THE THESEUS PARADOX: The stunning breakthrough thriller based on real events, from the Scotland Yard detective turned author. Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: David Videcette
Tags: Terror, Religión, detective, thriller, Crime, Police, England, Islam, British, London, Scotland Yard, Murder, Terrorism, explosion, terrorist, Britain, Fundamentalism, Conspiracy Theory, muslim, victim, underground, extremist, bomb, inspector, Plot, No. 30, Subway, Jake, London Underground, Flannagan, 7/7, Bus, Tube, Tavistock Square, Extremism, Metropolitan Police, Fundamentalist, Bombings, July 2005, Islamic, Bus Bomb, 7th July, Number 30 (bus), Capital
intently to the call. This was no place to have a private conversation, thought Jake.
His head was still fuzzy; he needed to know the circumstances behind the crash.
‘I had a car accident on the M1 early this morning,’ he told the uniformed Millgarth officer. ‘I’ve been in hospital. Who would have dealt with that?’
‘I’d imagine the traffic department. Let me have a look on the system for you.’
Jake watched as the officer called up the incident log on his PC.
‘Here you are, sir. Would you like to check the log yourself?’
Jake sat down at the computer and read:
0433 hours: Caller has found an Audi A4 overturned on the motorway. Driver unconscious but breathing. Ambulance called.
0443 hours: Vehicle registration check shows car as Metropolitan Police vehicle: Met Control Room to be contacted.
0445 hours: Met Police Central Command and Control say vehicle is used by SO13 Anti-Terrorist Branch. They will ask them to contact West Yorkshire Police.
0455 hours: West Yorkshire Police traffic department on scene and dealing. Officer says simple accident, no other vehicle involved. Driver hit central reservation. Ambulance required.
0505 hours: Ambulance on scene. Male driver (believed to be Detective Inspector Jake Flannagan of Metropolitan Police) is en route to Leeds General Infirmary.
0630 hours: Leeds General Infirmary states Inspector Flannagan’s injuries are minor and not life-threatening. Officer remains unconscious. Met Police informed of officer’s condition. Met Police advise DI Flannagan has next-of-kin emergency-contact details recorded on file as wife, Stephanie Flannagan. Telephone number provided to hospital.
Jake’s felt slightly sick as he realised that he was lucky to be alive.
The stitches running across his arms and down his back were now beginning to bite into him. He needed to find somewhere comfortable to lie down; somewhere he could use the phone in private.
8
Thursday
7 July 2005
1310 hours
Longthorne Oak Hotel, central Leeds, West Yorkshire
Jake lay down on the hotel bed’s quilted, maroon counterpane and called his boss’s mobile. He was glad of the privacy.
‘DCI Helen Brookes.’
‘Helen, it’s Jake…’
‘Jesus, great time to write the car off, Jake! We were worried sick. What the hell were you doing?’ Helen sounded more than a little upset.
‘Helen, I think I know who did this.’
‘Did what?’
‘The bombings!’ Jake knew this was going to be difficult to explain.
‘Who? Not that lot from Leeds that the Security Service told you to leave alone? You were supposed to be visiting friends up there in Manchester. Don’t tell me you were working up there without permission, Jake! How did the car get written off?’
‘Helen. I need to explain some stuff to you…’
‘Jake, before you say any more, think carefully. Do you know what’s happened down here?’ Helen was always shrewd with what she shared with anyone.
‘I know what’s happened. That was no ordinary accident I had…’
She interrupted him. ‘I hear they found lots of nails on the road near your car, Jake – not to mention the ones stuck in your body from where you overturned the car. They said you had a blowout on the front tyres from the nails. That is how it happened isn’t it, Jake? That is what you were going to tell me, isn’t it ? I need you back in London today, Jake. Tavistock Square. Please do not tell me about anything you’ve been up to in Leeds – OK?’
The line went dead. She’d hung up.
Jake lay on the bed of his hotel room, looking at the ceiling. It hurt to move. He’d been told that his line manager would not support him in claiming anything other than a simple car accident. It meant he couldn’t retrospectively get permission on the forced-entry job up at the house in Dewsbury. What a fucking mess.
It was time to go and face the music back down south. He checked out, making sure to pay with his own debit card and not police funds. He was not
His head was still fuzzy; he needed to know the circumstances behind the crash.
‘I had a car accident on the M1 early this morning,’ he told the uniformed Millgarth officer. ‘I’ve been in hospital. Who would have dealt with that?’
‘I’d imagine the traffic department. Let me have a look on the system for you.’
Jake watched as the officer called up the incident log on his PC.
‘Here you are, sir. Would you like to check the log yourself?’
Jake sat down at the computer and read:
0433 hours: Caller has found an Audi A4 overturned on the motorway. Driver unconscious but breathing. Ambulance called.
0443 hours: Vehicle registration check shows car as Metropolitan Police vehicle: Met Control Room to be contacted.
0445 hours: Met Police Central Command and Control say vehicle is used by SO13 Anti-Terrorist Branch. They will ask them to contact West Yorkshire Police.
0455 hours: West Yorkshire Police traffic department on scene and dealing. Officer says simple accident, no other vehicle involved. Driver hit central reservation. Ambulance required.
0505 hours: Ambulance on scene. Male driver (believed to be Detective Inspector Jake Flannagan of Metropolitan Police) is en route to Leeds General Infirmary.
0630 hours: Leeds General Infirmary states Inspector Flannagan’s injuries are minor and not life-threatening. Officer remains unconscious. Met Police informed of officer’s condition. Met Police advise DI Flannagan has next-of-kin emergency-contact details recorded on file as wife, Stephanie Flannagan. Telephone number provided to hospital.
Jake’s felt slightly sick as he realised that he was lucky to be alive.
The stitches running across his arms and down his back were now beginning to bite into him. He needed to find somewhere comfortable to lie down; somewhere he could use the phone in private.
8
Thursday
7 July 2005
1310 hours
Longthorne Oak Hotel, central Leeds, West Yorkshire
Jake lay down on the hotel bed’s quilted, maroon counterpane and called his boss’s mobile. He was glad of the privacy.
‘DCI Helen Brookes.’
‘Helen, it’s Jake…’
‘Jesus, great time to write the car off, Jake! We were worried sick. What the hell were you doing?’ Helen sounded more than a little upset.
‘Helen, I think I know who did this.’
‘Did what?’
‘The bombings!’ Jake knew this was going to be difficult to explain.
‘Who? Not that lot from Leeds that the Security Service told you to leave alone? You were supposed to be visiting friends up there in Manchester. Don’t tell me you were working up there without permission, Jake! How did the car get written off?’
‘Helen. I need to explain some stuff to you…’
‘Jake, before you say any more, think carefully. Do you know what’s happened down here?’ Helen was always shrewd with what she shared with anyone.
‘I know what’s happened. That was no ordinary accident I had…’
She interrupted him. ‘I hear they found lots of nails on the road near your car, Jake – not to mention the ones stuck in your body from where you overturned the car. They said you had a blowout on the front tyres from the nails. That is how it happened isn’t it, Jake? That is what you were going to tell me, isn’t it ? I need you back in London today, Jake. Tavistock Square. Please do not tell me about anything you’ve been up to in Leeds – OK?’
The line went dead. She’d hung up.
Jake lay on the bed of his hotel room, looking at the ceiling. It hurt to move. He’d been told that his line manager would not support him in claiming anything other than a simple car accident. It meant he couldn’t retrospectively get permission on the forced-entry job up at the house in Dewsbury. What a fucking mess.
It was time to go and face the music back down south. He checked out, making sure to pay with his own debit card and not police funds. He was not
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