by Bill Ward
The questioning of Barnes went on most of the night. The first question was to ask him his real name. He had said it was David Gregory but Powell wasn’t entirely convinced. The credit cards in Barnes’s wallet were all in the name of Barnes. There was nothing in the house to prove his name one way or another. Barnes real name was no longer of interest to Powell. Once Barnes was handed over to MI5, they would be able to discover his real identity.
It seemed certain there was a conspiracy that reached to the heart of government but proving anything would be more difficult. Powell had no doubt that if Barnes was ever let free, he would simply recant everything he had admitted. There was no proof and Barnes would no doubt say he was telling a pack of lies, while being threatened by two armed madmen. Even with Barnes testimony, the politicians would deny their involvement. The story sounded so farfetched, it would take concrete evidence to convince anyone of their guilt.
Powell wanted to get his hands on Al-Hashimi. Brian had assured him the Director General would act if he had sufficient evidence and Al-Hashimi was part of that evidence. Throw in Barnes, who Brian could testify to being in Leicester Square with Crawford at the time of Lara’s explosion and it started to build a case. It may not add up to a watertight case in a court of law but this was not a matter that was likely to end up in a public trial. He didn’t need evidence that was admissible in a court, just strong enough to make the DG investigate. The results may never see the light of day but action would be taken.
The problem was that the Director General had been warned by the Home Secretary to forget Lara’s claims about Al-Hashimi. Whatever his true name, he was only a small cog in ISIS and MI6 along with the Americans had the matter in hand. The Director General was a career member of MI5 who had climbed the ranks. He didn’t take kindly to being told how to do his job by a politician but neither did he intend to put his job on the line without evidence. He needed something concrete to be able to thwart the influence being exerted.
Brian arrived at the house at seven in the morning to ferry them to Barnes’s house in Kent. Barnes was made to get dressed while Jenkins watched, much to his annoyance. Not that Jenkins was a voyeur, he just had to make sure Barnes didn’t have any hidden weapons in the bedroom. Powell made fresh coffee in the kitchen and when Barnes appeared, Powell went back up to the bedroom and recovered the listening device from the lapel of Barnes’s jacket, which was hanging in a wardrobe. It was too valuable to leave behind.
When Powell returned downstairs it was time to leave. Brian had one man with him, who he trusted implicitly and introduced as O’Neill. If the name hadn’t been enough of a clue, there was no doubt about his Irish heritage once he spoke. They were both armed and brought with them some additional items they felt were necessary for the job in hand. Jenkins was armed with the weapon taken from Brown, which meant there were now four of them armed if events turned nasty.
One of the most important items brought by Brian was the disposable, transparent gloves, which would ensure they left no fingerprints. All of their fingerprints were a matter of record and they didn’t want them being found anywhere in Barnes’s country house and the police ending up arresting them for a crime. Especially as the crime could be murder, if they had to shoot any of the Americans protecting Al-Hashimi.
Barnes was bundled into the back of the Volvo between O’Neill and Jenkins. Brian drove and Powell sat next to him in the front. The roads were busy and it took almost two hours before they reached the vicinity of their destination. They stopped for a minute and Barnes was made to swap seats with Powell. Barnes was the senior man present and it would look more natural him sitting in the front. Powell made him aware Jenkins would shoot him in the back of the head at the first sign of him not cooperating.
CHAPTER FORTY SIX
They drove up to the gate and Barnes told Brian the number to enter in to the security system, which led to the gate swinging open. They moved forward cautiously. They expected someone was watching them on CCTV and possibly getting nervous about their sudden intrusion. As they came close to the house, Powell could see two men emerge with automatic weapons. They watched like hawks as Brian brought the car to a stop. Both men had their weapons trained on the car.
Barnes stepped out first with Powell close behind. They kept their hands in view and moved slowly so as not to invite trouble. Barnes was just as careful as Powell because he realised, he was equally in danger of getting shot.
“Who are you?” one of the men with a gun asked, in an American accent and none too politely. “This is a restricted area. Who gave you the entry key?”
Powell realised it was the fact they knew the entry number that would stop the armed men from acting rashly. For all they knew, these new arrivals were important.
“This is my house,” Barnes answered. “I’m having my own meeting. It’s not for your exclusive bloody use.” He started to walk towards the front door.
By now, Jenkins and O’Neill were also out of the car. Brian was planning to stay seated in case they needed an urgent getaway.
“Wait a minute,” the man with the automatic said, pointing his weapon at Barnes and blocking his path. “No one goes inside this house without my boss telling me it’s okay. I don’t care who you are.”
“Then I suggest you give Crawford a call.”
Powell could see that Barnes familiar use of Crawford’s name made the man relax a little.
“Watch them,” the man instructed, taking his phone from his pocket. He held it to his ear and placed the call.
Powell had disarmed him of his phone and weapon before he knew what had hit him. Powell kicked him in the groin and then swept his legs away. In the same moment Jenkins dealt with the other man. They had agreed beforehand that they couldn’t allow anyone to speak with Crawford. He would immediately smell a rat.
O’Neill had his weapon covering both of the men on the ground. Jenkins picked up the automatic weapons and put them to the side. Then he tied each man’s hands behind their backs with plastic ties. He put his pistol away and picked up the automatic weapons. He looked as if he had won the lottery, the way he was admiring his new weapon. He offered the second automatic weapon to Powell, who nodded his refusal.
Powell preferred his pistol. He hoped not to have to shoot anyone and as he hadn’t handled an automatic weapon for over twenty years, didn’t think this was the time to start using an unfamiliar weapon. He was averse to the idea of killing anyone if it could be avoided. These men were just following orders and almost certainly didn’t understand the bigger picture. It was Crawford, Barnes and the politicians he held responsible for Lara’s death.
“I’ll take that, if it’s going free?” O’Neill asked and Jenkins handed him the weapon.
“How many men are there inside?” Powell asked the American who had earlier blocked their entrance.
The man was slow to respond and O’Neill used the butt of his weapon to hit him on the side of the head. “He asked you a question,” he emphasised, threatening to hit him again.
“There’s five of us in total.”
That was the number Barnes had mentioned but Powell was pleased to receive confirmation. Only three more men remained inside and they were now outnumbered. Powell didn’t want to spend any longer out in the open, especially as there was the possibility they were already being observed on CCTV.
“You two on your feet,” Powell instructed. O’Neill and Jenkins helped them stand up.
“Jenkins, go around the back and try to check out what’s waiting for us on the other side of the door. I’ll give you a couple of minutes then we’re coming in.”
Jenkins hurried away. They had all been briefed on the layout of the house by Barnes and knew there was a rear entrance through the kitchen.
“Barnes, you are going to wait in the car with Brian,” Powell said.
He followed behind Barnes and watched him carefully until he was sat in the back seat. Brian turned around and aimed his weapon between Barnes’s eyes.
“It’s time,” Powell announced, returning to the front door and checking his watch. “You’re going first through the door,” he informed the two Americans.
O’Neill prodded them both in the back with his weapon. They seemed less than enthusiastic to go through the door.
“Looks like we can expect trouble,” Powell warned. “O’Neill, shoot them if they aren’t through the door within the next five seconds.”
The first American steeped inside the house but at the same time threw himself to the ground. “Don’t shoot, it’s me,” he screamed.
O’Neill used the second American as cover, as he shoved him through the door. There was immediate gunfire from within the house and the American fell to the ground. O’Neill returned fire in the general direction of the gun shots at the same time as he dived to his left.
Powell entered crouched low and moved to the right. He caught a glimpse of the man who was focused on firing at O’Neill from the top of the stairs. Powell fired two shots in quick succession and the man tumbled down the stairs.
O’Neill regained his feet and stood ready to respond to any new sign of danger. The American who had been first through the door was trying to crawl away and O’Neill walked across to him and hit him none too gently on the bag of the head with his weapon.
There were further shots from the rear of the house.
“There should be two more of them,” Powell said. “It sounds like Jenkins may need our help.”
Powell headed towards the sound of the continuous gunfire, followed by O’Neill. There was a long kitchen and dining room at the back and to one side of the house. Powell poked his head around the door and could see the back of someone behind the dining table firing at Jenkins, who was using the kitchen worktable as cover.
“Drop your weapon,” Powell commanded, stepping into the room.
The man in front froze, knowing he was an easy target. He placed his gun on the wooden floor.
“Slide the weapon away from you,” Powell instructed.
The man did as ordered and put his hands on the back of his neck.
Jenkins stood up and approached Powell. “Sorry about that,” Jenkins said. “I was supposed to be watching your back not the other way around.”
Powell smiled. “No problem. There is one of them left, who is probably in the basement guarding Al-Hashimi. You take care of this one and then check on the state of the ones in the entrance hall, who have been shot. Once we are clear of here we can call for an ambulance. O’Neill and I will go find Al-Hashimi and the last American.”
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN
Powell had learned from Barnes that Al-Hashimi was being interrogated in the large basement and the entrance was from a door off the hallway, close to the kitchen. Powell positioned himself on one side of the door and O’Neill on the other. Powell turned the handle and pushed the door open with his foot, quickly stepping back.
The stairs leading down to the basement were well lit and anyone entering was going to be an easy target. There was no sound from below. Powell hoped Al-Hashimi hadn’t been moved.
“Keep watch for a minute,” Powell said to O’Neill.
Powell returned to the kitchen to find Jenkins pulling the American to his feet with his hands tied behind his back.
“What’s the name of the man downstairs?” Powell asked.
“George.”
“What’s your name?”
“Andy.”
“Well Andy, I’d like you to persuade George to give us Al-Hashimi. If we have to go down after him, George is going to end up dead. I’d like to avoid that scenario if possible.”
“You mean you’d like to avoid getting shot yourself,” the man said with a smirk.
“That’s true,” Powell agreed. “But you owe me. I could have simply shot you in the back but I didn’t. We just want Al-Hashimi and there’s been enough blood shed.”
Powell grabbed Andy by the arm and pulled him toward the entrance to the basement. Powell positioned him at the top of the stairs in the open doorway.
“George,” Powell called out. “I’ve got your friend Andy here. I don’t mean you any harm. I just want Al-Hashimi. Send him up here and we’ll be on our way.”
There was no response from the basement.
“Andy, please tell George to give us Al-Hashimi,” Powell said in an even tone. “Otherwise you’re going to be our human shield as we go down there.”
Andy’s eyes said he didn’t like the idea of being first in to the basement.
“George, it’s me, Andy. We’re the only two left. Send up Al-Hashimi. He’s not worth getting killed for.”
George spoke for the first time. “Let them try and take him.”
Powell looked at O’Neill. “Ready?” he asked.
O’Neill nodded.
Powell took Andy by the collar of his jacket and using him as a shield, edged slowly down a couple of stairs.
“George, don’t shoot,” Andy begged.
O’Neill lay himself on the ground and lying on his stomach slid down the first couple of stairs, gaining a clear view of the room below for the first time. He was barely visible to George and anyway his attention would be on Powell and Andy.
George was pointing his pistol at the two men inching their way down the stairs. “Don’t come any further or I’ll shoot you both,” George warned.
“Don’t do that, George,” Powell replied. “If you start firing you’re going to end up dead.”
“Fuck you,” George shouted and fired.
Powell felt Andy’s body go limp and he let him drop to the ground and fall down the stairs. He brought his weapon up to return fire but the danger was already over. George hadn’t noticed O’Neill in the tangle of legs. He had instantly returned fire and George dropped to the ground.
Powell rushed down the stairs to George’s body, his weapon held out in front ready to fire if necessary. George’s gun had fallen at his side and Powell kicked it out of harm’s way.
“You should have listened to me, George,” Powell said.
George was clutching at a wound in his chest. He wasn’t dead but he looked in a bad way and wasn’t going to cause any more trouble.
O’Neill was standing over the body of Andy. “This one will live,” he said. “Just caught him in the shoulder.”
For the first time, Powell could see deep within the basement and at one end was a man sitting on a camp bed looking expectantly in his direction. Then Powell noticed the chains from his ankles to the wall. His hands were also handcuffed behind his back.
“Secure all the Americans,” Powell instructed. “Then we need to get out of here before Crawford sends reinforcements. They must have let him know they were under attack. Fortunately, we’re in the middle of nowhere so hopefully there won’t be anyone getting here anytime too soon.”
Powell walked towards Al-Hashimi. As he came near, there was a rancid smell in the air. Close to the bed was a metal bucket, which smelt of human waste. Al-Hashimi looked in a terrible mess. His beard was unkempt and his hair looked greasy. His face was covered with bright blue and yellow bruises and he was missing a large part of both ears and some teeth.
Powell shuddered to imagine what the rest of his body must look like under his clothes. Lara had described how Brown had mutilated his manhood and he felt a moment’s sympathy for the man, before reminding himself this was the same man who had carried out the London Marathon bombing.
“You’re coming with us,” Powell explained. “Do as I say and I promise there will be no further torture.”
Al-Hashimi showed little sign of emotion. His will had been broken as well as his body. His eyes stared straight ahead, dark pools of despair.
“Who are you?” Al-Hashimi asked.
“My name is Powell. We are going to take you somewhere safe.”
Al-Hashimi summoned up some strength. “I hope you killed all of them,” he said.
Powell ignored the comment and walked over to George. His breathing was labo
ured and he was coughing up drops of blood. Powell reckoned he’d been shot in the lung and he was now drowning in his own blood.
“Where are the keys?” Powell asked.
George was too preoccupied with his pain to care about keys. Powell bent down and searched his pockets. George grabbed his wrist. “Please finish me,” he croaked, holding on surprisingly tightly.
Powell removed George’s hand and extracted a set of keys from George’s pocket. He felt sympathy for George. Unlike Al-Hashimi, he wasn’t a terrorist. He may well have a wife and children at home. Who knows what story he’d been fed by Crawford. He was probably just a grunt thinking he was fighting terrorism. It was always the grunts who paid the price for the ambition of men in loftier positions.
“I’m sorry,” Powell said and turned away, although not before he’d seen the look of despair on the man’s face.
He soon had Al-Hashimi free of his leg chains. He could remain handcuffed.
“I hope he takes a long time to die,” Al-Hashimi said, sitting on his bed, staring coldly at George. He spat on the floor.
Powell knew where his sympathies belonged. He took two paces towards George and shot him in the head.
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
Al-Hashimi had needed to be supported to make it up the stairs. His feet had been severely beaten and he couldn’t walk. Despite his obvious pain, he remained silent. Powell reasoned he hadn’t been an easy man to break. Perhaps the extreme nature of the torture he’d undergone was simply testament to Al-Hashimi’s bravery, rather than a barbaric blood lust on the part of Brown.