3 Great Thrillers

by Churton, Alex; Churton, Toby; Locke, John; Lustbader, Eric van; van Lustbader, Eric

  Richmond reached for Norton’s M16. ‘Hayes! Grenade!’

  Hayes tossed Richmond a grenade. Richmond loaded it into the launcher on the underside of the M16, pressed the trigger and fired at the flashpoint.

  ‘Fuck it! Give me another!’

  Looking down, Ashe caught the flash of a mighty explosion as a huge cloud of smoke enveloped the cave entrance. ‘Shit! They’ve got a Fagot!’

  The 9K111-2 Fagot M-type was a Russian-made rocket launcher of deadly accuracy. As the smoke cleared, it was obvious things at the cave entrance were desperate. Hayes and Norton were dead. Richmond, shielded from the blast by the shattered door of the facility, was pinned down.

  Ashe checked the aiming projector sight on his MP5. Now the image intensifier and infra-red feature came into its own. He scoured the area from which the rocket had been fired. He could see it. He could see the emplacement.

  A burst of heavy machine-gun fire resounded across the gorge. The enemy quickly retaliated with another rocket. This too was accurate. The machine-gun fire ceased.

  Richmond knew that to move was certain death. He could only hope his men inside the cave complex had assessed the situation correctly and would not attempt to emerge from it. The enemy would be waiting for them.

  More heavy machine-gun fire spattered across the gorge, keeping Jolo’s men crouching in the undergrowth. Another grenade shot across the gorge, narrowly missing the enemy. Seconds ticked by.

  Ashe could see the best means of getting to the enemy was from above. He unstrapped his heavy pack, took out two stun grenades and hooked them to his vest, then got up out of the grass and ran as fast as he could round the edge of the lip until he was above the emplacement.

  An SAS sniper, biding his moment on the opposite side, saw what Ashe was trying to do and gave him pin-accurate covering fire.

  Ashe lay down, checking the viewfinder as his submachine gun dipped over the edge. Damn! He’d have to go down. Suddenly his legs became jelly, and dizziness swept over him. Bile rose into his throat, but he was already half over the edge, his boot dangling in search of a foothold. God! Please, a ridge! Just a fucking ridge. Anything! His foot found purchase; another foot, a hand. He slid down. He carried on sliding. He couldn’t stop. He’d had it. He couldn’t stop himself. Ashe kept sliding. He tumbled down hard onto the ridge, then rolled over into the gully. Two militants gripped a captured Minimi. In shocked surprise, they turned. The Minimi’s tripod was tangled up in camouflage netting. They panicked. Lying on his back, Ashe delivered fatal rounds into the faces and shoulders of the men.

  A great cheer swept across the gorge. Ashe had won his spurs all right. But would he ever have the greater courage to admit his victory had been a complete accident?

  102

  ‘Just getting a signal in from D Squadron, sir.’

  ‘Yes, Hadley?’

  ‘Retreating troops all Turkish SF, sir.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘They count twenty-five, sir. Can they ambush?’

  ‘No, Hadley, arrest and search. I want a video.’

  ‘Are we returning to RV, sir?’

  ‘We’re waiting here for the Chinook from Mosul to airlift casualties. Details to follow in forty-five minutes.’

  Richmond turned to Ashe, still elated after his narrow brush with death.

  ‘We’ve got some tidying up to do. Bury the enemy combatants. Clear the site of mines and booby traps. Record the scene. Gather evidence. Perhaps you’d like to interrogate your friends while we wait for the Chinook.’

  ‘Delighted.’

  Two figures emerged from what was left of the cave entrance, blindfolded, coughing and with their hands tied. They were forced to kneel at gunpoint. Ashe pulled off his turban, wiped his sore eyes with it and signalled for a soldier to remove the blindfolds.

  Sami al-Qasr, squinting in the dusk light, glimpsed Ashe and the enveloping chaos, then closed his streaming eyes, still coughing. Aslan inhaled and stared at Ashe.

  ‘Not exactly the Hemlock Club, is it Tobbi?’

  The figure kneeling before him in green battle jacket and cargo trousers was a hundred years away from the sensitive character with whom Ashe had shared wine in St James’s. Now he really looked like his name – Aslan: defiant as a lion. Ashe did not know whether to smile or scowl. Behind those bright, hard-soft eyes was a complex character beyond Ashe’s understanding.

  ‘A few questions, Colonel.’

  ‘First, Dr Ashe, before you congratulate yourselves on your professional heroics, you should know the full price of your victory.’ Aslan observed Ashe’s narrowing eyes. ‘Yes, Tobbi. Your decision to strike here today has blown to pieces the greatest opportunity the West has ever enjoyed of capturing, and delivering to justice, the fugitive Osama Bin Laden.’

  He paused for effect. ‘Is this not true, Sami?’

  Al-Qasr nodded.

  Ashe’s stomach wound itself into a knot. There was such a conviction in Aslan’s face and eyes that Ashe instinctively knew that this was no face-saving boast, no blind to shake off the shame of defeat.

  ‘Yes, Dr Ashe, it’s a real British victory for “Cool Britannia”. But it is not Trafalgar, Tobbi, and I am not your Napoleon. The fools have rushed in, yet again. You see, the thing about intelligence is, it has to be employed intelligently.’

  ‘Where is the Baba Sheykh?’

  ‘Safe in the cave. No need for alarm.’

  Ashe looked at Richmond’s blanched face. Richmond gave a slight nod.

  ‘Just where might we find Bin Laden, Colonel?’

  ‘You won’t. He’ll have sent an advance party to assess security. Who knows where he’s coming from. Soon, it’s going to be dark. You’ve missed the chance of a lifetime.’

  ‘I can alert satellite reconnaissance. Checkpoints. Reinforce border posts. How do we keep this from the Americans now?’

  ‘You’ll find a way, Major.’

  Richmond hurried into the gorge to find a signals operator.

  Ashe squatted down. ‘All right, Colonel. Explain.’

  ‘Would you mind untying my hands? It would help me unburden myself.’

  ‘Prove your innocence, Colonel.’

  ‘I will establish my innocence. It has not escaped me that the man who brings Bin Laden to justice will be richly rewarded. He will find a path to the very centre of power. Who would ever have thought that Turkey could – as you might say – bring home the bacon?’

  Ashe grimaced.

  ‘Not only that, Dr Ashe, but our good genius here, Sami al-Qasr, has formulated a weapon of such extraordinary and subtle potency that simply possessing it would mean a vast increase in respect accorded us. Even from those nations who have affected friendliness towards us. America, for example. The president speaks of a war on terrorism but treads softly with Kurdish rebels who’ve brought death and misery to my country.’

  Aslan glanced around the scene in the gorge.

  ‘I see you’ve killed my little private band of terrorist hunters.’

  ‘Everyone knows, Colonel, that the position of the PKK in Iraq is an anomaly.’

  ‘An anomaly to you, but an insult to those who believe in Turkey.’

  ‘What will Turkey’s having a DNA weapon prove?’

  ‘If nothing else, we should deny it to the Americans. Do something positive for the balance of power in the world. Turkey is the balancing point for peace around the globe. It always was. You see, Dr Ashe, my country has a destiny. It is not a pawn in the international game. We are finding ourselves again.’

  ‘Get to the point, Colonel. What about Bin Laden?’

  ‘I dreamt up a plan. In my grubby little office, in a not very inspiring quarter of Istanbul. With only a picture of Atatürk for company. From my work in Hakkari Province, during the war with the PKK.

  ‘From my good contacts in Israeli intelligence, and from my own operations elsewhere, I knew about Sami al-Qasr: Iraq’s lost genius. And I have also learned a great deal about the Yezidis. E
nough to regret many things I did when I was in eastern Turkey. My job was to lure Sami here out of his comfortable role as a CIA lackey in California, and get him to do something I knew burned in his heart. So I created a charming little al-Qaeda recruiting and information website. It was called… What was it called, Sami?’

  ‘The Daggers of Righteousness.’

  ‘That’s right. This was my creation – along with my good colleague, Ali, who is very skilled at the computing side of life. Daggers of Righteousness has hooked many into the cause of Bin Laden. Or rather, the cause of Aslan. This gory little website, packed with coded material, is the best counter-terrorism operation in the world today! Why? Because it is the bridge between many groups of al-Qaeda supporters and the leadership of al-Qaeda itself! My troops have been turned without even realising that they are working against their supposed masters!’

  ‘Brilliant, Mahmut. Worthy of you.’

  ‘Thank you, Tobbi. You are a good man, but still a beginner in the game. Now, I have played a waiting game, a careful game. To bag your prey you have to take infinite pains. You do not tell people, “I have lost patience with Saddam”, or al-Qaeda, or anyone like that. You never lose patience with your enemy. You must learn to love him in order to defeat him!

  ‘And so… whilst I covered my own tracks, this one here–’ he gestured to a surprised-looking Sami ‘–was encouraged to believe that Bin Laden was paying for a secret research facility in the Hakkari Mountains, created especially for him! And Osama, meanwhile, was given to believe that he and his colleagues could purchase a weapon here of such force that the mere threat of its use would get him almost whatever he wanted. It might be used, for example, to persuade General Musharraff in Pakistan to change his policies towards the United States. The weapon need never be actually employed. And if it ever was… Well, it’s very psychological. No blood. No scenes of railway station massacres. No grieving families. No burning skyscrapers. No headlines. Just a silent, painless defeat of… how can I put it? Expectation. Targeted precisely at the genetic pool of choice. Clans. Tribes. Musharraff’s family, for example. Or Bush’s. Or Blair’s. The new, subtle way of bringing your enemy to its knees.’

  Al-Qasr’s eyes lit up for the first time. Ashe immediately spotted the strange, telltale gleam of the blind idealist who has gone beyond himself, into the bottomless hinterland of egoistic fantasy.

  ‘This far from charming weapon was enough inducement to persuade Osama to pay us a call.’

  ‘The caves?’

  ‘His facility, Tobbi. This very evening! You see, you bloody fool, your timing could not have been more insane. Had you only waited till dawn, history would have been different. Now it is too late. Your actions here will have sent him rushing off at full speed to a fresh hiding place, right out of the country. I had him, Tobbi! Almost in my grip!’

  ‘Which direction was he coming from?’

  Aslan slowly shook his head. ‘You can forget it. You’ve missed your moment. Blown it, you might say. Take my word for it. He’s gone.’

  103

  Night was closing in. In the firelight, Ashe could see pain in Aslan’s eyes. Ashe knelt behind him and loosened his cords.

  ‘For God’s sake, Dr Ashe, untie it properly! You have your lost scientist. At least you can brag about that to the Americans. I’m not going anywhere. You’ve seen to that.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Colonel.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry. Destiny.’

  ‘Still a few things I don’t understand.’

  Aslan laughed. ‘A few things, Dr Ashe! You want to know about the Baba Sheykh. Let’s not beat about the bush. You know the genetic advantage held in the body of the sheykh.’

  ‘Took some finding.’

  ‘This was the key inducement to get al-Qasr to quit California. There was also the pressing fact that US and Israeli agents were closing in on his comfort zone. Al-Qasr had become a security risk. He was getting scared. He was even driven to do some very bad things to individuals who stood in his way. Weren’t you, Sami?’

  Al-Qasr shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘But what does death matter to an ambitious scientist? To turn the screw on Sami here, I lured the Baba Sheykh and his trusting protector to Hamburg. A safe house. I checked up on him, pretending my mission was an attempt to arrest Yildiz and Yazar. Ah! How destiny favours the prepared mind! What a stroke of luck, or fate, it was that Yildiz and Yazar were present at the Lodge the night of the bombing. That pair have been so useful. As my cloak!

  ‘And then, in the fullness of time, our ever-resourceful scientist “kidnaps” the sheykh. You must have thought you were brilliant, eh, Sami?’

  Al-Qasr nodded.

  ‘Yes, he kidnapped him all right. With agents provided by me! Right from under the noses of you and your American colleagues. And then Sami brings him right into my lap. All in one piece. Safe and sound, as you English say. Of course, it’s taken a short while for Sami to adjust his huge mind to dividing the spoils, but he is sensible enough to see the advantages in sharing his discoveries – not with al-Qaeda, but with a country that has a more golden future.’

  ‘Clever, Colonel. I’ve got to hand it to you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You obviously get your kicks from humiliating your friends.’

  ‘On the contrary, Tobbi. Is it humiliating to serve a higher purpose?’

  ‘And how did this higher purpose include bombing the Kartal Lodge?’

  ‘The attack on the Lodge at Kartal, Istanbul, was not my accomplishment. In fact, it nearly wrecked my plans!’

  ‘Who did do it then, Colonel? Who hit the Lodge?’

  ‘General Koglu, my highly decorated superior.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It had come to the general’s attention that a problem existed within a Lodge in Istanbul: a little Masonic lecture from the Baba Sheykh promised a lot of trouble. The English Grand Lodge warned of “consequences” if the speech was permitted. While the sheykh appeared all innocence, Koglu suspected devious motives. He naturally feared the speech could be inflammatory in our country. I wonder, Toby Ashe, if you understand just how inflammatory such a speech can be, and how divisive the question of Freemasonry has been in our country!’

  ‘I do have some idea.’

  ‘Then I give you another idea. Koglu. Koglu is an idea. He embodies an idea of my country. Koglu and men like him do not want publicity for Freemasonry. Nor do they want the world to know about the Yezidis or any other Kurds. In our country, most people, if they ever think about it at all, think Turkish Kurds who don’t accept they are Turks are, if not necessarily dangerous, a fussy lot. They attract too much attention to themselves, and should accept the facts of life – that being born in Turkey, they are Turks first and foremost. As for the Kurdish Yezidis in Iraq, they have always been seen as a nuisance. They will not conform. It is true that my country has not been kind to the Yezidis. I am not Koglu, Dr Ashe. Koglu hates Freemasonry. He hates Kurds. And he does not have a very high opinion of Jews.’

  ‘So what did Koglu do?’

  ‘He arranges a little exercise of his own. To accomplish it, he decides to use my resources. This is how I got to know of his plans.

  ‘Over the last few years, I have “turned” some of our own, homegrown Islamic militants to serve the state’s purposes. But though I say “turned”, they themselves do not know that their orders come from their enemies. They are still convinced they are fighting for the cause! You see, Ashe, it’s hard to find a traitor when the traitor is unaware that he is a traitor.

  ‘Koglu ordered me to release some of these agents of mine for his purposes. I was of course suspicious. Koglu planned to get them to kill the Baba Sheykh, and make a nasty, threatening scene at the Masonic Lodge – all of which he could then manipulate as propaganda. This explains the curious nature of the chaos that occurred that night. The terrorists turned up, could not find the Baba Sheykh – I had ensured he and the doctor quit Turkey of course – got confused, fir
ed a few shots, and then, apparently, blew themselves up! Which was fortunate, as I presume that in their anger and frustration at not finding their target, they were about to exceed their original instructions. Koglu had not fully realised he was playing with fire. Not all of my operatives can be described as “stable”. So, after that, it was even easier to say that this was an amateurish attack and of no concern to other countries. That was the story given to the public, more or less.

  ‘But even without murdering the sheykh, Koglu got pretty much what he wanted. He’s still pushing his secret and not so secret agenda of intensifying the observation of minority groups. He tried to persuade me to fabricate evidence against those he sees as enemies – putting me, I must say, in a very awkward position. Koglu hates a lot of things. And anything he hates is, by virtue of this, a mortal threat to Turkey’s future. And is that not your Chinook I can hear in the distance?’

  Ashe looked up into the blackening skies and listened for the Chinook. Feeling an extraordinary relief, he turned to Aslan.

  Aslan shuffled about painfully. ‘Would you mind if I got off my knees now, Dr Ashe?’

  ‘You can. But al-Qasr stays where he is. I’m afraid you’re staying in custody, Colonel. For all I know, everything you’ve just told me is bullshit.’

  Richmond returned to the cave entrance. ‘We’ll have the wounded out in no time, Toby. You can take yourself and your friends back to Mosul in the Chinook, if you like. The rest of us are pulling out and heading back to the RV. We still haven’t located your sheykh.’

  Aslan shrugged his shoulders.

  The Chinook hovered noisily over the gorge, its twin rotors creating storm-like waves among the bushes and trees along the ridges.

  ‘There’s something else you need to know, Tobbi. Thanks to my work here, I have some papers. When you know what they contain, you’ll see I have the interests of humanity at heart. And you will trust me.’

  ‘Don’t count on it.’

  Aslan reached for his breast pocket. Ashe pulled out his Browning and pointed it at Aslan’s head. ‘Slow down, Colonel.’