Zara's Game

by Jo Black

  ‘Sorry Mister Alex,’ Maria said clearly afraid of his response. ‘Mrs Alex was most insistent I must do it now. She not take no for an answer.’

  ‘Bitch!’ yelled Alex, immediately wishing he hadn’t as it made his headache worse and brought a sudden wave of nausea. He put a pillow over his head, but it still didn’t drown out the noise. Reluctantly he swung out of bed, walked past Maria giving her a look of disdain before ripping the vacuum cleaner’s plug out of the socket as he passed to finally silence the source of his discomfort.

  Alex made his way downstairs to where Zara was sat reading the paper with a large glass of orange juice. ‘Oh you’re awake,’ she said innocently.

  Alex gave her a scowling glare as he made his way to the fridge and removed some cold juice and downed the whole bottle in a single go. ‘I suppose you find that funny?’

  ‘No...’ Zara said. ‘But I didn’t sleep a wink last night.’

  ‘Really? Was someone vacuuming the room?’ Alex replied sarcastically, grabbing a bacon roll from off a plate next to the hob and munching into it before returning to the lounge to collapse onto the sofa. Zara walked over. She stood in front of him with arms folded across her chest. ‘What?’

  ‘Well firstly, where the fuck is Hunter? Secondly, what was “Always Smythe”?’

  ‘You better sit down,’ Alex replied. Zara remained defiantly stood. ‘Well, Hunter turned.’

  ‘What do you mean he turned?’

  ‘Vincent saw him. With that Sanders spook you were chasing. Went with them. Last we saw of him.’

  ‘Did they take him?’

  ‘No, he went voluntarily.’

  ‘That doesn’t make any sense...’ Zara frowned in disbelief. ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘I don’t know Zara.’

  ‘And Smythe?’

  ‘He came to the farm. After we grabbed The Serb. It was all his doing. This whole thing from start to finish was Smythe setting us up.’

  ‘I don’t follow...’

  ‘He sent you the dossier Zara. Remember that?’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘To light a fire. You followed his trail of breadcrumbs into the mousetrap. The trap came down and you got caught. Your fellow little mouse Hunter ran off to get help. The big mouse came with all his big mouse friends and rescued the little mouse from the trap.’

  ‘Enough with the mouse nonsense. Just stick to the facts.’

  ‘The dossier was a setup. Nish had Radic cornered and they knew it. Radic had the real goods on Smythe and friends, but they couldn’t deal with him because he had an insurance policy. Once he was inside custody then if anything happened to him (Radic) the insurance policy would trigger. They knew I would come after you; you would then go after Radic to get the insurance policy. Radic would give me the insurance policy because he trusted me, and I was the only person who could get him out in a way that would make his friends think he was safe. Smythe could then finish us all off. The whole thing from start to finish, Bishop, setting you up for stealing the money, the dossier, what ben David was told, everything was part of Smythe’s plan. Even the boat.’

  ‘That’s not possible. How does one man orchestrate mischief on such a scale, and bend the will of some many to his aims?’ Zara asked.

  ‘Well that’s a question...’ Alex sighed.

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘He offered to cut a deal. We all go back to playing friends.’

  ‘In return for?’

  ‘Radic.’

  ‘Or?’

  ‘Well, let’s just say his alternative didn’t work out the way he intended.’

  ‘So you killed him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You know where the expression “better the devil you know” comes from Zara? If we kill him he just manifests himself elsewhere. As it stands we know Smythe, we know his operations. We’ve spent years gathering intelligence on him waiting for him to reveal himself and his plans. To kill him would reset that to zero.’

  ‘Who is we?’

  ‘You know who is we.’

  ‘I’m not sure I do, but we’ll pass on that one for now...’ Zara paced up and down trying to make sense of it all. ‘I think I will sit down.’ Zara sat next to Alex. ‘How did you not see it?’

  ‘I was distracted. By you. I was so focused on you and my emotions I couldn’t see the moves he was making around me. That’s his skill, his mischief. He finds the weak spots. Money, ego, vanity, and love. Then he uses them to bend your will. All I could think of was saving you so it blinded me. Zara, he knew how to play me, and he used you to do it. He’s discredited you from Six to force you into exile, as I was forced into exile. He believes he wins either way. He thought if he removed your options and forced you back into my arms I’d be so grateful then I’d bend to his will. And you’d have no choice but to stay.’

  ‘But you didn’t. Why not?’

  ‘Free will. You have to be here because you want to be here, not because you are forced to be. I told you I would never lie to you. He fooled me briefly, but I can see the extension of his game, the blackmail that would come next. Having accepted his gift, he would then have the ability to take it away by revealing to you my complicity in your exile. I won’t be party to such a thing. You do not keep a bird that wants to fly free caged. You let it go, if it loves you it will always return.’

  ‘Why is it always Smythe Alex? From the very beginning he plays with us, bringing us together then tearing us apart. What’s he trying to achieve? It is envy? Revenge?’

  ‘It’s a good deal more complicated than that.’

  Zara sank back into the sofa. ‘I can’t go back, can I?’

  ‘Would you want to?’

  Zara sighed. ‘Probably not. A girl could get used to all this quite quickly. How quickly money corrupts the noblest of souls...’ Zara flashed a smile at the irony. She rested her head on Alex’s shoulder. ‘No, ironically he did me a favour. I think he made me see what was important in my life. And it wasn’t England and M.I.6. So what do we do now, my love?’

  ‘In his hubris he has revealed more than he should of. This game is far from done, Zara. This is just the opening gambit in a long series of exchanges before we reach its finality.’

  ‘I don’t know where this ends. But I’m not letting Smythe win. If he thinks he can use what he’s done to turn me against you then he really doesn’t know me at all.’

  ‘He doesn’t understand good people Zara. Integrity, decency, compassion, empathy. Love. These are things that are beyond his comprehension. That’s his weakness, that’s what you exploit. That’s how you bring him down.’

  Zara smiled. ‘You’re suggesting we cuddle him to death?’

  ‘That’s not what I really meant,’ Alex said with a frowned smile.

  ‘I know. Might work on you though...’ Zara hugged Alex and pinned him down on the sofa before they kissed. She squeezed his nose between her fingers. ‘Don’t let him pull us apart. If there is one thing you can stop him doing, let it be that. Promise?’

  ‘I promise. We’ll endure Smythe’s mischief. Whatever the cost.’ Zara smiled and kissed Alex before resting her head on his chest.

  72

  Zara leant back in her chair, stretched, yawned and rubbed her eyes from the fatigue of combing through Radic’s documents. Alex and Nish returned to where she was sat at the desk. ‘Anything?’ Alex asked.

  ‘Not much. But there never is,’ Zara replied.

  ‘What do you have?’ Zara sorted through the stack of papers in her “interesting” pile. She pulled out one and handed it to Alex. He looked at it. ‘Tell me what I’m looking at.’

  ‘It’s a booking invoice from an overland logistics company in Niger. They run haulage around the region. It’s for a shipment of organic non-active fertilizer from a depot in Niger to the port of Lagos in Nigeria.’

  ‘And what’s interesting about that?’ Alex asked.

  Zara picked up a stack o
f printouts from her Internet research. ‘Well, firstly, the customs declaration for the consignment relates to a fertilizer with a very specific compound meeting a certain U.N specification. The U.N specification is an approved list of fertilisers can than be sold to sanctioned countries, since the formulas are inert and can’t be used in the production of materials for warfare such as Improvised Explosive Devices or other shit what goes bang.’

  ‘And this means?’ Alex asked.

  ‘Iraq is on that sanction list.’

  ‘So Radic is shifting fertiliser from Niger to Iraq?’

  ‘No...why buy the stuff in Niger? Yes they make fertiliser, amongst other exports, but it’s hardly the cheapest or most convenient place to buy it. And second, why the fuck would Radic be interested in smuggling a product that can be legally bought off the shelf?’ Zara posed.

  ‘I assume you have an answer,’ Nish said.

  Zara handed over a stack of more papers. ‘Niger is one of the world’s leading exporters of uranium ore, specifically the production of yellowcake.’

  ‘Yellowcake?’ Nish asked.

  ‘Take the mined uranium ore that they have a large natural supply of in Niger, leach it through a solution of acids, and you have the basis of a compound used for enriching uranium into U235. The stuff stinks, but is inert, has a half life of about four billion years so only has trace radioactivity levels, and to the untrained eye, despite its name, is usually a brown granular substance — which looks an awful lot like...’

  ‘Fertiliser...’ Alex said.

  ‘Bingo. We have a winner.’ Zara nodded with a smile.

  ‘You’re going to tell me there is a problem,’ Alex said.

  ‘There is. All we’ve got is evidence of someone shipping fertiliser. Without a sample that proves it’s yellowcake, we’ve got nothing. And we’ve no idea where it goes when it hits Lagos.’

  ‘Is this all we have?’ Nish asked.

  Zara nodded. ‘Smythe isn’t stupid. He wouldn’t put all his eggs in Radic’s basket. At a guess he’s just one of a network of people used to break the components into small enough chunks that no one part arouses interest. He’s an expert in this, he’s had plenty of practice — as you both know.’

  ‘So why go to so much trouble to deal with Radic if all he was covering up was an ambiguous shipment of fertiliser?’ Nish asked.

  ‘She figured it out. Maybe he realised if she could, someone else could,’ Alex replied.

  ‘Or it’s just a continuation of the game he’s been playing us with,’ Zara said. ‘Did he tell you the truth, or what he wants you to think? That is the question.’

  Alex looked thoughtful. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘If he’s still playing us, there is nothing we can do to avoid playing along. It’s heads he wins, tails we lose. If we don’t play then the whole Saddam plot continues unopposed. If we play, and foil that plot, we’re potentially digging ourselves deeper into the hole he’s set us up in.’

  ‘Nish?’

  ‘She’s right. I don’t believe we yet have the upper hand on him. But, I do think we need to stall for time until more is revealed. This shipment moves in thirty-six hours. If it goes, we may not get another in.’

  ‘We’ll proceed with caution. We need to avoid alerting him that we’ve got a continued interest in his affairs. As things stand this evidence could have been destroyed in the explosion at Radic’s container. He can’t assume we have it. We’ll use that window of confusion to our advantage. We’ll leave from Libya to cross the overland border into Niger. We follow the trucks and see where they take us.’ Alex checked his watch. ‘We don’t have much time. Nish, call the pilot and get us a flight plan into Benghazi. If he’s watching us then he should assume we’re going to supervise our packing up and departure. We can get away overnight and slip into the desert.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Zara asked.

  ‘There is a set of books in my library, start with “How to Build an Atomic Bomb” and work through the rest. We need a list of all the components we are looking for; compile a list of source suppliers. Try and figure out if there is anything else buried in here. The yellowcake on its own gives us nothing. It can be used for powering low-grade civilian reactors, or making fuel rods. Without all the constituent parts there is no smoking gun,’ Alex said.

  73

  Sooty was busy supervising the packing of The Company’s equipment into shipping containers inside a large warehouse by the docks when Alex and Nish arrived. They walked through the open loading door and headed over to him. ‘Sooty, we needed a Land Rover unpacked,’ Alex said.

  ‘Tell me you are joking. We’ve done all the export paperwork already,’ Sooty replied with dismay.

  ‘Sorry, priority job.’

  ‘I’ll need an hour for Two-Stroke to get it prepped. They’re already packed for transport and drained of fluids.’

  ‘Get on it. How far off are we?’

  ‘Before your intervention, I’d say twenty-four hours. This might put us back another four.’

  ‘I need the ship squared-away no later than thirty-six hours from now, and ready to sail with all the boys on board.’

  ‘It’ll be tight but we can do it. Where are we going?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. You’ll find out when we find out. What about the Mig and Hind?’

  ‘Mig we’re about to close on. We had to chop two mill’ for a fast sale. The Hind we’re still working on. We’ve packed it up for transport for now.’

  ‘Keep on it.’

  ‘It’s a buyer’s market at the moment. Iraq are interested, but getting it past the sanctions is out of our time window.’

  ‘Just do what you can.’

  ‘Will do. Anything else?’

  ‘Before you leave port get Mister Patel a full set of kit from a lab. Spectrum analysers.’

  ‘What will he be looking for?’

  ‘I need him to determine if a sample is yellowcake.’

  ‘I’ll take care of it. Is there something going down I should be aware of?’

  ‘We’ll brief you when we get back, we’ll know more then. If anything goes down then Zara is at the villa.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You’re doing a good job Sooty. You should know we cooked Merriweather and his new outfit on the barbeque in France. It might make recruitment difficult for a while, if people ask — then they brought the fight.’

  ‘Understood. I’ll take care of your transport.’

  Alex and Nish walked over to the temporary canteen facilities and grabbed some cold water bottles from the fridge. ‘We should get some sleep. We’ll have to drive all night to get to the border, and most of tomorrow to get to the rendezvous in time.’

  The pair found some sleeping cots in a storeroom that was a little quieter than the hustle and bustle of the main storage hall. They both settled in for an afternoon nap.

  74

  Alex killed the headlights on the Land Rover and made a sharp turn off the main highway before bumping onto the uneven desert track. An old smugglers’ route over the border into Niger, he had used it countless times in the other direction and knew it well. The Land Rover Defender was fully equipped and upgraded for off-road expedition driving. In the passenger seat, Nish supervised the routing on the G.P.S, ensuring they didn’t get lost in the now near pitch black night-time desert, bereft of light pollution due to the complete lack of civilisation in the remote corner where Libya’s border touched Niger’s. It was several hours harsh driving before the Land Rover finally found tarmac again the other side of the border, Alex turned onto the road and illuminated the headlamps as he accelerated back up to try and make progress south to the shipping depot. Nish and Alex took alternating shifts of driving as they pounded across the vast, often featureless, country. The other catnapped as best they could as they traversed over the potholed or broken roads. By the time they arrived, the formerly pristine metallic grey Land Rover looked like it had just completed the full Paris to Dakar. A usefu
l side benefit of their off-road excursion was the dirt, rock dings, cracked windscreen, and scratches now camouflaged the vehicle well into the other dirty battered vehicles that clogged the small town’s streets.

  Alex navigated to their target destination, pulling in at a small African cafe bar, its dilapidated Pepsi Cola sign faded and flapping in the wind.

  Alex and Nish emerged from the parked Land Rover and walked over into the small cafe where the welcome relief of air movement, from the overhead electric ceiling fan, broke the humid and stifling hot afternoon conditions. Alex ordered some food and drink whilst Nish went and relieved himself. They took up residence at a table under the main draft from the overhead fan, overlooking the entrance gates to the trucking depot opposite. The waiter brought over their food and ice-cold Pepsi in glass bottles, which brought Alex and Nish some welcome cold relief to their dry parched throats.

  The afternoon passed slowly as a procession of trucks arrived and departed without much of interest, and boredom from a long op on observation started to set in when finally the activity they’d been waiting for started.

  The trigger was the arrival of a clearly rented vehicle. Too clean to have spent any real time on the dusty roads, its occupants too fresh to be weather-beaten by the harsh African sun. They pulled into the trucking compound and were directed to the foreman’s office. The pair of P.M.C’s, and their suit in charge, were far too clean-cut to be the usual scruffbag local soldiers of fortune. They went into the office before emerging an hour later, and waited briefly before supervising the departure of a line of four H.G.V’s loaded with international cargo shipping containers. The P.M.C’s and suit-in-charge returned to their car and drove out of the compound before following in the direction of the trucks.

  Alex and Nish returned to their drinks as if nothing had happened. Patience was on their side, since they knew the shipment was bound for Lagos, and there was only one principal road suitable for H.G.V’s to get there from their current destination, they had at least an hour to maintain cover of weary travellers before beginning the pursuit and surveillance. They would wait until just before dusk to get out of town, ensuring by the time they caught up that their vehicle would not identifiable under the cover of darkness. They would be fully into Nigeria before the dawn broke, and the P.M.C’s would likely have long forgotten any vehicles such as theirs that had caught their attention from a surveillance sweep of the departure point.