It would have been well known among the clients who had worked with Jericho over the last several weeks that he was on his way out, was yesterday’s man, and that might have been why the envelope was hand delivered but without explanation. He opened it, ripped apart the gummed flap, scanned the contents quickly, and he remembered what Belcher had said, in the deafening interior of the helicopter on the run home, as the needle had bounced on the ‘empty’ sector of the dial. Some papers had been retrieved from his pocket after the Ghost had been killed by the chop of Corrie’s hand.
Jericho saw writing – clear, educated characters in Arabic – and diagrams, and notes of figures specifying the required weight of explosives, the necessary length of needle for the injection, the dose in millilitres required to set off the chemical reaction, and the distance from body to aircraft cabin wall. There were old bloodstains on the papers, and others that might have been from spilled water or sweat. He was told something, not all. They stood on a pavement and the traffic flowed past them, and raucous choruses of horns belted out, and dust blew in their faces and a gust of wind rustled the sheets of paper held tightly in Jericho’s hand. He sensed that Jamil had not wanted this meeting but that he had not felt able to ignore Jericho’s shout, and that information would be hard to prise out. A few questions, not barked, and answers that evaded hard truths but gave indications. A final exchange, and he let the man go and saw him saunter away, never looking back, on his way to join up with a party of tourists who were anxious to see the dugong, and hopefully a calf; the creature – once called a sea cow – could be nine feet in length, and would be in shallow waters, and was as precious to the wildlife cognoscenti as the leopard.
He went back inside, passing the Gurkha guards sitting at the bottom of the staircase – they would be paid off, three months’ wages and the dregs from what was left of petty cash. He stamped up the stairs, feeling age weighing heavily on him. In a corner, on the floor, was the belt that held the stomach padding, and his blazer, now surplus to requirements. It would be consigned to a jumble sale, might raise ten Omani rials for the Muscat Mums.
He called to Woman Friday. A message was to be sent, coded and secure. It would be the last from the station he ran. Her mouth might have tightened, and her eyes narrowed, as if to suggest that more pressing tasks awaited her. But she settled at the machine, and punched the necessary code in, and waited.
‘The caption will be, I met a traveller from an antique land, but I doubt any of them will recognise its source. In old intelligence talk in these parts, when we leaked stuff, the source was always “travellers from Yemen report”. Yes, that’s the caption. Here goes . . .’
She’d typed the title and her fingers were poised for more. When he had finished his dictation, she would add in the scans of the papers delivered to him. She asked him if there was to be a sub-section title. He found it difficult to say the bloody word and there was a clawing tightness in his throat, damn emotion. He blinked, then began.
‘In relation to Operation Crannog, run last year, enclosed are the notes taken from the body of a Saudi citizen, name on file, a.k.a. the Ghost/shabah, dealing with his work and preparation of a Surgically Implanted Improvised Explosive Device that would detonate inside a passenger’s body and puncture the fuselage of an airliner at cruising altitude, bringing it down over some of the deepest areas of the Atlantic Ocean. We believe that the Ghost/shabah attended a gathering in a village in Marib Governorate that was targeted for Crannog. We believe also that he was taken down by Cornelius Rankin, SIS staffer, before he could share his research and tactical/technical information with a wider audience. He died with the knowledge in his head and committed to paper, which is what the ‘‘traveller’’ has passed on. There are rumours I cannot corroborate that CR, while unable to complete the agreed exit strategy after the operation, became lost in the southern section of the Empty Quarter, uncharted desert sands that straddle the Yemen/Saudi frontier. Further reports suggest he had been physically beaten earlier that evening, also shot and wounded. An American drone followed him in this area and attempted to cover his flight, but crashed, and all trace of him disappeared. From the ‘‘traveller’’ there is an indication that he may have been found, alive, by a camel drover. It is assumed that CR was capable of giving a name and address. What happened to CR after that is mired in speculation – nor is the drover, or his permanent location, known. Conclusion: a successful mission is put to bed with proof of its efficacy.’
He sniffed, blew his nose, and gazed through a barred window. The bulletproofed glass was in need of a clean but would not get it. He could see skies almost clear of cloud, and feel the warmth that came in off the sea, and around him was the chaos accompanying his dismissal, and he saw the face of the boy, the one he had mentored, and Jericho was happy that Woman Friday could not see his eyes fill. It festered in his mind. His own helicopter, low on fuel to the point of suicide, had turned away. A Predator had been committed and was down. They had seen nothing on their final pass before accelerating away and going east. He allowed his imagination free rein. A camel drover coming through the depths of the storm, able to survive because his trade was based on millennia of experience, and finding a crumpled figure in the dunes. Islamic strictures on hospitality, the requirement to help the weak, the injured, the dispossessed are clearly set out. Imagine: a man near to death, hoisted on to a camel’s back. Imagine: a man treated at a rest house in a small town where camels are bought and sold, and care given him. Imagine: a bond built, and a load settled on a camel’s back and a journey south, transiting a desert, skirting warfare, reaching a coastal community.
He understood that a clue had been laid before him, and nothing said would have been accidental. A reference to a safari visit to the seashores, and a search for a dugong, a cumbersome, vulnerable and beautiful creature, perhaps with calf, and a drover coming from a stone-walled and corrugated-iron-roofed building, surrounded by corrals in which camels were held, and an envelope passed to the guide.
Imagine: an injured man who teetered over the gap separating life and death, and was nursed and brought back, a survivor. Imagine: a dark interior of a small house, and a watcher who kept himself from sight, who had passed over the envelope on seeing the ‘traveller’. Imagine: Corrie, his boy, living there, his past rejected, and a tanned body that matched local men’s, and distinguishable by a puckered bullet-hole and by the scars where his leg bone had been pinned back.
He had imagined and none of it would be passed to VBX – his boy needed protection from them. Penelope had sent the signal. Receipt was acknowledged and the gear was deactivated; it would not be needed before Doris Frazer (Mrs) arrived in forty-eight hours, by which time Jericho would have landed in London and the cab would have taken him to the building by the Thames and a debrief would have started. He dabbed his eyes, wished his boy well, coughed and heard the sea, gentle on a beach. A confidence was safe with him. He straightened his back, stood erect. There had been a final exchange between himself and Jamil, who had driven the goats on to the road, facilitated the success of a mission and victory of a sort, and who had pointed him towards a caravan of camels, and a drover, and a village where a stranger was welcomed.
Jericho’s question: ‘Can I believe that? Am I entitled to believe it?’
‘Why not? What else? You must believe what you want to believe.’
Also by Gerald Seymour and published by Hodder & Stoughton
NO MORTAL THING
VAGABOND
THE CORPORAL’S WIFE
THE OUTSIDERS
A DENIABLE DEATH
THE DEALER AND THE DEAD
THE COLLABORATOR
TIME BOMB
THE WALKING DEAD
RAT RUN
THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER
TRAITOR’S KISS
THE UNTOUCHABLE
HOLDING THE ZERO
A LINE IN THE SAND
THE WAITING TIME
KILLING GROUND
THE HEART OF
DANGER
THE FIGHTING MAN
THE JOURNEYMAN TAILOR
CONDITION BLACK
HOME RUN
AT CLOSE QUARTERS
A SONG IN THE MORNING
FIELD OF BLOOD
IN HONOUR BOUND
ARCHANGEL
THE CONTRACT
RED FOX
KINGFISHER
THE GLORY BOYS
HARRY’S GAME
Jericho's War Page 52