“But would I have come to you here, in Raqqa, if I had not felt I wanted to…? I could have offered to help you set up the funds you needed from another location and yet here I am.”
The Treasurer nodded. The other two men remained more circumspect.
“You will soon see the results of my dedication, the only true way I can convince you of my genuine conversion.” Henry this time had Harris to thank for putting him through the mill when it came to interrogation.
The door of the cell opens and four men wearing hoods come in. He has been sitting on the chair for hours. The white noise that fills the room has not stopped even since he has been dragged into it. He knows it is an exercise, yet his mind is starting to play tricks on him. He thinks he hears words in the random sounds that bounce off the walls. It becomes a strange presence that prevents him from relaxing. Its mix of grating, banging, audio tuning in and out of frequency, crawls into his mind after a while. His head has rolled to one side. His eyes feel gritty and tired. The ice cold water that hits his face makes him gasp.
“Not the cloth…” Henry does not know whether he has spoken aloud or not.
Someone shines a light in his face.
“Why should I believe you? Convince me.”
Henry snapped out of the memory. Everybody had gone quiet at his reply. They were helping themselves to more food. The women who served them tea had reappeared with fresh beverages.
“That is true,” the man who had challenged him finally said. It wasn’t yet a pass but for the time being it would have to do.
“Tell us about your meeting with Abu Maeraka in London.” The Treasurer had finished his plate of baba ganoush and lamb koftas. He had wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and placed it on his plate. In other circumstances Henry might have liked to do business with him.
“Abu Maeraka moved to the High Security Unit of HMP Belmarsh in London a few months after me.”
“We know.”
“He approached me after we had spoken in the library. I was one of the librarians there, sharing the role with other inmates. His brother worked in the City too.”
Henry did not have to make it up either. Abu Maeraka had been convicted for masterminding a terror attack on Paddington station. The police van that was transporting Henry for interrogation at Paddington Counter-Terrorism Squad HQ had been caught in the blast. Henry had been spared by the explosion; one of the police officers accompanying him had not been so lucky.
“The fact that he approached me surprised me.” Henry forced himself to eat some of the food on his plate, measuring what his words should be. He cleared his throat. “To be frank… I was reluctant to start with. I did not want to be involved with anything, take any side.”
Abu Maeraka had not been deterred by the reputation of HSU Belmarsh. He could fight the fight in any place, converting inmates around him. His restrained manners combined with an unbreakable determination and a strong understanding of human motivations made him a powerful leader. He did not need to use force, it was all in the way he conducted himself, the way he knew what to say, when and to whom. Even the prison officers could not fault him, and HSU Belmarsh officers had received training over and above what could be expected from the most uncompromising prison training programme.
That Abu Maeraka had thought fit to help Henry escape HSU spoke volumes. No one had ever managed to break out before. His brother had lost his life in the process. Henry had been smuggled out of the UK after lying low for a while. The story as they saw it looked credible, a story confirmed by the sleeper cells that had been activated to protect him whilst still on British soil.
“Explain.” The Treasurer raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“I believed in defeating the English, making them pay for their colonialist ways in Ireland. ISIL believes in defeating governments that seek to impose their ways against Islam’s interests… it is another imperialist intrusion.” He had debated some of that rhetoric with Liam in his student days and he had believed in it enough to join the IRA. That belief he did not need to fake.
Silence descended on the room again. The man who had spoken to him first also put his plate down. They were nearing the end of the interview.
“It is easy to convert, but not so easy to lead the life of a true Muslim.”
Henry’s voice deepened, humble. “I felt I had to convert in the presence of people who could help me hold firm to the promise I made.”
“But as you say, it is the life, the devotion to the five pillars of Islam that matters,” the other man added.
“That is the reason I tried to understand Islam as much as I could before I answered the call.” Henry shuffled in the seat: a little unease for good measure.
The Treasurer sat back, sold on Henry’s performance.
The man who had stayed silent all along seemed to now follow The Treasurer’s lead. The round head on his equally round torso nodded slowly. The third man was still holding out. Henry could never convince him, but if he could keep him neutral for the time being, that was all he needed.
* * *
A soft knock at the bay window startled Henry. He placed his mobile on the bedside table the furthest away from the terrace and opened the sliding doors slowly. Wasim was already settled in one of the chairs, waiting for Henry to join him.
“Do I need to pack my bags and run?”
“No, but it was tough… they’re nasty bastards.”
“What did you expect?”
“I know, but I’m used to being top dog when it comes to interviews.”
“You may be back to dealing with finance but, to state the obvious, it no longer is ‘The City’.”
Henry smiled. “Could have fooled me, though… the way The Treasurer is running his operation.”
“You won’t have any trouble from him. He’s sold on your ideas.”
“Yes. I think you’re right.”
“However…” Wasim bent forward, lowering his voice a fraction.
“Two more beardos questioned me. Actually, one beardo questioned me, the other one listened and then seemed to follow The Treasurer.”
“But the other one?”
“I think for the time being…” Henry hesitated, “neutral…”
“Do you have his name?”
“Sorry mate, we didn’t exchange business cards.”
Incorrigible Henry; Wasim lifted a disappointed eyebrow.
“Yes, I know, very unpro of me. Small guy, long grey beard, reminded me of Osama bin Laden.”
“Any other distinctive features?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t get up from his seat, but I could have sworn moving around was difficult for him.”
“I don’t think I have any intel on him. That’s worrying… We should have mapped all of al-Baghdadi’s inner circle by now.”
“I’ll get the name from The Treasurer. MOTHER can add him to the list.”
“I’m sure you’ve been told that Raqqa has gone dark, so no contact is possible at the moment.”
“What about the emergency protocol?”
Wasim frowned. “Why? It would have to be activated from your phone.”
“We need to know what they are planning to do in London as soon as the Sunday Times responds to the ransom demand.”
“We shall do what we’ve agreed to do. Implement Plan A first, then discuss Plan B with London if A doesn’t work.”
“It may not be as simple as that.” Henry moved his chair round so he could sit closer to Wasim. “The ISIL commander who led the assault on Mosul has been killed.”
“Don’t tell me that…”
“Yes, exactly… al-Haddawi has replaced him.”
Henry ran his long hand through his thick mane of hair. “That’s not good for us.”
“An understatement. I have been speaking to quite a few of the men here before
they left for Mosul. Al-Haddawi is liked by his fighters and they will martyr themselves for him without hesitation.”
“Shit. Let’s hope he leads by example.” Henry wasn’t joking. “Because if he comes back victorious, I can tell you he’ll revisit the hostage situation… with a vengeance. That guy is a nutter.”
“But at least Mattie is out of his reach as long as the ransom negotiations go ahead.”
“Not so sure.” Henry stood up, walked to the end of the terrace and leaned back against the balustrade, facing Wasim. There was no sound in the city, but absolute silence.
“There’s nothing more we can do for now. If we push too hard it will backfire on us.”
“I know.” The scent of Mattie’s freshly washed hair floated around him. Henry felt her fingers pressing around his. He closed his own hand on an empty space.
“Let’s get some sleep.” Henry nodded and wished he could have spoken about Mattie more. He trusted Wasim but perhaps not to that extent.
* * *
The distant buzz of an insect made him turn over. It was persistent and Harris moved his hand around his head to chase the intruder. He opened his eyes in the dark. The buzz of the mobile returned, reminding him he was at home. He checked the time on his phone, 4.30am. He pushed the recall button. Amina sounded as sleepy as he was. OMA had called her 30 minutes earlier with an update. ISIL pick-up trucks had entered Mosul, storming through every checkpoint that was manned by too few Iraqi soldiers. At the same time sleeper cells in the city had been activated, suicide bomb cars had exploded at key targets, assassinating most of Mosul’s leaders. The city was left without a government. Soldiers were being captured, hanged, burned or even crucified. ISIL was in the process of capturing security forces. And they too were executed summarily. Only one battalion was left to defend the city. The rest had run away or joined ISIL.
“Where is ISIL at the moment?”
“Fighting for the international airport.”
“Valuable assets there?”
“It’s the hub of the US military in the region.”
“Complete with helicopters and various high-end weaponry, I presume.”
“Correct.”
“Fuck.”
“Mosul is going to fall.” Harris’s voice was focused, all vestiges of sleep had evaporated.
“It’s a matter of hours now.”
“Is Raqqa still dark?”
“No change there, but OMA is picking up the beginning of some activity.”
“The bastards can’t help themselves… got to brag about a good massacre…” Harris’s voice trembled. He did not want to imagine what the city would look like in a few hours’ time.
“And when you look at the number of Iraqi troops versus the number of ISIL fighters… It’s going to be the best propaganda ever for the group.”
Harris threw the blanket away from him. “I’m coming in. I can’t stay in bed while that’s going on.”
“Is Sarah not around?”
“No, she’s gone to visit her mother and she’s taken the dog with her.”
“I’ll join you.” Amina yawned.
“Sarah wouldn’t like it.”
“Harris. I could get you done for a remark like that,” Amina piped up.
“I know but that bloody well woke you up, didn’t it?” Harris hung up without waiting for a reply.
It was now 4.50am. Perhaps not the best time to have a chat with The Chief. Harris would give him another hour in bed. More time to go through what OMA had gathered. Harris was certain that by 6am The Chief would be already up, readying himself for another day at the helm of MI6.
* * *
“You look like I feel.” Harris put down a cup of coffee in front of Ahmed.
“Always so nice to work with you.” Ahmed rolled his head around a few times, picked up the cup and drank a mouthful. “At this rate I’m going to need caffeine intravenously.”
“Been up all night?”
“Yup. This stuff is really keeping me awake.”
“Very bad then?”
Ahmed shook his head. “The poor bastards in the city haven’t been able to flee and whoever is caught… well.” Ahmed took another sip and cleared his throat. “Amina knows already what they’ve done with whoever they’ve caught but it’s the scale of it that is horrendous.”
Harris remained silent. He pulled up a chair to Ahmed’s desk. “How about the airport?”
Ahmed was about to answer. More chatter and data were flowing in. He put his cup down and read aloud. “The Iraqis have just given the order to retreat.”
Harris slumped back in the chair. “That means they’re writing off the US base in that part of the country.”
“And it means ISIL will take control of the aircraft and the munitions there too.”
“I have to speak to The Chief…”
Ahmed stopped Harris. “I know you can’t tell me, and I don’t want to know the details, but if you’ve got some guys there… get them out.” He did not wait for Harris’s reply and turned back to read the rest of the data stream.
* * *
“I’m in.” Sir John had perhaps not spent the night at his desk, but he had certainly made it in long before a lot of his staff. Harris took the now familiar lift ride. Sir John was waiting for him at the door of his office.
“Mosul has just fallen.” Harris stepped in.
“Colmore is demanding information about his daughter.”
Both men fell silent, absorbed in assessing each other’s information.
“There is nothing we can do about Mosul now.” Harris went first.
“But there is plenty we can do about Colmore.”
“Raqqa has remained dark, still we have spotted some activity. ISIL will flood the media, and all their other comms channels as soon as the fall is confirmed to Baghdadi.”
“Unfortunately,” The Chief agreed.
“Al-Qaeda was good at using the media, but ISIL has raised the bar. Their videos for recruitment are much more polished… they have accounts on Instagram, WhatsApp, YouTube… they’re reaching out to young Muslims around the world.”
Sir John looked sceptical. “You think they’re becoming more dangerous than Al-Qaeda. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yes, sir, I think I am.” Harris stressed each word, weighing what the impact of his conclusion might be.
“But they’re not organised as a state. Assad needs rooting out now otherwise he’ll survive the uprising with the help of the Russians and the Iranians.”
“I know, sir, but I don’t think we should underestimate what a problem ISIL has become.”
“Just the way we underestimated Al-Qaeda, I get it.”
Harris pulled a face. He did not have the proof yet, but ISIL was in a different league. “What about Colmore though?”
“I’ll play the delaying tactic for as long as I can. Until you tell me what the Sunday Times reaction has been.”
“I’m starting to wonder whether he might be tempted to take the matter into his own hands,” Harris said.
“You mean… speak to someone else… like the Americans?”
“He must have contacts in Washington.”
“That’s a very good point,” Sir John mused. “I could ask, of course, but that would be too visible. What about your CIA contact… could you try him perhaps?”
“I can speak to Jack again… If he knows something, he’ll tell me and if he doesn’t, he can find out.”
Sir John’s PA knocked on the door. “Your conference call is scheduled in 15 minutes, Sir John.”
“Many thanks, Martha.”
Harris did not stand up immediately. Sir John stayed where he was.
“I’ll let you know as soon as I have news from Langley.”
“And I’ll let you know as soon as
I have spoken to Colmore and the Iraqis.”
Harris left for the third floor. It was barely 6.30am.
* * *
The door had creaked open in the early hours of the morning. Mattie had not moved, ready to fight with all she had if one of the women in black came for her. She heard the door of the bathroom open and shut quietly and a ray of light told her that someone was in there. The shower came on, a soft sound that lasted for a while. Tears had gathered underneath her closed eyes, brought by a mixture of fear and anger.
Whoever had come back needed to let the water run on their skin, cleansing, removing, hoping to wipe out the stench and remains of abuse.
Mattie kept her eyes shut when the light went out in the bathroom. Gretta’s bed creaked. Mattie turned her face towards it, eyes still shut; perhaps Gretta could see her face turned towards her and talk if she wanted.
The room became still again, and Mattie rolled back her head after a moment. The pressure in her chest squeezed her lungs, clamped her throat. She could not cry, not if the women next to her managed not to.
Jean arrived a few minutes later. She went across to Gretta’s bed and pulled the blanket over her shoulders. She came to Mattie’s bed and sat next to her.
“Nothing happened,” she whispered. Mattie brought her hand to her mouth and muffled a small cry of relief. An explanation would come later.
Mattie watched Jean’s shadow remove her niqab and abaya and slide into bed. Tomorrow Mattie would swap with her; at least they could take it in turns to sleep on the least comfortable mattress in the room.
Mattie stretched underneath the sheet and recalled a face.
“Trust me.” Henry had sounded certain. She grappled to remember the tone of his voice, deep, urgent. He knew what to do to free her from this nightmare. Mattie rolled towards the wall. She couldn’t wait for him to contact her. Calling him, calling Henry or Abu Shabh as he was known, had to be her next move or perhaps she needed to wait a little longer… She wondered how much more she would be able to endure. She wrapped her arms around her body, brought her knees to her chest. It was time to get some rest if she could. Tomorrow she would find a way out.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Beppe’s Café on West Smithfield was slowly filling up. He had been their first customer today. Nothing unusual about that. James Radlett liked to start his day early. He had chosen a seat at the far end of the row of tables, next to the window in one of the comfortable green two-seaters. James had placed the call at 6.05am, exactly as agreed. It had not taken long for his contact to confirm what he had suspected. Henry Crowne had literally disappeared. There was no trace of him to be found anywhere in the UK, nor in Europe.
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