Spy Shadows

by Freddie P Peters

  Mattie sat back on her bed. It was only a matter of time before they came to pick her up the way they had done Jean. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the layout of the apartment from when she had first arrived. She tried to recall her movements. Was there a phone, a good old-fashioned phone with a landline? She squeezed her eyes shut as if the answer could be summoned easier. She couldn’t remember. Frustrated, she stood up and walked to the window. From there she could see the street, leafy, large… a few cars on the road on the street beyond the front garden. She had not seen any women at all walking in the street, even in groups. Still, women would have been expected to tend to the food and cook for the men they were looking after.

  Two men had parked their truck in the semi-circular drive that led to the front door. Mattie held her breath. Could this be it? Men taking women to the local shops for food.

  Mattie walked to her bedroom door now that the men had disappeared into the building. She stuck her ear to the door. Faint noises came from the end of the corridor. Then voices that made her jump. Could she have been right? People were talking in what she thought was the lounge, but then the voices stopped. She went back to the window. Out they came, the two men she had seen and a woman carrying baskets. She could not quite make out who the woman was. No, the men were taking women to the local shops to buy food. It was by now almost 7am. The market would be open already. She recalled the market she had visited when she had come to Raqqa previously, the shack-like structures, supported by wooden or metal poles, raffia and thick tarpaulins stretched overhead to protect the fruit and vegetables from the sun. There was no door and no walls, just a long stretch of stalls, full of colour and delicious smells.

  Relieved, she realised this might be her only chance. She waited for the car to leave, waited five more minutes and went back to the door. Her knock sounded more like a rattle at first and then became more forceful. “Please can someone open the door?” The key turned in the lock and she stepped away. Gulan looked surprised. Mattie stayed put. Gulan would not cross the threshold of the room unless she was invited to. “Please, please, I must call… a friend… Abu Shabh.”

  There was no reaction. Mattie, the foreign prisoner and the battle name of an IS fighter did not seem to make sense.

  “Please… Gulan, I need to speak to Abu Shabh.”

  Gulan now looked scared. She did not know what to do. She had not been told that Mattie might ask for such a call and what her response should be.

  “He is waiting for my call.”

  A deep softness rose into her brown eyes. But more than this, the understanding that what she was about to do might transgress the rules she had been asked to follow and that there would be a price to pay. Gulan nodded and let Mattie go to the lounge. She pointed towards an object Mattie could not remember seeing. A good old-fashioned telephone.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Harris had moved to the spare room, despite Sarah’s protest that she did not mind the nightly calls. Amina, James and he had switched their working hours to fit Raqqa’s time zone, two hours ahead of GMT. His alarm rang at 4.30am. The dog had made his way onto the bed and did not budge when Harris got up. Harris was out of the door within 30 minutes and even the rattle of dog food being shaken in the box did not persuade Arny the top dog to come down. Harris got into his battered old Ford Mondeo. No one noticed him on the road, and he liked it that way.

  Amina had already arrived, screens populated with data and maps.

  “Any news?” Harris stood over her and handed over a coffee from the coffee machine.

  “Nothing, but there’s a lot of activity from the IP address we’ve now identified and confirmed is located in Raqqa.”

  “Which means?”

  “That they are trying to get Wasim to reply to their product offers to check whether his past conversation trail matches this new one.”

  “But he could justifiably ignore them.”

  “Not a good idea… we’ve taken control of his account anyway so for a while we’ll be talking to them and give Wasim a bit of extra time.”

  “I thought he was connecting from various tearooms in Raqqa?”

  “He does but he will still have to leave his name to have access to the PCs… the beardos are obsessed with data control.”

  The door opened and James came in. He looked alert and prepared for a long day at the office. Working in investment banking had some advantages; waking up at 4am for a day’s work was one of them.

  “Henry’s good at knowing when to cut his losses.” James had been listening to the update.

  “Even if he and Wasim are preparing to leave, we need to give them the extraction timetable and rendezvous point.”

  “Which needs to be in Kurdish territory, hence Al-Hasakah. I get it.” James rolled his shoulders. “I’d like to join the extraction team.”

  “I hoped you might say that.” Harris’s eyes moved briefly to James’s legs.

  “My old injuries are fine. So long as I’m not asked to do a parachute jump or hike with a 60-pound pack on my back on difficult terrain, I’m good.”

  “The Chief is speaking to SAS command. We’ll know this morning who the extraction team is going to be.”

  “Do we have men in position close by?”

  “Not sure, there may be SAS positioned with the US military. Basra is too far away to fly an op over enemy territory, extract, then come back.”

  “Then it’ll have to be Cyprus, and they’ll need to agree a refuel in Turkey. Maximum range of the Apache is 450 km.”

  James moved closer to the map open on one of Amina’s screens. “I make it 700 km between Cyprus and Al-Hasakah. With the men and army equipment, an Apache can’t go much faster than 250 km/h, so that’ll take about three hours.”

  “That complicates matters.” Harris rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Agreed, if you need to tell Turkey about the extraction it will take a day or two to get the OK.”

  “I have a Plan B…” Harris said almost to himself.

  “Which is?”

  “Back in a moment… keep me posted on the phone if anything happens.” Harris grabbed the burner phone with the black leather casing and was about to walk out.

  * * *

  Wasim and Henry had decided to divide the task. “Let’s split the search?” Wasim replaced the stolen laptop in his rucksack.

  “I’ll go to some of the cafés in Raqqa where the young fighters hang around. You do another tour of the hotel.” Wasim stuffed the hard drive into a pocket of his army slacks.

  Henry was not listening. “The phone… The phone’s ringing in my room.” They both hesitated, then Henry remembered. He ran through the sliding doors onto the terrace, vaulted over the low wall and skidded into the bedroom, lunging at the phone to pick it up. The line went dead.

  “No… wait… wait.” Henry dropped onto the displaced mattress, still holding the receiver in his hand. He slowly put it back into its cradle and put his head in his hands. Wasim had appeared on the terrace threshold.

  “I thought it might have been…”

  The phone rang again and this time it had not finished its first ring when Henry picked up. “Mattie…” His croaky voice filled with hope. He grabbed the pen and paper that lay on the bedside table. Henry was nodding as he wrote “Go back to your room, stay there, wait for me. I’m coming.”

  Wasim had disappeared on his search and Henry walked along the corridor to Ali’s room. He opened the door after knocking softly. It was still in the same state of disarray he had found a couple of hours ago. Either Ali had not been back or he had gone downstairs to report the disturbance.

  Henry again investigated the lounge and visited the garden. Young men were gossiping, dozing off, reading IS propaganda magazines and watching videos on their tablets. No one was paying attention to him, clad as he was in the standard army fatigues, black
shirt and black scarf around his head. There was no sign of Ali anywhere. All the loungers and chairs were taken up. Henry finished his round. Where else could he look?

  He climbed the few steps that led up to the lounge, about to return to his room, then stopped. Why not? Henry walked out of the hotel entrance and round to the car park. The SUV had been moved into the shade and its windows wound down. Ali was sitting in the driver’s seat, listening to music on the radio, eyes shut, drumming the rhythm of what he was hearing on the wheel.

  Henry could not suppress a smile. “Enjoying the ride?”

  Ali jumped, his face dropped, and he looked scared for a moment.

  “Been here a long time?”

  Ali stammered some inaudible apologies, a little red in the cheeks.

  “Relax, I’m not annoyed. I’ve just been looking for you everywhere.” Henry’s face grew serious. “Do you still have the USB keys I gave you?”

  Ali smiled, happy he could do right to repay his use of the car. “Yes, always with me.” He fumbled around and fished the items from his trouser pockets one after the other.

  Henry could have hugged him. “Great stuff.” Henry walked around the bonnet of the SUV and climbed into the passenger seat. “Have you been back to your room?”

  Ali looked puzzled, his eyes a little wider. He shook his head.

  “OK. Your room has been ransacked.”

  Ali frowned. He could not understand the word…

  “Someone has gone into your room and turned it upside down.”

  The frown deepened on his brow. “Why?”

  “I don’t know but we need to go back.”

  Ali nodded. They both got out of the car. Before they left, Henry removed the spark plug from the engine and handed it to Ali. They walked in silence until they were about to enter the hotel. “You go in first. I’ll see you back at your room.”

  Henry waited, then entered the lounge from the gardens. He took his time to walk through the comfortable armchairs and low tables and saw what he was after. When he reached the table, he bent to redo one of his shoelaces and lay a magazine he had found in the gardens on top of it. He picked up the basic mobile phone together with the magazine. Sometimes it felt good to be a thief.

  Ali had replaced the mattress on his bed, stood up the chair that was lying on the floor and folded his clothes into a neat pile. He had collected the pieces of the old alarm clock and gathered them into an old scarf. Henry knocked and entered. Ali’s eyes looked moist. His smooth features lined with distress and fear. Henry moved to the chair, turned it around and straddled it.

  “Have they taken anything?”

  “The Qur’an my mother gave me.” This was spiteful and Henry wondered whether the three men who he had handled yesterday were to blame.

  “I’m really sorry about this. Are you thinking about reporting it?”

  Ali shook his head.

  “That’s a wise decision, nothing good will come of it.” Henry glanced at his watch. “It’s almost noon. I am going out for a short while. Stay in your room. When you pray at Zuhr time, stay in your room too. I’ll come back to fetch you, OK?”

  Ali nodded again.

  “I want to hear you say OK, that you’ll do as I say.”

  “OK. I will do as you say, Abu Shabh.”

  “Good.”

  Henry stood up, put the chair back where it belonged and opened the door.

  “And lock the door as well.”

  * * *

  Harris had ignored a call from Sir John. He knew what it was about and needed time to finalise his own plan.

  The Club was busy yet quiet. Harris always felt he was entering a timewarp he enjoyed disturbing. His insistence on saying please and thank you to butlers and stewards when Brett had instructed him this was not the done thing gave Harris the deepest satisfaction.

  Brett was seated in the corner he favoured, already armed with a glass of the excellent Macallan. Harris joined him and sank into a large armchair.

  “Progress?”

  “Some. I’ve convinced my Kurdish contact to have a conversation with some ‘people’ in Al-Hasakah. After that it’s proving trickier.”

  “How much time will that take?”

  “Twelve to twenty-four hours, no longer.”

  “The time frame may tighten up so keep trying.”

  A waiter discreetly appeared at Harris’s side. “Would you like to order, sir?”

  “Sparkling water, please.”

  Brett had lifted his glass from the small table on which it sat and stopped mid-air.

  “Are you on one of those ridiculous detox diets?”

  “Nope, not my style.”

  “Right.” Brett’s glass continued its journey. He sipped the amber drink with contentment. His face grew serious, tight mouthed, his brow slightly furrowed. “Are you that concerned?”

  Harris exhaled briefly. “At the moment I need all my wits to see this through.” He had never shown doubts to Brett but perhaps today was the day.

  Brett pushed his back into the leather armchair. “Is Crowne one of them?”

  Harris shook his head. “Brett, you know…”

  “You can’t give me that info otherwise you’d have to kill me. I know. But still I take it as a yes.”

  Harris waited.

  “I rather like the thought that the Irish peasant is going to have to owe me one.” Brett extended his hand to replace the crystal tumbler on the table precisely where he had picked it up from. It was almost empty. Brett considered having another one but then thought better of it. He sipped the last of his drink and stood up. “No time to lose, I’ve got to firm up with my Kurdish contact. I presume the cash transfer is in hand?”

  Harris nodded.

  “I’ll call you when the final details are set.”

  Brett left Harris behind. Harris leaned back in the leather chair. He now needed to let his team in Raqqa know their rendezvous point.

  * * *

  The old truck rumbled along Fardos Street. He had to go back to the Treasury office one last time. The sun was at its zenith and the temperature in the vehicle almost unbearable. His stomach fluttered as he approached the entrance of the building. He slowed down. The guards did not ask for his pass. Was it a good sign? Perhaps not.

  Henry climbed the two flights of stairs to the second floor and entered the main Treasury room. No one noticed him. All the young men were on the phone making deals that would ensure IS had a sustained revenue stream.

  Hamza had disappeared. Whoever he had been working for had not received the results they were expecting.

  How frustrating. Henry imagined it was al-Haddawi and if it were his frustration must have boiled over after this morning’s failed trap.

  Henry sat at his desk and checked his watch. It was almost 11am in London. Time for MOTHER to come through. The fixer could be calling at any moment. They had agreed an update, whatever the result. Henry searched on the computer. He had received an encrypted email through Mail2tor. Henry used the encryption code on his machine, entered his password. The fixer had decided to send the exchange terms for Abu Maeraka in writing. Clever guy… covering his arse was probably good, although Henry doubted IS would unilaterally rescind the contract if the results were not to their liking.

  Henry read through the terms, and he smiled. The Treasurer’s office door was shut once more. He was on the phone, having an angry exchange with someone. He slammed his hand on his desk, and his raised voice reached Henry. None of the other men noticed, or perhaps they did not want to notice. Henry waited. He was buying time until tonight, and a deal with the British government provided a little breathing space until then.

  The Treasurer stood up and banged the phone down. Henry went back to his screen. His mobile rang. The Treasurer wanted to see him. Henry walked into the office and waited to
hear what the man had to say.

  “Leave your phone outside the room.” He gave The Treasurer an amazed look but obeyed.

  “What is happening? Where is Hamza?”

  “Hamza no longer works at the Treasury.” The answer was curt. Henry nodded. He could think of one reason. Al-Haddawi had had a mole at the Treasury, Hamza had been it and The Treasurer had realised.

  “The British government has agreed to our terms.”

  The frown on The Treasurer’s forehead eased off. He had reached his prayer beads and started rolling them around his fat fingers. “Tell me.”

  Henry went through the terms.

  One female hostage in exchange for Abu Maeraka. The exchange would take place in the old city centre of Aleppo. Both parties to take position 1 km away from one another. The hostage and Maeraka would be accompanied by one person. Any attack would incur immediate retaliation. The life of one of the hostages still held by IS in Raqqa would be cut short. The exchange would take place in two days’ time.

  The Treasurer looked satisfied. “Only Al-Haddawi’s men will be involved in the exchange.”

  “Why can’t we send some of our people?” Henry asked.

  “My thoughts exactly… Al-Haddawi is riding high on his Mosul success, but he forgets who finances the war effort.”

  “What does Caliph Ibrahim say?”

  Some intake of breath. The Treasurer was not going to tell on what basis senior men were judged in the Caliphate. Those who offered themselves as martyrs had the upper hand. The only hope The Treasurer had was for al-Haddawi to join the land of milk and honey sooner rather than later.

  “He is eager to see Abu Maeraka again.”

  Good reply. Henry nodded approvingly. The clock on the wall was indicating 2pm. He had a few hours to go before he could retreat to his hotel.

  “How about sending someone from the Treasury to do the exchange? Perhaps al-Haddawi can provide the fighters but the Treasury provides the man who helps free Abu Maeraka.”