Shake the World

By Keith Hallam and White Magic Studios

Alan Whittaker was not amused to be second from Britain's new National Security Force to assist MI5 in Birmingham. He was surprised to team up with Kirsty Lambert, a very attractive Senior Surveillance Officer. After losing her partner in Afghanistan the last thing she wanted was another man entering her life.

They found themse

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maple Publishers
• Release date: Jul 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781914366437

Book preview

Shake the World_Front Cover.jpg

SHAKE

THE

WORLD

By

keith hallam

09_maple_logo_black%20square.jpg

Shake The World

Author: Keith Hallam

Copyright © Keith Hallam (2022)

The right of Keith Hallam to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First Published in 2022

ISBN 978-1-914366-44-4 (Paperback)

978-1-914366-43-7 (Ebook)

Book layout by:

White Magic Studios

www.whitemagicstudios.co.uk

Cover Designed by:

Creative Covers, St Anne’s-on-the-Sea

Published by:

Maple Publishers

1 Brunel Way,

Slough,

SL1 1FQ, UK

www.maplepublishers.com

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the

British Library.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or translated by any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Chapter 1

Those Who Arrived

Kirsty Lambert was running for her life through the damp Birmingham night. She was not quite certain what had been disturbed, but the man chasing her certainly wanted her downfall. She tripped on a shallow step, invisible in the darkness, and dropped painfully onto one knee. The bullet, from an obviously silenced gun, shaved her head and ricocheted off the wall beside her. Gasping, she took a sharp left onto the walkway, which was alongside the University, but there was no one in sight.

Pausing at a bend she glanced back. He was a silently moving shadow, fifty yards behind her. He must have chased her for well over a mile and she could feel the effect of the exertion. Kirsty again began running, at the same time reflecting that she could discourage him by snapping off a shot herself. She realised that the man could not possibly know who, or even what, she was. It was perhaps best not to let him know that she was armed unless he completely cornered her, and Kirsty had no intention of letting that happen.

Noticing a group of students crossing the footbridge over the canal, she tucked in behind them. Slipping off the baseball cap, she replaced it with a woolly bob hat from the inside pocket of her coat. It covered more of her hair. Shrugging off the shoulders of her coat allowed her tresses to hang inside the back of it and then she turned her collar up. Her blonde hair would now be completely hidden from anyone some distance behind her and turning her collar up seemed to be quite normal on such a damp and drizzly night.

Kirsty stayed with the students, at their walking pace, and glanced behind again as the walkway turned right. There was no sign of him; a feeling of relief came over her as her breathing slowly returned to normal. She did not want to be obviously looking back but did so carefully at each change of direction. Realizing that her pursuer had been shaken off, she then made her way through the huge shopping mall to the rear car park.

Oh god, now I‘ve got him to put up with.

‘Hello there, gorgeous.’ His grey/blue eyes looked her up and down as they always did. ‘Did you find anything interesting?’

‘It was a bit too interesting.’ She climbed into the big four by four. ‘They were dumping big brown bags of something into the house. The guys at the house didn’t spot me, but they had a lookout on the far side of the road. He came at me before I noticed him. He got quite close, but I managed to outrun him. He actually took a shot at me as I neared the main street, but then I mingled with the students and lost him.’

‘Jesus! I thought this was a simple surveillance job. I told you that we would have been less noticeable as a courting couple in a doorway.’

‘I am furious with myself for being caught out like that, but I wasn’t desperate enough to go for your suggestion. Anyway, you wouldn’t have been able to keep your mind on the job.’

His eyes passed over her again as she fastened her safety belt and his mouth formed the leer that made her shudder.

‘Guess you’re probably right, we’d better report in.’ He pressed the starter and the big V8 growled as they moved off.

*

Almost two days before Kirsty’s race through the Birmingham streets, Groundhog One had been speeding northwards along the coast, heading for Milford Haven.

‘Groundhog One, Groundhog One, respond, Over.’

Mark Kinsman reached for the radio, as his mind thought once again about the wit at control, who had given the Groundhog call sign to a seagoing boat. Anyone listening could not possibly imagine that a boat was being called. However, with everything state-of- the- art and specially encrypted, no one could listen anyway. Perhaps a little humour had crept in.

‘Groundhog One receiving, over.’

‘What is your position now? Over.’

‘Four miles south of Milford Haven, ETA at target 23.00, will be slowing to approach shortly. Over.’

‘Roger that. Groundhog One let us know when target sighted. Over.’

‘Will confirm, over and out.’

Mark glanced at the chart. Groundhog One was making sixteen knots. He considered that not bad for a displacement type seagoing motor cruiser. Mark would have liked more speed, but she was sea kindly and strongly built. Her state-of-the-art surveillance equipment was out of this world and her cameras, lenses and support equipment were the best possible. She also fitted in with the coastal scene, easily mingling with the many privately-owned coastal boats.

Mark’s grey eyes glanced across the cabin to where Peter Singleton studied the navigation computer, the screen giving his face a blue tinge, but his eyes still looked green enough as he returned Mark’s gaze.

‘Coaster, isn’t she? She seems to be a shade less than two hundred and fifty feet and is just two miles away.’

‘OK Tom, ease her down to creeping mode.’

‘Aye, Aye sir,’ Tom Walker grinned, and his brown eyes stared into the darkness as they approached their quarry. The motor cruiser crept forward as Peter checked out their target.

‘She is showing no lights and there is no sign of radar or any surveillance equipment, her prop is turning very slowly, and she is just hanging about.’

‘Not another drug smuggler, I hope.’ Tom glanced at the screen.

‘It could be.’ Mark shrugged his shoulders. ‘We’ll just have to wait and see.’

The ship was not using any equipment that might have detected them, so Groundhog’s crew brought her close enough for the dark outline of the vessel to be just visible. They then hung about for some considerable time.

By 0400 the slightest hint of grey light began to show in the sky to the east.

Peter glanced up from the night vision camera, ‘This could be a problem, she hasn’t hung around all this time for nothing. Soon we’ll have to sneak further away, or we’ll be seen before we find out what’s going on.’

‘Couldn’t have put it better myself,’ Mark replied but said no more because Peter raised a hand.

‘There is a small boat coming extremely fast from the east, out of Milford Haven! Looks like a diving boat, you know, a rigid inflatable. She is doing over thirty knots-I hope they don’t see us.’

‘I shouldn’t think so. We are fairly low down and against the darker western sky.’

Peter lined up the night vision camera; it made night binoculars redundant, and the surrounding darkness look like daylight. The big inflatable approached the coaster swiftly, only slowing as she reached the ship’s stern, and a rope was dangled over the stern rail.

The inflatable paused near the coaster’s rudder and three men came expertly and swiftly down the rope and into the waiting boat. Some baggage followed, lowered expertly, and the inflatable spun round and headed shoreward. The whole incident had taken only four minutes.

Peter studied the ship for a moment. The name on her stern was Rowena and her home port was shown as Liverpool. They watched, as Rowena switched on her lights and began to move north.

‘Tom, I intend to try and chase the inflatable.’

‘OK boss.’ Tom swung the helm and opened the throttle. Groundhog One could only manage around half of the inflatable’s speed, but they would be able to keep in contact by using the surveillance equipment. They ran at full throttle for half an hour, the boat was bouncing from wave to wave, as she cut through the swell.

‘Typical of the National Security Force,’ Tom piped up. ‘I either get bored or bounced.’

‘We didn’t do so badly with those drug people last month.’

‘Sure, but we did all the work, and the navy got all the credit.’

‘It has to be that way,’ Mark said, ‘we’re supposed to be the secret bit.’

‘They are slowing and turning to the south bank.’ Peter pointed at the screen.

Mark switched the navigation lights on. ‘We are just an innocent pleasure craft going about our lawful occasions. We’ll cruise past and get them on film.’

The two boats were now well inside Milford Haven. The main port was still ahead and mostly on the northern side of the massive inlet. The inflatable made for the southern side, at a point where there were only a few scattered buildings. She came alongside a scruffy looking concrete jetty and the three men jumped ashore, carrying their bags. A white van appeared from behind a building and the men piled into it. The Transit moved off at a good pace. Another van reversed to the water’s edge with a trailer, and the inflatable was quickly taken from the water and towed away.

Groundhog recorded the whole procedure and at the same time Mark informed control, who alerted shore-based members of the force. Groundhog had been able to glimpse a partial registration number and passed on HT09.

Peter replayed the recording they had taken and was pleased with the quality. The cleverly disguised surveillance equipment, on the cabin top, was his pride and joy. They had clear mug shots of two men, who were of Asian appearance.

‘The problem with this sort of thing,’ Tom said, ‘is that we pass on all this information and yet may never hear anything again. We will never find out what it was all about.’

The computer bleeped twice. The photographs had been automatically transferred to control and a match had come up immediately, Peter turned towards the machine.

‘Interesting, this time we know a bit more already. Akbar Hashim Muhammad, I don’t like the sound of him. Akbar means powerful/great and Hashim means destroyer or crusher of evil,’ Peter grinned.

‘You two had better watch out then,’ Tom said, ‘handsome looking devil.’

Tom was not kidding. Akbar was good looking. Tall and slim with black hair and dusky eyes, his shiny skin was an unusual light brown that attracted attention, especially from the ladies.

Peter was reading the blurb. ‘It says here that he’s one of so-called Islamic State’s top operatives and is suspected of being involved in attacks in America, France and Belgium. It states that he only involves himself in major operations, probable age twenty-six.’

The computer bleeped again, and Peter leaned over it. ‘Sarbam Malik, twenty-seven, ex British Army, King’s Regiment and involved in attacks in France.’

The printer spewed out several sheets and Peter passed them over to the boss. Mark studied them for a moment.

‘The van is going north, heading for the M6, they have a team, multi-vehicle, trying to follow it to its destination. The question is: what are those men doing here?’

‘Much of the same I should think,’ Tom adjusted the helm. ‘They are serious contenders.

‘I suppose that they’re too well known to enter the country by conventional routes. They gave me the impression that they really knew what they were doing.’

‘They are out of our jurisdiction now,’ Mark shrugged his shoulders. ‘Unless they come back to sea, we are out of the picture.’

*

Daniya Siddiqi was making her way to college by 8am. It was a twenty-minute walk from her home in Derg Street to the red brick building that was overlooked by the university. She reflected that university was hopefully her next move. It was also the reason for yet another row with her father. A devout Muslim, he had his own very entrenched ideas on how Muslim women should conduct themselves. Going to university and studying medicine was not one of them.

‘A good Muslim woman stays in the home, obeys her husband and looks after the domestic needs of her family.’

Daniya did not like the rows, but she could give just as good as she got. ‘This isn’t the old country. In Britain, teenage girls are encouraged to study and make a good future for themselves, that’s how a modern society improves to help everyone.’

‘Help everyone! Muslim women should be strictly disciplined, there should be a law to prevent them going to college and mingling with men. We do have our own laws and they expressly forbid such things.’

Daniya sighed as she walked along. Her mother sided with her, but she was too timid and too entrenched in the old ways to be of much help. Her mind flicked back to the other news; friends of her father were arriving today. They were all male and would be staying with them for around three months. Her father said they were ‘fund raisers’ whatever that meant. Daniya had a good idea what the funds were being raised for, but there were things that it was not wise to question, both she and her mother had been told in no uncertain manner, to keep quiet. She hoped to stay out of their way.

*

Akbar Hashim Muhammad was still furious, as the van made its way through the back streets of Birmingham. A renowned Islamic Jihad fighter, he was proud of the high regard paid to him by fellow Islamists. He got things done. His personal aim was the complete downfall of the non-Islamic world and all that it stood for. He could not tolerate inefficiency, particularly when it could jeopardise a well-planned operation. He looked disdainfully at the modestly built Pakistani driver, who cringed.

‘We are only four hours late. Do you realise that this operation is of the upmost importance? Nothing must be left to chance and yet you were grossly inefficient right at the start.’

‘I am sorry, Sheikh, it will not happen again.’

Asim Pattak was a true disciple of the cause, but not really the brightest of individuals. He had been so excited to be selected for the pick-up that he neglected to fill up with diesel.

Running out of fuel on the motorway, on the way down, had been the major embarrassment of his life.

‘Things had better improve,’ Akbar replied. ‘Our insertion into this country should have been seamless; instead, the van was stranded on the motorway, drawing attention to us. Far worse was the delay it caused, that kept the ship waiting for five hours.’

‘I didn’t realise it was that long,’ Khatim Hamza looked worried. ‘Was there no sign of the ship being spotted?’

‘Allah must have been with us; it is a miracle that it didn’t attract the attention of the Marine Authorities.’

‘If we had been compromised, at such an early stage,’ Sarbam Malik grinned evilly, ‘our friend here could have been sent to Anwar Province, for an appointment with the Bulldozer.’

Asim had heard the horror stories about the twenty stone Islamic State Executioner. He decided to keep quiet.

Mahd Siddiqi welcomed them to his home. ‘Your presence in my humble dwelling is a great honour.’

‘To be accommodated in the home of loyal followers to the cause is, indeed, wonderful.’

Akbar smiled at his host. ’I see that you have Nasir here already.’

‘I arrived on the ferry, no trouble at all.’ Nasir Samad, a lightly built man, bowed his head towards his leader.

‘Are the weapons, OK?’

‘Yes, they are now safely in storage. They gave the wagon a quick search, but that was all. As I suspected they were mainly looking for would- be immigrants, trying to sneak in. When they saw that I was alone they just waved me through.’

‘Allah be praised, you seem to have had an easier journey than we had.’ Akbar looked around the room for the diminutive Asim, but he had gone to remove the van.

Mahd looked across the room and his wife brought in refreshment.

‘This is Yasmine. She will attend to your needs. My daughter, Daniya, is at college and will be home this evening.’

When he found the moment, Akbar had a quiet word with Nasir.

‘Did you move the explosive?’

‘Yes, it is already in the other van, an old Volkswagen. We can make our first move this evening if that is what you require.’

‘Excellent, yes, let us start the pot simmering slowly.’

It was typical of Akbar to get to work immediately he had arrived. He had a determined restlessness within him that would not allow him to keep still for long.

The house was in a rundown area, but not all that far from the university. Local helpers had broken in; the owner was believed to be abroad. Akbar had instructed his helpers to let locals see them around the house. It was part of his deliberate policy, to slowly attract the interest of the authorities to an apparent Islamic build up.

‘Have you made the explosive ready for use?’

‘Yes, all is ready. I carefully purchased all the ingredients, including the fertilizer, yesterday. Mixed as instructed, the explosive is of poor quality, but it should be ideal for the purpose.’

On the evening of May 4th, when he had only been in the country for less than thirty hours, Akbar had settled himself in the darkness alongside a wall. A bush provided a very convenient shadow, and his vantage point overlooked the delivery.

The area was badly lit, but he was able to see the old Volkswagen van pull up, with a squeak of brakes. Khatim Hamza and Sarbam Malik began to unload the bags of explosive into the front room of the house. Akbar had to smile to himself as he watched his two assistants working. They were certainly a contrast. Sarbam Malik was tall, thin and bony, with close cropped hair. Khatim Hamza was the opposite, short, wide and corpulent. His shaggy mop of greying hair was controlled by a head band. Akbar had known them both for years and they were absolutely loyal. Using night binoculars, Akbar looked carefully around. One or two curtains twitched, but no more. It was the sort of area where people knew better than to stick their noses in.

Akbar saw a girl walk past, a typical western female in jeans and a loose coat. He did not take much notice at first, but when she emerged from an alley-way much closer to the house, he felt a tingle of excitement. Were they already on to him? Surely not, how could they possibly know?

There was only one way to find out. She was standing in a shadow some fifty yards away. Akbar moved like a cat, his soft soled shoes making no noise at all. As he got closer, he realised that she was quite nice looking. She must also have been experienced and well trained, for when his shoe made the slightest rustle against a fallen leaf, she started looking around her. He stopped dead, making not the slightest movement and she seemed to settle again. She was only ten yards away from him, but when he carefully moved again, she was off, like lightning.

He gave chase and gained a little, but she soon began to outrun him. As the girl neared a well-lit and more populated area he carefully snapped off a shot, more to frighten her than anything else. He followed the girl for a short while longer, but she mixed with a group of students. He then made his way back to the Volkswagen.

They left the area quickly and Khatim was amazed when Akbar told him about the watcher. ‘But how could anyone possibly know?’

‘Perhaps one of our helpers helps both sides.’

During the drive back to the Siddiqi house Akbar thought about the watching girl. She really was nice looking, and he almost had her. He would certainly have enjoyed using his interrogation techniques. He did wonder if shooting at her was going a bit too far.

He had told his men to be noticed-so it was quite likely that attention would be attracted. In fact, that was what he intended, but not quite so soon. Thinking about it now, he realised that it would have been better not to shoot. Still there is no way she could know who had shot at her and no one knows that I am in the country.

*

Daniya Siddiqi arrived home later in the evening. Since leaving college she had been in a neighbour’s house, helping a friend with some homework. She was a little shocked to see Akbar sitting at the table, writing notes.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, you must be my father’s guest.’ As he turned towards her, she found his smile devastating. Wow, what a man!

He was quite taken with her. For seventeen, she was indeed a well-developed and attractive young woman.

‘No problem. Have you been to college today?’

‘Yes, I have completed my A levels and I now hope to study medicine.’

‘I see. I realise, of course, that must be an achievement, but I prefer Muslim women to occupy themselves with the domestic side of life and please their husbands.’

‘That is old fashioned. The countries that still keep women down are missing the potential of half their population.’

‘It seems to me that you are becoming westernised and are losing the values of your own people,’ he paused, ‘that is evident by your style of dress. A good Muslim woman hides the shape of her body. You are dressed like a westernised tart.’

He had expected her to shy away and was quite shocked when her eyes stared into his.

‘How dare you come here and speak to me like that in my own home? I wear a Hijab which shows me to be loyal to my faith. Otherwise, I wear the fashion of every other British teenager and I see nothing wrong with that, it is normal. Who do you think you are?’

‘I am Akbar Hashim Muhammad,’ he raised his voice. ‘I am the most successful Jihadist Leader of the Islamic State and a personal-friend of Caliph Abu Bakr al-Bagh-dadi. People tend to do what I order.’

‘I am quite sure that they do. I respect your rank and position, but I am a modern British Muslim. I will not be forced into domestic slavery, while men continue to rule the world and make a mess of it. Modern people are challenging the old ways, which soon must change.’

He stiffened and then forced himself to calm down. How had he allowed this slip of a girl to enrage him? She was a nothing.

‘We shall see,’ he said quietly, ‘we shall see.’ His dusky eyes seemed to look right through her.

Cowering in the kitchen, Yasmine heard every word of the exchange and was afraid.

Lying in bed that night, Akbar should have been planning the most glorious attack on western values, instead he found his mind going back to that girl. In all his life he had never known a Muslim woman come back at him like she had. She was very courageous, and he realised that she had the courage of her convictions. So be it. She had her convictions, and he had his, only one of them could be right, there was no possibility of compromise.... His mind wandered to her looks. He found himself thinking of those tight jeans and the superb legs within them. The way she wiggled her bum as she walked away from him. A devout Muslim woman should cover herself up and a devout Muslim man should not think of such things. But he was.

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Chapter 2

Those Who Defend

Alan Whittaker was standing by the Thames, looking at HMS Belfast, when the call came through. It was Linda, the communications girl at headquarters.

‘Hi Alan, a courier will see you at your place, 14-00. Please be there.’

‘A courier, that’s most unusual, what’s up?’

‘Something that we don’t want