Starting Point

By Mike Crowson

Derek, Paul and the singular but striking Ike (Inge Axelhammer) are “consultants”, called in because Special Branch have to play by the rules and keep within the law, while the consultants are disposable should they be caught in the wrong place. Because the Anti-Terrorist Branch have nothing as a starting point but a tip off about explosives stored in a house in Bradford, the consultants are called in and end up tracing an extreme right wing plot to kidnap the Mayor of Bradford, disrupt a BBC outside broadcast and blame unspecified Moslems. With the aid of a tracer and a cut off switch secretly installed in a minibus, a motorcycle chase through Huddersfield ends with a spectacular crash.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Crowson
• Release date: May 21, 2020

Mike Crowson

Former teacher, former national secretary of what became the UK Green Party and for 40 years a student of things esoteric and occult. Now an occult and esoteric consultant offering free and unconditional help to those in serious and genuine psychic or occult trouble

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Starting Point

© Mike Crowson 2020

Published by Dragonfire at Smashwords

Cover: iStock Images and Ian Crowson Photography

ISBN:

This is a work of fiction: all characters and events are fictional

Chapter 1 – Tuesday am

The traffic wasn't too bad considering it was rush hour, as I cruised down from my low cost hotel near Layton Orient football ground, into Stratford town centre in East London. I turned off the Broadway, into a dead end side street and pulled my motorbike onto its stand. I locked and left it by the rear entrance to Derek's office, to walk back to the end of the street and round to the front. The steel roller blind was down over the anonymous entrance next to Olympic IT Services on the Broadway. There was a sign telling me this was D. Welch IT Consultancy but, when I pressed the buzzer next to the sign, the blind rolled silently up straight away.

I knew there was a closed circuit camera and a speaker phone, so I wasn't surprised when I heard Ike's voice say, Come on up, Paul.

The door swung silently open. Not 'allowed me to push or pull it open' – there is no way in at all unless someone upstairs triggers the remote. What's more, the door opens outwards, so it could not open at all, by remote or otherwise, unless that steel roller blind was up. Derek and Ike have considerable security, a clear sign they aren't just the 'consultants' they claim to be. I went in and upstairs to meet Ike.

Ike? Ike needs description as well as explanation and an introduction!

Ike was in the outer office and, if you haven't encountered her before, she looks at first glance like a rather bizarre receptionist. That's misleading. She's in her very late thirties or possibly her early forties and, in spite of her potentially off-putting appearance at first glance, she's an attractive woman. Today she was wearing a minor variation on her customary unconventional fashions: heavily patterned dayglow orange leggings, with a short dayglow orange skirt, a black top with the legend "If you don't ask I won't say No", above which she had a dark blue circle of Celtic knots tattooed round her neck. She was wearing lipstick to match her leggings, eyeshadow to match her Celtic knots – apart from a bit garish, not too far from normal so far. She had a stud in her nose, another in her chin, six pierced ear rings in each ear, very blue eyes and light brown hair in a single plait nearly down to her waist but her head was almost shaved at the sides.

I remember being stunned the first time I ran into her, wearing a similar get up – magenta that time - and assuming then that Derek had hired himself an unusual receptionist. She answers to 'Ike' but claims it's short for IKEA because it's a furniture store most English speakers can get their tongues round and it's Swedish, like her. Her name is Inge Axelhammer and, while that is possibly a bit un-English as a name, it doesn't seem to me to be too difficult to say, so her explanation might be only partly true. She has a Doctorate in IT from Umea University (north-ish in Sweden) but that's only the start. She is a hell of a hacker: if a computer system or mobile phone can be hacked she can hack it, if it can't be hacked it just takes her a bit longer. I mean it – if hacking is a profession she's a pro!

Derek's through the back, she said, nodding a plait and a shaved head vaguely in the direction of the inner office, and followed me in with three bottles of low alcohol beer and two glasses.

Knowing that Derek and Ike seemed to live on low alcohol beer I'd had a couple of cups of decent strength coffee with my breakfast at the hotel. I think a shot of intravenous caffein would be the ideal way to get me going in the morning, but any strong coffee rates better with me than their usual beverage. First thing in the morning, anyway.

Derek is much more normal than Ike, at least as far as looks are concerned. He's early forties or so, same as me, fairly tall and clean shaven with tidy hair a bit on the long side. You never consider him as a possible cop, but he's a mate from our days in the Metropolitan Police. We used to work out of the Stratford nick, him in the IT fraud squad and me a Detective Sergeant. I'm not actually sure whether I'm still a police officer but Derek isn't – he was 'invited to resign' after he hacked into places the Civil Liberties people didn't like. That was before he met up with Ike: now they are what you might euphemistically call 'consultants' and will hack into anything for cash, mainly so that the legit lot can claim their innocence.

Ike brought in the beer and plonked a bottle and a glass in front of Derek and another in front of me. As I'd come to expect, Ike drank hers straight from the bottle.

So, I began, I gather Sir George wants to see us all at ten. I poured my beer into my glass and took a sip.

Way it goes, Derek agreed. All I know is that the Anti-Terrorist Branch picked up explosives in Bradford after a tip off. Presumably the police haven't made much progress.

They wouldn't come to us if they had been making progress, Ike remarked, swigging from her bottle.

In Thames House again? I said. Because if so we'll have to get a move on to make the appointment - it's almost nine already.

It won't take us long to Millbank by bike, Ike said a bit dismissively. Where's yours? she added.

Outside your back gate.

You'd better change into leathers, Derek suggested to her. I agreed with the sentiment he hadn't exactly expressed directly – dayglow orange leggings and a mini skirt are not really motorcycle gear.

Leather trousers will go over my leggings no problem. She was still being dismissive, taking from thespare chair her leather jacket with the huge eagle on the back and shrugging it on.

Drink up and we'll be off, Derek suggested, already in a leather jacket.

* * *

Millbank is the stretch of the Thames Embankment starting from the Houses of Parliament and going up river past the Tate Britain. Thames House in Millbank is next door to the Home Office building and is in itself an interesting heap. For public consumption it houses the Northern Ireland Office. It is also the offices of MI5's analysis unit and, although they have other information gathering centres around the country, it can be regarded as their HQ. Rumour has it that there is an underground passage between the two edifices but, if there is one, I've never seen it. Personally I also doubt its existence but … who knows.

Sir George is an individual I've only met a couple of times before. He tries to remain incognito or at least as elusive, unobtrusive and as totally forgettable as possible. He passes himself off - as far as he has any public persona - as an undesignated senior Home Office Civil Servant, with an assistant and a secretary in an office on the top floor of the Home Office building and the ear of incredible range of officials, not least senior police officers. In reality, however, when we rode in motorcycle convoy later that morning it was between the concrete blocks behind Thames House that we threaded. We showed our warrant cards to a security officer, waited until he raised the steel barrier and rode into the basement car park.

A lift took the three of us up to Sir George's real office on the upper floor of Thames House. He has the appearance of ex-military: tallish, in a 'civil servant' suit – black jacket and waistcoat over grey pinstriped trousers, looking like he was ready for a Masonic meeting, though I have no idea whether he's a member of a lodge - with a shock of well groomed white hair, a probably regimental tie and a benign expression which is very misleading. He glanced at his watch as we entered.

On time, he remarked. I like that. Do sit down. He got to his feet and emerged from behind his desk long enough to hand each of us a thin file.

You will see that there is not a lot to go on as a starting point. He said, quite unnecessarily I thought: I could see there wasn't much in there. However, he continued, In the recent past you started with absolutely nothing and succeeded in breaking a people smuggling ring.

You only give us the difficult ones, Derek observed, opening his copy of the file. So tell us what you think is happening and what you think we can do to help.

The Anti-Terrorist Branch in Bradford received an anonymous tip off regarding ISIL inspired and encouraged activity, suggesting they search a mentioned property. They found explosives and detonators in an empty private house. They have learned nothing from the neighbours and nothing as to the former occupants of the target address. We are not even certain who owns it, just the agency that rents it out.

Will we have access to the property? I asked, thinking a quick call to the land registry should establish the owner. Besides which, who last paid the Council Tax bill? That might have been a tenant not the owner, of course.

Naturally I will arrange entirely free access. There are also three computers picked up during the search.

Presumably the local dogs have been sniffing around them, Ike remarked.

The National Anti-Terrorism Branch had their IT experts look at them, yes, but all three machines have defied attempts to break the passwords. Fortunately their experts copied the hard drives first and experimented on the copies, because one of them triggered a programme to wipe the data.

But the local dogs haven't more than sniff, I hope, Ike's accent is near perfect, just a touch of the Scandinavian sing-song – falling first syllable, rising last syllable - and a slight tendency to pronounce 'z's as 's', making her seem soft spoken. Her grammar is, if anything, too perfect: funny how a lot of Germans and Scandinavians speak better English than we do! I wouldn't want the dogs pissing on them! she added, spoiling the illusion a bit.

Sir George winced ever so slightly at her language. I believe they had no luck at all, he responded. My suggestion is that you, he indicated Derek and Ike, Look at the computers while you, Superintendent Davies, go up to Bradford and have a preliminary look at the property.

What, apart from the explosives and the computers, has been taken? I wondered aloud, noting that my 'promotion' from Detective Inspector to Superintendent was remarkably rapid. I wondered how permanent it was.

As I understand it, not much else was taken, Sir George told me. The explosive, the detonators, the computers and a couple of copies of the Koran. The place was furnished but without occupants and otherwise pretty well empty, at least of anything personal.

As if someone had cleaned it out and then left the explosives to be found when someone had tipped off the anti-terrorist lot, I suggested, thinking that copies of the Koran might also be meant to be deliberately misleading. The Anti-Terrorist Branch could be assumed to react to anything Islamic when ISIL was mentioned.

Sir George looked interested. That is possible, he admitted, But what would be the point?

I remembered that last time out several misleading odds and ends had been deliberately left for me to find, and I could think of several scenarios in which it might be very much to the point to deliberately mislead on this occasion too. Some scenarios were more convincing than others of course. For a start there is the old conjuror's trick – to get you to look closely at