Chapter 14

We waited all the next day for Bernie's call. There was nothing on the News, no big stories of mass arrests or a conspiracy uncovered. The papers were still running with the car bomb story although there wasn't much new to report. They had discounted the claims of the IRA splinter group and fingers were pointing towards Bin Laden and his gang. At least they were now fishing in the right pond even if they were still wide of the mark. What we were dealing with was even out of Bin Laden's league; it had to be State-sponsored in a big way.

I went through the lists again with Angela to translate those entries in Estonian, Russian and German. The likely picture that emerged was of a core of individuals at the centre of the plot with a lot of others who had been suborned to look the other way or otherwise collude with the schemers. Some probably didn't even know what they were involved in. A minor official on a border post somewhere paid $5000 to look the other way when certain lorries passed. He probably thought it was contraband of some sort but wouldn't dream he was turning a blind eye to the deaths of millions.

Apart from the central characters, it wasn't easy to see what many of those listed had to bring to the party. Our three prime suspects were a case in point. Perhaps the civil servant could provide false documents to allow stuff move cross border without too many questions but the MP and the tycoon didn't seem to offer much at all. We puzzled over this for a while until Liam had the idea of looking on the web to see if we could gain any clues from what these two posted on their official web-sites. I'm hopeless when it comes to computers but Liam and Niall don't go anywhere without a laptop. They plugged into the telephone line and we had the usual www - worldwide wait - while they searched. Renfrew's newspaper had its own site and we trawled back through its archived stories. These were mostly prurient celebrity tittle-tattle and attacks on the Government, The Europeans, illegal immigrants and single mothers. Most of the site was devoted to softcore images of vapid-looking naked girls with surgically enhanced breasts. A real intellectual, our Mr Renfrew.

He also had his own web page where he rambled on about his philosophy and the need for freedom of the Press. It didn't tell us a thing as to why he should be involved but his name was on the list. Charles Brownlock, MP had a strident site. It was full of the usual politicians' rubbish but with the slant of always portraying Charlie Boy in the best possible light. The most interesting thing to us was a section that contained transcripts of all his speeches. We read the turgid maunderings of this spiteful little man without too much enthusiasm. He had one cause, it appeared: to trample on those who made money. Profit was the root of all evil. He was rabidly anti-capitalist and unashamedly socialist. That wouldn't make him too popular in his Party, these days.

Travers, the civil servant, had one of those free-hosted sites with pictures of his prize-winning begonias or something. I'm no gardener but Travers was an absolute fanatic. Nothing political or inflammatory there. They seemed strange bedfellows, the right-wing newspaperman, the left-wing politician and the begonia grower. I couldn't see a link for the life of me. It was Niall who found it. He flicked back and forth between the various sites. His face was a study in concentration. Finally, he turned to us with three pages cascaded side by side.

"There, you see?"

I had to confess I did not and the others looked equally nonplussed.

"The lapel buttons," he said. They all have some little flower badge in their lapels."

We all stared hard at the photographs on the websites. Each man had a formal picture of himself in a business suit, smiling at the camera. Each had a little emblem in their lapel. It looked like a carnation or something similar. Angela's father told us that he he'd seen this badge before. He'd noticed it a couple of times being worn by other people on his list. It hadn't been worn by everyone and the meaning escaped him. We tried searching under 'carnation' or 'pink' but nothing helpful showed up on any of the search engines. There is an old saying: 'once is chance, twice is coincidence and three times is enemy action.' The little flower obviously had some meaning. We checked out a few more on the list who had websites. We found two others who displayed the badge in photographs of themselves. One was a German politician and the other an American radical who had made a name for himself for attacking big business and tying up major corporations in complicated lawsuits. The German didn't seem to have done anything much more than get himself elected and was pretty anonymous even in his own country. It was hard to see nay connection between these five other than the little emblems.

"Could it be an international charity?" I asked.

Liam shrugged. "If it is," he said, "It's bloody ineffective if none of us recognises its logo."

"I think it is some sort of sign," Angela said, "it helps them recognise each other."

Liam agreed. "And if anyone asks, it's a charity or political club or a branch of the bloody Lions or something. It makes sense but it is insecure."

"Not necessarily." Niall disagreed. "If there is absolutely no other connection. But it doesn't conform to any normal pattern of the terrorist cell, I grant you."

Even I understood that. Terrorists usually organise themselves in such a way that each little group doesn't know any other little group. That way, if one lot get arrested, the damage is limited to that cell alone. It's classic Che Guevara.

"I think I'll call Bernie," I said.

I dialled his home number and he answered on the second ring. He didn't have too much to report but he had found out, through a contact in Land Registry, that Charles Brownlock had purchased a small farm near Southwold in Suffolk. He had bought the place a couple of years ago but it wasn't listed as either of his addresses and wasn't remotely near his inner-city constituency. We were all immediately struck by the proximity to Felixstowe.

"Right," said Niall. "I'm going to take a look. Bill and Steve, you come with me. Liam, you and the colonel stay here with Martin and Angela."

Nobody argued but just as they were getting ready to depart in the Range Rover, I pulled Niall to one side.

"This has gone way too far, Niall. If you find anything, I want you to promise me that you'll call Swann at Special Branch and let them run with it. I feel bad enough about getting you and Liam involved. All right. I know we're friends and I know you think you owe me. Consider all debts more than paid in full. And please, be bloody careful!"

"Martin, there are old soldiers and there are bold soldiers. There are no old, bold soldiers. We'll simply check the place out and if there is anything amiss, I promise I call the boys in blue."

With that, they left. I still felt uneasy but could see no alternative. We couldn't go to Swann with what were, let's face it, just a bunch of suppositions and conjecture. Angela and I walked the dogs along the beach. We held hands and talked quietly about what the future might bring once this was all over.