Mattie hugged her friend again. “I promise, I will come back and write about your fight.”
Sliman squeezed her shoulder. She turned back and climbed into the other Jeep. “May safety accompany you.”
“May safety accompany you.” Mattie answered back.
The Jeep turned around and started its trip towards Iraq’s war zone. Wasim folded the map so that the route they were taking was left visible. He opened the driver’s door and pushed it on top of the dashboard.
Mattie hesitated. She turned toward Henry, who had not said a word since they had encountered the Peshmerga unit. She knew it was about Ali and there was nothing she could say that would make the loss of the young man bearable. Silence and patience were sometimes more healing than words.
She climbed back into the Jeep. Wasim was ready to drive away but he too understood, allowing Henry a little more time to make himself ready.
“He has never lost anyone before, has he?” Mattie asked.
Wasim looked at her in the rear-view mirror. There was little light, but she felt the intense scrutiny of his glance. “I understand what it feels like.”
Mattie too was looking straight into the mirror. “No, you don’t understand… he pulled the trigger.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
RED HAWK Control Room smelled of pizza and strong coffee. It was gone 9.30pm. Harris had been on the phone to Brett several times during the day and he had finally communicated the details of the rendezvous point in Al-Hasakah to Harris. The Peshmerga had contacted the Syrian Kurds, allowing safe passage. Now was the most difficult part.
Wait.
Amina had delayed going to the bathroom until she was ready to burst, and Harris was going that way too… They just needed a call from Henry and Wasim. Harris took some comfort from the fact that Commander Sanjabi had not called him. If the journey to the Syrian border had gone awry, he would have known by now. There had been no chatter or traffic on social media apart from the frenzied search for the three most wanted infidels. Harris was certain that IS would have advertised their success and paraded their prisoners on the media if they had succeeded in finding them. According to his calculation Henry, Wasim and Mattie should now be crossing into Syria.
Harris’s phone rang. He cast an eye to the display screen… Sir John was calling. Shit. He was not expecting this. He had still a few hours to go… Harris stood up. “I need the bathroom.”
Amina reached for her phone and picked up Harris’s line. “Good evening, sir. …Yes…” She nodded. “But he is not around.”
“… I don’t know where but will tell him you called… Certainly.” She put the phone down.
James smiled. “Did he buy it?”
“Not a bit of it.”
Harris came back. “Did he buy it?”
James smiled. “Not a bit of it.” He was checking the contents of his overnight bag. He would make his way to RAF Northolt in a short while. At 10pm Abu Maeraka was sitting there already, waiting to be transferred to Cyprus.
“Did he say it was urgent?”
“He did.” Amina shrugged. “But I’m sure he’d say that anyway.”
Harris mechanically picked up a piece of cold pizza and started to chew on it. It was greasy and rubbery but somehow it helped his deliberations. He wiped his greasy fingers on an old paper napkin. “Call me if anything happens.” Harris picked up his mobile and left.
Harris stepped into Sir John’s office without ceremony.
“I don’t want to know what you know,” was not the welcome Harris had expected.
He stood in front of The Chief’s desk, taken aback. “OK.”
“Colmore has been on my back through the Home Office. He wants to know who will be sent alongside the negotiator team to effect the exchange from our end.”
“Do we have to tell him?”
“He’s insisting. And I can’t say we haven’t decided. So… I need a name.”
Harris nodded. “James Radlett.”
Sir John blinked. “How long has he been with us?”
“He joined yesterday.” Harris felt the beginning of a smile spread across his cheeks.
“Ah well, an eternity.”
“But he was an intelligence officer before he decided to join the City.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Fifteen years ago.”
“Another eternity.” Sir John tapped his fingers on the desk. “Clearly you trust him.”
“He has already been invaluable.”
“Fine.”
Harris nodded. Another idea had been germinating in his mind and it had popped out perhaps at a decisive moment.
“Could I be hypothetical?”
Sir John eyed Harris. “Go ahead.” He sat back in his chair.
“We know the team which now includes Mattie Colmore is being hunted by IS.”
Sir John waved at him to carry on.
“Perhaps she could be part of the deal after all… with a conversation along these lines… We know you don’t have Mattie Colmore and the two other men who took her anymore. We know where they are and if you keep trying to find them, we won’t release Maeraka. We will let the jihadi community know you failed him.”
“In short, IS is losing face.”
“IS can always tell its followers they’ve killed the two men for all we care. With Mattie they can say it was part of the exchange after all, Mattie and the other woman they have selected without telling us.”
“That’s bold.” Sir John had dropped his head to one side.
Harris waited… it was bold indeed.
Sir John’s hands spread over his desk.
“Do it.”
* * *
The Jeep had crossed the main road and turned into yet another dirt track. Wasim was at the wheel, hands clenched at 10 and 2 o’clock. Henry was silent when he settled in the front passenger seat and he still had not spoken a word. Wasim occasionally glanced at him and Mattie wondered whether there was anything she could say that would unlock his numbness. Anything was better than this slow descent into hell.
Wasim slowed down to check his bearings were right. He grabbed the compass and orientated it. Soon they would start driving up another of those steep elevations to reach a small mountain top.
“We’re almost at Al-Hawl. From there I should be able to contact London.”
Henry’s face was still turned toward the window, looking into darkness and seeing only one image, that of Ali’s death.
“What you did was courageous.” There was a tremor in Wasim’s low voice. “It was.”
Henry’s body jerked forward. “Stop the car.” His voice almost inaudible.
Wasim looked at him.
“Stop the bloody car.”
Wasim slammed the brakes. Henry opened the door before the car had stopped. He swayed and almost tumbled when stepping outside, then moved a few more steps.
Collapsing onto his knees, he was sick, retching, his hands barely supporting him. Mattie got out of the car and walked slowly towards him, the way she might have approached a wounded animal. She reached for his shoulder. He shrugged but she kept her hand there, a light touch. “It was courageous.” She waited.
Henry sat back on his heels. Mattie handed him a bottle of water. He took a sip. He squeezed Mattie’s hand and stood up. “One day I will kill al-Haddawi.”
* * *
They had reached the small village of Al-Hawl. It had taken a steep drive along a ridge, on a track carved into the rock that could barely accommodate two cars passing. Henry kept checking for mobile reception, but the little bars had proved elusive. They suddenly jumped and wobbled on the screen when they reached the top of the hill. Wasim parked the car as soon as he could. He took the mobile from Henry and got out to make the call.
Henry seemed to have return
ed to his bubble of silence after stepping back into the car, only commenting once on the strength of the mobile signal. Mattie poked her face between the two seats and reached out for his hand. “I meant what I said to you.”
Henry let his head fall back against the headrest. He was trying to say something and yet it seemed beyond him.
“You know what they would have done.” Mattie squeezed his hand tight.
Henry squeezed her hand back. “I never thought.” His voice was broken. “I never imagined… I could take the life of someone…” He let go of Mattie’s hand and moved his hand over his eyes. “…of someone who…”
“Who was a good man?” Mattie completed his sentence. Henry opened the door and walked out again. He needed air.
Wasim was still talking to London. Henry breathed in deeply. The anger had been replaced by pain beyond what he had ever experienced. Yesterday had changed his life forever. And he was no longer certain that the change he had so wanted was worth the price.
Henry walked around the car and reached Wasim in a few steps. “I need to speak to Harris.” Wasim looked surprised but the steel in Henry’s eyes made him nod. He handed over the phone.
“Harris, Crowne here.” Henry’s voice was measured yet determined. “I presume the exchange is still happening?”
“Good. I’m going to be part of that.” Henry fingered the USB keys in his pocket. Harris was not happy with the idea. “You want the data I collected… you get me there. It’s early morning here and I have a few hours to reach Aleppo. I’ll expect James to meet me there.”
Henry killed the call, handed over the phone to Wasim and walked back to the car. Wasim started the engine. “What did Harris say?”
“It doesn’t matter. He’ll deliver.”
* * *
With Henry’s demand, Maeraka now had to be exchanged. Harris should have been furious at Crowne’s new-found assurance but he rather liked having to deliver Maeraka in return for another hostage. Time to let the fixer know. Harris savoured the idea. There would be no intermediary for this conversation…
“I know IS no longer has Mattie Colmore. I know IS has a bounty over three people of interest to the British, including Mattie Colmore. I know IS means to exchange another hostage for Maeraka.”
The fixer’s silence made Harris smile. The fixer had not been told.
“That is what will happen. IS calls off the hunt. I don’t care what crap they publish on their shit media about the two men. We exchange the other hostage for Maeraka. The official story is that Maeraka has been exchanged for Mattie Colmore. This is not negotiable. I will call you back in one hour.” The call ended. Harris was grinning. He was back in control.
* * *
There would be no escape on the next portion of the road, a sheer cliff on one side, a deep ravine on the other. As soon as they had left Al-Hawl, Henry had switched places with Wasim. The rendezvous point with Harris’s contact was on the outskirts of Al-Hasakah, an old petrol station, the first they would encounter. Wasim had been sent a picture of the place on the mobile. It was hard to miss. They made good progress and the map showed they would be over the Al-Hawl ridge and out in the open in a few minutes’ time. If there were any checkpoints, the end of the ridge would be an ideal place to stop vehicles. The beam of the headlights showed the stone face slowly losing its elevation. They drove past a strangely high walled construction partly carved into the rock that looked dark and asleep.
“We’re only 10 km away.” Wasim had folded the road map on his knees and from time to time checked progress with his torch.
“Six miles to the centre of Al-Hasakah or the rendezvous point?”
“The centre of Al-Hasakah…”
Henry nodded. The full moon and clear sky were helping them make out the terrain. A few constructions appeared along the road. Square, squat, flat-roofed houses that so characterised the Middle East. There wasn’t any light in any of the dwellings and for a moment this small part of Syria looked like any other country, fast asleep, making itself ready for another war-free day.
“Shit.” Wasim pointed out to a movement on his right. In the distance a beam of light was moving fast. Another car.
Henry killed the lights of the Jeep and reversed to the bunch of houses he had spotted a few moments ago. The Jeep wobbled when it entered the rough track that led to them. He stopped the car as close as he could to the first house. They all lowered themselves into their seats. The beam of light kept running along the road, towards them. It had slowed down gradually.
The car was now crawling along the road. The occupants must have spotted movement and were looking for its origin. The car stopped 200 yards from the small hamlet. Henry had drawn his gun. Wasim was slowly loading the rifle Kathoon had left for them.
“Any activity?” He had lodged a clip into the magazine holder.
“Nothing.” Henry’s head poked out a little, sheltered by the wheel. Wasim wound down his window slowly and placed the rifle in position, the long barrel resting on the window seal and the side mirror. He adjusted the rifle’s scope. “Two passengers and one driver.”
“What are they doing?”
“No movement.”
The car started moving slowly again. It crawled past the group of houses. Wasim moved the rifle around, training it on the car until it was out of his line of vision. Suddenly the vehicle sped away. Henry waited until the beams of its headlights had disappeared to put his Glock away. He started the engine again. Only five miles to survive.
* * *
Harris was speeding along the M40. He was only a mile from RAF Northolt station. He was joining the flight after all. The fixer had reported back and it seemed IS wanted Maeraka freed more than MI6 had anticipated. The flight was due to take off in 15 minutes. It could no longer be stopped. Harris would place the official call with Sir John, informing him that Mattie Colmore was with his team, only once airborne.
Harris arrived at the gate and presented his ID. The guards radioed in. “Better hurry, sir, the aircraft is about to depart.”
Harris drove into the complex at speed, parked the car near the hangar where he knew the aircraft would be leaving from… A young man in uniform greeted him and they both ran across the tarmac. The steps were about to be pulled up. “Wait… Wait.” Harris sprinted towards them. The cargo Airbus A400M back door dropped down again. Harris rushed in and the door closed right behind him. Harris took the first seat available and strapped himself in. The push of take-off moved him backwards into his seat. He loved that moment… diving into the thick of a mission…
Live.
* * *
The petrol station looked as old and worn out as it did on the picture. Henry stopped before going on the approach. It was 2.07am and all around stood still.
“I’ll go and check it out.” Wasim grabbed his gun.
Henry killed the headlights of the car and moved the Jeep slowly forward. He stopped 100 yards from the station. Wasim opened the door quietly and crouched until he reached the end of the bonnet. The walk to the main building was exposed. Wasim was about to dash towards the pumps when his mobile beeped. A text had just come in.
You have arrived. Flash your lights 3 times.
Wasim read the text back to Henry.
“I guess we’re going to find out quickly whether Harris’s plan has worked.”
Henry flashed the car’s lights as instructed. A car pulled out from behind the building and flashed its lights too. Two men stepped out of the car and waited. Henry moved the Jeep slowly towards them. They looked inconspicuous and ordinary. The man who advanced first towards the car was in jeans and wearing a leather jacket against the morning’s fresh breeze. Henry stopped the car and Wasim stepped out in turn.
“Salaam alaikum.” He walked towards Wasim. “I am Malek. MOTHER tells me you need help.”
“Alaikum as salaam. I’m glad
MOTHER has sent you.” They shook hands.
“This is Rami. We’ll take you to your next rendezvous point near the Turkish border.” Rami waved from inside the car and Malek walked back to it. He turned around. “After Al-Hasakah you are in deep Kurdish territory. IS will never dare venture there.” Malek grinned.
Wasim exchanged a few more words and came back to the Jeep.
Rami led the way onto the main road and they were off. He chose the ring road around Al-Hasakah, avoiding the city altogether, and both cars sped along Route 716, towards the border.
Mattie had said very little since she had spoken to Henry last. She looked at the two men in the front seats. They were so different. Wasim, calm, solid, respectful and yet uncompromising when the time came. Henry, a quicksilver mind, emotions raging inside and yet absolutely focused when he needed to be. She sat back and took a deep breath. She had never been on her guard and under threat for so long. And although she did not want to cry freedom too soon, she could feel that both men had relaxed somewhat.
“How did you meet Sliman?” Wasim glanced at Mattie in the rear-view mirror.
“I wanted to write an article on the Peshmerga after they were involved in some of the most important battles during the Iraq war. I discovered they had a unit of female fighters. At the time they were only used for support rather than on the battlefield, but these women were ready to fight. I spoke about that in my article. I knew that if given an opportunity they would fight as hard as the men did.”
“Did you stay a long time?”
“Almost six months, it was incredible.” Mattie had stuck her head between the two seats. “I arrived in November 2003 in Iraqi Kurdistan, in Erbil. In December 2003 the US forces with the help of the Peshmerga captured Saddam Hussein and in January 2004 they captured Hassan Guhl. At the time no one knew how important he was, but he turned out to be the Al-Qaeda source who helped track Bin Laden.”
“What about Sliman?” Henry had caught Mattie’s eye in the mirror. He looked tired but was enjoying her story, a way of discovering who she was beyond the articles she wrote.
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