The Widow's Son

by Daniel Kemp

  It wasn't long before Liam took second place to an announcement on the CNN news channel. The US Agency for International Development (USAID) had awarded a multi-million-dollar restructuring contract to a company based in the Netherlands named Barrow & Martin Investment Group. I had researched this company before finding it to have several operational constituency elements involved in Eastern European emerging markets. Some were preparing feasibility studies on the privatisation of mining rights in Uzbekistan and others financing drilling operations in a region of the Caspian Sea. According to the news reporter, a part of Barrow & Martin's, calling itself B&M Regrowth had gained a reputation for doing economic project work in post-conflict regions of the Middle East. As its company emblem it had an eight-pointed red opened rose above a traditional four-pointed cardinal cross in gold and a four pointed ordinal cross in silver. It was an exact replica of Mayler's tattoo. Could there be a better day than Christmas Day to let slip a news bulletin that was anything but straightforward? I found the home telephone number of the Minister for Trade and Industry. Using the power of my official title and office I set him to work on running down all he could find on the company.

  Once again it was the sophistication of the AIS networks that Michael Simmons employed to locate Liam Catlin in a town not far from Al Hasakah, almost on top of the Iraqi border. According to the satellite overfly Michael ordered, several thousand heavily armed Kurdish warriors were amassed nearby with American artillery pieces and rocket launchers. On closer inspection of the photographs provided it was plainly evident they had surface-to-air capability. I passed on this information to the ninth floor at Vauxhall and to the CIA in Grosvenor Square in London, and to Langley in the US. I also notified Fraser by coded fax. Within minutes he was on the phone to me.

  “Can we get any intel out of Iraq regarding Razin's missing anthrax, Patrick? Once this intelligence gets to the Defence Staff and the PM they will want confirmation of that. I would like us to have it before the Americans. Did Fyodor have any idea where it might end up?”

  “No, none! The only place he knew of was where the Russian colonel should have been, in Dagestan. His son was killed in Kohe Belandtarin where there was a mujahideen presence. I had Hannah ferret around listings of mujahideen known to be in the area when that incident occurred and she found a group calling themselves the Hizbul Mujahideen now in northern Afghanistan. She sent that information to the American military who were supposed to have sent troops into the area with biological tracing equipment, but I've heard nothing back and my contact in the CIA won't say a word. I can't see the two hundred or so Hizbul Mujahideen carrying artillery shells filled with phosphorous and anthrax from Afghanistan to Iraq, can you, Fraser?”

  “No, I can't, laddie, but if this conspiracy goes as deep as you and I suspect then military air transport is not out of the question, is it? What about this supergun that Razin spoke of?”

  “There was no evidence on the probes we did.”

  “Have you added that to the signal you have sent to the PM, Patrick?”

  “I have, Fraser, but he asked for a breakdown on Iraqi nuclear potential and I told him the UN inspectors have not had full access to it and it cannot be completely surveyed from the air. He told me that wasn't good enough and he needed firm evidence of strike capabilities. I told him nothing of how we know there is an American Black-Ops agent there now and we know of a proposed landing by paratroopers near the end of March next year. Neither did I tell him of the December 22nd signal saying an Iraqi military base near Kirkuk has been neutralised. I can only assume it's referring to Iraqi retaliation when the nuclear power station is attacked. I've asked at the Ministry of Defence and they confirm it is possible to lay remote-time-controlled mines around a target to nullify it at a future date. Stars war to me, Fraser, but there we have it; no confirmation before March next year. I would be willing to bet that the reference in the second Gladio B file to the 19th Pathfinders on the 19th March is the date that the first high value targets will be acquired.”

  * * *

  I wished him and Molly the season's salutations and spoke briefly to Geraldine wishing her a happy future. I had never spent a Christmas Day on my own. In Ireland I may have been operating alone but had others closely around at all times. Here in lifeless Whitehall I was feeling lonely for the first time I could remember. Hannah was having Christmas lunch with her brother and sister, having left around ten that morning promising to return by six that night. That was hours away, as was the reservation for dinner I'd made for us at the Connaught Hotel at 8pm, a favoured haunt of the American secret brigade and in consequence attracting free-loaders.

  Chapter Thirty: Miller the Killer

  “Well, well, Patrick West, as I live and breathe! How are you, old man? I must say you are looking rather good for your age. Aren't you the same age as myself, fifty-two? Whatever line of work you're in it's positively keeping you in shape, West.”

  I recognised him as soon as we entered and wished I had booked somewhere else. If it wasn't Christmas night I would not have removed my coat, just turned away and walked on, but I had no choice if I wanted a hot meal. He had been at Oxford with me, studying the same subjects of analytical chemistry and the science of psychology. I had heard he was an expensive psychologist with a practice in Los Angles, California and another one in New York. At university he was a bore of outstanding proportions, but I'm ashamed to say he had something I had not, money, and that overcame my aversion to him. Along with other friends I attended his wedding reception some twenty-five years ago, and even allowing for plastic surgery along with pints of anti-aging serum, the woman at his table was far too young to be his wife.

  “Is this delightful lady your wife, West, because if so you have divine appreciation of the female of the species?” he drooled on.

  “She is a close friend, Malcolm, and if you'll excuse us we have a table in the corner. Good evening to you both.” I offered my hand across their table to his blonde, twenty-something attractive guest, with a strapless dress that revealed almost all of her ample bosom. She took my hand and I added, “Enjoy your meal,” just as I placed my hand in the small of Hannah's back inviting her to walk in front, but her feet were stuck to the carpet.

  “I think I've seen you on television?” Hannah announced to the blonde woman.

  “Most probably, yes,” she replied, “I'm Roxanne Miller of the infamous Miller the Killer chat show on morning television.”

  “Don't put yourself down so much, darling,” Malcolm Turnbull came to her aid. “Your show is not infamous at all, it's the opposite. The guest speakers tell their version of the truth and then you try to drag more out of them. It's highly entertaining with a really top-class A list. Have you seen it, West?” he asked.

  There was nowhere the three of us, plus my security detail, could stand other than to block the walk-through between the tables and as such we were impossible to ignore. Again I suggested we move, however this time the restaurant manager was beside me when I did and Hannah complied. I never answered his question.

  “What a polite man and an attractive woman. She looks as sexy in real life as she does on the TV. Have you not seen her before, Patrick?” Hannah quietly asked.

  I replied that I hadn't, and was addressing the wine waiter when a man dressed in a scruffy dark blue Barbour type jacket and wearing a grey and blue chequered flat cap entered the restaurant and made straight to the table where my two protection officers had sat. I saw them both put their hands to their handguns, loudly telling him to stop where he was. He did, by which time most heads were turned in his and their direction.

  The man stood with his hands in the air whilst one PPO searched him thoroughly and the other personal protection officer had his holstered gun exposed with his hand firmly on it. When they were happy that he wasn't dangerous to anyone they brought him over to our table. By now we had the whole restaurant diners enthralled.

  “I'm a cab driver, guv. That's my badge hanging round my neck. I
was on the rank at the Hilton when a guy gives me an envelope and says to bring it here and give to the two men sitting just inside the door. He added they will look like bouncers and I couldn't mistake them. He gave me fifty quid and said he'd know if I didn't do it.”

  I took the sealed envelope from him and passed it to Hannah who recognised the Egyptian Arabic on the envelope:

  27th December movement on Tiran Island. Look it up and keep watching.

  Look Within Yourself To Find The Truth.

  As the shaken taxi driver left I saw Roxanne Miller replace her mobile phone into her handbag. Although it was just another one of those coincidences in life that seem to be happening more and more, I thought the last number dialled would be worth a look. In spite of it not being her role nor had she trained for it, I asked Hannah to do her best to get a look at the phone. Immediately after placing her food order she left our table.

  “Have you got a second, Miss Miller? Only I would love to have a private word with you about that show of yours,” she said to Turnbull's guest on her way to the Ladies room. Ten minutes later she returned without the number.

  “She asked me who you were to have two bodyguards. She thought you were important and might be a drug dealer. I said I had no idea what you did for sure, but thought you were in property and you were just someone I'd met who treats me well. However, I said I knew Cherie Blair and I thought I might be able to get her to appear on her television show. I asked to use her phone and call her there and then, and ask. She flatly denied having a phone. But when we came in, and you and her companion were speaking, I saw her with one. I think we should call whoever is staffing the Hub and see if calls from here can be traced back. Worth a try I think, sir.”

  The Hub found the number Roxanne had dialled and it was being traced by Special Branch as Hannah told her that Cherie was on holiday until the latter part of January and suggested she make contact with her through her barristers' chambers in the Temple. Luckily, to save further embarrassment, Turnbull and Miller left with just a cursory wave in our direction. Once outside they were stopped and searched by armed police officers who found confirmation of Roxanne's called number on her phone. When questions were put to them both, it appeared that Roxanne had been asked by a former boyfriend to suggest that she and Turnbull eat at the Connaught that night because I had a booking there. Her former friend was an Egyptian businessman by the name of Zoser Antar. It was he who she telephoned from the restaurant. He was still at large by the time we returned to the apartment at the Foreign and Commonwealth building. The identity of whoever told Antar of my reservation was a mystery, as the knowledge of that was not secret within the secretaries' room at my Whitehall offices. That loose end needed to be looked into.

  Hannah and I spent the remainder of Christmas night making up for our day-long separation and for the inactivity of the night before. A fax arrived in the early hours from a police inspector at West End Central police station saying that a Thomas Maitland, a London taxi driver, had been questioned about delivering an envelope to the Connaught Hotel. The fax went on to say he had responded well with the facial composite, but although the man who hired him was Middle Eastern in appearance he had not recognise any photograph of the man Roxanne had named. A few minutes later I read another fax. An Egyptian by the name of Zoser Antar had been found dead in his apartment opposite Battersea Park. Apparently, the police were not looking for anyone in connection with this sudden death.

  * * *

  Tiran Island was in the middle of the Straits of Tiran, which connects the Red Sea to the Gulf of Aqaba giving access from Suez to the ports of Aqaba in Jordan and Eilat in Israel. The Israelis briefly took over the Island during the Suez Crisis and again from 1967 to 1982 following the Six-Day War. According to what I read the government of Saudi Arabia had made claims on the island but at present it was protected by military personnel from Egypt. What sort of movement would call for a message to be delivered in such a convoluted fashion?

  Fraser was awake and in his office when I rang well before breakfast on Boxing Day morning. When I told him of the incident in the Connaught he too was at a loss to explain it. He asked if anything had been flagged and I replied that it hadn't. I had been in touch with MI6 and even though they had skeleton staffing levels, their exhaustive search had found nothing more about Tiran Island other than what I'd found. All my contacts in America were of little use being beyond reach for the festive season. Downing Street was closed as far as returning signals were concerned and I was left floundering, wondering where to go for information. As a shot in the dark I called Robert Zaehner, the Doctor. It was three in the morning in New York but he was awake!

  “In 1981 Israel were in talks with the newly elected Egyptian president Hosni Mubarak over the Island. Anwar el-Sadat had just been assassinated and Egypt was thrown into political turmoil. I was heading up the small CIA station in Cairo and stayed there until '87. That was my last posting for the CIA. When I was recalled home I was offered a role on the quieter side of life in the National Security Agency. I took the job. Anyhow, Menachem Begin wanted rid of the island and Mubarak didn't want it back to pay for garrison troops on it forever. He sold it to the Saudis for oil, but soon enough the Saudis found out they had a bum steer. It was just somewhere their money melted away. They struck a deal and it's stood to this day. Good luck to them, I say. I've no idea why there's interest in it now, but it is in a handy place if you want to disrupt the sea traffic from the Red Sea up the Suez Canal and from the main ports of Jordan and Israel.”

  * * *

  Liam Catlin was found in Tartus, a city on the Mediterranean coast of Syria whose main claim to fame in all that was going on was that many centuries ago it was one of the last strongholds of the Knights Templar; one of the Masonic orders that Fraser belonged to. I woke Hannah.

  “Pack a bag, Hannah, and book two tickets to Damascus in Syria. We're going on holiday for a few days. I'll call the embassy and arrange to be met.”

  Chapter Thirty-One: Island of Tiran

  We arrived in the cold city of Damascus early on the morning of the 27th with as yet no sign of movement on the Island of Tiran, but that serenity did not last long. Liam was with the ambassador when we arrived at the embassy; he looked well but older than I imagined he should. We all exchanged the welcoming handshakes, comments on health and admiration of my travelling companion and after that it was down to business matters in the safe-room of the residency. I needed first to know about Narak Vanlian and his role in the drone strike.

  “Fraser gave Narak Vanlian and me the responsibly of raising a Kurdish resistance capable of withstanding a short but bloody battle with a disciplined, but disorganised and disheartened Iraqi army fleeing from an invading American and British force. Narak stayed in the region longer than I, teaching them radio procedures in their own coding. We had the weapons shipped in from Turkey, most via Ratcliffe's Venery Ltd but some through an Israeli company registered in Eilat. Narak never told me of a drone and catapult launcher nor the transport, Patrick. I'm blind on that one and I've no idea of what was behind it.”

  Unless he had metamorphosed into Richard Nixon declaring I'm not a crook, when out of my sight, I believed he had no knowledge of Vanlian and the drone strike. I did not interrupt him.

  “Our initial plan was that the Kurds would be split into two groups by March next year, one to assemble north near al-Malikiyah for a combined attack on Mosel alongside a US parachute regiment, and the second to assemble in the desert area of Ar Rutba on the highway into Bagdad. It's along that route they will form a barrier against retreating Iraqis, holding them until the Mosel grouping arrived. It's going to be a slaughter, Patrick, but I guess that's what the coalition will want.”

  “Was it Fraser who told you all of this, Liam, and if so, when?”

  “The foundations were laid a long time ago, Patrick. Over ten years I reckon. But we met in the middle of last year in London, when he spelled out the big picture to me as he called it. Age
ncies within the US would invade Iraq on the march to bag all the oil in the Middle East. Those were the words he used before he added that Great Britain needed to have a say in who was to control the oil if only to nullify the American use of excess force.”

  I was thinking about that answer and how far Fraser would go in his reaction to a situation that would require delicate manipulation when Hannah read aloud an incoming signal.

  Chair Joint Intelligence Committee:

  Island of Tiran taken unopposed by small unnamed forces 09:56 GMT 27/12/02. Occupying garrison withdrawn towards the Red Sea. No reported casualties. Purpose of occupation unknown. See attached images.

  The satellite photographs showed a dignified exchange between the occupying Egyptian officer in charge of the eighteen army personnel and nine naval officers and the commander of the seizing group of eleven men wearing different coloured keffiahs and black and white thawbs. After a few formal salutes the twenty-seven military officers who formed the garrison on the island took to the two attack boats flying the Egyptian flag and made off towards the Royal Saudi Naval Western Fleet in the Red Sea. By way of standing protocol the Foreign and Commonwealth Office in Whitehall had notification of the same signal I'd received, and it was a message from them that Hannah summarised.