TTF INTERVIEWS
Tank stood on the huge concrete police station roof with Faz and Chen. The station was situated two hundred yards from the River Mersey and the wind whistled through buildings from the Irish Sea. Tank crouched down as the chopper approached and touched down onto the landing pad. The big yellow Wessex helicopter had flown from the Royal Air Force base on Anglesey. It would take them just twenty-five minutes to fly to Holyhead. Faz had a plastic folder under her arm and she had to cling tightly to it, as the downdraft from the rotor blades grew stronger. The three taskforce officers climbed aboard the noisy machine.
“Morning, Sir, make yourselves comfortable and strap yourselves in if you would be so kind. Flight time should be about twenty-five minutes, so we won`t be serving any breakfast and there is no movie being shown. We don’t have any toilet facilities so we will just get you there as fast as we can!” The pilot spoke with an Oxbridge accent that even the Queen would have been proud of. He sported a large moustache that wouldn’t have been out of place on the face of a First World War flying ace.
“A comedian at this time in the morning is just what I need. All these Royal Air Force types are the same. They`re a bunch of bloody big puffs,” Tank said leaning over to Faz so that she could hear him over the engine noise. Tanks time in the Army had made him biased about the R.A.F. and the Royal Navy’s service men. Competition between the separate armed forces had always been fierce. The bias had stayed with him.
“Bring me up to speed please, Faz. What do we know about the two men that Sian is holding?” Tank said straightening his tie. He always looked uncomfortable in a suit; his neck was thick and muscular, making collars restrictive to wear. Faz had spoken to Sian at the custody suite in Holyhead just ten minutes earlier so she knew that her information was current.
“We have run their pictures through the digital profile system. The Asian man is a blank. The other man is one Patrick Finnen, a former member of the IRA, current member of Sinn Fein. He served time in the `H-blocks` for murder and conspiracy to commit murder. Finnen was also arrested on a Libyan Tanker called the Claudia 28th March 1973 in Irish territorial waters off the coast of County Waterford. The boat was found to be laden with five tons of Libyan arms and ammunition including 120 SA-7 shoulder mounted Surface to Air Missiles and 56 Rocket Propelled Grenade launchers. He was released from prison as part of the Good Friday Peace agreement three years ago. We have him listed as living at a Belfast address; the Irish police are getting a search warrant this morning. The car, a black Mercedes has false plates, but the chassis number matches a vehicle stolen in Manchester six months ago. The engine number however matches a silver Mercedes stolen in London three months ago. It`s probably been created from several other stolen cars in a chop shop. The hidden storage compartment had forty kilos of military grade Semtex hidden inside. The explosive has been matched with a manufacturer in the Czech Republic. It`s part of a shipment that was sold to Libya 23rd December 2002. We are checking to see if this batch matches any that has been used elsewhere outside of Libya. Right now it looks like the republicans are selling off their assets to the highest bidder.” Faz closed the thin plastic file as she exhausted the information in it.
“That is just bloody marvellous! Forty kilos of Semtex for sale, just one careful owner; How long is it going to take the Irish force to search his house?” Tank asked angrily. “Are they looking at any of his known associates?”
Faz shrugged her shoulders and explained that a progress report should be available to them when they reached Holyhead.
“Ask them how much of this stuff do they think the IRA has left. I want to know everything they know, and I want to know it today. I want their best men on this, and I want to know what explosive capacity the republicans had. I want to know what type of weapons they are selling. Is there any possibility that they still have Surface to Air missiles at their disposal?”Tank knew that just one Surface to Air Missile in the wrong hands could lead to any civilian passenger airplane being shot down. Most of the commercial airports in Britain were built in suburban areas. Finding a position to launch a missile at a passenger jet on take-off or landing would not be difficult.
“We don’t know how many Libyan arms shipments actually arrived successfully in Ireland. We know that the Royal Navy intercepted several Libyan vessels in the late 1980`s that were all laden with arms and munitions for The IRA.” Grace Farrington had the exact details in her file and she scanned them for anything that would be relevant. It was extremely difficult to make her voice heard in the speeding helicopter.
“Do they have access to sniper rifles, machine pistols, R.P.G`S at this moment in time and if they do, how is it being sold to these lunatics over here. We know what Yasser Ahmed is capable of. If he gets his hands on this stuff we will be clearing up bodies for years. I want this route from Dublin to Holyhead shut tight.” Tank had to shout now to make himself heard. He pulled at his collar again trying to make his shirt feel more comfortable. It didn’t work.
They landed twenty minutes later and it was a short drive down London Road to the detention suite. Faz looked through the two-way mirror at the Irish man that sat handcuffed at the table. He looked tired and dirty. Two of Sian`s customs officers sat opposite the man asking the same questions over and over again. The Irish man sat silently and stared at an imaginary spot in front of him. It was classic military interview technique, turn off and say nothing. Faz looked down the corridor to look for the others; they were walking down the sterile looking hallway toward her. She felt the eyes of the customs officer that stood next to her looking her up and down. Faz was a sexy black woman, tall and lean with an ass to die for. She was wearing tight black jeans and a white high-necked top that accentuated her breasts. She was a very rare specimen in a town like Holyhead.
“How long have they been interviewing Finnen for?” Faz asked the customs officer. His eyes snapped away from her body and he reddened with embarrassment. He had been caught in the act.
“About four hours, Ma`am. He’s given us a false name and address and that’s it. The Paki has said nothing at all so far,” he replied as Sian and Tank entered the room with Chen following behind them talking on his cell phone.
“He is not a `Paki`, Officer Jones. In fact, we don’t know what he is just yet, and until we do I would suggest you keep your racist remarks to yourself. Do I make myself clear or would you rather hear it from a white female superior officer?” Faz had suffered from racial discrimination all her career and she relished the opportunity to slap down a racist junior officer.
“Make yourself useful, go into those interview rooms and take both of the prisoners a cup of hot tea.” Faz had virtually castrated him in a sentence.
Sian and Tank leaned against the two-way glass trying very hard not to burst out laughing at the embarrassed customs officer.
“Stop causing trouble with the locals!” Sian gently slapped Grace on the arm in jest. The two female taskforce officers laughed.
“Alright, Boss, how do you want to do this?” Sian said to Tank, still laughing.
“Sian, I want your officers pulled back to the custody suite. No one is to be in these interview rooms except us. Tell your people that if we need them we will call them. No interruptions under any circumstances. Chen and Faz, you take the Irishman Finnen. No bullshit, tell him that we know who he is and that with his record he is looking at life behind bars. He is no longer a member of the IRA therefore he is a civilian, not a political prisoner. The interviews are code black. They may have information that could stop an imminent attack. Make him talk. Sian you are with me. Get your people out and give me a five-minute head start before you join me with the Asian. Let`s go.” Tank spoke quietly, not wanting the customs men to hear too much before they were ushered out of the interview rooms.
Tank walked into the interview room and closed the door. The Asian man looked up at the big man in the suit and he knew that this man was no customs officer. He had just picked up the cup of fresh hot tea that Faz had ordered for him. His mouth and throat were still burning from the effects of being shot by the Guardian Angel pepper spray the previous night. He was so thirsty; he had not even had a drink of water all night, and he was feeling very scared. The Asian man had heard the officers that were interviewing him asking him questions about explosives repeatedly. He knew that being accused of smuggling explosives was a very serious situation to be in, but he said nothing, because he didn’t know anything.
He had been ordered to pick up the Mercedes from Ireland, and to drive it back toward Manchester. The influential members of his small community had told him that he would be called en route, with instructions and a final destination. He had not been in the country long but had found a room to stay in and temporary agency work in Warrington. The Asian shared a house with six other men, two Egyptian, one from Jordan and three Pakistanis. They found him work at one of the huge distribution warehouses in the town’s industrial area. They picked, and then packed sandwich orders in a refrigerated cold room from midnight until midday. The work continued throughout the night. The sandwich deliveries then headed all over the country in refrigerated vans. The work was dull but the work force was predominantly all Asians, so there was a community atmosphere amongst the employees. There were always rumours being passed around the cold room at night. Talk of Mujahidin soldiers of God and unrest amongst the more extreme young Asian men. Despite living and working in Britain, many young Muslims felt the urge to commit violent protest in response to the British government`s policy in Iraq and Afghanistan. He worked with the men every night and prayed with them at their mosque every day. It was in the cold room that he had been recruited to drive the Mercedes from Ireland. It was part of a bigger plan he was told. It would be an act of faith, a demonstration of commitment to his new community. He did not think that driving a car from Ireland could be dangerous or difficult.
Now this big man with a shaved head had come into the room and he had brought a feeling of malice in with him. The Asian man had just taken a sip of his tea, when without even speaking the big man slapped him hard across the back of his head. The hot tea fell into his lap scalding his genitals, and he stood quickly trying to escape the burning sensation in his groin. Tank threw a powerful roundhouse kick into the man’s midriff as he stood up from his chair; his shinbone sunk into the soft flesh and muscle knocking the wind from his lungs. The Asian man fell heavily onto his side gasping to get air into his body for the second time in twenty four hours. Tank dragged him up from the floor and slammed him into the chair. He was struggling to breathe, still winded from the powerful kick that he had received. Tears filled his eyes and he felt more afraid than he had ever done.
“What’s your name? You have been caught carrying bomb-making materials into my country. I take that very personally. I’m a little pissed off about it in actual fact.” Tank leaned over the table and glared into the frightened man`s tearful eyes. He could tell that he was nearly broken already. The Asian man looked at the empty table and said nothing. His bottom lip was quivering slightly.
“My name is Tankersley; I’m head of the Terrorist Task Force. I am the one who gets to decide which prison you will go into. I am going to put you into a jail full of National Front boys. Real live skinhead Nazi bastards. Have you ever heard of Combat 18? They like young Asian boys to be put into their prison. They get to work off all their aggression.” Tank watched the Asian pale, his eyes widened and tears flowed freely down his cheeks.
“Right now that’s where you’re headed. What is your name?” Tank slapped him again knocking his head forward viciously. The Asian man started to cry openly sobbing, blood was running from his nose.
“You have been set up. You’re the fall guy. Whoever you think you are protecting has used you to smuggle explosives through this port into my country.” Tank hit him again, this time with the back of his fist across the bridge of his nose.
“They waited until you and that thick Paddy next door, were on your way then they made a phone call.” Tank tossed a telephone record sheet onto the table in front of the man. The man rocked backwards and forward in his chair blubbering like a child. His nose and throat were still raw from the pepper spray he had encountered earlier. His eyes screwed tightly closed, saliva and blood dripped onto his shirt. Tank took a cassette from his pocket and placed it into the machine on the desk. He grabbed the Asian man by the back of the head pulling it back sharply.
“Listen to this. This is the sound of your boss, dropping you from a great height, into a great big pile of shit.” Tank pressed the play button. The voice on the tape was muffled. The caller had tried to disguise their voice but there could be no hiding the accent. It was Arabic. The man opened his eyes wide in disbelief. The pain of betrayal didn’t lessen the pain of the beating.
“Usef, My name is Usef Mamood. I did not know about any explosives, I swear upon my Lord I did not,” Usef whined, spittle mixed with his blood and tears as they dripped from his chin. The reality of his situation had finally hit home.
Sian entered the room with a look of shock in her eyes as she looked at the sobbing man at the table. Tank walked away from the broken man toward Sian.
“He has spilt his tea, slipped, and fallen over I am afraid. However, he has managed to tell me that his name is Usef Mamood, and he wants to tell you everything that he knows. Get it all on tape please Sian. I want to see what Paddy Finnen next door is saying.” Tank opened the door as he spoke; he nodded at Sian and loosened his collar as he passed her.
The Irish man Finnen was lying on his back on the floor. His chair had been upturned and Chen had his foot across Finnen`s throat when Tank walked into the room. Finnen was shouting abuse at the Chinese officer but it was mostly very garbled due to his predicament. Chen was responding with a kick every time he heard the word `Chink` in the abuse.
Tank reached down and picked up the Irishman, correcting the chair beneath him as he did so.
“Get this mad Chink off my throat. He can’t treat me like this. I want a fucking lawyer right now.” Finnen grew a little more confident as he was brought vertical again. The ferocity of Chen`s interrogation had taken the IRA man by surprise. Finnen began to think that he was in big trouble this time. Tank stepped behind Finnen, who was now seated and quickly forced his forearm beneath his chin, around his neck. He tightened the guillotine lock applying pressure to the man’s windpipe, choking him.
“We don’t need any solicitors Patrick you are a terrorist suspect. You are mine for twenty eight days before I even need to tell anyone that you are in custody.” Tank squeezed tighter.
“You have two choices. Tap out or pass out. You can tap your hands on the desk if you want to talk to us or you can choke to death, I don’t give a fuck personally because your mate next door is singing like a bird.” Tank squeezed the lock harder. Finnen`s face was now a purple colour and his eyes were popping from his head.
“Tap out or pass out Patrick it`s your decision. However, while you are deciding what to do, have my friends here told you that you were set up? Big hard Provo boy like you set up by a bunch of camel herders. What would the boys in the `H-blocks` make of that Patrick?” Tank applied more pressure. Finnen started to twitch as he tried desperately to tap his hand on the desk. His face was the colour of a ripe aubergine and the veins in his forehead were pulsing rapidly as his brain struggled for oxygen.
“Do you think he wants to talk to us or do you just think he’s dying?” Tank asked sarcastically ignoring the Irishman`s attempt to give up.
“I think he probably wants you to let go of his neck. You could always do it again later if he changes his mind.” Faz added with a wry smile. Tank released Finnen and he crumpled onto the desk gasping for breath. Sian opened the door and looked at the man prone on the desk.
“I know,” she said, looking at Tank, “He spilt his tea and then slipped.”