by Mark Arundel
When the words finished would the man speak? If not would I kill him?
The man’s eyes remained fixed on the pistol. Jamaal’s voice was the only sound. It stopped. The bomber and I stared at each other. Did he think I was bluffing? It seemed he was going to call me on it, but then he spoke. The words were Arabic and he said them quickly.
‘Jamaal, what did he say?’
‘He says he will take you to where she is,’ Jamaal said.
‘Ask him how far away it is,’ I said. Jamaal spoke and the bomber answered.
‘He says it is on the edge of the city in the west.’
‘Ask him how many men are guarding her,’ I said. Again, Jamaal spoke and again, the bomber answered.
‘He does not know,’ Jamaal said. ‘He thinks no more than five.’
‘All right, Jamaal, that’s helped.’
‘God is with you, Mr. Hayes,’ Jamaal said.
‘I’ll speak to you again when I know something,’ I said and ended the call.
From the rucksack, I took a length of cord. Cakes watched me. Using the cord, I tied the bomber’s wrists together behind his back. Then with the serrated edge of my combat knife, I cut the bloodstained khakis. The collision with the car’s bumper had caused lacerations and swelling. I ran my thumb and finger along the bone to feel for any breaks. Despite the man flinching, the bone was solid.
The bomber limped badly as I shoved him back towards the car. He fell onto the backseat and then I pushed shut the door. Cakes still watched me.
‘Westwards is the same direction as the copter rendezvous,’ I said. ‘We’ll take a look on the way. Mick, are you okay with this?’ Mick nodded. Cakes still had his eyes on me. ‘If he’s lying or it looks too hard then I’ll kill him and carry on to the rendezvous point,’ I said.
The compromise was good enough. Cakes nodded his acceptance. ‘Hayes, get in,’ he said. ‘The sooner we get there the better.’
Claudia Casta-Locke sat with her back straight, knees together and the faintest trace of anticipation on her lips. She followed a considered turn of the head with a friendly smile directed at Jerry Lombroso. He smiled back, but it was lopsided and unconvincing.
‘Claudia, thank you for coming in on a Saturday morning at such short notice,’ the Chief said. Claudia moved her head and focused on the Chief’s appealing face. Jerry’s head followed her direction.
‘You sent a car for me,’ Claudia said.
‘Yes, quite so,’ the Chief said.
‘How did you know where I was?’
‘It was a lucky guess,’ the Chief said. ‘I trust we haven’t inconvenienced you too much.’
‘Not at all,’ Claudia said. ‘The evoked curiosity was more than adequate compensation for coffee at the Ritz. I hope it lives up to its billing.’
‘We’re in the middle of a live operation and would value your opinion on a troublesome matter that has arisen,’ the Chief explained.
‘…a live operation,’ Claudia said. ‘…is it just the two of you?’
‘It’s in Libya,’ Jerry said.
‘…Libya,’ Claudia echoed. ‘You two have a live operation underway in Libya and you want my help. How black is it?’
‘Well…’ Jerry said.
‘Does the Foreign Office know about it?’
‘Well, not exactly, but…’
‘Who does know about it?’ Claudia asked.
‘Well, just the two of us and the captain of a naval assault ship in the Med and now you,’ Jerry said. Claudia fought back a laugh. It was better than she had imagined.
‘So, it’s blacker than my grandfather’s Labrador,’ Claudia said. ‘His name, by the way, is Sooty.’ Jerry looked confused. ‘The Labrador’s name is Sooty, not my grandfather’s,’ Claudia clarified.
‘Well, the operation is covert, yes, but…’
‘What’s the objective?’ Claudia interrupted.
‘The removal of Suleiman Al Bousefi,’ the Chief said.
‘Huh,’ Claudia said and nodded in thought. ‘Is that it, a single target termination?’
‘Well,’ Jerry said, ‘it’s a bit more complicated than that.’ Claudia widened her eyes in a display of mock surprise.
‘How did you get the captain of the assault ship on board with this?’ she asked.
‘Claudia, was that a pun?’ the Chief said. Claudia smiled.
‘He’s an old friend,’ the Chief said. ‘Apparently the Wildcat helicopters need regular use otherwise they get rusty. He’s going to write it up as a training exercise. Nobody ever checks. The navy can do whatever it likes. You know that.’
‘So, what’s gone wrong?’ Claudia asked.
‘It’s not so much “what” as “whom”,’ the Chief said. Claudia frowned. She paused for a second while she considered.
‘Who have you sent in to carry out the mission?’ she asked.
‘We sent Hayes,’ Jerry said. Claudia was determined to keep any reaction from showing on her face. She concentrated on her breathing and on keeping her eyes still. Time passed.
‘Yes, Hayes,’ the Chief said. ‘That’s the reason I sent a car.’
‘What’s gone wrong?’ Claudia asked fighting to keep her voice neutral. It was not easy.
‘This is his first job for us,’ the Chief said. ‘We anticipated that under certain circumstances he would behave in an expected way. Unfortunately, that has proven not to be the case.’
‘Can you give me the details?’ Claudia asked.
‘As I said the mission’s primary objective is the removal of Suleiman Al Bousefi. We made a deal with a man who has links to Al Bousefi. In exchange for something extremely valuable, this man agreed to give Hayes and his team the necessary information to locate Al Bousefi.’
‘Who does Hayes have with him?’
‘It’s a four man team. As well as Hayes, there is John Kipling, Steven Banks, and Michael Duggan. As you know, they are all ex-legionnaires of British nationality. You played a part in vetting Hayes and the list of men he put forward as possible members of any future team. Unfortunately, a skirmish has resulted in the death of one of the four.’ Claudia took a slow, deep breath.
‘Which one is dead?’ she asked.
‘Steven Banks,’ the Chief said. For a number of seconds, Claudia closed her eyes.
‘Hayes is still alive,’ the Chief said. Claudia stayed quiet. ‘However, he may not remain that way for very much longer.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Unfortunately, the mission has not gone to plan. It was not anyone’s fault. Sometimes things happen, as you know. Anyway, we’ve told Hayes it’s over, but he’s refusing to come out.’
‘Why?’ Claudia asked.
‘It seems possible that Al Bousefi’s group has taken a Libyan girl, a young woman, and Hayes appears determined to rescue her.’
‘Who is this woman?’
‘Her name is Magda Jbara.’
‘What’s her story?’
‘Further details regarding this woman are not necessary.’ The Chief was firm.
‘In what way do you think I can help?’ Claudia asked. ‘I only met Mr. Hayes briefly during the screening procedure.’ For a moment, the Chief held Claudia’s eyes. Then he looked down at the screen on the desk in front of him.
‘Is it not true that you spent Christmas week in the Swiss ski resort of Verbier staying at a chalet with seven other guest, one of which was Mr. Hayes?’
Damn it
‘And didn’t you spend the week before last staying with Mr. Hayes as his houseguest on the French Mediterranean island of Corsica where he resides?’
Damn it, Damn it
‘How do you know that?’ Claudia asked.
‘Claudia, you work for the British Secret Intelligence Service at a senior level. SIS knows everything about you. I even know what colour underwear you have on.’
‘He doesn’t,’ Jerry said. ‘We only know the colour of underwear when it’s absolutely necessary.’
‘Claudia, we
need to get Hayes out of Libya and we need your help to do it,’ the Chief said.
‘All right, fine, but I’m not going to stop seeing him,’ she said.
‘Claudia, he’s not a security risk otherwise, he would not have passed the vetting procedure. You are at liberty to see Mr. Hayes whenever you wish. Although, knowing what Mr. Hayes does for a living, I council against the idea of forming any lasting attachment.’ Claudia pouted. Relationship advice from the Chief was not something she expected or welcomed. ‘I’ll not say anything further on the subject,’ the Chief said.
‘How do you suggest we persuade him to abandon this woman?’
‘“Abandon” is a strong word,’ the Chief said.
On the desk, the phone in front of Jerry Lombroso rang. ‘It’s Hayes again,’ Jerry said.
‘Again,’ Claudia repeated. ‘Haven’t you been taking his calls?’
‘It’s complicated,’ Jerry said.
‘Well, if I was on a covert mission in Libya and it was my first job for British Intelligence and my London contact wasn’t taking my calls then I’d probably be thinking something was very wrong,’ Claudia said. ‘Why aren’t you taking his calls?’
‘Jerry, Claudia’s right,’ the Chief said. ‘You better take it.’
‘What shall I tell him?’
‘Tell him the satellite’s playing up and that we’ve got a team working to fix it,’ the Chief said. Jerry made an unhappy face and then picked up his phone.
‘Hello,’ he said.
11 Distant hills look green.
Cakes looked skywards through the windscreen and then squinted as his eyes met the sun. ‘Okay, we’re heading west,’ he said. ‘When’s this clown going to give us some directions?’
‘Hold on, I’m trying Jerry Lombroso again,’ I said. Cakes made a belittling remark about Jerry Lombroso. Mick thought it was funny and laughed.
As before, the line kept ringing. I had almost given up when at last Lombroso answered.
‘Hayes, sorry I missed your earlier calls, but I’ve been away from my phone.’ Jerry Lombroso sounded different. The urbane lilt to which I had become familiar was rougher. The resonance of supportiveness was gone and uncertainty, albeit only a trace, had taken its place.
‘The tracker software has stopped working on our phones,’ I said. ‘Did you know that? Is it working in London? Do you have a fixed location on Magda?’
‘Hayes, we know about the tracker system,’ Jerry said. ‘It’s a problem with the satellite. We’ve got a team of experts working on it.’
‘How long before it’s fixed?’
‘I’m not sure. We’re still trying to discover what’s wrong with it. It could be some time. Hayes, without a working tracker you won’t be able to locate Magda.’ Jerry paused. ‘Shall I make arrangements for the helicopter to meet you?’
‘I’ll let you know when we’re ready to leave. Oh, Jerry, make sure you answer when I call.’ I ensured my voice conveyed the right amount of menace. I ended the call without waiting for a reply.
‘Mick, London reckons it’s a problem with the satellite,’ I said.
‘I doubt it,’ Mick replied. ‘The satellite’s right above us. It’s a low Earth orbit satellite. Once connected the signal is very unlikely to drop. It passes from one satellite to the next as the Earth turns, but it’s solid and robust. Our phones still make and receive calls and the CDL is still working.’
‘Hayes, how about some directions,’ Cakes said. Seated beside me, the bomber was casually gazing out through the side window. Using my fingers, I jabbed him in the ribs. He turned his head and I saw a flash of anger in his eyes. Using sign language, I made it clear he needed to direct us by moving his head to point out the route we should take. At least I thought I had made it clear. His expression told me otherwise. I tried again. This time, I used my hands, arms and shoulders as well as facial expressions. It was better and the man understood me.
He craned his neck and peered between the front seats to see through the windscreen. His tied hands made it difficult for him to sit up.
Once he had confirmed where we were, he began to grunt and indicate direction using strange movements of his head. Cakes looked back at him. ‘Does “Noddy” want me to turn left?’ he asked. Mick looked at the man and then back at the road.
‘Yes, “Noddy” wants you to turn left,’ he said. Cakes swung the wheel and we turned left.
This carried on for several minutes during which time Mick continued to work on the tracker problem.
‘If you can get it working we’ll know whether “Noddy” is taking us to the right place,’ I said.
‘That’s not going to happen,’ Mick said.
‘…why not?’ I asked. Mick looked up at me.
‘…because someone has deliberately uploaded a bug to our phones that blocks the tracker signal from the satellite,’ he said.
All three of us knew what that meant. It meant that finding Magda was not something London wanted us to do, but how did that benefit London? It, too, would explain why Jerry Lombroso had stopped answering his phone. Other people besides Cakes wanted us to go home. I found this new information only hardened my resolve. It had the look and feel of a challenge. If London really did want me to go home, they were going about it in totally the wrong way. Deception was undoubtedly bread and butter to British Intelligence, and something MI6 specialised in, but using it on me was not a good idea. Even the hired help deserve the truth no matter how much they are paid or what job they do.
‘Why doesn’t London want us to find Magda?’ Cakes said. Each of us was asking ourselves the same question.
‘Mick, can you remove the bug?’ I said.
‘Not without running a piece of coded software written to find and remove whatever bug it is.’
‘Is that something you can do?’
‘I can search the web and download some software and then run it and see.’
‘All right, try that,’ I said.
Beside me on the backseat, “Noddy” was displaying greater animation and the volume of his jabbering had risen.
‘We must be close,’ I said.
Cakes slowed the car and turned to look. ‘Which building is it?’ he said.
The road was a plain strip of tarmac without markings or signs. Along one side was a line of oleander bushes behind which ran a slip road. The buildings were square, three-storey apartments of white and cream with small windows and concrete balconies. Trees grew among the piled rubbish between the narrow gaps that ran down the sides reaching out to waste ground beyond.
In the still air, a dog barked and the sound joined with the shouts of small boys who played football further along the street on the opposite side.
‘Stop over there by those trees,’ I said. Cakes pulled over and parked in the shade. He left the engine running.
‘Which building is it?’ I said and tried to show what I meant by using my talent for sign language. The bomber nodded at one of the buildings.
‘We need detail,’ Mick said. He was right. I called Jamaal Jbara.
‘Hello Mr. Hayes, I can help you again?’ Jamaal said.
‘Jamaal, the man has brought us to an apartment building, but before we go in there are things we need to know,’ I said. ‘We need to know the floor number and the apartment number, and how many men there are and what guns they have. Will you ask him?’
‘Yes, I will ask him,’ Jamaal said.
‘You can speak now,’ I said and held the phone to “Noddy’s” ear. The man listened and then he spoke. I waited. He spoke again. Then his eyes told me the conversation was over. ‘Jamaal, what did he tell you?’ I asked.
‘He says the apartment is on the top floor,’ Jamaal said. ‘They do not have numbers. He says it is the biggest apartment at the back away from the road. He says on the wall next to the door there is the flag of Libya.’
‘How many men and what weapons do they have?’ I asked.
‘He does not know. He thinks five men at most a
nd each will have one or, maybe, two guns.’
‘Is he sure Magda is there?’
‘This is what he believes,’ Jamaal said.
‘All right,’ I said.
‘Allah yusallmak,’ Jamaal said. It was a common Arabic saying and one I knew. It meant, “May God protect you”.
‘I’ll speak to you when I know something,’ I said and ended the call.
If Magda was inside the top floor apartment then the only way to save her was to go in and get her.
‘Cakes, you’re with me,’ I said. ‘Mick, stay with the car and our friend, “Noddy”. All right, let’s get what we need from the rucksacks.’ I opened the door, got out and went to the boot of the car, but before I had had a chance to do or say anything further, Mick shouted my name. It came edged with concern. I looked up and saw “Noddy” hobbling remarkably fast towards the apartment building. I should have tied his ankles together as well as his wrists. His damaged leg was clearly not the handicap I had thought. If he warned his friends inside of an imminent danger, in any way, then they might kill Magda. I had to stop him.
‘I’ve got it,’ I said and immediately moved.
My feet brushed through the tops of the oleander bushes as I hurdled onto the slip road. The Glock pistol was already in my hand. Ahead, I saw the bomber look up as he hurried to reach the door. I knew he would have to pause while he pushed it open with his shoulder. The distance was just near enough. I stopped, widened my feet to steady the stance, brought up the Glock in both hands and aimed.
The noise through the suppressor of the single shot went unnoticed by anyone not outdoors and not within a dozen or so paces. It was unlikely the bomber heard it either. The single bullet from the Glock pistol was a heart shot and killed him instantly.
I ran to the fallen body, grabbed a foot and dragged the lifeless weight through the dust around the corner into the littered space between the buildings. The debris helped to make the concealment easy. Then using the CDL system, I spoke to Mick and Cakes.
‘“Noddy” won’t be giving us any further directions,’ I said.