Sleeper 13

by Rob Sinclair

  ‘No, please!’

  But there was nothing left to say. The rules were clear, just as always. Failure must be punished. Whatever Aydin had just been put through, he knew it was nothing compared to what would come next.

  ‘I’m sorry, son,’ the Teacher said, just a second before his face disappeared as the sack was once again pulled over Aydin’s head.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  The door to the room opened and Rachel Cox entered. Alone, unarmed, she was dressed casually in jeans and a loose-fitting blouse. Yes, Aydin was shackled – a set of cuffs over both his wrists and his ankles, connected by a metal chain. The chain was looped over radiator pipes. There was no escaping the hold. Yet both Cox and the place were unassuming compared to the menacing places he’d seen in his past.

  Only this was real.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Cox asked.

  Aydin thought about the question but didn’t answer. Physically he felt much better than he had when he’d arrived at his uncle’s house, however long ago that was. Then, he’d been weary and debilitated by injuries, and since his capture he couldn’t be sure how long he’d spent tied up in this dark room. Now, although still tired and certainly bruised, he felt lucid, stronger.

  Cox took a seat on the wooden chair at the opposite side of the room to where Aydin was curled on the bare floorboards. She crossed her legs and Aydin looked away.

  ‘You look better,’ Cox said, pulling a thread of loose hair back over her shoulders. ‘The wound you had on your calf is quite badly infected, you know. While you were . . . asleep, we had a doctor see to you. The antibiotics should already have started to take effect.’

  ‘And the rest of the drugs you’ve given me?’ Aydin said, and Cox looked a little surprised that he’d chosen to speak so soon.

  Cox laughed. ‘Well there is that, too. You took quite a battering. Two nasty gashes on your arms, one on your leg, not to mention the bangs to your head. The open wounds are now at least stitched properly.’

  They both fell silent, and Aydin wondered what she’d come at him with next. This wasn’t about his health. But in the end she didn’t say anything, just sat there staring at him. Was she enjoying seeing him becoming increasingly uncomfortable with her presence?

  ‘Where are we?’ he said finally. If she wanted to play games then he would play right back.

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘You said you were from MI6, but it was the Turkish security forces who took me.’ He’d recognised the uniforms, the vehicles too.

  ‘But this isn’t a jail, or a black site,’ he said. ‘We’re still in Turkey. Just some apartment that MI6 has use of?’

  He saw the flicker in her eyes. Turkey it was. That was partly a relief, though it meant they were a hell of a long way from his brothers.

  ‘No one said you were in Turkey,’ Cox said, as though she was trying to create doubt in his mind.

  Aydin shook his head. ‘You haven’t had long enough to take me anywhere else. I’ve been out of it for no more than a day. I can tell that by the state of my wounds.’

  He saw her face twitch again.

  ‘Aydin, your perception is impressive, but you have to understand this is just the beginning. Yes, it’s been less than a day since you were arrested, and yes, you’re still in Turkey. There’s no harm in me telling you that. But you’re not staying here. If you don’t co-operate, you’re in for a hell of a downward spiral. I’m sure you’re aware of what we’d do to get what we need from you.’

  Aydin didn’t respond. He was sure that, when necessary, the UK government still engaged in torture. He’d bet Cox herself had witnessed it, though he doubted she’d ever inflicted it herself.

  During the ensuing silence, Aydin stared up at the air-conditioning unit in the wall behind Cox. There was a camera inside, there had to be. He wondered who was on the other side, watching and listening to the conversation. Was it the bad cop to Cox’s good? Perhaps he was better off keeping her in this room as long as he could after all.

  ‘I need to know your group’s plans,’ she said. ‘Locations, dates, times. Methods.’

  Aydin held his tongue.

  ‘This isn’t a game, Aydin.’ Cox looked pissed off now. ‘Do you really want all that blood on your hands?’

  ‘Exactly who do you think I am?’ he said, angry for the first time in the conversation. ‘Don’t you think perhaps I want blood on my hands?’

  Cox was taken aback by the genuine venom in his response. And so was he. He had no choice over what he wanted to be, he was simply a product: of the Teacher and the Farm – of his childhood. Whatever dissatisfaction he had with his life, there was no denying that there was hatred to be found inside him.

  ‘Actually, I don’t believe that at all,’ Cox said. No explanation or justification to her statement, which somehow gave it more weight in Aydin’s mind. ‘They killed your sister. She was asking too many questions, trying to find you. That’s why you ran, isn’t it? You found out what they did?’

  Now Aydin couldn’t find his tongue. Not only because he was unsure how to respond, but because he was intrigued to see what else this woman knew; how she knew.

  ‘And then, because you ran, because you broke free, they killed your mother too. Punishment.’

  Despite everything he’d been taught – all of the training, the ordeals – Aydin was shaking with anger as Cox spoke the words. It was all too raw and painful for him to be able to cast it aside.

  ‘Don’t let these people win,’ Cox said. ‘If not for the innocent people who will lose their lives, then do it for your mother and Nilay. Make them proud, Aydin.’

  Part of him wanted to cave in. He wasn’t at the Farm any more – never would be again. And he didn’t want to be locked up for the rest of his life, whether in a regular jail cell or some unofficial black site. He wanted to find Wahid, to kill Wahid. He couldn’t do that locked up.

  ‘I can’t help you,’ he said.

  ‘Aydin, please don’t waste this opportunity.’

  ‘You know what’s most telling?’ he said. ‘You’ve already got access to everything I know.’

  Cox’s face changed.

  ‘The laptop I left at my uncle’s. You have that, right?’ No affirmation, but of course she knew what he was talking about. ‘I’ve already reviewed the encrypted files on there. Perhaps you’ll be able to do the same in time. Yet here you are, talking to me.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand your point.’

  ‘Oh, you do. You still haven’t found any of my brothers, have you? You said before that you thought the timer had been set. You were right. The plan was to cut communication as far as possible in the run-up to the attacks, to avoid any heat.’

  ‘Aydin, what are you saying? How long do we have?’

  She was sat up straight now.

  ‘You want to figure this out by yourself? That’s fine by me. Or you can have my help.’

  ‘I need your help, Aydin. That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘No. You want my help. Time is not on your side. Unless you take action then the blood of innocents will be on your hands just as much as mine. You have the chance to stop this.’

  ‘How? Just tell me how.’

  ‘You have to get me out of here. If you do that, then I’ll give you everything you need.’

  FIFTY-SIX

  ‘Don’t even ask me,’ Flannigan said when Cox headed back into the lounge.

  Cox scowled and sat down at the dining table where Flannigan had left her a cup of coffee. She took a swig. It was bitter and lukewarm. She looked over to Flannigan, who shrugged apologetically.

  ‘We’ve got transport arranged in three hours,’ he said. ‘Two grunts are coming and you, me and Torkal are heading out to Algeria.’

  ‘Zed site?’ Cox asked.

  Flannigan nodded.

  Cox had been before. In truth it was an experience she’d rather forget. The off-the-map bunker complex was several metres below the desert and its cool damp air seemed to he
r to be perpetually filled with terror and misery. A few miles south of the country’s capital, Zed site was originally built and operated by the French military, up until they lost their drawn-out fight to maintain control of the African territory in the 1960s. After that the site had passed into the control of the UK government and used for its covert operations in Africa. It had been referred to as Z site ever since. For the last ten years the place had been largely taken over by the strong-handed Americans. British wit had deemed it necessary to clarify the name of the site to Zed, to further avoid the Americanisation of the place.

  ‘You’ve been given approval for . . .’ Cox couldn’t quite bring herself to say it.

  ‘The Prime Minister has given the go-ahead for the use of extraordinary procedures.’

  Extraordinary procedures. Aka torturing the poor sod in whatever way they saw fit. Despite everything, Cox was still hoping to avoid that. Not only because Aydin seemed to be working against the others in the Thirteen and she had to understand why, but also because the clock was ticking.

  ‘But he’s talking,’ Cox said. ‘I’m getting through to him.’

  ‘No. He’s playing with you. He’s given you absolutely nothing other than an absurd demand.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s not so absurd,’ Cox said, under her breath but just loud enough for Flannigan to hear. She wasn’t quite sure she believed the words herself so couldn’t find the vigour to say them any louder.

  ‘Are you fucking with me?’ Flannigan said, his hackles raised. ‘You want me to let a multiple-murdering terrorist back out onto the streets? What, you think he’s going to lead you to his chums and then we all shake hands and swap medals and walk off into the sunset?’

  ‘You shouldn’t get so angry,’ Cox said. ‘Those lines on your forehead are becoming ingrained.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice,’ Flannigan said.

  Cox’s phone buzzed in her handbag over on the side table by the CCTV monitor, but by the time she’d reached it the call had ended. Several missed calls from the same number; a German number. Flannigan eyed her expectantly. She quickly dialled back.

  ‘Ja,’ came the female voice.

  ‘Polizeikommissar Rahn, it’s Rachel Cox.’

  ‘Ah, Miss Cox. You’re a hard lady to get hold of.’

  ‘Sorry. You have something for me?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. We found the source of the cyanide.’

  ‘So it was cyanide,’ Cox said, looking over to Flannigan.

  ‘We traced the metal casing to a company in Hungary who makes hydrogen cyanide pellets under license. It’s taken a lot of work, but . . . it appears a company controlled by Streicher had recently purchased fifty canisters.’

  ‘Please tell me you know where those fifty canisters are.’

  A pause.

  ‘Actually, no. I’m afraid we don’t.’

  Half an hour later Cox was slumped on the sofa as Flannigan made yet another call to London. The German police had finally made a breakthrough. As well as tracing the cyanide, they’d found that the dead Nazi, Streicher, had been paid two million dollars the day he’d been killed. At least the finding had kick-started the German authorities into action. A massive deployment of police and armed forces to key sites in numerous cities would surely help to quash any attack planned on German soil.

  The big problem that Cox saw, though, was that they didn’t even know if those canisters were still in Germany. They could be anywhere in Europe. Was fifty canisters enough for a multi-pronged attack, or would they be used for only one of many atrocities?

  ‘Another update for you,’ Flannigan said.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I just got word from the tech at the Embassy. They’ve cracked the encryption on the laptop. The encryption key was on the thumb drive in Torkal’s backpack.’

  A murmur of anticipation fluttered in Cox’s chest. ‘And?’

  Flannigan shook his head. ‘And it’s next to useless. The files aren’t just encrypted, but the data inside them coded too. It’s nonsense, unless we have someone explain the code.’

  ‘Aydin can.’

  ‘And no doubt he will once he’s been put through the ringer over at Zed site. What we can see, though, are seven separate but linked datasets. It’s believed each represents a target location.’

  ‘London, Paris, Berlin, Barcelona, Rome, Bruges and Budapest.’

  ‘That’s the thinking. But we still don’t know when or how, or who.’

  ‘Sir, let me talk to him again.’

  Flannigan rolled his eyes.

  ‘We have to try. I’m not saying Torkal deserves to be a free man, but we have to find out what he knows before it’s too late.’

  ‘Absolutely. And right now I see only one solution.’

  ‘We don’t have enough time! Did you listen to anything he said? To anything I’ve been saying to you?’

  ‘There’s no other choice right now! And I’m getting more than a little bit pissed off with your tone. Don’t forget that you’re only still here, Cox, because of me. It would be quite easy to have you thrown into a jail cell for what you did––’

  ‘Except Trapeze is now officially authorised. You saw to that yourself because you know it’s the right thing to do. In fact it’s only because of me that we’ve found anything so far! Just look at what’s happening in Germany now. There’s a real chance we could thwart whatever attack is planned there. That’s because of me. And we have Aydin in custody because of a lead I followed here in Turkey. Everything we know is because of me.’

  ‘Fine. You’re right. You’re here because you have key knowledge on this operation that nobody else does. But as long as you remain on this case, you do as I damn well tell you. Got it?’

  ‘I don’t have time for this.’

  Cox got up and strode over to the door.

  ‘Where the hell are you going?’

  Cox didn’t answer, just threw open the door and stormed out.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  When Rachel Cox came blazing back into the room Aydin, was a little taken aback by the ferocious determination on her face. Cuffed, shackled and vulnerable, he found himself cowering slightly as she loomed over him, her chest heaving, her cheeks red with anger.

  ‘No more bullshit, Aydin,’ she said, her choice to speak rather than lash out at him seeming to calm her, just slightly. ‘You’ve got two hours. Then you’re out of here. More than likely you’ll never see daylight again.’

  Aydin relaxed, realising that, despite her anger and frustration, she had nothing to come at him with other than her words. She seemed to sense that too.

  ‘Aydin,’ she said, sounding more desperate. ‘We’re taking you to Algeria. A black site. You’ve heard of those?’

  Aydin said nothing.

  ‘Yeah? I’m sure you have. Well, I’ve seen a few. And this one is the worst of them. A bunker that’s completely off the map, and like most of the scumbags we take there, I doubt you’ll ever leave alive.’

  Still Aydin said nothing, not reacting at all.

  ‘It’s a truly foul place. Under the desert. No light, no fresh air. And they won’t take it easy on you. They’re going to do absolutely everything they can to get you to talk. Whatever it takes. Yes, we do still do that shit.’

  ‘Did you know here in Turkey there’s an underground city, more than a thousand years old, that in the past could house as many as twenty thousand people?’

  He could see the look of confusion on her face. ‘I do know it, actually,’ she then said. ‘Derinkuyu. I’ve been there. Have you?’

  Aydin nodded. ‘It was built as a defence for the Byzantine people during their war with the Arabs.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s just a thought I had. You’re talking about bunkers and how nasty it is to have no light and no fresh air but there’s nothing unusual about bunkers. They’re just extravagant caves. People have lived and taken shelter in caves for thousands of years.’

  Cox shrugged. ‘And people have tortured others since time began. Nothing much
changes, does it? Do you really want that to be your fate, though?’

  ‘No, I don’t. But you’re right, there’s nothing new or unique about the position we both find ourselves in today. War is a fact of human life. In years to come no one will remember me, or you. We’re just not that important.’

  ‘Tell me about the cyanide. Where are the targets?’

  Aydin was silent.

  ‘Come on, don’t give me that look. We know about the canisters. Fifty in total, purchased in Berlin by your friend, Sab’ah.’

  Aydin tried his best to show no reaction to the use of his brother’s name, but he saw the pleased look on Cox’s face.

  ‘I know a lot more than you think,’ she said. ‘Have you any idea how many people that cyanide could kill if we don’t put a stop to it?’

  ‘Do you?’

  Aydin shifted. He’d seen within Itnashar’s data the reference to cyanide. But that wasn’t something he’d been aware of. He didn’t know which locations were using that as the weapon of choice, but it certainly hadn’t been the plan for him.

  ‘We broke the encryption on your laptop,’ Cox said, then left the revelation dangling as though she expected her words to cause some sort of breakthrough. ‘We now have access to all the information you have.’

  Aydin once again held his tongue. He had no need to play along, to ask if they’d deciphered the coding that sat behind the encryption. He already knew the answer. Cox was in the room, talking to him, so of course they hadn’t.

  ‘Based on that information we’ve also now raided the addresses in all of the cities your brothers were located,’ Cox said. ‘So I’m sorry, Aydin.’ She got up from the sofa and walked over to the door. ‘But it looks like we don’t really need your help now anyway. Good luck in Algeria.’

  She opened the door.

  ‘Which locations?’ Aydin asked quietly.

  Her little trick had worked – Aydin was intrigued. But only because he knew she was barking up the wrong tree, and because he sensed that he could still break through to her, much like she was still trying to break through to him. Of course he didn’t want to end up in that bunker in Algeria, even though he was prepared for that to be his fate if there was no other way.