Читать книгу The Istanbul Puzzle - Laurence O’Bryan - Страница 18

Chapter 13

In Whitehall Sergeant Henry P Mowlam was looking at his screen. His hands were curled into fists.

He closed his eyes. Would they listen to him? The raid on the London mosque had led to two riots already. As far as he was concerned, traffic checkpoints in the city should have been in place for at least another two weeks. The unrest in other European cities had continued during the last twenty four hours. All across Europe similar raids on mosques had been conducted in search of terror suspects who’d gone on the run after the escalation in the Middle East. Acting on rumours, looking for scapegoats, was how it had been described by some in the media. The civil rights mob had been having a canary, live on television.

He listened to the drone of the underground control room. Some days it reminded him of a symphony, all that humming and buzzing and heels clacking and coughs and clicks.

‘Are you all right, Henry?’ a woman’s voice whispered.

He nodded, opened his eyes. Sergeant Finch was standing beside him. She always looked so good in her starched white shirt. He pointed at his screen.

A message in a secure window read:

DO NOT PROCEED WITH PTRE/67765/67LE.

‘What’s that about?’ said Finch.

The matter of the checkpoints would have to wait. This was something Sergeant Finch could help him with.

‘I am not to place surveillance on Lord Bidoner, despite the fact that he’s met two other men we’ve been monitoring in the past week!’

Finch looked surprised. A troubled look crossed her face.

‘That request was playing with fire, Henry. You do know who Bidoner is, don’t you?’

Mowlam nodded, shrugged. He closed the message and went back to the video images he’d been assessing.