Spy Shadows

by Freddie P Peters

  Henry walked out of Al-Madina Souq. The driver was waiting in an unremarkable black Citroen. “Salaam alaikum.” Henry got in and sat down.

  Maeraka stumbled out and was pushed into a black SUV.

  “Follow that car.” The driver obeyed. He had been paid handsomely for his service.

  The SUV immediately turned right and left into the back streets and small lanes of central Aleppo. The taxi driver was doing well, not driving too close and yet never losing them. The SUV turned into a large avenue. Road signs indicated the exit to the M4.

  “They are going straight to the M4.” Henry relayed to James. The SUV turned again into a side street and dived into an area that started to look different. The old architecture and elegant constructions were gradually replaced by older, cheaper houses. The people looked different too. More men dressed in long white robes, women in full niqab.

  The SUV slowed down and prepared to cross yet another road. The driver gave Henry a worried look. “Too dangerous?” Henry asked in Arabic. The driver nodded. “I’ll drive. Let me have the car.” The driver opened his door and Henry took his place. He sped across the road and delved into a maze of smaller streets. The SUV had slowed down. Its occupants must have now felt in more secure territory.

  “Where are we?” Henry asked James. “We’ve just stopped.”

  “You’re in the middle of an area that does not seem to have any particular name, but you are 15 minutes’ drive from the M4.”

  Henry drove past the stopped SUV, turned right into the next street and parked the taxi. His jeans and shirt had been a good idea in Al-Madina; he did not look very convincing in this Salafist neighbourhood, but it would have to do. He left the car, retraced his steps and risked a glance at the corner of the street where the SUV had stopped. The doors of the SUV were open. Maeraka had already been moved inside one of the houses. Henry pulled back and checked the back of the properties; a small passageway, long and narrow, meandered there. Two men came out of a house and stared at him. He returned their stare without flinching and they carried on.

  “I’m moving into a small lane at the back of the property in which they have taken Maeraka.”

  “We’re getting close to the max range of the beetle.” James was on the move. “I’m walking onto the street to increase the range.”

  Henry heard a dull hum. The little bug had just flown into the lane. It landed onto one of the houses’ window sills. Henry had pushed his body into a doorway, listening for clues. He stopped. James flew the beetle higher into the passageway. “One further house to your left.”

  The bug landed on another window sill, sending images of a light coming on in a room and a man entering. He undressed and changed into the clothes that had been prepared for him.

  “You’re there.”

  Henry looked at the wall that shielded an inner courtyard from the lane. He found a few rough and displaced bricks and pushed himself alongside the wall. He softly rolled over onto the other side and crouched, looking out for any activity. The smell of cooking and coffee told him the place was lived in. Henry took his gun and held it low. He reached into his rucksack and fitted the silencer James had brought with this new piece. He took out two extra magazines and placed one in each pocket. He checked the door. It was not locked. Henry nudged the door open and heard voices. He let the door close softly. They were walking upstairs. He waited.

  The voice he wanted to hear finally came from the top of the stairwell. Al-Haddawi was claiming victory for the release of Maeraka. The tall shadow of the man moved down the stairs until he appeared in the hallway. He greeted Maeraka with a brotherly embrace that was too effusive to be real. Henry squeezed his body against the wall and took aim through the crack of the door, but the angle was not right. He could hear that another car was arriving in a short while to take them away from Aleppo. Al-Haddawi moved into the ground floor room. Henry followed the wall to a window. The glass was old and cloudy. It was hard to get a clear picture of what was happening inside the room. The two men had sat down where a couple of low sofas had been arranged. Maeraka was facing the window. He looked so different to what Henry remembered. Older, frailer; HSU Belmarsh had taken its toll.

  Al-Haddawi had asked for some tea; a young man brought two cups and left. Henry returned to the door. Someone else had come down the stairs. The car had arrived to take Maeraka away. In a moment al-Haddawi would disappear too. Henry looked around, grabbed an old bench that looked sturdy enough and placed it at an angle against the door. It would not hold for long, but it would be enough.

  Al-Haddawi stood up and Maeraka followed, then left the room first. Henry would have happily gunned them both down, but he had to choose. He also wanted to savour the moment when al-Haddawi would recognise him and for that he needed him alone.

  That moment is now. The window is slim enough to succumb to a well-placed kick. Henry clings to the upper ledge and his boot crashes through the centre of the frame. Splinters of wood and shards of glass fly into the room. Henry effortlessly slides into it, with a feline and lethal agility. He trains his gun on al-Haddawi. The man drops his tea. He looks for where his gun should have been, but it is not there. Careless or too confident.

  The surprise in his eyes gives way to fury when he recognises Henry.

  He lunges forward. Allahu akbar he forgets to cry.

  The first salvo hits him in the chest, stopping his advance. The second is a clear head shot.

  Already people are coming downstairs. Henry jumps out of the window, runs through the yard and climbs over the wall. Men run into the room, on his tail. He doesn’t look back but hears the discharge of a gun. He comes to the end of the alleyway, dives into the taxi he has parked. Someone bursts out of the small passageway. Henry floors the accelerator and turns right. The shots that he hears miss their target.

  He doesn’t stop at any major junction, creating a flurry of car horns. The car keeps going until it reaches the Red Gate. A black SUV is waiting. James opens the door. Henry abandons the car in the middle of road and jumps in.

  It is done.

  * * *

  The hot water was running on his back, loosening the muscles knotted by two days without sleep. Henry lathered his body, shampooed his hair, but before that he had shaved his beard. His face looked a little odd, tanned and weatherbeaten on the upper part, pale and angry on the lower. Henry finally turned the taps off, grabbed the large towel on the rail and dried himself methodically. The bedroom had been simply furnished but it was comfortable. He would leave Akrotiri base shortly for an undisclosed destination. Henry found a pile of fresh clothes on his bed, a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt and comfortable boating shoes. He had just put on his jeans when he heard a knock at the door. He downed his T-shirt quickly and opened. He took a moment to recognise her. Mattie had transformed herself too. Pair of tight jeans, fitted T-shirt, sports shoes… still, the same tomboyish look. The scar looked angrier or perhaps her rested face made it look more so.

  She stepped into Henry’s room and let her face fall against his chest.

  “You made it.”

  Henry pushed the door shut. He loosely wrapped one arm around her waist, breathing in her scent. “I thought… you would have gone by now,” he whispered.

  “I needed to speak to Harris… about the story in the press and also…” She closed her arms around his body, pressing hers against him.

  Henry pulled back a little, just enough so he could see her face. He traced the line of the scar on her cheek and smiled. Mattie let her cheek rest gently in his palm. “…and also I wanted to see you.”

  “What are you going to do?” Henry drew her closer again.

  “My plane leaves in three hours’ time.” Mattie moved her hands gently underneath his T-shirt and ran her fingers over his back.

  Henry brought his lips to her neck. “Let’s not lose one more second then.”

  * *
*

  Henry had expected a plane ride to one of the debriefing sites he had been told about but instead he took a short helicopter ride across the ocean from Akrotiri. He guessed the recuperating site was in Crete, but he had not been told and he didn’t care. He had been given time to adjust and time to debrief MI6 about what he had seen, the contents of the USB keys he had brought back and the photos Wasim had sent to MOTHER. He still could not speak about what he had seen in Raqqa and Mosul without anger and dread. But the weeks of rest had started to have an effect. Harris had discussed with him a new operation, codename SHADER, a systematic bombing campaign against IS positions and oil production sites in Syria and Iraq. It had started bearing fruit and IS was losing territory.

  Henry’s minders did not have a name, but he rather liked calling the two men by their codenames… Tom and Jerry sounded perfectly fine. A couple of months ago Jerry had brought back from the UK a thick file that Harris had sent him. Henry had now read it several times. He liked its contents. His new legend was turning his past into a distant memory. Henry stretched. He poured a little more coffee into both cups and grabbed the file again.

  “Tom tells me you’ve memorised all the details.” Harris had picked up his fresh cup and waited.

  “Another couple of weeks and I’ll be ready.”

  “Good.” Harris sat back and took a sip. “We’ve worked on your legend in the country you’re travelling to. We’ll set up a four-week inception phase… then you engage.”

  Acknowledgements

  Yet again another team effort to bring this book about… Thank you to the friends and professionals who have so kindly supported me.

  Cressida Downing, my editor, for her no-nonsense approach and relentless enthusiasm for books… mine in particular, Jessica Bell for designing a super new cover and my production team with new names and old friends Sarah Woodcock, Andrew Chapman, Aimee Dewar and Helen Kavanagh. Helena Halme, an author in her own right, for giving me expert advice in marketing my books.

  To the friends who have patiently read, re-read and advised: Helen Janecek, Susan Rosenberg, Kate Burton, Bernard McGuigan, Alison Thorne, Elisabeth Gaunt, Anthea Tinker, Geraldine Kelly, Malcolm Fortune, Tim Watts, Gaye Murdock, Kathy Vanderhook, Kat Clarke.

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you have enjoyed reading Spy Shadows as much as I have enjoyed writing it… perhaps I can now ask for a small favour? Please take a few minutes to write a review. Thank you so very much!

  If you would like to find out more about the genesis of SPY SHADOWS or receive information about the next books in the series, please join Freddie’s book club. Go to www.freddieppeters.com where you can also find a Glossary of terms and abbreviations.

  Looking forward to connecting with you…

  Freddie

  In a secret British Intelligence Services’ location, on one of the Mediterranean islands, Henry Crowne is preparing himself for another high-octane MI6 operation. His Legend is in place. He is the only man who can play the game… or can he?

  You’ll find out more about Henry’s next mission in 2021.

  ––––––

  And for those of you who have missed Nancy Wu and Inspector Jonathan Pole, keep an eye for their next crime-solving adventure, Blood Dragon

  Her father disappeared 30 years ago in Beijing, Nancy now seeks to discover what happened to him. But as she reconnects with her past, people around her are starting to get hurt. How much will she sacrifice to find out the truth?

  Blood Dragon is coming out in Winter 2021.