Greed mb-1

by Chris Ryan

  You can't read me, infidel, any more than you could read ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. I'm not from your world, and you know nothing about me.

  'Let him go,' said Alison, looking up towards Harper. She glanced towards Sallum, her expression somewhere between a smile and a frown. 'We're sorry to have detained you, Mr bin Sallum. Have a good day.'

  TWENTY

  Matt held the tape in his hand, a tiny piece of plastic, weighing less than a box of matches. 'OK,' he said, looking across at Ivan, 'play it.'

  From the sideboard Ivan picked up a dictaphone and slotted the tape into position. He pressed play. Matt could hear a voice talking, and the unidentifiable sound of some machines in the background. The voice was speaking Arabic, he could tell that much, but his knowledge of the language was so limited he couldn't pick up the meaning of a single word.

  'Recognise it?' asked Ivan.

  Matt nodded. 'It's the tape Alison played to us in the hotel room, the one she's been looking for,' he answered. 'The al-Qaeda boys in the boat phoning home. Where the hell did you get it?'

  'She left it on the table and I slipped it into my pocket when she wasn't looking,' said Ivan. 'You never know when these things might come in useful. It's the one thing I haven't been honest with you about.'

  'It was unprofessional of her to leave it out,' said Matt.

  'Exactly,' said Ivan. 'That's what I thought. She just left the tape on the table, like she wasn't bothered what happened to it. You don't speak Arabic do you?'

  Matt shook his head. 'Do you?'

  'No,' said Ivan. 'But she knew that when she played us the tape. None of us would understand what it said. So I had it translated.' He handed another tape to Matt. 'Want to listen to it?'

  Matt took the tape and slotted it into the machine. A voice started up: a slight Arab accent, but speaking English with a London accent. It was the kind of voice you would hear in any kebab shop in Acton. 'I would like to order two tickets to Cairo. I want to book return flights, business class, going out early in the morning on the tenth, then coming back on the eighteenth. I'm going to need a car rental at the airport and a hotel in the city.'

  Ivan walked across the room and pressed his finger on the tape machine. The voice stopped. 'It's just some guy booking tickets to Egypt at one of the Arab travel shops along the Edgware Road.'

  Matt lifted the Beretta, levelling it directly at Ivan's forehead. He released the safety catch. 'You're lying.'

  Ivan stepped forward, bringing his forehead into contact with the barrel of the gun. 'Listen you bloody fool, it's Alison,' he said, spitting the words out of his mouth. 'She's been setting us up all along.'

  * * *

  Sallum slammed the door of the rented Golf. He stepped out into the car park, looking around him. He believed he hadn't been followed, but it never hurt to check once again. The mark of a great assassin is his attention to detail.

  Assaf was standing twenty yards away, outside a phone box. Sallum walked slowly towards him, his eyes darting from right to left. As far as he could tell, the man was alone. 'Sorry for the delay,' he said, looking into the eyes of his master. 'I was taken in for questioning at the airport.'

  'I know,' said Assaf. 'Are you certain you weren't followed?'

  Sallum nodded. After being released from the airport, he had taken a taxi into Manchester, a bus up to Preston, then hired a car and driven down towards Birmingham. At each stage of the journey he had carefully checked his trail, watching for anyone who might be following him. He had doubled back and twisted around on himself — usually that revealed a tracker. He had bought a ticket for Coventry, then hopped on the Preston bus: that should confuse anyone following him by computer. He had checked into a hotel for an hour, showered, then checked into a branch of Next to buy himself a completely new set of clothes and luggage: he wanted to make sure they hadn't planted any electronic devices on him. If he was being followed, he had surely lost them.

  'I have taken every precaution I could think of,' Sallum answered.

  Assaf was a commanding man, with a natural sense of authority. His voice was deep and balanced, each vowel perfectly pitched for the desired impact. 'Did they know who you were?'

  Before driving down to Birmingham Sallum had phoned Assaf, leaving a message with his secretary that they should meet in the car park of the Toby Inn, on the A518, just off the M5 between Birmingham and Manchester. He'd made the call from a phone box: if he was being followed, a mobile call could easily be tracked. It was now just before eight. It was dark, a light rain was falling, and the only witnesses to their meeting were a few people parking their cars and heading into the pub. Nobody was likely to overhear them.

  'I think so. She showed me pictures of the five men — the three who are dead and the two who are still alive.' He looked up at Assaf, scrutinising his face. 'Something isn't right. How could they possibly know it was me? And if they know, why would they let me go?'

  Assaf shrugged. 'Maybe they are just fishing around, stopping Arabs at random and showing them the pictures in the hope of shaking something loose. Ever since the glorious events of September the eleventh they have been persecuting Saudis.'

  'Yes, but maybe they do know something,' persisted Sallum. 'How did we get that list of men? It was only a day or two after the robbery, and we already knew exactly who was responsible.'

  'Out of the network,' said Assaf. 'A man in the mosque in Solihull. A low-level sympathiser. British intelligence think they turned him, he informed on us and collected a couple of hundred a week for his trouble. Actually, he's double-crossing them. We know he's an informer, and we use him to feed them false information. Let them spend their time arresting newsagents in Hendon! He told us their names.'

  'Do you think he's a triple, then?'

  Assaf shrugged. 'It had occurred to me,' he said. 'But they let you go, didn't they?'

  Sallum turned around, speaking with his back to Assaf. In the service of a cause as great as this, there were many sacrifices that had to be made. Sometimes including your own honour, your dignity, even your life.

  The task of a true servant of the Prophet is to accept all without question.

  'Let me get this straight,' he said. 'You're saying MI5 organised the hit on our boat. Then they give the information to this agent in Solihull, who they know is double-crossing them. So he tells you, and then you go and send me to assassinate the men. They are watching all the time, and that leads them to me.' He paused, his eyes scanning the car park with new vigour. 'And I lead them to you.'

  'Clever, you have to admit that,' said Assaf.

  Sallum turned to look at him. 'I care nothing for myself, you know that,' he said. 'If it is necessary to lay down my life for the cause, I make no complaint about that. But to let me lead them to you. . Without you, the whole network in this country would fall apart.'

  Assaf smiled. 'You are a good man, but you worry too much,' he said. 'I was aware of what their plan might be. Of course I was. But as the information was offered, I had no choice but to act upon it. Men cannot be allowed to steal from al-Qaeda and live. That would be intolerable. I had no choice but to send you after them.' He paused, resting a hand on Sallum's shoulder. 'But I trusted your abilities enough to know you were unlikely to lead them to me. I have faith in you, as you should have faith in me, and as we should all have faith in the Prophet to lead us through difficulties.'

  Sallum smiled.

  The wisdom of the master is what I should surrender myself to.

  'What should I do now?'

  'They think they can outwit us with their double and triple crosses,' said Assaf. 'But we can out-think all of them, because we have faith and purpose, and they, for all their strength, have nothing but themselves.' He turned and started walking towards his parked car. 'Come with me. The moment of a famous victory is close.'

  * * *

  Acton Lane was thick with rush-hour traffic. Cars snaked and crawled along the road, the sound of the engines turning into one collective gro
an. Matt walked swiftly along the street, his head turning from side to side. A kebab shop, a mini-cab firm — they were looking for anywhere they might find an Arab who wanted to earn fifty quid without working for it.

  'Here,' he said to Ivan.

  The two men stepped inside the Paradise Kebab House. A poorly chosen name, Matt reflected as the smell of the place hit him. Some greasy looking meat was turning on a hot skewer and spitting fat. Ranged along the counter there was a selection of cut onions and gherkins, and some stale pitta bread. A couple of likely looking guys were standing at the bar, smoking. Another stood behind the counter. 'Anyone here speak Arabic?' said Matt. 'And want to earn fifty quid for five minutes' work?'

  The two men looked at him suspiciously then shuffled out to the street. 'I don't mind, boss,' said the boy at the counter, 'so long as it doesn't get me into trouble with the law.'

  Matt shook his head. 'Just listen to this tape and tell me what it says.'

  He took the dictaphone from his pocket and placed it on the counter. The voice started up, droning on in Arabic. Matt was starting to find the sounds familiar even though he had no idea what they meant. 'OK,' he said, pressing pause. 'What's he saying?'

  'Where's my cash?'

  Matt peeled two twenties and a ten from his wallet and pushed them into the boy's hand. 'Well?'

  'The guy is booking some travel tickets,' said the boy. 'He's flying to Egypt, and taking an internal flight from there, and he needs some hotel rooms reserved as well. Sounds like he's talking to a travel agent. If you want it word for word then you'll have to play it to me again.'

  Matt shook his head. 'That's OK,' he said softly. 'I've heard enough. Give me a doner kebab, and one for my mate as well.'

  He turned towards Ivan. The man had remained expressionless throughout the conversation, but somewhere behind his eyes Matt had detected a hint of satisfaction. Matt took a kebab from the boy. The rich, fatty smell of the meat drifted to his nostrils. 'You were right. It's her.'

  * * *

  Assaf pulled the case from the boot of his car and passed it carefully to Sallum. It was a standard black Samsonite attache case: you could see hundreds of them on any commuter train into the City every morning.

  Sallum held it in his hands. It felt heavy — much heavier than he would have expected for a case of its size. 'What's in it?' he asked, looking up at Assaf.

  'Plutonium,' said Assaf. 'Not a nuclear device, but three pounds of radioactive plutonium next to a conventional Semtex bomb. The blast will create a radioactive, contaminated area that will be unusable for at least five years.'

  Sallum's grip on the case remained firm. 'Am I to deliver it?'

  'You are my best man,' Assaf answered. 'The one person I trust absolutely. You know how hard it is for us to obtain any plutonium. I cannot waste it on idiots. Other men will clear the way for you, but you will plant the device, and trigger the detonation.'

  It is for moments such as this that we devote ourselves to the cause. Truly, Allah has blessed me with this most noble of tasks.

  'What is the target?'

  Assaf looked towards the pub, then back at Sallum. A pair of men were walking past ten yards away, and he waited until they were safely out of earshot before replying. 'We plan our targets with great care,' he said. 'We strike rarely, but with maximum force, so as to spread terror and confusion among the enemy. Yet we also operate by stealth — we come at them where they least expect us to strike. This bomb is to be placed at Clapham Junction. It's the biggest railway junction in Europe, and the busiest. It's the one crucial hub for all the people and freight coming into London. After this bomb goes off, nothing will be able to move through the area for at least a year, until the contamination dies down. Radiation will seep into the underground network and down into the water pipes. London will grind to a halt.'

  Sallum permitted himself a brief, thin smile. 'That will teach them to underestimate our power.'

  'The moment to strike is three nights from now,' said Assaf. 'I will give you a map. Other agents are working in London, and they will clear the way for you. There are twelve security guards protecting the station. Each will be killed at the same moment, five o'clock in the dead of night. Twelve of our agents have been assigned to that task. You will sneak undetected across the tracks and bury the case beneath the track. The bomb will have a thirty-minute timer on it, enough for you to get away from the area, but not enough time for it to be found.'

  'I am honoured to be chosen.'

  'But first we must deal with the last two of our thieves,' said Assaf. 'Honour demands that they must die. As soon as I have it from our source, you shall be given the address of their hiding place, and you will go and kill them. Then you will deliver the bomb.'

  Sallum looked to the sky. 'In the book of Surah it is written: "Muhammad is God's apostle. Those who follow him are ruthless to the unbelievers." Those are indeed wise words.'

  'Your devotion to the way of the faith is an inspiration to us all,' said Assaf. 'May Allah stand at your side through the days ahead of you.'

  Sallum nodded, holding the attache case tightly in his hand, and walked back towards his car.

  Of all the missions fate has chosen out for me, this is surely the greatest. Each man reaches his own moment of destiny, and this is mine.

  * * *

  Matt put the phone down, then slammed his fist against the wall. A section of plaster shook loose, sending a cloud of dust into the air. 'The bitch!' he snarled. 'The two-timing, double-crossing bitch.'

  'What did she say?' asked Ivan.

  The two men had walked back in silence, both of them chewing on their kebabs. Matt had hardly eaten all day, but the food failed to make him feel any better. The anger was growing inside him all the time. It was not just that she was responsible for the deaths of two of his Regimental comrades and his oldest and closest friend. It was that she had turned all that responsibility on to him. Were it not for him, none of them would have been on the mission — and all the time she had been setting them up for assassination.

  As soon as they'd got back to the safe house Matt had put a call through to Pointer. He needed the answer to the question he had put to the man earlier: what happened to the video link Alison's MI5 stooge had put into Kazanov's house?

  'Shot out,' Matt said, looking back up towards Ivan, 'according to Pointer — and he's got no reason to he to me. The guy who killed Reid went into the video room and shot the whole place to pieces. He's obviously enough of a professional to know everything would be taped, and he didn't want to leave any evidence behind him.'

  Ivan put down the coffee he had just finished brewing. 'Before or after he shot Reid — that's the question,' he said. 'I reckon it has to be afterwards. Think about it. You go inside the house, knowing that Reid has been distracted, and you have a few minutes to kill the wife and kids before killing him. You don't have time to worry about the video cameras.'

  Matt poured himself some coffee. 'Right — you deal with it after the killing is done. So long as none of the tape survives, you know it doesn't matter. Would it occur to you that the whole lot was being transmitted back to London?'

  'So that's what the Five man was there for,' said Ivan. 'You should have seen that at the time. It was nothing to do with helping you. Alison knew all along the assassin was going to come and get Reid. She just wanted to make sure they had film of him, so they could identify him later. It all fits together.'

  'Like a game of bridge.'

  'Right. She gets us to hit al-Qaeda,' Ivan said carefully. 'She knows they are going to send their best man after us. She finds some way of leaking who and where we are, knowing their man will go after us. Meanwhile Five are watching, waiting for one slip — then they have him. She didn't care about the robbery, not for a moment. It's the assassin she's after.'

  'Christ, I'll tell you why as well,' said Matt. 'She's under a lot of pressure to catch the guy who killed the government minister in Saudi. And she reckons there's a big al-Qaeda
spectacular coming up soon in Britain. Five are desperate for some kind of lead.'

  'How do you know what she thinks?'

  'I slept with her,' said Matt. 'Pillow talk.'

  'Not just you, me as well,' said Ivan.

  Matt paused. With all that he'd learned in the past few minutes this revelation shouldn't have surprised him — yet he couldn't help but see it as yet another betrayal. It hadn't been serious with Alison, but he hadn't expected her to be both trying to get him killed and sleeping with the rest of the gang.

  'And I'll tell you what then, pal,' Ivan said, a hoarse laugh rising from his lips, 'it wasn't either of us that screwed her. It was the other way around!'

  * * *

  'Alison here.'

  'It's Matt.'

  She paused for only a fraction of a second. 'Are you OK?' she said quickly. 'I was really worried about you.'

  She's good, thought Matt. The tone, the pause, the small catch in her throat. You could almost believe she really was worried about me.

  Like a whore, she knows how to fake any emotion the moment requires.

  'You heard about Reid?'

  'Yes. I'm really sorry. He was a good guy.'

  Matt held the phone tightly. He was sitting in the hallway of the Hammersmith house, his back to the wall. Only one light bulb was on shining in the kitchen, otherwise the house was in darkness. 'The Five man who put in the video link — did you get anything?'

  Another pause. 'No,' she replied. 'The first thing the assassin must have done is shot it out.'

  Matt nodded into the phone. 'Nothing at all? Not even a few shots of him coming into the compound?'

  'No. I'm sorry, Matt. Nothing.'

  'OK,' said Matt. 'I was just hoping it might have given us some kind of lead.'

  'Whoever he is, he's too good to make a mistake like that,' she said. 'Did you get the money?'

  'That's all taken care of,' said Matt. 'We'll be making the split just like we discussed in Bideford.'