Beside the Syrian Sea

by James Wolff

  Jonas wondered what account they would later give of his movements that day. They would have seen him go to an internet cafe, choose a terminal in the corner that couldn’t be overlooked, insert a USB stick, make a call on a mobile phone – not the one they knew about already, it was later confirmed – and print about a dozen pages of closely-typed text. No one managed to get close enough to identify the subject matter. He was noticeably more on edge after leaving the internet cafe, they would agree: his pace was quicker, he made crude and unsuccessful attempts to catch out surveillance, he smoked more than usual. He held the papers rolled up so tightly in his fist that they crumpled. The team almost lost him when he stepped into the street and started waving for a taxi, but the first one that stopped wouldn’t take him where he wanted so he had to look for another one, which gave them time to call their vehicles forward. He was eventually dropped off outside a nondescript office block in the central district of Solidere. By the time he emerged, seventeen minutes later, they had matched the address to that of Al Jazeera’s Beirut office. Jonas was no longer carrying the rolled-up papers, they would observe.

  2

  “I wish to be clear from the start.”

  Father Tobias sat on the edge of his hotel bed. He was wearing a grey clerical shirt and black trousers with a large grease stain on one leg; his feet were bare and pale. The room was lit by a single desk lamp. The television sat by the wardrobe, its confusion of wires like an inky spill across the tiled floor. His vehemence as he spoke made the mattress squeak.

  “I will not lie to anyone for you. I will not conceal a single detail of our agreement from the kidnappers.”

  Jonas didn’t know how much Tobias had drunk, but it was enough that he had slowed his speech to the point that each word seemed uncoupled from those around it.

  Tobias was breathing audibly through his nose. “I will not provide any personal assurances that your motives are sincere. When this is all over I will not answer questions about how many of them there were, what did they look like, which weapons did they carry. You should not consider for one minute that I work for you. Is this clear?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “I will not participate in any negotiations.”

  “I don’t expect you to.”

  “None of your people will follow me into Syria.”

  “Agreed.”

  “You will not ask me to do anything else once this is finished. You will not…”

  Tobias appeared to forget what he was saying. He took off his tortoiseshell glasses and cleaned them on the corner of his shirt. When he put them back on there were dirty smudges across the lenses and they had buckled across the bridge, where tape held them together.

  “Your responsibility to me ends once you have delivered the message,” said Jonas. “Are you clear what it is? For your own safety, you shouldn’t write it down.”

  Tobias counted off the points on his fingers. “That you come from a part of the British government that wishes to pay the ransom of one of the hostages they are holding. That in light of the British government’s public policy of not paying ransoms, you wish the negotiations to be conducted in secrecy.” Sweat was slowly staining his grey shirt under his arms and where it was tight across his belly. He burped softly. “That other representatives of the British government the kidnappers may be speaking to will not be aware of the existence of this message. That you are using me as an envoy to open a completely new channel of communication with the kidnappers that is not known to other people. That they should under no circumstances discuss this message or their negotiations with you with anyone and that if they do it will put at risk the payment of a ransom.” He had used all the fingers of his left hand to count the points as he said them and now he stared at his right hand, trying to remember if there was something else. He blinked several times in quick succession. “You are the sole negotiator for the government and this is how they should contact you.” Tobias fumbled for the plain business card on which Jonas had written an email address. “Now it is your turn,” he said. “Tell me what you are going to do.”

  “You’ll tell Maryam to cross the border as a refugee and make her way to Beirut. Six months ago we would have had to send the SAS in to pick her up, but these days there’s a pretty constant stream of refugees. Believe me, Tobias, hiding in a crowd will be a much safer way for her to travel than in the back of a Chinook. There’s a thousand US dollars in that envelope in case she needs to bribe anyone. Any additional sums she has to pay along the way we will reimburse. Once here she will contact me on this mobile number – not through the embassy. This is very important. Tobias? Are you listening? I will be arranging her visa behind the scenes and it will only complicate matters if the consular staff see her asking for me. The visa will take a few days, depending on what kind of travel documents she has with her. Then she is free to leave. The British government will cover all travel costs and living expenses for her first six months in the UK.”

  Tobias looked at Jonas’s hands, he looked at his pockets. “You are not carrying a phone. If she must not go to the embassy it is important that she is able to contact you without difficulty when she arrives. Why do you not have a phone? What if your team wishes to contact you?”

  “They’ll find a way.” Jonas had pushed the mobile he had used in the internet cafe down the back of a taxi seat. “Don’t worry about phones. We know what we’re doing.” It had come as a surprise how easy it was to deflect questions by referring to a non-existent expertise. “I’ll make sure I’m available on that number when she calls.”

  Tobias closed his eyes for a moment and swayed a little. “Did I tell you her name is Maryam?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Please take good care of her. She is…” He started to cry. “She is very important to me. I only found her…it came as a surprise, you don’t expect, an old man like me…I don’t deserve —”

  “Tobias? You need to focus. Is there anything else you think we should know?”

  He shook his head. “You keep on saying you’ve done this before. Tell me what you want to know.”

  There were dozens of questions Jonas would have expected to ask if any of it had been real, questions about routes and cover stories and timescales. He considered asking them to ensure that everything appeared genuine. Too few questions might suggest he had no intention of keeping his side of the agreement, that he had no practical arrangements to make in preparation for Maryam’s arrival, whereas too many questions – or simply a single wrong question – might create doubt in Tobias’s mind. Jonas decided to stay quiet. It wasn’t only the doubt in Tobias’s mind that worried him. He was himself already far from sure that what he was doing was in any way defensible, and he was frightened of new information that might confuse the matter further. He had made his lists and calculations, he had piled the scales high with possibilities and probabilities – that his father would almost certainly die if he remained in captivity, that Tobias would be in harm’s way but had survived previous contact with extremist groups, that Maryam might suffer distress when she learned that there was no visa waiting for her – and he felt morally exposed. How should he measure her distress? What value should he place on her loss of faith in Tobias? The moral order seemed to Jonas enormously complex, its inner workings calibrated like a watch to produce a single truth, a correct answer, but he had no idea what it might be. He wondered if Tobias knew.

  Certainly nothing in his professional life had prepared him to make such a fine judgement. He was more accustomed to assessing data than weighing up right and wrong, terms which had in any case been replaced by the more practical and flexible categories of necessity and proportionality. He had done things without first examining his conscience because he had accepted at face value the morality of the organization he had joined, or because he had believed it was in the best interests of his country. Now he was planning to set aside his conscience in the interests of his family. It occurred to Jonas that when this was over he w
ould have used up just about every possible defence for doing the wrong thing.

  Tobias dried his eyes on the corner of his shirt. He walked to the wardrobe, almost tripping on the tangle of wires, and gathered a few items of clothing. He folded a shirt on the bed before placing it in a small holdall.

  “Nothing about this plan of yours will be straightforward,” he said. “Crossing the border into Syria without being arrested, finding the right group, finding the right people in the right group. Persuading Maryam to leave her mother. She walks with a stick; other than a couple of neighbours she’s only got Maryam. Are you really certain you can’t help her mother leave too? I know, I know – she will slow everyone down, the danger is too great. But I don’t know how I can persuade Maryam to go without her.”

  “You have a difficult task ahead of you, I can see that,” said Jonas. “Do you want to talk through what you could say to her?”

  “Let me worry about that. In any case, we should not imagine for a moment that my situation is more difficult than that of the hostage. It is the British one you wish to have released, is that right? Isn’t he a priest too? I remember there is a connection to the Church.” He stopped to take a drink from a glass on the bedside table. His hands were shaking. The bottle it came from had been placed out of sight. “It is reasonable to request that the kidnappers prove the hostage is still alive. If they allow me to see him, do you wish me to give him a message? It may be some reassurance if he learns his government is trying to have him released.”

  Jonas wondered if this was an opportunity he should take. Even if Tobias made it to Syria, even if he found the right people to speak with, even if they believed his message and made contact with Jonas…What message should he pass? Tell him I am sorry. Tell him I am doing my best. He couldn’t think straight. Outside he could hear the hum of the hotel generator, the squeal of traffic, city birds. Tobias moved slowly through the dusk, gathering his clothes. “Jonas?” he said after a while. “Are you all right?”

  “He likes to play chess.”

  “You must learn the most curious things about a person in your job. But I doubt a game of chess will be possible under the circumstances.”

  “Then pray with him. That will bring him some comfort.”

  “You are a man of surprises. Do you come from a religious family? You don’t have to answer – I can see that you guard your privacy. No doubt this is a necessary measure in your kind of work. Certainly I will offer to pray with him. I have some experience of what he may be going through. The last time I attempted this, on that occasion I was trying to negotiate the release of a Syrian journalist, I was taken by one of the groups and kept in a cell for ten days. They were using the town’s former police station to hold Islamic courts. There were hooks in the walls, there was blood on the floor that couldn’t be washed. A terrible place. Not as terrible as the belly of a whale, Jonah, but not so far away.”

  After a short while, Tobias had finished his packing. The gloom in the room had deepened. There was a knock at the door.

  “Are you expecting anyone?” asked Jonas in a quiet voice.

  “I don’t know anyone in Beirut other than you.”

  “Cleaner? Room service?”

  “She has already been. I don’t think they do room service here.”

  There was another knock, louder this time.

  “It’s probably someone from reception.”

  Tobias crossed the room and looked through the peephole. Jonas moved so that he was out of sight. When the door opened, the voice he heard was American.

  “I’m looking for a friend of mine. Fellow in reception said he couldn’t be sure but thought this might be a place to look. I’ve tried 163, 194, 320, 351 and 404. I wasn’t expecting there to be so many foreigners in such a dive, no offence meant. Now I’m at your door.”

  An East Coast accent, Jonas thought. Possibly Boston. Mid-forties. From the way that Tobias was standing it looked as though the American wasn’t much taller than him.

  “There is no one here,” Tobias said.

  “There is no one here.” He said it as though he was quoting Tobias, except that he had a fast, urban, nasal way of speaking. “Didn’t say there was. Said I was looking for a friend of mine. Sure I heard a couple voices, though, and it does say room 480 on my piece of paper. This is 480, isn’t it?”

  “It is probably just the television.”

  “TV’s not on, though, is it?”

  “I have turned it off.”

  “Anything interesting on? You look like the brainy type to me. You watching a quiz show or something like that? It might just be your foreign accent makes you sound clever. Where is it from?”

  “I’m Swiss.”

  “I’m Harvey. Pleased to make your acquaintance. What’s your name?”

  “Tobias.”

  “Tobias from Switzerland. Come on, shake my hand – I won’t bite. Say, now that we’re talking, can I come in for a second, catch my breath?” He didn’t sound remotely tired. “Don’t know how you can do all those stairs every day. I feel as though I’ve climbed a mountain.”

  Jonas was standing by the wardrobe, pressed against the wall, his heart racing. If the American took even one step into the room he would be able to see everything. Jonas wondered if he could hide in the wardrobe without making a noise in the process. He tried to think through what was happening. How had the Americans heard about him? Did Naseby know they were here? He had been so sure that he had lost the surveillance team earlier, that hurrying out of the back entrance of the cafe and changing taxis three times on his way to the hotel had been enough. This would teach him to underestimate their capabilities.

  “This is not a very convenient time, I am sorry,” Tobias said. “I am in the middle of packing.”

  “Not wery conwenient, huh? Are you going somewhere nice?”

  “Well, I…not really.”

  “What is it, one of those last-minute deals, don’t know where you’re going till you get to the airport?”

  “I am very sorry but I have so many things to do. Will you please —”

  “Your shy friend, the one hiding in your room, is he going on holiday with you?”

  “I told you, there is no one here.”

  “You told me that already. Literally first words out your mouth. Hey, Tobias, I’m just kidding you. And killing a little time. I’ve been humping up and down these corridors looking for my friend and you’re the first person willing to have a conversation with me. You’re an unusually patient man. Not many people would still be talking to a rude fellow like me just turns up at their door. It’s almost as though you’re hanging round to make sure I believe you.”

  “I hope you find your friend,” Tobias said. He began to close the door but the American must have stepped forward because suddenly Jonas could see the tip of his shoe, holding the door open by force. Tobias stepped backwards and almost stumbled. He had begun to breathe quickly. The light from the corridor made his face glisten.

  “Don’t you want to know who I’m looking for?” asked Harvey. “Just in case you see him at some point? Don’t you want to know if it’s your neighbour or the funny-looking man who sits across from you at breakfast? I was in your shoes I’d be a little bit curious. Let me describe him for you so that if you see him you can tell him about our conversation. He looks like – how should I put this? If you saw him, you might think he was a junior professor down on his luck. He’s got that fusty, academic thing going on. A head too filled with ideas to bother about eating. Buys his clothes from the thrift store. People who should know better tell me he’ll think through everything a dozen ways before acting, that he’s a cold fish, that he’s milquetoast. But I saw him earlier today, Tobias, and I’m not so sure. He looked to me like if he was having a bad day you might cross the road if you saw him coming. Looks like he has a mean streak. It’s always the skinny guys who fight the meanest, right? Okay, okay, one last question, Tobias from Switzerland who is in a rush to get back to his packin
g. Can you recommend a good restaurant in this shitty neighbourhood for when I track him down? I want to sit down and talk, resolve our differences, break bread together. Perhaps you can tell him to meet me there – if you happen to see him, that is.”

  “Please, remove your foot. I am sure the staff at reception can help you.”

  “Maybe if I tell you what he likes to eat, Tobias. British food. You like British food? Pie and gravy, fish and chips, little dainty cucumber sandwiches? You strike me as being more of a drinker than an eater, Tobias. Your eyes – they’re a little glassy. Have I interrupted a going-away party? No chance I could come in for a tipple? Can’t have you drinking on your own, if in fact that’s what you’re doing. If my friend was in there keeping you company he’d be drinking with his pinky finger stuck in the air. Don’t look so surprised, Tobias – that’s what the British do. Between you and me, I might just snap it off when I see him, the amount of trouble that cunt has caused me today. He’s had me running all over town. Don’t get me wrong – we’ll be friends again before long. It’s just a little finger. That’s all I want at this stage. Friends sometimes need to get angry with each other and have a fight, roll around in the dirt, and then they’re friends again. Don’t you agree, Tobias? He hasn’t done anything too bad yet, far as I know. Clock’s ticking, though.”

  Harvey the American whistled as he walked off down the corridor. Tobias closed the door. His shirt was soaked through with sweat.

  “Your world is every bit as unpleasant as I imagined.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Jonas said. He didn’t know how to explain what had just happened. “The Americans…the Americans get angry when we conduct operations without them and take any opportunity to cause problems. It’s a political thing. Someone must have seen me coming into the hotel and called him. He was fishing – you did very well.”

  “You mean I lied very well. This is high praise. You are the experts, as you keep on telling me.” He was breathing heavily. “Only an hour ago I was saying that I would not lie for you. It is not difficult to see that you have chosen me because of my weakness.”