Harris dressed in the corridor and crept downstairs, welcomed by a waggy tail and low yelp.
“Sorry buddy, we’re not going for a walk… a bit too early.”
Harris moved to the kitchen, found the dog’s favourite dry food and poured some into a bowl marked ARNY – TOP DOG. Corny but it made him laugh. He grabbed his keys and moved to his car. He would be at the Cross in 40 minutes.
Sir John had already arrived. He had called a map of Raqqa onscreen, asking for the redirection of one of Akrotiri’s Reaper drones.
“The SEAL team managed to get into the place…”
“Good…”
“Except that the only people left there were the mujahideen…” Sir John interrupted. “There was a good old shoot-out. Several IS hostiles are dead… a couple of scratches on the SEAL side.”
Harris remained silent. The hostages would pay the price for the missed attempt. He would rather make sure his own people didn’t.
“Don’t be shy, Steve… you can say it aloud.”
“It’s a fucked-up mess.”
“Quite.” Sir John pushed himself onto the table. “Are you making progress on the Al-Hasakah extraction?”
“The main stumbling block remains…” Harris fumbled a little.
“The price… Do your best and let me know the damage. We no longer have the luxury to delay.”
“Thank you, sir.” Harris nodded.
“Who is going?”
“Still under discussion…”
“Don’t be shy… Hell, if I ran RED HAWK I would go there myself.” Sir John grinned.
“We are considering a couple of alternatives…” Harris moved closer to the map. “The issue is that we no longer are in regular comms mode.”
“They’ve been busted?”
“It’s only a matter of time, so we killed the website chat and cleaned up… That will give them more time.”
Sir John waited for a moment. “I’m not sure I am of any use to you on this… but I can have a conversation with the Home Office to assess damage and with the commander of armed forces.”
“Whatever help is appreciated.” Harris thought of his request for the very large sum of cash he was about to file with Sir John in a few hours’ time and hoped the SAS did not have the appetite for a tour of Raqqa.
* * *
Henry woke up again to the sound of the muezzins’ chants from the minarets. He had had little sleep. Despite their efforts they had not been able to find out what had happened to the hostages. He kept wondering what impact the raid would have on them and turning over in his mind the deal he was hoping to secure later on that day. Henry was now certain he had less than 24 hours to save Mattie. How the US military had determined the location of their people preyed on Henry’s mind, but he pushed it away. He would not solve this puzzle from within Raqqa. Henry’s mind would not be quietened down, so he ran through a scenario that might, just might, save two women.
Henry jogged down the five flights of stairs and was the last to join the prayer room. He shut his mind to the events of the night before and simply followed the flow. He surveyed the room for clues. Some of the fighters looked tired but exhilarated too. They would have stories to tell for the next few days. Ali had arrived early, finding a place where he could sit with his injured leg.
Henry let the crowd of worshippers leave and waited for Ali to join him. They chatted a little until they had reached his room.
“You like it?”
“The SUV?… Grand...” And I need to ask you for one more favour.”
Ali nodded. “Sure thing, Abu Shabh.”
Henry took three USB keys from his trouser pocket. “You keep these safe.”
Ali pocketed them immediately. “No problem… I don’t get out.” He brandished his crutch as proof.
“What happened last night?” Henry asked as casually as he could.
“You don’t know?” Ali’s eyes widened. “The Americans… they came.” Ali told Henry what he knew already. “They killed fighters… many… but they left empty handed…”
“Empty handed of what?”
Ali shrugged. “I don’t know… But maybe they were trying to help people.” Ali looked sad and he slowly sat down on his bed.
“Keep safe.” Henry turned to leave. “I’ll come back to fetch you at the end of today.”
Henry walked downstairs again and called the fixer. There was no time to lose.
Chapter Thirty-One
The Treasury room was surprisingly quiet when he arrived. The Treasurer’s office door was shut. Unusual. Henry dumped his rucksack on his desk in the separate room that was still his office and moved to the main room, striking up a conversation with a subdued Hamza. Was his reporting on Henry not to the liking of his masters?
“Where are we with the hostage exchange?” The Treasurer had waved Henry in.
“I called the fixer this morning. He’s going back and forth… the British are not happy with the single hostage demand…” Henry let it hang but knew no one would dare go against one of al-Baghdadi’s orders.
“The English journalist…” The Treasurer moved his hand, indicating Henry should close the door. “The English journalist has become of interest to Caliph Ibrahim.”
Henry froze for a moment, stunned. He frowned, hoping his face would convey surprise rather than the feelings bubbling inside him.
“Is that going to create a problem?”
“Possibly.”
“I don’t think the British government would exchange anyone else against Abu Maeraka.”
“Which is also what I said to our caliph, but…”
“Is she still in Raqqa?” Henry held his breath for the response.
“I don’t know.” The Treasurer didn’t lie. The hostages’ oversight was not his remit.
“Al-Haddawi will have his way with the hostages now that five of our fighters are dead,” The Treasurer said woefully. His eye twitched a little. He might lose a lucrative deal for the sake of revenge. Regrettable.
“I’ll call again at midday if I haven’t heard from the fixer.”
“Good.” The Treasurer did not mention the raid on the old oil factory again nor the speed at which the deal with the British had progressed, or even the fact that his office had been left open overnight. Henry’s life was valuable until the agreement with the UK was sealed… but after that…
“Al-Haddawi still needs to confirm he is satisfied with one of the proposed locations for the exchange.” Henry had stood up.
The Treasurer nodded. He was aware but al-Haddawi would not be rushed.
Henry went back to Hamza, checked the price of oil on the market. IS was gradually approaching $1 million a day… it would almost certainly reach its target in the next few weeks. Henry looked around… he had collated enough intelligence that would make a good read for MI6. The room felt like a squeezed lemon, ready to be discarded.
Henry walked out of the Treasury and back to the hotel. Wasim was nowhere to be seen again. Henry did not want to check on Ali yet. He walked up the stairs to the fifth floor and stopped at the junction between landing and corridor. A slow shiver ran down his spine. He looked around. There was no one to be seen. He walked a few paces toward his bedroom and stopped. A patch of bright light stretched over the corridor floor… his door was wide open. Henry hesitated; he could go back and alert reception, but he decided not to. Instead he moved slowly towards the door looking around for a makeshift weapon. He stopped and listened.
Nothing.
Henry picked up a fire extinguisher and stepped over the threshold. He moved around the room silently, opening the wardrobe and bathroom doors, still nothing. He dropped the fire extinguisher onto the floor and surveyed the scene. The room had been thoroughly searched. No doubt about it this time. It was an in-your-face intrusion. It was meant to scare him. Th
e few bits of food Henry had left on the small table had been scattered around. His few clothes had been searched, the pockets turned out. The mattress had been pushed off the bed and a pillow cut open with a knife, its innards strewn over the carpet. Henry did not bother to clear up the mess. He ran to the first floor.
Where was Ali?
He knocked at the door, tried the handle. It was locked. Henry reached the foyer. There was no sign of him. At reception he asked to use the phone. “My battery is flat.” The man did not argue. He was there to facilitate, not question. Still, he might be keeping an eye on the guests’ movements. Henry picked up the phone and gave the same scruffy man one of his best crushing looks. The man made himself scarce. Henry dialled Ali’s mobile. It went to voicemail. Henry turned around and went to the hotel’s gardens. He had to find Ali.
* * *
“The Crypto team confirms that the origin of the intrusion messages comes from a server in the Middle East.”
“Raqqa?!”
“They’re not sure yet.”
“Shit.”
“We must go dark for a few days until we know for sure.”
“Wasim knows there’s a problem?”
“I’ve used the emergency protocol and directed it to Henry’s phone.”
“What was the latest before we stopped?”
“Crowne was attempting to lift as much data as possible from The Treasurer’s office. It was our last comms at 15.17 Raqqa time.”
“And then nothing?”
“That’s right.”
“We don’t know how they are faring now that the rescue mission has tanked.”
“We can’t communicate, Steve.” Harris took note. Amina was calling him by his name. “We haven’t even had time to speak about the extraction plan. I have zero visibility on their thinking when it comes to that.”
“Radlett is on board and Brett is doing well. Something is coming together.”
“Thanks for sounding reassuring but I need to see the nitty gritties of the plan before I am overjoyed.” Amina moved her hands over her tired face. “Are you intending to send Radlett on the ground?”
“I haven’t asked yet.”
Amina shook her head. They needed someone on the ground.
Harris changed the subject. “Did Wasim comment on Henry?”
“He seemed pleased, but I did not concentrate on asking for an HR review of Crowne’s performance.”
“I’m not criticising.” Harris moved to the window, its green glass today giving the office a moody glow. “We need that intel. It might be a game-changer in the fight against terrorism.”
“We need to bring them back so that we can get that intel,” Amina corrected.
Harris turned back to face Amina. “I’m not going to let our guys die out there.”
Amina did not reply. Her face, still drawn, told Harris she knew that the outcome was not entirely up to him.
* * *
Henry returned to his room, opened the terrace door and stepped outside. Despite the shade, the temperature had reached an uncomfortable 30˚C. He had not seen Wasim since last night. Where was he? He moved to the balustrade and leaned forward. He could see a large part of the gardens and the car park from there. He was hoping he might perhaps spot Ali. Henry craned his neck and methodically surveyed the ground below. There was no one he could recognise.
He sat on one of the deckchairs, elbows on knees. He had not had much time to reflect since he had started this journey from the UK to Raqqa. It had been all about learning to infiltrate and then becoming a convincing convert in the jihadi camps of Turkey. Had he been too ambitious… again? Too ambitious to think he would make it as a top MI6 operative. His involvement with the IRA had been in the field of finance, a subject at which he excelled. But now, in the middle of a war zone, where people around him were demonised for thinking differently and punished in a manner he had never imagined existed, Henry Crowne might have reached the limit of his endurance.
The film of sweat that rose at the back of his neck was not the result of the searing heat. Henry checked his watch again. He had not seen Wasim for almost 12 hours.
Henry stood up. Back at the terrace balustrade, he leaned forward again. No one had moved. If he could not spot Ali soon, he would have to break into his room and check where the USB keys were. He waited a few minutes and decided to go downstairs first to report the intrusion. Not doing so would be a tell-tale sign that he had perhaps something to hide. He ran down the four flights of stairs to Ali’s room once more and then he would have to go to reception and speak to them.
Henry knocked at Ali’s door; still no reply. He tried the door – this time it was open. “Ali,” he called softly as he opened it. Henry stepped inside and stopped dead. Ali’s room too had been ransacked. There was very little to damage in this diminutive space, but the bed had been overturned. Someone had also taken a knife to an old armchair. The little clock Ali seemed to carry everywhere he went had been crushed by a heavy boot. Henry forgot about swearing. His stomach churned.
He retreated slowly, made sure no one was around when he left. He forced himself to walk slowly to the ground floor. He stopped for a few seconds as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Someone was trying to push him to make a mistake. The scruffy porter was speaking to another man. He started stabbing his fingers on the counter. The receptionist turned towards Henry with a smile.
“I need to…”
“Hey…” Someone was calling for him. He turned around. Wasim was walking through the hotel foyer in a slow yet purposeful manner.
“Never mind, I’ll speak to you later.” Henry’s natural cool assurance had been dented.
“What’s up?”
Henry did not reply until he opened the door of his room.
“This…” He moved away from the entrance to let Wasim in. Wasim moved his head towards the terrace. They both walked through the sliding doors, closed them and settled on the deckchairs.
“When did it happen?”
“I don’t know but I discovered it one hour ago.”
“I only left my own room a couple of hours ago. I would have heard.”
“And there is more. Ali’s room has been searched too. I can’t find him either.”
“The word circulating around amongst the fighters is that someone tipped off the Americans.”
“Shit.” Henry slumped in his chair. “I’m so very close with the hostage exchange. Although…”
“If we get caught it’s going to make things worse for Mattie,” Wasim interrupted.
“And if we leave it’s going to make things worse for her too.” Henry dropped his forehead on his clasped raised hands. “Baghdadi is interested…” He didn’t know how else to put it.
Wasim’s phone rang. He looked at it with annoyance but checked the caller. “Salaam, where are you?” His face a mixture of hope and concern.
Henry mouthed, “Who is it? Ali?”
Wasim nodded. “You need to come back as soon as you can.”
Wasim frowned. “I can’t explain but call me when you’re back in your room.”
“Ali is fine. He has heard rumours about betrayal…”
“Is he on his way back?”
“So he says…”
Henry inhaled deeply. Some good news.
“If you report the mess, the IS police will be called.”
“Really?”
“Without a doubt.”
“They will need to speak to you. Possibly take you away to a police station somewhere in Raqqa.”
Henry had picked up on Wasim’s train of thought. “Which means that I won’t be able to call the fixer and push for an exchange to take place.”
“Exactly so.”
“OK, change of plan. I’m not reporting this, and neither should Ali.”
“If they
had found the USB key, they would have come barging in for you already.”
“For Ali first and then for me…”
“I’m calling the fixer again. You go and check that Ali’s still got the USB keys.”
“And then?”
“We need to find out where Mattie is.”
Wasim was about to ask why. He pulled back. He needed to speak to Ali first.
* * *
The apartment looked different when she arrived. Yet another place, ruled by women for women. The door opened quietly and someone came in, surprising her with the soft touch of her hand. Mattie sat up in bed, sheets clutched against her body. The face looked familiar. She recognised the young woman who had looked after her when she first arrived in Raqqa.
“Where are we?”
“The same place as before.” Gulan went to the window and drew the curtains open.
“Is it early?”
“It’s almost 6am.” She came back to the bed on which Mattie still lay. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes please.”
“I’ll bring you something.”
Mattie rubbed her eyes. She had not heard the muezzins’ calls to prayer and wondered whether the water that had been left on the bedside table had been spiked. She swung her legs onto the floor, walked to the bathroom. It was well furnished and supplied… shower gel, soap, body cream, shampoo… and scented oils. She was being prepared and these preparations were not meant for a hostage exchange. Perhaps al-Baghdadi wanted to have his fun before he released her, if he released her. She pushed the thought out of her mind. She would shower, make herself look decent and find a way to call Henry.
Breakfast arrived, tea, dates and an egg cooked over tomatoes in a small oven dish. Mattie started eating and had to exercise restraint not to wolf it down in one go.
Gulan looked towards the door she had left open. Anyone could check on them at any minute. There was silence in the apartment. Her hand moved into the folds of her abaya and took a large piece of khoubz out of one of the pockets. Mattie smiled and placed it underneath her pillow. No words had been spoken, but their eyes met, showing gratitude on one side and kindness on the other. Gulan took Mattie’s now empty plate away. The key turned in the lock.
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