from the camera came to life. ‘It’s go,’ said Wally Woods into his microphone, as the TVs at one end of the control room flashed, showing the BMW driving up the ramp and turning towards City Road. Minutes later the line from Sergeant Wilkinson buzzed. ‘He’s left in the car and he’s got his overnight bag… told me he’d be away for three days.’

Wally Woods phoned Liz. ‘He’s off and we’re with him.’

By now the registration number of the BMW had been fed into the Automatic Number Plate Recognition system and police forces across the country were looking out for it.

‘May I come up?’ asked Liz. The control room was Wally’s domain and it was strictly by invitation only for desk officers when an operation was on. He did not like anyone looking over the shoulders of his team and making suggestions, unless he’d asked for input. Liz was always scrupulous in seeking his permission and, as a result, always welcome.

When she arrived the chase was well under way. The BMW was making its way north, up Holloway Road and Archway Road, possibly heading for either the A1 or the M1. When they knew which it was, the cars would be able to hang back as the cameras would monitor its progress. ‘It’s the M1,’ said Wally, after a short time. ‘Any clues as to where he’s heading?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Well, Maureen’s in charge out there so we should be fine, even if he gets up to any funny business.’

Liz knew Maureen Hayes of old. She was an experienced team leader, who’d successfully carried out many operations for Liz, so she sat back comfortably on the old leather sofa that was kept for visiting case officers in the corner of the control room, well away from the operational desks, ready to enjoy the chase.

The BMW drove fast up the M1 with Maureen and her team in pursuit in three cars. Regular reports were coming in as they passed through successive police areas. Leicestershire had just reported when Maureen spoke. ‘He’s gone up the slip road, junction twenty-one, no indicators. He’s doing anti-surveillance. We’ve overshot. Can you take him, Denis?’

‘Roger,’ he replied from a car behind. ‘We’ll take him.’

‘Good luck,’ said Maureen. ‘See you later.’

Denis and the third car, driven by Marcus Washington, turned off at junction twenty-one and took up the pursuit as the BMW headed west, twisting and turning along a series of B-roads. They were driving straight into the low sun, dazzling in the flat countryside of Leicestershire. Denis and Marcus were hanging back so as not to be noticed in the quiet roads.

There was silence for five minutes while the screens showed pictures from the dashboard cameras of shadowy hedges and trees.

‘Report, please,’ said Wally.

‘Contact lost,’ announced Denis. ‘We’re looking for him but these roads are hell.’

Liz groaned to herself. She knew it was difficult and in these circumstances you needed a lot of luck. Then suddenly their luck turned. Maureen and her team partner Sally, who had gone off the motorway at the next junction, had found their way back south through the narrow roads and their camera came to life, relaying a picture of the BMW stationary, with the driver standing beside it, stretching and yawning. ‘We have him,’ shouted Maureen triumphantly, and the sighs of relief from the other cars were echoed in the control room.