by Bill Ward
“Let’s sit down,” she suggested. She chose to perch on the corner of the table opposite him, rather than sit next to him on the sofa.
“You sound very serious. Is everything alright?”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, Baz. You have fallen foul of a classic honey trap.”
His expression changed to a look of horror. “What nonsense is this? What do you mean?”
“You know perfectly well what I mean. Someone as senior as you in your country’s Intelligence Service will be very familiar with the term. You have been caught letting your cock rule your brain. A problem common amongst men but in your profession a fatal error.”
“Who do you work for?” Baz quizzed, angrily.
“I work for British Intelligence and I need your help.”
“So you are a female James Bond?”
Despite the sombre occasion, Lara couldn’t help but smile. “I prefer wine to martinis. Now let’s get serious. You have been caught with your pants down around your ankles and I need your help.”
“With what?”
“You are involved in moving funds out of the country to support terrorism. Something which, if your government was made aware of your crime, would result in a very slow and painful death.”
Baz was sweating despite the air conditioning. “What do you want?”
“I want to know everything. Your contacts in ISIS, who is contributing the funds. Everything.”
“You bitch,” he said succinctly. “What’s to stop me just killing you. There is no evidence to support what you say.”
“Nothing concrete perhaps but there is this.” She took some photos and a computer stick from her bag. The photos showed him entering the apartment followed a short time later by her entering. He was easily distinguishable even though she was not. The photos had been taken by a colleague from the embassy.
“This means nothing,” he said. “It doesn’t prove anything.”
“True, but if you listen to the audio file on the stick, you will hear everything that happened between us last time we were here. You will recall that you turned me on so much I kept calling out your name, asking you to fuck me and telling you how much I like what you were doing. If this was to fall into the wrong hands… Well I don’t need to explain what would happen. You know better than me.”
“I will simply kill myself and put an end to your sordid attempt at blackmail. Or even better, maybe I will kill you slowly first and then myself.”
“That is not necessary.” Lara was a good judge of character and didn’t believe for one minute Baz was seriously contemplating ending his own life. It had been her judgement that Baz would fall for her charms and she had been proved correct. “We do not want to cause you distress. In fact, we want you to continue with your life as if nothing at all has changed. That is actually very important. We will do nothing to reveal our sources but your input will be invaluable to us, as you can imagine. We will even pay you for your information.”
“You are evil! And if you know anything about me, you know I do not need more money.”
“I am evil! I think that’s a bit rich coming from someone helping to fund global terrorism. But I don’t want to get into an argument about ideals. There is one further incentive I can offer you.”
“What is that?”
It was time for her to play her ace. She described what she could do for him.
“You give me a lot to think about.”
“I need your agreement before I leave here. Otherwise, I won’t be able to control what happens next. If you will not agree to help us immediately, my superiors will win favour with your government by revealing details of your treachery and infidelity. If that happens, I think we can assume by this time tomorrow you will be in a great deal of pain. You probably have first-hand experience of how effective certain of your colleagues are at extracting information and confessions.”
Baz had gone white. He had seen his country’s torturers at work. He knew what she said was true. No one ever resisted for very long. “We have already established you are a whore,” he said. “Name your price to destroy this evidence and I will see it is deposited in a Swiss bank account before the morning.”
“I am not for sale.”
“A million dollars.”
Lara was shocked by the size of the offer and the thought it could be in a bank account of her choice by morning. She could wake up rich. It was a little bit tempting. She could work the rest of her adult life and never expect to see a million dollars in her back account. Neither teaching or intelligence work paid very well.
“Not even for ten million dollars,” she said, returning to reality. “Now what is your answer? Will you give us what we want?”
Baz went quiet for a moment before replying, “You know my answer.” His shoulders sagged and he put his head in his hands. “You don’t give me any choice. But I am only a very small cog in an irresistible movement that will not be stopped. You may win this small victory but you will lose the war.”
“That remains to be seen.” Lara knew she had to choose her words carefully and could not allow her true emotions to show. She despised Baz and a part of her almost wished him to refuse to help so he would get the summary justice the Saudi state would hand out. But she had a job to do and Baz offered huge potential for combatting terrorism by cutting of the finances that fuelled their war and identifying other contacts.
“You’ve made a wise decision,” Lara continued. She took pen and paper from her bag. “Write down here details of your major contacts. I will question you further over the coming weeks and we will compile a detailed history of your actions and further contacts but this will be enough to keep my superiors happy for the time being. Do not lie or try to avoid telling me anything. This is not the chance for you to settle any personal scores by giving us false names. We have another person inside the organisation and we will be checking one set of information against the other. At the first sign of your dishonesty or withholding something we need to know, you will be signing your own death warrant.”
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
Lara returned to her home to find a different atmosphere in the house. Everyone was eagerly anticipating leaving next morning and having lunch in Bahrain. Even Karim seemed happy to be leaving. The house had become claustrophobic and going anywhere seemed a good idea.
Lara went straight to the bathroom, took the papers Baz had filled with contact details from her bag and placed them in a plastic, waterproof bag, which she then taped to the inside of the pedestal that supported the washbasin. They would have to remain there until the next day when she could deliver them to her contact from the embassy. She had already called and in coded terms revealed she needed to make a drop. It was the first of many, she hoped.
She was in an exuberant and carefree mood. She knew her career would take a massive leap forward as a result of her becoming Baz’s handler. He was potentially one of the most important assets in the war against terrorism. With his information she would quickly climb through the ranks. There would be jealousy from colleagues but they would have to treat her with kid gloves. She would be too important for any of them to piss off and risk her wrath.
She wanted to celebrate. As there was nothing alcoholic to drink in the house, she would celebrate the only other way she knew, by once again fucking Powell’s brains out. She liked him and the sex was good. Actually, it was better than just good.
In a different world maybe they would have a chance of something real developing but she had not spent so many years trying to build a career, to throw it away for any man. Once he was gone she would again have to adjust to a life without any sex so she would have to make the best of this opportunity.
Returning to join the others she said, “We need to be ready to leave tomorrow morning at seven so Karim and Laila, I suggest after dinner you go straight to bed.”
“Powell, can you help me in the kitchen, please.”
Powell followed Lara to the kitchen and
playfully smacked her on her bottom once they were out of sight of everyone else. “I think we should also get an early night but I’m not sure we’re going to get much sleep.”
“Then I better explain the plan while I can still concentrate. There will be two cars coming in the morning to collect us. You and Jenkins will be in the first with two of my colleagues from the embassy who genuinely want to get away for the weekend. They will have the necessary paperwork for themselves and two other colleagues from the embassy who are roughly your age and looks. This is only good for you if you are stopped before you reach the causeway. You can’t use their ID to leave the country as they will then be unable later to explain why they are still here.”
“What happens at the causeway?”
“Basically, you meet our contact, who takes your passports to an office, provides all the stamps you need, returns the passports and then you all drive across the causeway to Bahrain and freedom.”
“Sounds like I’m going to owe a great number of people a large drink. Just as well I own a bar! What about the children?”
“The kids and I are going in the second car with another colleague. He’s a local with a family and his children are of a similar age to Karim and Laila. We will be travelling as his family. I will wear a Niqab and the photos of the children are several years old so we shouldn’t encounter any problems on the way. The contact at the border will give us the necessary stamps when we return without any children.”
Powell hadn’t considered the possibility of travelling separately from the children and it made him uncomfortable but the plan also made sense. In fact it was so good he was wondering how come Lara had been able to pull so many strings and get so much support. Perhaps she was rather more senior than he had been giving her credit for or maybe the British authorities were just keen to get them out of the country as soon as possible, to save the further risk of an embarrassing incident.
“I like your plan,” Powell said. “Even if Jenkins and I have any problems, the children can still make it across. I called their mother earlier today and she is already on a flight. She’ll be waiting for you.”
Lara was slightly taken aback. “I didn’t realise she would be flying to Bahrain.”
“Try stopping her! British passport holders don’t need an advance visa, you just buy one at the point of entry so there was no reason for her not to travel. And it will also be good for the children. They will want to see their mother as soon as possible.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“As a parent, I understand her desperation to see her children after so long away. I would have done exactly the same.”
“Let’s hope we have no problems.”
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
Powell felt like he had only just fallen asleep when his alarm announced it was time to wake up. Lara had been true to her word and not allowed him much sleep, not that he had been an unwilling partner. She had frantically taken and given in equal measures of passion, leaving him completely satisfied. In fact he was more than satisfied, he was completely knackered in a way he hadn’t been for many years.
Considering what lay ahead, he probably should have taken the athlete approach of no sex before a big event. In truth though, he would have gone without any sleep if she had wanted more. He would have done anything she asked of him, such was the attraction and desire he felt.
He was going to miss her when he returned to England and there was no realistic chance of them having an ongoing relationship. Typical of his luck in life with women or the lack of it, he had finally met someone he would like to get serious about and it looked like she would only get to play a fleeting role in his life story.
He made some coffee while he heard people start to move about upstairs. They all had small overnight bags, which they had mostly packed the previous night, to keep up the pretence of visiting Bahrain for just one night.
Powell was looking forward to a night in a five star hotel with Lara. They would be able to share a King size bed, have a bottle of wine and enjoy a bit of luxury. He would even allow her to be noisy as there would be no one upstairs to overhear them. In fact, he was going to damn well encourage it!
Jenkins was first downstairs, followed not long after by everyone else. No one felt like breakfast and the children were promised a McDonalds for lunch in Bahrain, which made them happy.
Powell took Karim aside and asked him directly, “Are you happy to be going back to England?”
“I’ve thought about what you said. You know, about father telling us our mother was dead. That was a terrible thing to do. He was always saying how important it is to tell the truth even if you fear the consequences. He was a hypocrite and though I do love him, I think it is right that we go see our mother. She must have been very worried about us.”
“You sound like a very sensible young man. Your parents should be very proud of you. And I’m glad to see my offer to take you to see the mighty Arsenal had no influence on your decision.”
“You are still going to take me though?”
“I certainly am. Do you think we could get your mother and sister to come?”
Karim looked doubtful. “Probably not but we can ask them.”
Powell was relieved by Karim’s change in attitude. Powell was confident he could be trusted not to say anything out of place.
The first car arrived to collect Powell and Jenkins. They had decided they would start ten minutes ahead of the others and communicate details of any checkpoints or other issues they encountered on the way. They had said goodbyes but were hoping to all be meeting up again in Bahrain in about five hours.
Ben and David were introduced as their travelling companions. They were sat in the front of the car with Powell and Jenkins in the back. Powell recognised their type. They were both about thirty with athletic builds, short hair styles and chiselled jaws.
“Whereabouts in England are you guys from?” Ben inquired.
“I’m from Swansea in Wales and proud of it,” Jenkins replied good naturedly with a heavier than usual Welsh accent. “I believe England’s that place next door we are going to be beating in the rugby world cup.”
“Brighton,” Powell answered simply. He was deep in thought and his mind elsewhere.
“A rugby fan eh?” David asked.
“I said I was Welsh didn’t I?”
“I’ll miss having a pint while I watch the games,” Ben admitted.
“I’ll be having quite a few I imagine, especially when we’re celebrating victory after the game.”
“I’ll buy the first round once we reach Bahrain,” David offered.
“Sounds good to me,” Jenkins replied.
The journey was tedious. There was nothing to see outside the car windows except mile after mile of the same flat, barren landscape. They stopped at a petrol station to get some drinks and snacks. Powell stretched his legs and decided to call Lara.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“No problems so far. How about you?”
“Okay. Nothing out of the ordinary to report. We’ve about another two hours of driving before it gets interesting.”
“I’m sure it will all be fine,” Lara said. “You’ll soon be back in England. I’m quite jealous.”
“I promise to think of you each time I open a bottle of champagne back in my bar,” Powell teased.
“Thanks for nothing. I’ll be thinking of you when I’m in bed all by myself.”
“But tonight we can sleep together in a decent sized bed and we can drink copious amounts of good quality champagne. Should be quite a night.”
“Sounds like fun,” Lara agreed.
“On that note, I think I’d better go. Say hello to the kids from me.”
“I will. See you later.”
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
“We’re there,” Ben announced unnecessarily, as the queue of traffic was evidence enough they had arrived. “Let me do all the talking.”
“My lips are sealed,” Powel
l replied. He was more than happy to leave everything to Ben, who by all accounts had a proven track record of getting people across the causeway.
Powell’s butterflies had started working overtime. He glanced out the windows at some of the other cars, just in case he could spot Lara and the children but there was no sign of them, which wasn’t surprising as they were ten minutes away.
Ben surprised Powell by immediately driving into the services at the entrance to the causeway. He parked on the side not in front of a petrol pump. He dialled a number and said simply, “We’re here.”
They sat in the car for twenty minutes, Powell becoming ever more nervous. He said nothing, there was nothing to say. Within a short time they were either going to be hauled off to jail to endure his worst nightmare or they would be drinking beer in Bahrain.
The contrast in how they would potentially spend the evening could not be greater and the longer they waited in the car, the more Powell worried there was a problem. However, he was pleased to see Ben showed no signs of being agitated by the long wait. Powell had no way of knowing how far the man had to come from. Perhaps this was perfectly normal.
Finally a man walked towards their car. “This is him,” Ben said, winding down his window and sitting upright.
“Hello,” the man said, shaking hands with Ben through the window. “Follow me as usual.” He glanced at the passengers in the back but said nothing further and then walked away.
The man looked like any other ordinary Saudi citizen, dressed in his white robes but to Powell he was far from ordinary. Powell’s nerves were under better control now the contact had arrived and the confirmation they had done this before gave him some confidence.
A couple of minutes later the contact reappeared in his car, a top of the range BMW. Helping people across the border was obviously remunerative work.
Ben followed the contact back onto the bridge and remained directly behind him as the traffic slowly inched forward. “This first checkpoint is the easy one,” he said. “It just ensures I own the car.”