When de la Mere finally got round to telling him that he was to fly to Algiers to tip off the Polisario about the impending Moroccan raid on the Polisario base in the Free Zone, Clive felt unmoved. What was it to him if there was a skirmish between old enemies in the Western Sahara? If this was the means by which they got themselves off the hook, then better get on with it.
‘So we keep Palatine and the IPD400 out of Moroccan hands. Suppose they’re not actually there?’ he said.
‘The evidence says they are. In any case, we can’t take the risk. Sir Iain is quite clear on that score.’
‘And the Polisario hand them back to us – in return for the favour we’ve done them?’
‘They might also like to know that the UK government is inclined to lend weight to their claim on the Western Sahara, given the right circumstances.’
‘Suppose they don’t go for it.’
‘You’d better make sure they do. I surely don’t need to remind you of the consequences if Anemone unravels any further.’
No, thought Clive, you don’t.
‘For you more than anyone.’ Nigel de la Mere helped himself to a mouthful of breaded veal, then said: ‘To be frank with you, Clive, I don’t think anyone would be sorry if the good doctor were to get caught in the crossfire. Now that the wretch Anzarane has been put up for Agadir. . . ’
‘We could breathe a bit easier.’
‘My thinking precisely,’ said de la Mere. ‘And Sir Iain’s,’ he added pointedly, when Clive didn’t reply. ‘If the service could be saved from public disgrace by a stray Polisario bullet – well, you might think that was a price worth paying, taking a strategic view of it.’
‘A Moroccan bullet, you mean.’
‘Oh well, bullets don’t have flags on them,’ said de la Mere impatiently. ‘I suppose that if the Polisario knew Palatine had seen the notorious terrorist and purported Agadir Bomber Mansour Anzarane lounging around at their compound, the idea of him flying back to London and holding a press conference on the subject would make them fret.’
‘So, to be clear about this: I’m going to tell the Polisario that they’d better eliminate Palatine, or he’ll destroy their dreams of independence?’
Nigel de la Mere gave a theatrical wince. ‘As I’ve always said, Palatine is a natural-born whistleblower – that’s an insight the Polisario might think quite consequential.’ He paused. ‘And perhaps it would do no harm to make them aware that we too can corroborate the Moroccan claim that Anzarane was a resident at the compound – not that we would, of course, given a good reason to keep it under our hats.’
‘Even though we can’t.’
De la Mere gave him a look that seemed to suggest his membership of the trust-and-influence club was on hold. But what Clive had come to appreciate as he travelled to Algiers was that, should the unmentionable objectives of his mission ever be made public, then Strang and de la Mere would say he had been sent merely to ascertain whether Palatine and the IPD400 had ended up somewhere in the Free Zone. Alerting the Polisario to the forthcoming raid had been Clive Silk’s idea and his alone, they would insist – an outrageous and irresponsible idea, which had not and would never have been sanctioned by the senior men, whose personal integrity, deep understanding of Service protocol and years of high-level experience would have rendered such sanction inconceivable.
As to the notion that the head of the North-West Africa Office had discreetly proposed that if Palatine should show his head during the course of the war they had not started, it should promptly be shot from his shoulders. . . They would shrug in astonishment at the extraordinary lengths to which a man like Clive Silk could be driven by a desire to save his skin.
Exposing himself to this horrible risk was his passport to preferment, apparently, though Clive was beginning to wonder whether he would actually get to join the trust-and-influence club, how he would know if he had, and whether in fact it existed at all. As these thoughts coalesced in his mind like clots forming in soured milk, Clive would very much have liked to turn round and fly straight back to London. But he was trapped – not only by the straitjacket into which his employers had buckled him, but also by the knowledge that if the IPD400 was to be retrieved and Anemone spared from a very public disaster, the Moroccan raid really did have to be stopped, and that Strang and de la Mere had worked out the only way of doing it.
Things would go badly for him if Palatine went blabbing to Mehmet al Hamra – or indeed to anyone – about Anemone. And would it not be sweet relief to have the supercilious computer scientist off his back forever? Sitting on a sparsely upholstered bench in a sparsely furnished first-floor meeting room overlooking the port of Algiers while he waited for his audience with Manni Hasnaoui, Clive felt strangely calm. The endgame was set out and all he need do was play the final moves. He would step beyond the pale, utter certain words that would never be set down or repeated, and there the matter would end.
‘Commander Djouhroub is under orders to stop us leaving the compound,’ said Colonel Sulamani, frowning angrily at the RPG launcher slung from James’s shoulder. ‘I had hopes of persuading him to change his mind, but now he has seen a man posing as a MINURSO officer firing an RPG at his paymaster, I think that will be impossible.’
They had gathered in the doctor’s room. From the window overlooking the paved yard, James had seen Djouhroub directing his guards to various positions around the compound. Now, four of them were practice-firing their rifles at a corrugated iron sheet propped up against the perimeter fence beyond the barracks. Another pointed warning, to add to the finger Djouhroub had wagged at him after he’d launched the grenades at Zender’s car.
‘He had Little Sister,’ said James morosely. ‘I had to do something. Do you know where Sarah is being held?’
‘Who is Sarah?’ Nat asked. They all looked at James.
‘An English girl. She’s being held prisoner here.’
‘She left with Zender’s man Etienne,’ said Sulamani. ‘The day after you escaped.’
‘With Etienne. . . ’ James felt numb. He wants to hurt me, Sarah had said. I can see it in his eyes. Why had he not taken her with him that night? He had failed her, run away across the desert and left her for Etienne to deal with as he pleased.
‘She asked for my help and I told Zender we would not tolerate any further executions at the compound,’ Sulamani was saying. ‘For once he seems to have listened. She was involved in your abduction, I believe?’
‘She had no idea what she was doing,’ James said. ‘Do you know where she was taken?’
Sulamani shook his head. Nat was watching James closely. He lowered his head, then turned to look at her, his deep-set eyes almost black in the gloom of the shuttered office. He wants to be a hero, she thought. Who was this girl he was so determined to rescue? She felt, absurdly, a little spurt of jealousy.
‘Where will Zender go?’ she asked, to cover the silence – though it hardly seemed to matter, since there was no chance of pursuing him.
‘He will have to cross the Free Zone,’ Sulamani said. ‘I can ask for him to be detained, though my superiors may decide not to do so. After that. . . Well, who knows where Monsieur Zender will turn up next?’
No one spoke. Nat was observing the gloomy faces around her and thinking that she had as much right as anyone to feel angry. Zender had run off and left her, as if she were of no more account than a stray cat that had taken to feeding off scraps from his table. Deserted her, and taken Little Sister with him – which was probably what he’d always intended.
‘Zender’s guards will hold us here for as long as it takes him to get wherever he’s going,’ she said, ‘and there’s fuck all we can do about it.’
‘I will speak to my commanding officer,’ said Sulamani, ‘inform him of Zender’s departure and request my orders.’
‘When can you do that?’ asked Nat.
Sulamani seemed vexed by the question, and James guessed that he dreaded the prospect of calling his CO to report troubl
e at the compound. The arrangement with Zender was his responsibility and, as things stood, seemed likely to end in humiliation.
‘I will contact them now, but we cannot expect an immediate response. It is not an emergency.’
‘Let me know when the emergency starts,’ said Nat, her face bright with fury, ‘and I’ll put on a nice dress.’
Sulamani looked at her nervously. ‘Dr Palatine, we must keep close watch on Commander Djouhroub and his guards. I can think of no reason why they should attack us, but Djouhroub is a fool, and you have already provoked him. You seem to have some military training – can I ask you to set lookouts while I speak to my superiors?’
James nodded.
‘Where is Salif?’ Sulamani asked.
‘I left him half a mile south of the perimeter fence. He awaits your orders.’
James handed him the two-way radio.
‘Salif must stay there – Djouhroub’s men may open fire if he approaches the gates.’ He paused. ‘Can I speak with you in private?’
They stepped out into the passage.
‘I wish to apologise,’ said Colonel Sulamani. ‘You were held prisoner at our compound – I should not have let that happen.’
‘Accepted,’ said James, ‘though I did wonder why two men of yours, Salif and Younes, were guarding me. Why not Djouhroub’s men?’
‘I believe Zender intended to implicate the Polisario in your capture – he is a man who stores up untruths like a dog burying bones. Salif tried to object, but I did not listen. I have allowed Monsieur Zender to turn the compound into his personal headquarters. It is a great failing on my part.’ He looked earnestly at James. ‘You must understand how much the Polisario rely on Monsieur Zender: we could not carry on our struggle against the Moroccans without the arms he supplies. I am sorry for your treatment at the hands of those rats. It brings us great dishonour. . . ’ He tailed off unhappily. ‘Can you please explain why Zender had you brought here?’
There was nothing to do but wait for Sulamani to summon help. Midday came and went. Heat poured into the building, flexing its dried out seams till they creaked like burning husks. Blades of sunlight sliced through the gaps in the shutters. Even breathing seemed dangerous, as if the air might scorch your throat.
It’s like knowing the place has been soaked in petrol and hoping no one strikes a match, thought Nat. She was standing at the first-floor window where James had stationed her to keep an eye on the guards at the western end of the compound. She’d been there an hour when James came visiting.
‘All the others are armed to the teeth,’ he said. ‘So I brought you this.’
He handed her a rifle.
‘M4 – a lightweight variant of the M16.’
She knew exactly what it was, and how to fire it. But James didn’t have to know that.
‘Oooh,’ she said, ‘a lady’s gun. Show me how to use it.’
He did so. She felt his hands on her shoulders and smelled the sweat on his skin as his big, powerful body moved courteously around her.
‘It’s loaded, and there’s no safety catch,’ he said.
‘Do you think I should put it down before I powder my nose?’
She was teasing him – but watchfully, James saw, in case he took offence. He was touched.
‘I’m fussing,’ he said sombrely. ‘Sorry. Being trapped in this place is putting me on edge.’
‘Me too.’
‘I’m worried about Sarah.’
‘Sulamani said she helped get you abducted. I guess she wasn’t worried about you. Any news from the Colonel?’
James shook his head. ‘Sulamani’s right, what happens to us is of no great concern to the Polisario. We just have to sit it out.’
‘Sitting things out is not my forte,’ said Nat.
James smiled. He’d dismissed Natalya Kocharian as a bit of decorative corporate skirt, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. She had an extraordinary grace about her: when he’d shown her how to use the awkward steel gun, their bodies had pressed against each other and it felt to James as if she’d known him for years. Their eyes met briefly, and hers were full of warmth and optimism. And yet she seemed vulnerable. It was astonishing that she’d pursued Little Sister all the way to this terrible place.
‘James, you’re looking bashful,’ she said. ‘Why?’
‘Sorry. . . I mean, I don’t know. I guess I was hoping we’d come here, confront Zender, and drive off into the sunset. Instead, we’re stuck in this stand-off with a bunch of over-armed guards and their brainless ogre-in-chief.’
‘Cheer up,’ said Nat. ‘Hey, I reckon the female warrior look suits me pretty damn well.’ She hitched the rifle to her hip and made a fierce face. ‘What do you think?’
‘Frightening,’ said James. ‘I’d surrender immediately.’
She was actually beautiful. He remembered how he’d come upon her earlier, tousled and glowing from sleep. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but she was walking back to the window.
‘On duty,’ she said. ‘Come back and see me soon.’
At last the Polisario colonel reappeared. He took James to his office and shut the door.
‘I have been briefed by my CO,’ he said. ‘We are ordered to take control of the compound immediately.’
He spoke in little more than a whisper, thrusting his hands into his pockets to conceal the fact that they were shaking.
‘I cannot hold it otherwise. Even then. . . ’
‘Hold it?’
‘The Moroccans plan to raid the compound tonight. I must defend it at all costs.’
‘Are you sure? Wouldn’t that be a breach of the ceasefire?’
Sulamani gave him a searching look. ‘The source is reliable, I am assured.’
‘What do you stand to lose if we pull out?’
‘Materiel – more than we should – I have always said we keep too much here. If they destroy the compound, we will suffer loss of face.’
Nejib Sulamani lowered his head. It looked as if the suffering had already started.
‘Do you know the identity of the man you killed here three nights ago?’ he asked.
‘Mansour Anzarane. He told me he worked for al Bidayat – or at least, that he took orders from the terrorist leader Ibrahim al Haqim.’
‘Yes, Mansour Anzarane. What I have just heard is that the Moroccans are trying to implicate us in the Agadir Bombing. They say it was organised by al Bidayat and carried out by Anzarane, and that we gave him shelter and support. Well, it is true that he was here. Zender said his name was Mansour el Shaafi. I never questioned it. Right here, on Polisario soil, while I stood by and watched. . . ’ For a moment, he was too distraught to continue.
‘Do you know what business Zender has with al Bidayat?’
‘He is a man of many schemes and no scruples. If they paid him enough. . . ’
‘And was Mansour responsible for the Agadir Bombing?’
‘I am quite sure he was not. But the Moroccans have persuaded the world that al Bidayat is second only to al Qaeda in the hierarchy of evil. I will be indebted to you, Dr Palatine, if you deny having seen Mansour here at our base.’
‘Of course,’ said James quietly.
‘If this raid succeeds, the Moroccans will claim they have entered the Free Zone and destroyed a terrorist HQ. A great victory in the War on Terror, they will say – a victory that exposes the true character of the Polisario.’
‘Won’t Djouhroub and his men help defend the compound?’
‘I think not.’ Sulamani rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands. He took them away and blinked, and James saw an old man, worn and sad. ‘If he had any sense, he would recognise that our situation is desperate: the Moroccans know what to expect and will bring a force large enough to overwhelm us. The guards are fit and healthy, but they are not battle-hardened like you and I.’ He gave James a rueful look. ‘No, it is much more likely that Djouhroub will think this is a scheme to get him out of the compound and seize Zender’s materiel.�
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‘I thought it was yours?’
‘Much of it is, but for political reasons we say it is all Zender’s. Djouhroub believes the compound is just a staging post for his arms business. It will be a matter of pride for him to refuse to leave, and with the guards here we cannot prepare any kind of defence.’
‘When can you expect Polisario reinforcements?’
‘Dawn. At the earliest.’
Neither of them spoke. Special Forces, James was thinking, set loose in a place like this. . .
‘Is there another exit from the compound,’ he asked, ‘apart from the main gates?’
‘Yes. To the south, beyond the warehouse.’
‘Djouhroub doesn’t know about Salif and Benoit, or the mortar we brought along,’ said James. ‘Let’s say we shell the compound and fire on the guards at the main gate, maybe get off a few rounds from the RPG as well. We create as much noise and confusion as we can, then we pause. You beg Djouhroub to let you leave. Then we start the bombardment again.’
‘And fool him into running off,’ said Sulamani.
The colonel paced to the window and looked out. The desert had turned a ghostly white in the annihilating glare of the overhead sun. After a minute of contemplating this emptiness, he walked over to James, straightened up, smiled and held out his hand.
‘Thank you, James. This plan appeals to me. It is a guerrilla tactic, and guerrilla tactics bring out the best in we Polisario.’
They shook hands.
‘You don’t think it’s crazy?’ asked James.
‘Yes, perfectly crazy. Get ready to join Salif, while I prepare a speech for Commander Djouhroub.’
James found Nat and told her what had happened.
‘Christ, James, this is it. We’ve got caught up in a war. The guards will let us leave now, surely?’
‘Sulamani says not. But we have a plan to get them out.’ He explained. ‘Can you go over to the guards at the main gates and divert their attention, so I can get over the fence? Maybe just chat to them a bit, or. . . ’
Little Sister (A James Palatine Novel) Page 31