The Contract Man

by A P Bateman

  There was a hard plastic box about the size of a thick paperback which contained an assortment of detonators and wire along with snips, detonator cord, red head matches, plumbing tape, crocodile clips and four 5v batteries. King was trained in a number of methods to use these to detonate the four 250 gram blocks of Semtex plastic explosive in the bottom of the bag. For many operations he would have used PE4 or C4. However, not only was Semtex slightly more powerful, it was used widely by the Russians.

  The bag also contained a compass, a standard issue medical pack, which was just about the most comprehensive first aid kit that anyone could carry, an empty two litre water bottle, which he would have to remember to fill, and something wrapped in a silk map of Iraq and the countries on its borders. He unwrapped the bundle and chuckled loudly when he saw the final piece of equipment. A NATO spec navigational aid, or NSG-1, identical to the one he had lost. Desirable as it was to have in his kit, it still seemed as though somebody within the logistics section had a sense of humour.

  He gathered up the equipment and was about to put it back into the rucksack when he noticed a medium sized envelope tucked into one of the inside pockets. It was only protruding from the pocket by a few inches and could easily have been missed. He replaced the rest of the equipment in the bag, then perched on the desk and looked at the seal of the envelope. The seal had been double stamped with the official wax seal of the Secret Intelligence Service and had been countersigned by someone whom King had never heard of. His paranoia taking over, he felt the envelope for anything suspicious, such as a lithium battery in one corner, or wire around the edges, but all appeared to be normal. He carefully opened the seal and extracted the thick sheet of paper, then unfolded it and started to read.

  It was extremely rare for an assassination to be sanctioned without written confirmation and now he had it from the most direct of sources - the head of the Istanbul office, no less. His orders were clear, the fact that he had started to take a liking to Osman Emre was now irrelevant. The double agent had been identified from the source and he had no other choice but to obey his written orders.

  King looked around the office, then picked up the large metal waste-paper bin. He tore the sheet of paper and the envelope into quarters, dropped the pieces into the bin, then took out his survival field lighter and lit the small pile of paper. He watched as the paper caught and started to burn fiercely, until suddenly there was nothing but ash. When the flames had subsided, he reached into the waste bin and shook his hand around the flakes of burnt paper, breaking them into a pile of ashes. With all evidence of the letter destroyed, King fastened the neck of the bag, slung it casually over his shoulder, picked up the parachute and turned for the door. He would require a great deal more space to check over the parachute thoroughly. Alex King trusted nobody.

  41

  Alex King stepped outside and breathed a deep lungful of icy air. The light was dim, and the air was still, which for some reason made him acutely aware of where he was and what tasks lay ahead. He walked over to the edge of the building and stared out towards the horizon, where athin sliver of light was breaking over the distant hills, beyond which lay the vast plateau of Northern Iraq.

  He glanced down at his watch, straining to see the luminous dials clearly in the half light. Allowing for the time difference in Iraq, which was one hour ahead of Turkish time and three hours ahead of London, they would not have to leave for another hour. His rendezvous with Juliet Kalver was not for another two hours.

  Suddenly, he was aware of someone’s footsteps behind him. He turned around and looked at Lorraine, who was standing just a few feet to his right.

  “Gorgeous, isn’t it?” She stated more than asked, staring at the streak of golden light on the horizon. She looked at him and smiled hesitantly. “I sometimes come out here before dawn and watch it until the sun is way above those hills,” she paused, looking thoughtfully towards the horizon. “It has to be one of the loveliest sights in the world, especially in midwinter, when there’s a scattering of snow on the ground.”

  King nodded. “Yes, it certainly looks beautiful from here.” He looked at the sunlight, which was starting to edge over the highest of the distant hills. He also knew that it wasn’t far in that direction to Northern Iraq and the ISIS terror which was growing daily.

  “Would you like some breakfast? I have just made some for Ozzy and Richard.” She smiled politely. “It’s no trouble, eggs and toast all right for you?”

  He nodded, then turned his eyes back to the splendor of the breaking dawn. “Yes please,” he replied, but didn’t look at her as she walked back towards the hangar, even though he had by now vanquished his feelings of guilt at the impending killing. A double agent was a double agent; there was nothing that he could do now but follow his orders.

  At the table Lorraine had placed a large basket of toast, a plate of fried eggs with delicious looking dark yellow yolks and a pat of rich yellow butter. There was a steaming pot of coffee made from Arabica beans and a jug of milk. It was simple fayre but King thought it one of the best breakfasts he’d had in months.

  “How are you getting back to Istanbul?” Ozzy asked Houndsworth quietly, as he cut a piece of toast and dipped it into the soft egg yolk. “Is the helicopter pilot coming back for you?”

  “Yes, but not until I have overseen matters here.” Richard Houndsworth sipped a mouthful of the strong, sweet coffee and smiled. “Not that I can do anything once you have left the ground, but they want me to report back to them and let them know that the infiltration went according to plan. I will need to use your computer, if that’s alright? I’ll need to send an email.”

  The Turk nodded, as if he were half expecting the request. “Of course, I will key in the password when I get back and leave you to it.” He turned towards King and grinned. “Not long now, my friend. After you have eaten, we had better get the plane out. Then I will do the pre-flight checks, while you gather your equipment.”

  King nodded, then moved to one side as Lorraine cleared his empty plate. He looked up at her and smiled. “Thank you,” then he glanced back at Osman and nodded. “Okay. This won’t take me long, if you want to do the pre-flight checks now, I’ll be out in a few minutes to give you a hand with the plane.”

  Osman nodded and stood up from the table, then walked out through the adjoining doorway. Richard Houndsworth rose to his feet and picked up his coffee.“If you don’t mind, I’ll drink this outside,” he paused awkwardly. “Lorraine tells me that the dawn is magnificent at this hour.”

  “Wait.” King put down his empty coffee cup and stood up. “I have something to tell you… Something important.” He looked towards the door of the kitchen, unsure whether Lorraine would be able to hear. “It’s about sending that message back to headquarters,” he paused, then looked at the man decisively. “I can’t tell you here. After we have maneuvered the Cessna out of the hangar, meet me around the back of the building.”

  Houndsworth looked at him suspiciously and frowned. “Why?” he whispered.

  “It’s about sending that email,” King spoke softly, preferring not to whisper, as that sound often travels more distinctly than a low voice. He glanced at the kitchen doorway again, then shook his head in frustration at the man’s questioning. “I’ll tell you, when you meet me.”

  There was very little maneuvering to be done. The plane was only slightly offset to the hangar’s double doors and the concrete floor inside the hangar was smooth, which allowed the aircraft to travel easily as the three men pushed her towards the doors. Ozzy had shouted for someone to check that the starboard wing had enough clearance from the doorway, and Houndsworth had needed no further encouragement. He released his grip on the fuselage and trotted across to the hangar’s entrance. Osman and King exchanged an ironical glance, as his sudden absence made no difference at all to the aircraft’s momentum.

  With the Cessna safely outside, Ozzy paid attention to the ailerons and sampled the fuel to check for water contamination. It wa
s an important check. If condensation builds up, or rainwater leaks in the engine will misfire. Cars splutter and coast to the curb, planes crash.

  King walked back inside the hangar and picked up the parachute and small rucksack, which was simply a smaller version of a British army-issue Bergen. He walked back to the Cessna, reached over the hastily constructed platform and placed both packs on the front passenger seat. He looked around for Richard Houndsworth, then decided that the man had already gone to the rear of the hangar.

  “She’s all set and raring to go, boss!” Ozzy announced excitedly.

  “Great stuff! Now, go and kiss your wife goodbye and get yourself in the driver’s seat!” King grinned. He was familiar with Ozzy’s sudden excitement, it was merely adrenaline rising to the surface. He had seen it a hundred times before. He watched the Turk bound excitedly into the hangar, and decided that he would be safely out of the way for a few minutes. There was still no sign of Houndsworth. The man had obviously done as King had asked.

  The sunlight was now well above the distant hills and the dark sky above had turned from starlit night, to a beautiful, deep blue, although to the west, the sky was still dark. King walked around the side of the hangar and stopped when he saw Houndsworth leaning against a rusty old tractor. The young liaison officer looked up at him, then dropped his half-smoked cigarette and carefully stubbed it out with the toe of his leather brogue. “What’s all this about Alex? What have you got to say that can’t be said in front of Osman?”

  King stepped around the edge of the building, his back blocking out Houndsworth’s view of the rising sun, putting the man in the shade. “It’s about sending your email. You won’t be able to do it. I’m afraid you have run into an unforeseen problem.”

  “What the Hell do you mean?” He glared defiantly. “What can you possibly know that I can’t? You’re just a cleaner that somebody sent to tidy up!”

  King stared at the man and shook his head. “Well Richard, I am afraid that it is you who has been kept in the dark,” he paused, glancing cautiously around before continuing. “You see, before I left, I was briefed about Osman. I was told that he was a double agent. He was selling information on to Al Qaeda and ISIS. I was ordered to kill him.”

  Houndsworth tensed. “Osman is a double agent?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t believe it!”

  “Of course you don’t,” King stated flatly. “That is because you know better. You know who is putting information into the hands of terrorists. The Istanbul office know, that’s for sure.”

  “I don’t know what you mean…”

  King shook his head. “I was given a bogus story, one which would act as a cover and avoid tipping you off if anything went wrong. Call it what you want, but it was just the firm being cautious, as usual. They know you’re the double agent, Houndsworth. It’s over.”

  “It’s bullshit! I’m not a double agent!” He dropped his hands down to his sides, then shook his head despondently. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about, honestly. I think I want to see a solicitor…”

  “It’s not going to work like that Richard. Your treachery has cost lives. Many lives. They’ve followed a money trail, no matter how cautious you think you’ve been, they’ve got you. They have been on to you for some time now, all they had to do was wait for an opportunity. The Director General of the Istanbul office signed the executive order personally. I opened it last night.”

  Houndsworth shook his head. “Wait… Just wait, okay? I’m not a bloody…” He moved rapidly, surprisingly so, dodging quickly towards the tractor. The tiny pistol was out of his pocket and in his hand in an instant. He had it aimed at King and his hand was steady. “Not so tough now, eh?” The young man smiled somewhat smugly. “Well, I’ve got the drop on you. Now, tell me… Do Osman and Lorraine know your orders? Do they know the firm suspect me?”

  “I…” King started to speak, but side-stepped, unblocking Houndsworth’s view of the rising sun, which was now above the distant cluster of hills. Houndsworth squinted, suddenly blinded by the unexpected glare of light. It was enough for King, who had the Glock out from his waistband and aimed steadily. He double-tapped the hair-trigger, sending two 9mm rounds into the man’s forehead. Houndsworth dropped like a wet cloth, his body crumpling lifelessly to the dusty ground. King instinctively kept the pistol’s sights on the corpse as he took a couple of steps to inspect the body more closely. The two neat little bullet holes were about an inch apart. There was no back to the head though, hollow points were horribly effective. There was a slight twitch from the right foot, but King knew this would stop in a moment.

  He looked around cautiously, then caught the body by its shoulders and hastily dragged it around the back of the tractor, where a shallow drainage ditch cut past the hangar, feeding off the fields beyond. He dropped the body in thedry ditch, then bent to stretch the legs out, keeping the body from view as best he could. It was far from perfect, but it would have to do for now. He would task Osman to find a more suitable resting place upon his return.

  King walked to the front of the tractor. He scanned the area for a few moments, then bent down and retrieved Houndsworth’s tiny .25 calibre Beretta pistol. He tossed the weapon into the ditch, where it landed softly on top of the body. With the first part of his mission accomplished, King glanced at his watch and walked quickly to the waiting aircraft.

  42

  Lorraine stood at the fringe of the narrow runway and waved her husband goodbye as he let the Cessna’s engine build up revs. With the revs at an optimum he released the breaks and the tiny airplane lunged violently forwards.

  “She’s a bit jerky, but what can you expect on a budget? Should have been scrapped or rebuilt years ago.” Ozzy steadied the yoke, and eased on a little rudder with his left foot. “Besides, she’s going to be trashed as soon as I get her back to the hangar.”

  King watched the scrubland accelerate by. He couldn’t help feeling concerned about the condition of the plane, nor Ozzy’s apparent disregard for his own personal safety. He turned towards him, as the plane’s wheels left the ground, and the nose of the craft pointed upwards. “What do you mean?” he asked, staring at the huge gap in the fuselage next to him. The icy wind was blowing straight into King’s face making it hard for him to talk.

  The Turk smiled as he eased the aircraft into a shallowturn and decreased the pitch of climb. “We took on the aircraft hangar about eighteen months ago. Since then, we have used it as a sort of command post for surveillance operations in Iraq and Syria.” He applied a little more left rudder to allow for the slight southerly wind, which was blowing them steadily northwards. The plane straightened, and he reached forward to push the throttle towards the control panel. The engine’s tone relaxed a little, then Ozzy glanced back at his passenger. “With the no-fly zone still enforced, we could deviate slightly here and there and do a bit of camera work. We also dropped a few agents like yourself into places over the border. But things are getting a bit hectic. The Yanks have Predator drones buzzing all over the place. Because of increasing activity with ISIS, they’re firing first and not even asking questions later. You can’t see the drones, even though they’re slow they fly too high to outrun. You scoot the deck at a few hundred feet and one-hundred and thirty knots and they buzz around at sixty thousand feet in a holding pattern and can have eyes on you for a thousand miles…”

  “So what happens when you get back?”

  The Turk smiled wryly. “Lorraine is preparing for that as we speak. After I land, there will be a fire and the hangar will be destroyed, along with this plane and our house,” he paused, checking the compass reading and the attitude, or pitch level of the plane. “After that, we head off to Istanbul, report in and then get our next assignment.” He looked at King and smiled. “We’re a real husband and wife team. I met Lorraine eleven years ago, whilst working in Ankara, shortly after I was recruited into the service. In those days I was working as a lecturer in political studies at the university.”r />
  King stared at the pilot’s muscular forearms and his bull neck. With his hair swept back and his bandit moustache, Osman Emre looked nothing like a political studies lecturer. In fact, he looked nothing like an SIS agent, which was probably why he made such a good one.

  “I have a job for you when you return…” King turned and looked at the scrubland below, very much aware of the open doorway and Ozzy’s rough attempt at creating a jump-off platform. “Richard Houndsworth was a double agent. Or a cash for information agent. A traitor nonetheless.” He turned and looked at the Turk, who stared back at him open mouthed. “I received orders to kill him, and I did. His body is behind the hangar in a drainage ditch.”

  Osman shook his head in a manner which expressed disbelief, but not disagreement. “I would never have guessed.”