by Bill Ward
Phoenix took the underground train from Heathrow airport to London and then walked the short distance to Bayswater. He was the first to arrive but soon he was to be joined by two comrades and together they would wreak vengeance against the enemy.
The American met his contact at a private and very exclusive club in Mayfair. It was definitely a cut above the normal places he met his employers and when he gave the name of Brown, he was expected and shown to a small meeting room. It wasn’t his real name but one he had used for a number of years since becoming a private contractor.
The CIA had suggested they were no longer a good fit for his specific skills. There was too much oversight of their activities and being no longer employed made plausible deniability of his actions so much easier. That they intended to continue using him was not in doubt. With the war they were fighting against terror, his skills were considered a necessary evil. They could not be fully effective if they had to fight with their hands tied behind their backs. The terrorists had no inhibitions about how they fought the war. And he was good at what he did. He always extracted every last piece of information from his captives.
Brown enjoyed his work. He hated terrorists with a passion and had no sympathy for anyone who sought to kill innocent civilians. In his view, a war should be fought on the battlefield not in a shopping mall or cinema. But the terrorists had made their bed and now they had to lie in it or more precisely, they had to sit in his chair and tell him everything they knew. It was his job to prevent future atrocities by getting information from prisoners about their contacts and operations. There was nothing more satisfying than extracting a piece of information that led to subsequent arrests.
The door to the room opened and the Englishman entered. Brown didn’t particularly like him but he paid well.
“Why is the Saliba woman still alive?” the Englishman asked without ceremony.
“I wanted to check with you what would be acceptable collateral damage.”
“It is vital she is removed immediately, which I believe are exactly the same words I used at our previous meeting. What is it you didn’t understand about my instructions?”
“She’s in Brighton, staying with someone who owns a bar. I didn’t know if civilian casualties were acceptable.”
“Within reasonable limits and if you deem it absolutely necessary.”
“Sorry but our idea of reasonable limits may be very different. I know you British are rather squeamish about things. Please be more precise.” Brown didn’t want any comeback at a later date.
“Reasonable is whatever it takes to silence her. The damn woman has already tried to raise the alarm about what she saw. Fortunately, we can still keep a lid on her but time is running out. We don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves so an accident would be preferable but do whatever is required. Are you clear this time about what I want?”
“Crystal,” Brown answered. He didn’t like the way the Englishman talked down to him but he was paying the bills and calling the shots. He was an upper class shit who had probably never got his hands dirty in his life. There was always someone else to do his dirty work.
“Good. The longer this woman is at large, the greater the risk to our plans.”
“I’ll take action immediately,” Brown promised.
“Please do so or we may need to find someone who better understands my instructions.”
Brown didn’t appreciate threats but he bit his tongue. He would have liked to tell him where to stick his job but that wasn’t a good idea. The money was good and the Englishman might have use of him again in the future. He also probably had a load of contacts and personal recommendation was how Brown got most of his business. He didn’t understand all the details surrounding his current job but it was definitely a high profile operation and he didn’t want negative feedback flowing back to the States.
The Englishman turned and left the room without saying anything further. Brown was pleased he’d been given almost carte blanche. He hadn’t liked the way Powell prevented him taking the woman in the bar. He hoped Powell might try to stop him a second time. There would be a different result next time.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Brian had given a great deal of thought as to what to do next. The previous evening in Brighton, he had listened to Lara’s story and been left in no doubt she was telling the truth. There really was no reason for her to invent what she had seen and Powell had testified to the threat posed by the three men who visited the bar. The death of Baz just seemed to confirm the wheels of some type of plot were in motion but who was involved was impossible to assess.
Brian had asked for a meeting with his boss, the Assistant Director General. The ADG was responsible for all the non-operational side of MI5. That meant areas like Finance, IT and Training. His equivalent on the operations side was the Deputy Director General, who ran the likes of counter-terrorism and counter-espionage. It was the DDG who would have the answers to Brian’s questions but he needed to go through the right channels. The ADG was a long-time colleague and friend, who Brian trusted.
Brian was apprehensive as he took the chair opposite the ADG, despite having sat there many times before. He enjoyed his work and didn’t want to put his job at risk by putting his nose where it wasn’t welcome but felt he had few other options. He looked around the office while the ADG finished reading something on his desk. It was a large elegant room that wouldn’t look out of place as the study in a country mansion. If it was meant to be intimidating and convey the importance of the occupant, it certainly succeeded.
“Hello, Brian. What can I do for you?” the ADG asked pleasantly, looking up from his papers. “Barbara said it was urgent but I’m afraid I don’t have much time.”
“Would you please humour me and allow me to ask if you know the name Fawwaz Al-Hashimi?” After telling Lara of Baz’s death, she had volunteered the name of the terrorist, irrelevant of the Official Secrets Act. Baz’s death had removed the last vestige of doubt in any of their minds. Someone wanted Lara dead.
“It’s not a name I know. Now what’s this all about?”
Brian had studied closely the ADG’s face as he threw out the name but could detect no hint of recognition or surprise in the ADG’s reaction to hearing the name. “One further question if you don’t mind. Do you believe the marathon bomber is still at large?”
“What nonsense is this, Brian?” The ADG asked, having lost his good humour and sounding quite irritated. “You know as well as I do that we are still hunting the bomber.”
“That was my understanding before last night…” Brian wavered, there was still time to back off.
“I think you’d better tell me what happened last night.”
“You know I have a friend, Powell…”
“He was the one recovered the Bennett children?”
“Yes that’s him. Worked for us twenty years ago. Well, while he was in Saudi he met a woman called Lara Saliba. She was born in the UK to a Lebanese father and an English mother. She works for MI6 based in Saudi Arabia. I spoke with her and Powell last night in Brighton. She has an interesting story to tell…”
“Well get on it with it man. I haven’t got all day.”
Brian was at the point of no return. “She has or I should say had a contact in Saudi called Abdul Rashid, who was the ex-husband of Angela Bennett. He was murdered two days ago. About the same time an attempt was made on Lara’s life.”
“This is all very interesting but what the hell does it have to do with us?”
“A short time back, Rashid passed Lara the name Fawwaz Al-Hashimi as a terrorist bomber, who had recently entered the UK. In fact he’d entered just before the marathon bombing took place.”
“Is this Abdul Rashid reliable?”
“I understand he had proven himself very reliable. Anyway, Lara passed the information up the line. A couple of days ago Lara was summoned to Vauxhall to help with the interrogation of Fawwaz Al-Hashimi. She was taken by helicopter to some place in
the country where she observed Al-Hashimi being tortured in ways that can only be described as medieval…”
“One minute,” the ADG interrupted. He picked up his desk phone and said, “Barbara, push all my meetings back thirty minutes and see if you can get me a meeting with both the DDG and the DG sometime today. If only one is possible then go for that and as soon as possible.” He replaced the receiver and turned back to Brian. “You tell an interesting story. Go on.”
“Yesterday, three men including the man Lara had seen torture Al-Hashimi, went to Powell’s bar and tried to force Lara to go with them. She refused and Powell forced them to leave…”
“How did he do that?”
“Powell can be very persuasive. But he’s outgunned at three to one and the odds could be a lot worse. Who knows what resources these men can call upon. I’m sure they won’t just give up and Powell is a very good friend of mine. I don’t care too much about Lara but I don’t want to see Powell get hurt. He’s an obstinate sod and is likely to go to any lengths to protect Lara. So I’m here to find out what the hell is going on.”
“The short answer is I have no idea. It may be there is a bigger picture and I’m simply not in the loop but that is highly unlikely.”
“The bigger picture shouldn’t include medieval torture. Last I heard that was illegal.”
“We aren’t like the Americans, even waterboarding is off limits.”
“Which raises another interesting point. The man doing the torturing was American.”
The phone on the ADG’s desk buzzed. He picked it up and listened for a few seconds. “Thanks, Barbara,” he said and replaced the receiver. “I have a meeting with the DG in an hour. Start again at the beginning and tell me everything.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Brown didn’t like having multiple bosses demanding his time. There were only so many hours in a day. Although the Englishman wanted him to move immediately against the woman, he first had to satisfy his American boss. All being well, both of them would be happy by the end of what was going to be a long evening.
Brown didn’t know London very well but his instructions had been specific and it wasn’t difficult to find Old Compton Street. He took the tube to Leicester Square and then had a five minute walk to the pub. The streets were busy with people out for a good time. Many of them had just finished work and were getting a drink or two before heading back home.
As he approached the entrance, he wasn’t surprised to find a bouncer on the door. There were a few people hanging around outside smoking. He received several appreciative stares from some of the men, who were all dressed far more casually than his suit. He’d stuffed his tie inside his jacket pocket and undone the top two buttons on his shirt to try and appear more casual. Hopefully he looked like someone who had just finished work.
“Hello,” Brown said in a thick American accent as he approached the bouncer. “This is a gay bar, isn’t it? Only someone at the office recommended it to me.”
“It definitely is,” one of the smokers answered. “Best gay pub in London.”
Brown turned towards the smoker. “I hear there’s usually a good show.”
“That will be much later in the evening,” the smoker explained.
“No problem. I want to try some of your warm British beer. We don’t get warm beer back home.”
“Good luck,” the smoker replied. “Personally I prefer the cold lager.”
“I see your laws are the same as ours in the States. Can’t bloody smoke anywhere.”
“Afraid not.”
Brown turned back towards the pub entrance.
“Can I take a look inside your briefcase?” the bouncer requested.
“Of course. I came straight from work so stuck with the suit and the case.” Brown opened it, revealing a few harmless papers.
The bouncer gave it only a perfunctory look inside before saying, “Have a good evening.”
“I might see you inside,” the smoker said, smiling.
“Hope so,” Brown replied with a smile as he went inside.
He was surprised by how relatively small the pub was. There were tables around the side, which all seemed occupied and a stage at one end. He wanted to get a seat if possible.
“Hi again,” the smoker said, returning inside. “You look a bit lost. I’m Danny. I’m here with my friend Jim. Do you want to join us?”
“Thanks. That would be great as I don’t really know anyone in London. I’m just here for work for a few days.”
Danny led the way to one of the tables where his friend, who Brown assumed didn’t smoke, was sitting. After introductions, Brown offered to get the drinks in and went to the bar to buy beers.
Returning to the table, Brown looked at his new friends. He guessed they were both in their late twenties, which made them four or five years younger. They were skinny and dressed in similar jeans and t-shirts.
“Are you guys a couple?” Brown asked.
“We are but we still like to party,” Jim answered.
“Partying sounds good to me,” Brown smiled. “Cheers,” he said, raising his pint.
“Do you work out?” Danny asked. “You look very fit.”
“I like to keep in shape. I go to the gym most days,” Brown admitted. “What about you guys?”
“We’re more into going out to the pub,” Danny laughed.
“Glad you do otherwise I wouldn’t have met you.”
Brown drank his pint of bitter slowly in comparison to the others, who were soon both ready for a refill.
“You enjoying that?” Danny asked. “Only you’re drinking it real slow.”
“I think I might have a cold beer next. This is lukewarm and tastes more like piss than beer. You Brits have some funny habits.”
“I’ll get you a pint of San Miguel,” Danny offered and went to the bar.
Three pints later and Brown decided it was time for him to complete his business. He waited for Danny to come back from having a smoke. He reached under the table and opened his briefcase. He slipped his hand under the false bottom and pressed the timer.
“I need to make a phone call to free up the rest of my evening,” Brown announced. “That’s if you guys are still up for some more partying?”
“Absolutely,” Danny confirmed.
“Get the beers in, Jim and I’ll be back in a minute.”
Brown walked outside the pub with his phone held against his ear to dissuade anyone from trying to engage him in conversation. He headed past the smokers and kept walking. He was almost back at the tube station when he heard the explosion. Danny and Jim’s evening had definitely ended with a bang!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Brian decided it was best to pay another visit to Brighton. He needed to relay the DG’s findings to Powell and Lara.
Brian found Powell sitting alone at a table in the bar, drinking a whisky and studying menus. There was already a spare glass alongside a half empty bottle on the table.
“Want one?” Powell asked, indicating his whisky. He was bored of studying the proposed new menus and happy for some company. He was though pleased that Afina had at least consulted him about the menu changes.
“A large one, please. It’s been that kind of day.”
Powell poured a large measure and handed the glass to Brian. “So tell me about it.”
“Where’s Lara?”
“Upstairs in Afina’s apartment,” Powell replied. “Do you want me to get her?”
“No. Let’s go to your office and I can update you first.” Brian could see that Afina was busy behind the bar so they would have the office to themselves.
“As bad as that?” Powell joked.
Brian didn’t reply but he picked up the whisky bottle and walked towards the office. Powell picked up his drink and followed. He closed the door behind them, took his usual seat behind the desk and waited expectantly for Brian’s news.
Brian broke the silence. “I decided it was too important to mess about trying to gather bits
of info from old friends so I met with my boss who is the ADG,” Brian explained. “I’ve known him almost as long as I’ve known you and I trust him. He was shocked by what I told him and went to see the DG. Then in the afternoon the three of us met.”
“It’s funny to think how when we were new recruits we lived in awe of the DG,” Powell remarked.
“He’s a decent guy,” Brian replied. “So firstly I have to tell you that neither of them has ever heard the name Al-Hashimi. They are still hunting for the marathon bomber and you can imagine their shock was fairly high on the Richter scale, when I told them MI6 definitely knew him and indeed had him stashed away somewhere. The ADG told me the DG almost had a coronary on the spot when he first heard my story.”
“Do you believe them both?” Powell asked.
“I believe they knew nothing about Al-Hashimi but I’m not sure I entirely believe what they are now telling me… The DG says he spoke with his equivalent in MI6 and they also have no knowledge of an Al-Hashimi, and they too are still hunting the marathon bomber.”
“That doesn’t sound right,” Powell said.
“I agree and it may be that they have discovered a mess and decided to sweep the truth under the carpet.”
“That’s the only possible explanation because Lara didn’t decide off her own back to come to England to interrogate Al-Hashimi. Someone with some pretty big clout in MI6 has stashed Al-Hashimi away, hired helicopters and everything else. Unless we’re missing something?”
Brian topped up both their whiskies. “You’re missing the most important point,” Brian said, having tasted his whisky. “If the head of MI6 says they have never heard of Al-Hashimi, then where in the chain of command has the information from Baz via Lara disappeared? I think we can believe she passed it to her boss in Saudi.”