by Matt Johnson
‘It’s pretty damning.’
‘It’s a copy of what we know about Howard. As you’re now aware, it doesn’t make for comfortable reading.’
As she reached forward toward the file the Director placed a firm hand on it. ‘We know you’ve been working on this, Toni, and we’ve been keeping a close eye on where you’ve been looking, but we don’t know all you have discovered. I need you to work on this, officially, and pool even the things you may not think of as important. We need to find them, this has to stop now.’
‘To keep Al Anfal secret?’ Toni asked.
‘For now, yes.’
‘Because they don’t know that we have this insight into their organisation?’
‘Precisely,’ said the Director. ‘Although, given recent developments, that situation will be subject to review.’
Toni turned to Dyer. ‘Did you notice what we were looking at on the computer, sir? When you arrived to collect me.’
‘Something on the internet, I believe.’
‘It was an auction site, a special one only accessible through the dark web. We were looking at an item that was for sale.’
‘Something of interest?’ asked Dyer.
‘Very much so, it was something that may affect this a great deal. Bids were being invited for a copy of the Al Anfal document.’
Chapter 61
I estimated that maybe an hour had passed since the group had arrived.
Kevin and I were back out on the grass, laid down and watching as Petre fiddled with the cable connections between the satellite phone and the laptop. Howard had opened the rear nearside door to the Range Rover. For some while after our conversation in the bothy, he had left us to ourselves while he and the others formed a huddle in front of their car. Many times they looked across at us, either because we were the subject of their discussion or, likely as not, to make sure we weren’t moving.
I was close enough to Kevin to speak to him and, as I watched for any reaction from our captors, I’d quietly explained my theory. ‘I’m betting the gun in the bag is dirty,’ I said. ‘And, if I’m right, it was used to kill the drug dealer near where Beaky’s agent went missing.’
‘So, what’s he brought it here for?’ Kevin whispered.
‘I think they’re planning to use it to shoot me. It’ll end up in your hands after they kill you is my guess. So, when we’re found, it looks like you shot me when I came to try and talk you into coming back to London.’
Kevin spat onto the grass. ‘Maggots. What’s the time?’ he asked.
‘Do I look like I can see my watch?’
‘Approximately?’
‘About ten, I guess, maybe a bit later. Got any ideas?’
‘Not an idea, more of a hope. Three of them, two of us. Not bad odds bar the two in the back of the Range Rover.’
‘You’d clocked them then?’ I whispered.
‘Aye. Been trying to work out who they are. Odd that they’re just sitting there.’
‘Two against five then? Not the best odds.’
‘No drama. I’ve known worse.’
‘Maybe not when they hold most of the aces … not to mention the guns and us being cuffed.’
‘Most of the aces?’ Kevin hissed.
‘Yes. I’m not sure but there may be a chink of hope. See the guy fiddling with the computer?’
‘Hard to miss him. Sounds Polish or something.’
‘I know him – from that trip to Romania last year,’ I said. ‘He was the bodyguard to the girl I saved from drowning.’
Kevin took a deep breath. ‘So, at the moment our best hope is he thinks he owes you a favour?’
‘His boss made me a promise … but that was before he found out I was a cop.’
‘That made a difference?’
‘It was his operation we broke up in that old hospital in the Forest of Dean.’
‘Ah … not a big chance you’ll be his favourite person, then?’ Kevin coughed.
Howard was walking over. He grinned as I looked up. ‘Comfortable?’ he asked.
‘Been worse,’ I said.
‘Yes, I’m sure you have.’ He stepped behind us, leaned down and checked our wrists and pulled us up onto our knees. My restraints were still tight, although I’d had a few vain attempts at testing the plastic, and from the satisfied grunt Howard gave, it looked like Kevin was also secure.
As he appeared in front of us again, I saw that Howard had something small and silver in his hand. It was the digital recorder. He gave a knowing grin as he walked back to the others. As he lifted the device to his ear, I realised he’d been recording us.
At the car, Petre checked his watch. ‘It’s time,’ I heard him say.
Howard walked back to us. ‘My congratulations, Finlay. It seems you really have made it as a detective.’
‘I was right then?’
‘Not entirely. Mrs Price isn’t missing, she’s dead. Her body is behind the latrine at the rear of this very bothy, in fact. Ready and waiting for the police forensic people to tie her in to Kevin’s murderous activities.’
‘Killed with the gun in the paper bag, I presume?’
He nodded. ‘A nice little .22 Beretta. Small but very effective.’ Kevin simply glared.
‘So you planted the Glock in Kevin’s car?’
‘A late arrangement implemented after his unexpected survival.’
‘To make sure he was kept in custody?’
Howard smiled. ‘You’ve got it all worked out, it seems.’
‘So, who are our voyeurs?’ I asked. ‘Come to watch have they?’
‘In the car?’ Howard replied. ‘No,’ he turned to face Kevin. ‘Another of your victims, Jones. An MI5 officer who got too close.’
‘Anyone we know?’ I asked, hesitantly. I did my best to keep composed, even though I was dreading the answer. An MI5 officer who got too close? It had to be Toni. My stomach reacted as though I had been punched, my breathing shallow and rapid as my chest tightened.
Howard didn’t answer for several seconds. I sensed he was enjoying toying with us.
Finally, as he turned to walk away, he replied. ‘Who knows, Finlay? Oh … and don’t get any ideas about Petre helping you. You’re the reason he’s here.’
Kevin and I were now on our knees, Howard having placed us in a ‘stress position’. It was uncomfortable and intended to be that way. Soon, we would tire and, as our thigh muscles started to shake with the strain then, no doubt we would then be subject to some kind of rebuke, either verbal or physical. It was designed to wear us down, to lower our resistance. Eventually, as our captors moved on to other tried and tested methods, we would talk. That would take time, of course, and I’d developed a feeling that time wasn’t something Howard had a whole lot of. He knew we had been through the same type of training he had; how to resist questioning, develop a rapport with your interrogator, give enough to keep them happy, that kind of thing. So, if time was an issue, I figured they were about to up the ante, and to work on us in a way that produced quick results.
Which meant one thing. The water. I’d learned about water boarding during training sessions at Hereford; we’d discussed it and even experimented with it. We’d tried it on each other and, without exception, we’d agreed it was appalling … and effective.
I looked across at Kevin and saw he was watching our captors. Like me, he’d be trying to work out how we were going to overcome them or escape. There was one chance, I figured, not of escape but to buy time. The more we talked, the greater the chance of an opportunity.
Kevin leaned towards me slightly before speaking again. ‘He meant that he’s planning to kill the MI5 agent and pin it on me?’ he said, under his breath.
‘It’s Toni, Kev. It has to be. She’s the only one who knows about it, apart from us.’
His face screwed up as if some awful taste had just hit his tongue, and he spat again. ‘End game eh?’
‘Yes,’ I replied, soberly. ‘End game.’
Howard opened th
e car door, and for the first time I saw the face of the man from MI5. I say man, because at first I wasn’t sure and my initial reaction was one of utter horror at what I believed they had done to Toni. It was only when the entire form of their third prisoner fell out onto the stony path that I was able to see it was that of a male. Not Toni then and, for a moment I felt a sense of shame at my relief on discovering it wasn’t my friend they had in the car. But, in the same moment, I realised that water wasn’t the only technique our captors were prepared to use. Swollen to the point of appearing grossly disfigured, the eyes, nose and lips of the man had moulded together into a single, bloodied mass of bruising and raw flesh.
As Petre stopped what he was doing to watch, a fourth figure dressed all in black and wearing a dark beanie hat appeared from the opposite side of the car.
‘Come and help,’ Howard called to him.
Grady also approached the figure crumpled in the dirt. He and the new man each grabbed an arm and dragged the poor man to one side, where they then laid him on a large plank of wood with the end that supported his feet uppermost and resting on what looked like a large tree stump. As a series of straps were used to bind him to the plank and restrict movement, I guessed what was about to happen. The water treatment was something that needed the subject to be restrained, either through weight of numbers – a luxury Howard didn’t have – or by keeping the person secure. In this case, it looked as if their intended victim was incapable of offering much resistance. If I was next, or if they chose Kevin – which seemed more likely as it was he who had alluded to being in possession of more information – they would not find it so easy.
As the stranger from the rear of the Range Rover went to work with the water container, I saw Howard leaning close to his victim, seemingly talking to him. It wouldn’t be long before he began talking, if he hadn’t already. There weren’t many who could withstand the kind of beating it looked like he had been subjected to.
‘Fifteen seconds, they reckon,’ said Grady as he came to cover us.
Neither Kevin nor I replied. We knew what he meant. Fifteen seconds was the average time it took for the victim of waterboarding to convince themselves they were drowning. If he continued to resist, Howard and his assistant would stop, wait a few seconds and start again. Three or four repetitions and the man on the plank would be desperate to stop the agony. That is, of course, if he wanted to live. I’d heard tales of people who had held out for incredible amounts of time. It was said, by those who claimed to know, that women often resisted better than men. Something about their higher tolerance to pain, I’d heard. I had no idea if the rumours were true, all I did know was that this wasn’t something I’d ever seen myself facing, not even in my worst dreams.
It was as I looked more closely that I caught sound of the voice that came from the black-clad stranger. At first I wasn’t sure but as I watched I realised. Howard’s third associate was female.
Chapter 62
‘Soon as I call “go”, we run,’ hissed Kevin.
The first session of torture was over and Howard was now asking questions. If he heard what he needed, it was possible things might stop there, but I doubted it. The MI5 officer had kicked and squirmed as his drowning reflex kicked in. His conscious brain could have told him it would be in vain and to preserve his strength, but this was something he had no control over. Try as hard as he might to resist, he did what everyone else who went through the experience did. And as he was probably going through it for the very first time, he panicked, as his survival instinct took over.
I’d been watching, not really because I wanted to see how he fared, for me it was more a case of hoping those who were now questioning him would be distracted. And they were. Petre was still playing with his laptop – God knows what he was doing – as Howard watched his victim suffer. The woman in black poured the water. Grady was the only one paying us attention, and he often glanced away towards the commotion. In those fleeting moments, we had a chance.
‘End game’ Kevin had said. It was code, well, sort of. Like saying we had one chance left. I’d never put it to the test before, although I was well aware that others had. It was recognition that in a desperate situation, the only option wasn’t a good one and was likely to end badly. At all levels within the Regiment there was an acceptance that if being captured by enemy forces was bad enough for ordinary soldiers, for Special Forces it was always worse. And although those times had been the best part of two decades since, I knew all too well what ‘end game’ meant to them, and what it now meant to us. All or nothing.
Kevin knew I would understand him. One chance, then on our feet and run as fast as we could. Nearest cover was the bothy behind us, but that was a dead end. A log store sat about five yards from me and then, another ten yards further on was the forest, where we would be surrounded by trees. Not only was Grady the only one paying us sufficient attention, he was the only one holding a gun. Kevin would break left, me right. And, if we were lucky, one of us would make it to cover.
I wondered what Jenny was doing. Becky would be in school by now. I pictured our new home, my wife sat downstairs with our new daughter, maybe in front of a breakfast TV programme as she fed her, possibly in the garden if the weather was nice. The house would be quiet. She’d be thinking about me too, worrying, concerned at what I was doing but naively trusting that I would be home eventually, as I always had been in the past.
I was afraid – afraid that this was the time I would fail the people I loved most. I prayed that fear would now give strength to my legs rather than paralysing me. I had been afraid before. That first time you come under fire, hear the zip of a round passing over your head and realise that people are actually trying to kill you, it’s a moment that lives forever in your memory. Fear is a knife that twists in your gut but, as many men before me had learned, fear is an illusion. We need it – soldiers, cops, firefighters, anyone who faces danger – for fear is a precursor to bravery. ‘There is nothing to fear but fear itself’; I remembered those words, a quote I think, and written by someone who truly understood. Many things are worse than fear, and, as the adrenalin now coursed through my veins and gave me strength, I knew that I had to use it, to master it rather than having it control me.
Across the yard at the front of the bothy, I could just make out what Howard was saying. He held his face close to the man’s ear but he was almost shouting. He wanted answers to what sounded like the same questions he had been asking us: Who else knows? Who have you told? What exactly do you know? I caught the sound of a name. Miles. He called their injured prisoner Miles.
As I kept my eyes on Grady and Petre, I flexed my leg muscles to maintain blood flow and, once again, tested the plastic restraints. There was no give and, as I strained my arms, the sharp edges dug painfully into my wrists.
Kevin coughed. Get ready.
I looked across at Miles and had to work hard to put the wave of sorrow I felt to one side. We’d be abandoning him to his fate. I was glad I didn’t know him. I hoped he wasn’t, like me, a man with a family. It would be they who would suffer the most when he didn’t come home. Miles, like all members of the Security Services, knew there was a risk associated with that role. He would have been warned, although, like me, he probably thought it could only ever happen to someone else.
Yes, I was sorry. But this was one of those times where survival meant looking after number one. I glanced across at Kevin, waiting on his word, flexing my thighs, preparing myself. Any moment now.
‘Comms established,’ called out Petre.
Howard stopped what he was doing and turned to face us. ‘Not the best timing,’ he replied as he studied us. The woman placed the water container she was holding to one side. All eyes were now on us.
‘Check their restraints,’ Howard ordered.
Grady tucked his pistol into his belt, walked around us and carefully felt the cable ties to make sure we were secure. I had no doubt he saw the marks on my wrists where I had tried to break them but
he didn’t say anything. As he pulled Kevin’s arms up to make a similar check I saw his wrists were also raw.
‘Not hurting are they, Taff?’ Grady leaned close into Kevin as he hissed the words.
‘Not as much as I’m gonna hurt you,’ my friend answered.
‘Your woman seemed to quite like them.’
‘Bastard…’ Kevin made to stand but it was a futile attempt. Just as Petre had done earlier, Grady kicked his legs out from beneath him, dumping him winded and powerless on the ground.
Petre turned the screen of the laptop around so that it faced us. It looked like he had set it up for some kind of video call. A large face filled the screen.
‘Bring Finlay,’ he called.
Grady moved away from Kevin, grabbed hold of my upper arms from behind and dragged me to my feet. Kevin was left where he now lay as I was dragged towards the Range Rover.
And, as the screen of the computer came closer and I was able to recognise the features, I realised what Petre had been doing and why he was here. On the computer, on a live link to somewhere, was a man I knew would gain great pleasure in seeing my demise.
Gheorghe Cristea, father figure to the slave-trafficking gang I had helped to break up, torturer of the women we had rescued, and the very man who had warned me he would not forget.
And, although it now seemed too late to do me any good, the last piece of the jigsaw fell into place. This was Howard’s connection, this was his secret. In the days when the Cristeas had run drugs and firearms into Peshawar, Howard, Kevin and I had been deployed there. Howard must have worked with the Cristeas then and had dealings with them ever since.
And Gheorghe Cristea was a man Howard was prepared to help when he needed something done.
Like finding me.
Chapter 63
New Scotland Yard