Faisal went over to his Adidas sports bag and rummaged around inside, looking for his small pocketknife. He finally located it, and then he spotted a small round disc in the bottom of the bag. He tried to pull it out and found it was stuck fast. He opened the knife and cut the disc out; it had been fastened using a super-strong adhesive. He held the disc up to the light and rotated it in his thick fingers, reading the name inscribed on the quarter-inch-thick side: Retrievo. On closer inspection, he could see that it was solar powered as well as having a small watch battery in the back, presumably for when it was being used like this – hidden in the bottom of a bag. Faisal knew exactly what it was; someone was tracking him.
He placed the GPS tracker on the bedside table and then began to pull the room apart. Years spent working first with Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence and then as an intelligence officer for the Taliban had made him more than just suspicious; he was also as tech-savvy as his Western counterparts. He rechecked the bag, and then went through every drawer and cupboard. He checked the bed and found the listening device that Matt had screwed into the base. He carried it to the bathroom, planning to flush it down the toilet, but thought better of it. That would only alert whoever had put it there to the fact that he was on to them. He took it back into the bedroom and placed it gently on the desk, then he picked up the remote control, selected an Arab news station at random and turned the volume up. Returning to the case, Faisal cut through the cable ties, disconnected the cylinder and placed it on the bed. He looked around the room and finally went over to the bathroom. Looking up to the ceiling, he noticed that it was comprised of large foam tiles held in place by an aluminium frame. He could push these open and get access to the ceiling. He then dragged the chair from behind the desk to the bathroom, placing it in the shower. Getting up on the chair, he pushed up on one of the foam tiles and lifted it into the space above. He removed the next one and then another from the cross-sections of the frame. He twisted on the screws with his knife and undid a handful, removing the ribs of the ceiling itself. Faisal heaved the case up onto his shoulders and pushed it through the gap he had created and then followed it up into the ceiling cavity. He pushed it slowly across the framework and hid it down one side of the dark space. Satisfied it wouldn’t be spotted with a casual look up into the cavity, he lowered himself back down and replaced the galvanised ribs and white tiles until the ceiling looked the same as before. If anyone came for the case, at least he would have his own bargaining chip.
Faisal took the chair back out into the room and jammed it up against the handle of the door and then secured the internal latch and the deadbolt. He checked the balcony for an alternative escape route should he need it. It looked like there was no other way out, unless he risked a jump of some considerable height to the balcony below. The fire escape stairs could be an option, but a locked grate secured them. He went back inside and picked up the metal chair and then went out and bashed the small lock until it snapped off. Moving back inside, he withdrew the Browning from the safe where he had left it and placed it on the bedside table then picked up the GPS tracker again. He looked at it for a time then, jumping up, he went over to the wardrobe and took out the cloth laundry bag he had spotted there during his search. He stuck the tracker to the inside bottom of the bag and then stuffed it with a t-shirt and a pair of socks before tying it up at the top. He placed the bag back in the corner of the room then settled back on the bed. It would be a long night. Someone knew he was there and someone wanted to know what he was saying and where he was going…perhaps the fact that he was aware of it would work in his favour.
...
‘Sweet digs, Matt,’ said Todd Carson. The big American stretched out on the two-seater couch. He looked every bit the sports star he could have been, dressed simply in blue jeans, a white polo shirt and a black truckers cap; he looked more like Captain America than a captain in the Green Berets.
JJ opened the minibar fridge and removed three Heinekens. He flipped off the lids with a butter knife against his thumb and passed green bottles to the other two. ‘Here’s to the CIA – best business-class flight ever,’ said JJ.
‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Todd. They all clinked bottles and took a swig.
‘Okay, boss – fill us in. It’s all well and good to have an all-expenses-paid holiday, but I know there’s a catch.’ JJ took another gulp of the beer. ‘You said something about that nut job Faisal Khan?’
‘Well, shit, where do I start?’ Matt shook his head. ‘So, Steph Baumer contacted me and asked me to track Khan to a rendezvous with the Russian mafia, who were going to hand over a nuclear suitcase weapon. He was to deliver this same weapon to guys from ISIS – only they’re not really ISIS; they’re an Afghan CIA cell masquerading as ISIS to take the weapon off the streets, except that the Russians think they’re the Taliban. Anyway, this evening I followed Khan to the rendezvous and there was a firefight. Someone – maybe the British SAS – tried to intercept the handover and now all the Russians are dead and Khan is back in his hotel waiting for word on where to go to drop off the nuke.’
Todd and JJ both stared at Matt, eyes wide and mouths agape.
‘Are you completely insane? What language are you speaking, because it sounds like bullshit,’ JJ demanded. ‘It’s bad enough that Faisal Khan is involved, but Steph Baumer? You never said anything about that bitch! Have you lost your frigging mind?’
Turning to Todd, Matt could see the American was looking just as incredulous. Thinking back on what he had just said, Matt had to concede it did sound bizarre now he had said it aloud.
‘Right, well, how the hell do we get out of this mess?’ Todd started to laugh. ‘Jesus, Matt, how did Steph even get hold of you?’
‘Don’t ask,’ Matt said ruefully. ‘I think the way forward from here is to shadow Faisal Khan, make sure he delivers the weapon to the CIA and then we bug out of here. This needs to be done discreetly; I assume the SAS will leave no stone unturned in their hunt for him.’
‘What makes you think they’re SAS?’ asked JJ.
‘I ran into one of them in the street – a Tongan, I think. He’s big and fit and he was carrying a C8, so I assume he must be working in the British military; just stands to reason that they’re SAS, especially carrying that weapon.’
‘Maybe, but I’d have guessed Special Boat Service not SAS,’ JJ countered. ‘The SBS has a rapid response team that recovers nationals. Lots of Islanders join the Royal Marines and then do the selection. If they’re carrying C8s they could be Canadian, they’re made in Canada you know? But as he was an Islander I assume that they’re British.’
‘Doesn’t really matter, does it?’ Todd pointed out. ‘Either way they’re going to be an issue.’
‘Well, maybe, maybe not. It would be good to know who we’re dealing with for when the time comes…’ Tipping his head back, JJ chugged back the rest of his beer.
‘Jesus – no way, JJ. I don’t want any confrontation with another country’s military, especially the British. I want to avoid that at all costs, regardless of what flavour SF they are.’
‘Got it; no messing with the colonial masters.’ JJ smirked. He grabbed another beer from the mini bar.
‘Go easy on that too, mate. We might have to mobilise; you’re no good to me pissed.’
‘Pissed? Well, you could have told me that before I had access to free alcohol all the way from Dubai to Istanbul. Man’s not a camel. Besides, it actually makes me more effective – I can control my aggression better with the edge off. Anyway, you’re fresh out of beer; that was the last one. I mean, why don’t they make man-size mini bars – this looks like it should be in a kid’s cubby house.’
Matt lifted himself up to sit on the desk and thought for a moment. ‘I think the Turkish security forces are going to be swarming the streets tomorrow. I don’t know how Khan is going to get that case to anyone. It would make sense that the Afghan CIA guys would go to him. I think we need to keep eyes on the hotel.’
‘Why can’t we just contact those guys, tell them we’re working with them?’ Todd asked. ‘Job’s done then.’
‘Huh, you’re right.’ Matt looked down at the ground. ‘Why wouldn’t Steph link me up with them at this point?’ he wondered aloud.
‘None of this adds up, boss. None of it.’ JJ stood up and went to the window and looked out into the dark street below. ‘I think you’re being set up and I think you took the bait hook, line and sinker. Think about it; you were an easy mark. Pissed off to be thrown into an office job, craving some real action.’ JJ turned back to face the two other men. ‘I think you’re a bloody idiot actually, skipper, and you’re probably going to get us all killed.’
‘Yeah, I’m beginning to think you’re right, JJ. Thanks for the feedback, mate.’ Matt smiled and shrugged. ‘Well, you’re both here now – what’s say we see how this rolls? After all, it will be a great way to see the New Year in.’
‘We need to keep an eye on your man Faisal,’ Todd agreed. ‘But I find it hard to believe that the CIA and the British wouldn’t have some sort of foreign forces agreement for this. As far as I’m concerned there are a few unknown unknowns at play here. It could be that this is anything but vanilla.’ He stood up and placed his hand on JJ’s shoulder and looked over at Matt. ‘It doesn’t matter though; I mean, how much trouble could the three of us possibly get into?’ Todd slapped JJ’s shoulder. ‘Am I right?’
JJ laughed and clapped his hands. ‘Yeah, it couldn’t get much more complicated for you, could it, boss?’ JJ and Todd both laughed in unison.
Matt cringed at the possibility. He looked at JJ, the most violent and gifted martial artist he had ever known, and then across at Captain America. ‘We need to play this smart guys,’ he said. He looked at his watch. ‘It’s nearly midnight – go get some rest. I’ll keep the audio on in his room; if there’s any more movement I’ll let you know. Let’s reconvene here at six am and work out what to do. At the end of the day, Khan is sitting on a nuclear weapon; I’m in two minds as to whether we should take this into our own hands and go and secure it – especially after this conversation.’
Todd and JJ grabbed their bags and took off to their own rooms, leaving Matt to think more about the situation. Now that he had their perspective on it all, he felt increasingly uncomfortable with what was happening.
What if I am being set up? he thought. It was looking more and more likely.
Matt adjusted the volume on the receiver that was currently set to monitor Khan’s room. He could hear the TV; Khan was watching an Arab news station. He could hear the Afghan moving around too – the audio was crystal clear. Matt sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off his shoes. ‘What the hell are you playing at, Steph?’ he asked aloud.
...
Faisal closed the door slowly behind him and made his way down the stairs, out the back entrance and into the street. He’d had to leave the room; lying there on the bed, a feeling of foreboding had come over him that he couldn’t shake. It was just after one am now and, although it was late, the laneways were still alive with young people moving around from late-night bars to cafes. Faisal had changed back into his white shalwar kameez and oilskin jacket, so he looked out of place among the mostly Western-dressed Turks and tourists, save for some of the other travellers from the Middle East.
Crossing Sultanahmet Park, Faisal noticed the increased security presence. He could see that at one end of the park there was an armoured security car. It was stopped beneath one of the many clusters of streetlights that gave the whole park an eerie yellow glow and created shadows within shadows. Hanging around the car were four young police officers. They were dressed in the uniform of the Turkish tactical police and they were watching a rowdy group of male tourists with interest.
Faisal approached the entrance to the Blue Mosque.
‘As-salamu alaykum, brother,’ he greeted the caretaker sitting on the bottom step.
‘Salam, how are you, my friend?’ the old man replied. He blew warm air into his cold hands as he looked up at Faisal.
‘I’m fine, thanks be to God. Can I sit inside, out of the cold, until the first morning prayer? My accommodation is a long way from here and by the time I get there it would be time to turn around.’
‘Ah – of course, brother.’ The old man stood. ‘There’s a small room off the back of the mosque, you can stay there; you’ll find some blankets on the floor.’ The old man waved him through.
Faisal removed his leather sandals at the top of the steps and went into the bathroom to have a quick wash. In the back room he found the blankets and made himself a small bed in one corner. He lay there looking at the ceiling, thinking about the events of the last few hours. Someone was tracking him, the case was in the ceiling of his hotel room and the initiator was in his pocket. The Russians were very likely dead and Hassan al-Britani was yet to give him details of how the transfer was to take place. In fact, Hassan al-Britani had seemed altogether too relaxed in his text message, which in itself seemed suspicious. Faisal would need to be more cautious now. Things had certainly not gone according to plan.
21
SAMANDIRA ARMY AIR BASE
The white Ford Transit entered the hangar and came to a stop in front of the other vehicles, which had arrived a few minutes earlier. Rachel got out of the passenger seat and made her way over to where the men were either unloading weapons or standing around their hire cars. She singled out the 2IC, Bluey Reid, who was pulling a stretcher out of the trunk of the lead hire car, a precaution the guys had taken in case they needed to tab out of the area carrying a wounded operator.
‘Where’s Glyn?’ she asked.
‘He’s in the heads, ma’am. He won’t be a moment; he’s just cleaning himself up.’ Bluey placed the folded-up stretcher on the ground. ‘Well, that went downhill fast, didn’t it? I have to say, the old Russkies put up a bit of a show. Mind you, they didn’t last long.’ Bluey laughed.
‘I’m not sure it’s a laughing matter, Blue,’ Rachel said seriously. ‘It’s a mess. There’s a nuclear weapon out there and we have to recover it. As far as I’m concerned, it’s not mission success – not by a long shot.’ She looked around at the SBS operators who stood there in silence.
‘It’s partial mission success,’ said Glyn from behind her.
Rachel turned quickly, startled by his silent approach. She watched him as he sauntered around to join the group. He was naked from the waist up; he had changed back into a flight suit and had the arms tied around his waist. He wiped his hands on the towel draped around his muscular shoulders. ‘A dangerous weapons dealer is dead and now we’ll go and get the weapon.’
‘Right, of course – and how exactly do we do that, Glyn?’ Rachel put her hands on her hips. She realised that she was being defensive because of the sudden appearance of Matt. ‘I mean, help me out here, Glyn.’
‘I’m working it,’ Glyn said. ‘I think a good place to start is to have the intel lads triangulate all the messages and phone calls made in the alley from 2000 hours to just after the explosion occurred. Your MI6 staff and our squadron intelligence guys should pool resources. They should be able to give us a target list of a few locations within a couple of hours.’
‘I see.’ Rachel’s pulse raced and her mind quickly cast back to seeing Matt. Would he have made any phone calls? Why was he even there in the first place? She thought about raising it now with Glyn, but then stopped herself. She had to make some phone calls, find out if there was an Australian special forces operation that she wasn’t aware of. She looked around at the group of men. They were all watching her, waiting for her reaction. ‘That’s a really good idea,’ she said finally. She could feel her grip on the mission being prised from her.
‘Of course it is. That’s why I’m here, love – to give you good ideas.’
Ignoring this, Rachel said, ‘I’ll go brief them now, get them working shifts on it. But then we need to sit down and sort this mess out, come up with a better plan than just
wait and see.’
‘Fine. Meanwhile, I think it would be a good idea for us to do an after-action review, get a feel for exactly what happened.’ Glyn turned to his men, who were still busy dusting off their weapons around the cars. ‘Lads, go grab yourselves a wet. There’s some pies and other fatty duff in the kitchenette – you can thank Bluey for organising that.’
‘No problem, sir,’ said Bluey.
‘Let’s meet in the operations room in twenty minutes and we’ll go through what the hell happened back there.’ Glyn towel-dried his wet hair and draped the towel back around his shoulders. ‘Well, get going then! Jesus, I shouldn’t have to say it twice.’
...
Twenty minutes later the SBS lads had their chairs assembled in a semicircle in the small room off the main hangar. They were busy stuffing their faces with hot pies and drinking sweet cups of coffee and tea. Rachel sat to one side next to a couple of her MI6 intelligence staff.
Glyn walked through the door, followed by Bluey and Major Faruk, the Turkish liaison officer. Rachel watched as Glyn strode over to the portable whiteboard and positioned it so they could all see the planning diagrams of the alley and the buildings and streets on either side. ‘Right, let’s go through this step by step, lads.’
They spent the next thirty minutes detailing their actions and compiling the after-action review that would be used in the official report to Whitehall. Each soldier went through his particular recollections and thoughts on what had occurred.
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