by Merle Nygate
‘Thanks,’ Petra said. ‘I’ll get Sahar back to the school and make sure she’s settled. If she is all right, then I can come back and get you and Rod.’
‘That would be terribly kind,’ Deanna said.
Now that Petra had the keys she was keen to get away but Deanna was expounding with the conviction of a drunk. She put her hand on Petra’s forearm. ‘The student must come first; that’s what I promise the parents and that’s what we deliver. And, Petra, we cannot complain; we’ve been so lucky with this group – no upsets, no drugs. One has to be so careful. I didn’t tell you what happened when we checked the references of that other chap who applied for the job at the same time as you. Shocking, absolutely shocking. He was some sort of pervert.’
Petra looked overhead as a flight display trailed red smoke. ‘I’ve got to get back to the St John tent.’
‘I’m terribly grateful for your help Petra. Oh, Andrew, how lovely – you’re spoiling me.’
Andrew, the man in tweed, had returned, not just with a glass but a bottle.
‘Andrew, allow me to introduce you to Petra. She’s my most trusted teacher, my secret weapon.’
‘Delighted to meet you, shall I get another glass?’
‘I’m afraid I’m on duty,’ Petra said striding away.
Now, all she had to do was get the girl. It took Petra another seven minutes to reach the stalls where she’d left Sahar. The area was now crowded with shoppers so she was forced to slow her pace as she passed a stall selling NASA mugs and air force memorabilia from the Second World War. Next to it was a stand that only sold flying jackets. People were spilling out on to the space in between the stalls, trying on jackets, posing in front of a mirror, taking pictures. Petra pushed her way around them until she reached the end of the row; the retro hat stall where she’d left the girl.
Drawing closer, Petra squinted, trying to see Sahar who would surely be on the lookout for her. Perhaps she was deeper, perhaps she was inside the stall. Maybe the girl had been far-sighted enough to take herself to the darkest corner of the stall.
Yet as she reached the stall, before she peered into the back, and even ahead of stepping inside of the murk and gloom of the hat stall, Petra already knew; the girl wasn’t there.
Turning on her toes and ignoring the stall-holder’s question as to whether she was looking for anything special, Petra walked out on to the main concourse. Here, crowds of people were walking from one end of the site to the other. Petra looked up and down, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl among the bobbing heads of the mass. Desperate, Petra felt in her pocket for her school phone to see if there was a message from Sahar; a text to say she was somewhere else; somewhere safer. But as she keyed in the numeric password, she knew that there would be nothing.
Petra stood on the spot, not knowing what to do or where to go. For no logical reason she checked the work phone; the one the bastards had given her. Here, there was one message. From Rafi. No words, just an emoji winking.
61
RAF Fairborough, Oxfordshire – Three Minutes Later
Eli walked a few paces in front of the girl to give himself some cover so he could mutter into his microphone. Overhead the Red Arrows screamed through the sky leaving a trail of red, white and blue; the fly past was accompanied by a booming commentary and the combined decibels were playing havoc not only with comms but also Eli’s own hearing. He pressed his earpiece into his ear to try to shut out the racket and kept his message short.
‘Zero Seven approaching 258 with SB.’
As he drew closer to their stallholder’s caravan, Eli felt his heart rate slow and spirits lighten. Once Sweetbait had the belt around her waist and was headed in the direction where Special Branch were waiting, they’d be on the home run.
The squad would remove all traces of their presence and like ghosts at dawn they would slip away from the Tattoo as if they’d never been there.
Next – within days, if not hours – they would be summoned by Milne. Eli pondered where the audience would take place; it would need to be somewhere appropriate; somewhere where the MI6 man – on behalf of Her Majesty’s Government – could express his grateful thanks for their discreet and effective help with a potential terrorist threat. In return, they would receive the prize: the raw data from the Qatar Embassy RAT. Job done. Operation Sweetbait would be good for Eli; good for Mossad, good for Israel and long term, good for the region.
Step by step they crossed the grass towards the camping ground where the trade exhibitors had set up their motorhomes and caravans. As they drew closer to a big caravan, Eli glanced behind to make sure that Sweetbait was keeping up with him.
‘Be strong, habibti,’ Eli said.
‘I follow you with joy,’ the girl said.
Ahead Eli saw the caravan with its half-open window and half-drawn curtain on the right. This indicated the all-clear. He slowed to allow the girl to catch up and they were jostled by a stallholder coming in the other direction, ‘Great crowd today,’ the bleached blonde woman said. ‘Don’t remember when we’ve had such a good morning. Second time we’ve restocked.’ She was carrying a black plastic bag that bulged in different directions. She gestured upwards, ‘Gotta be the weather. You?’
‘Very good,’ Eli bent his head away from her.
Satisfied, she shifted back towards the grounds.
Indeed, the sky was clear and there was a break in the display and the incessant commentary. This meant that the crowds would be lowering their gaze from the heavens and seeing where they could eat and what they could buy. The timing was perfect.
Eli reached the aluminium fold-down steps of the caravan and rapped.
‘Who is it?’ the voice said in English.
Standard procedure. Never open any door without asking who is on the other side even if there is a camera.
‘Beloved of the Lord,’ Eli said.
The door opened out and Eli stood aside so that Sweetbait could go first. Her hand trembled and he reached out to guide her up the steps. Standing at the door was Niorah; she was smiling with warmth and respect.
Perfect choice. Niorah was much in demand throughout the organisation; it had been hard to prise her away from other operations but Yuval had insisted. It was even better that Sweetbait seemed to recognise Niorah as the girl who had helped with the clothes swap after she was picked up from the airport.
‘Welcome,’ Niorah said in English. ’I am honoured to be able to assist you again.’ She bowed in deference to the shaheeda.
As soon as she was inside the caravan, Eli climbed the stairs and looked around. At the small table there was an unwelcome sight: Rafi. Spread out, with the big black sports bag on the table in front of him; he was fiddling with his phone.
Rafi put the phone away and stood up and bent so as not to hit his head on the low ceiling. For the occasion, he had covered his head with a taqyiah and with his black beard, he looked the part. Uncoiling himself from the small seat, he came out and bowed towards Sweetbait with deference and solemnity.
‘Blessings be with you shaheeda,’ he said. ‘I am honoured.’
Eli glanced around. The room dressing was good. At one end of the caravan they’d set up prayer mats; light from the Perspex window shed a shaft across the rich red pattern. For any weary soul it would be a welcome spot to rest and pray.
Gently and with respect, Niorah guided Sweetbait towards the small shower cubicle where the girl would bathe before prayers and before she put on the belt. With soft words Niorah moved the girl step by step to the other end of the caravan.
When the door was safely shut behind and he could hear the spattering sound of the shower and the whine of the pump, Eli glared at Rafi. He hissed, in English, just to be safe, ‘Where is Trainer? You were supposed to find her and contain her.’
‘Relax, she’s got the second surveillance team on her tail.’ Rafi tapped his ear to indicate the microphone. ‘Resourceful as ever, she phoned the school owner, said the girl had been in an accident a
nd asked to borrow their car. She got the key, went back to the stall.’ He looked at his watch. ‘And she’s just realised the girl’s gone.’
‘Go and intercept her,’ Eli said.
‘I can’t. I need to fit the belt. It’s really delicate, Eli. Why don’t we just tell the surveillance team to grab Trainer?’
Beyond the curtain that divided the caravan Eli heard the door to the shower cubicle open followed by the hushed voices of the women. Eli switched to Arabic and recited the Fatihah, the first chapter of the Quran.
From the rustling and murmurs behind the curtain, Niorah was helping Sahar dress in the white abaya.
There was nothing else for it. After prayers, Eli would have to leave Rafi and Niorah to fit the belt. And also leave Rafi to guide Sweetbait in the direction of the hospitality tents where she’d be arrested.
It would be Eli’s task to convince Trainer that although she might not have been told everything, there were good reasons and, most importantly, it was for the greater good.
Above the caravan there was the scream of a jet fighter ripping the air. Eli flinched at the noise. At the same moment, Niorah drew back the curtain and Sahar stood before them in her abaya. Another time and place she would have looked like a communion bride of God. Eli swallowed and donned the taqyiah he had in his pocket. He stepped towards the girl. ‘It is an honour to pray with you, shaheeda.’
Eli led the prayers. He found it oddly soothing to mouth the words of respect to Allah. It was meditative and gave him the chance to detach from the maelstrom of the operation. It was like being in the eye of a storm. Forehead to the carpet, he turned to his right and opened an eye; Rafi was deep in prayer; he looked like an old picture Eli had seen of a family of Sephardi Jews from Turkey; he had the strong profile, the dark eyes. And the devotion of a believer. Eli would never understand that guy. A self-serving adulterer, yet a patriot. An uncultured oaf, yet a sophisticated spy. And, it seemed to Eli as he watched Rafi at prayer, in some way that Eli didn’t understand at all, Rafi was devout.
Prayers over, Eli held his hands a few centimetres above Sahar’s head and blessed her.
‘And now, shahida, I entrust you to Abu Shemon’s care; he is a fellow warrior; he will assist with the belt and guide you in the direction of the sacred point. There he will give you final instructions and leave you. Allah will bless you and take you swiftly to his arms.’
Eli turned quickly and stepped out of the caravan. Even though he knew that the girl was not going to blow herself up and in twenty minutes would be on her way to be interrogated, he still didn’t want to meet her eyes. As he walked towards the grounds and the Techno Zone where he was going to intercept Trainer, he wondered why it was so hard for him to look at the girl. Perhaps it was because there was something particularly obscene about committing suicide for a religious or political cause.
Anyway, at least he’d be able to assure Trainer that this wasn’t going to happen today.
62
RAF Fairborough, Oxfordshire – Five Minutes Later
Another motorbike trip: Segev dropped off Eli at the Blue Entrance to the Air Tattoo. The second surveillance team had texted Eli the coordinates of Petra’s phone; she was now walking along the main concourse between the RAF Village and the Autodrome; no doubt looking for the girl. Fortunately, her pace had slowed; fortunate because Eli didn’t much feel like jogging.
Overhead, a display of US helicopter troopships flew in formation pounding the air with their blades; ugly and mighty. Nearby some school kids clamped their hands over their ears in a pathetic attempt at shutting out some of the decibels. Eli walked past aircrew, members of the display teams, swaggering in their overalls. That same swagger; that same look; Eli remembered it from the anniversary paratrooper jumps. All the old guys coming out of their hardware shops and law firms; their vegetable plots and their banks; for one more jump, just like the old days. Same swagger, the whole world over; same swagger of the big swinging dicks.
Halfway down the main concourse Eli saw a sign for the Techno Zone – simultaneously the GPS in his pocket buzzed; Trainer was close. Pushing open the door of the temporary construction, Eli felt the give of portable flooring laid over the grass. The place was packed and Eli was jostled as he stepped inside. The Techno Zone was an education centre with different stalls and demonstrations; kids milled around at the Boeing stand and on the Rolls-Royce stand a man in overalls was showing a group around the full-size jet engines.
Eli’s earpiece crackled into life, ‘Zero Seven, T1 is at your location.’
‘Roger, heading in the direction,’ Eli said.
He saw Petra before the surveillance team had given him a firm fix. She was standing next to a girl with wild dark hair and even wilder eyes. The girl was talking with great animation, waving hands and tossing her hair.
Petra was nodding, unable to interject and when the girl’s face crumpled into tears, Petra held the girl by the shoulders to steady her. She herself looked drained; her eyes darting over the girl’s shoulders and as she scanned the crowd her gaze fell on Eli.
He raised his hand to his forehead in mock salute and smiled.
Irritating and indeed dangerous though her actions had been, she was acting out of the best intentions. Having got Petra’s attention he nodded in the direction of the main door, tapped on his watch and held up his palm with five outstretched fingers. Five minutes.
She nodded. She also scowled her agreement. He couldn’t blame her for that either.
Confident that she would follow him out of the area, Eli walked towards the main door. There was enough time for him to put her right as to the operation and get her back on board before Sweetbait’s arrest. He respected Trainer. It was a difficult situation for her exacerbated by Rafi using his so-called connection with her; these things always ended badly. Yet once Trainer was back in the box, Eli would be free to find a good observation point to watch the MI5 people do their job.
So far the British security had kept their presence well concealed. They weren’t clod-hopping all over the place in any obvious way; they obviously knew their stuff.
Standing outside the Techno Zone, Eli scanned the crowd to see if he could spot any MI5 or Special Branch guys doing the circuit while he waited for Petra to emerge.
‘Benny?’ A voice said behind him. ‘My avenging angel? Is it really you?’
Eli swivelled round to where the voice was coming from; that languorous familiar voice.
‘My good man, I’m delighted to see you but...’ Red Cap was holding out his hand to shake Eli’s. He was smiling. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’ Red Cap said.
63
Techno Zone, RAF Fairborough – Three Minutes Later
‘Aneeta, listen to me for a moment, please,’ Petra said. In front of her the girl’s face was ugly with anguish.
‘I understand this is difficult –’ Petra began.
‘Not difficult, no, not difficult. Bad. Very bad. I love Sergei and no Sergei, my life – finish.’
‘Shut up and listen to me – this is important. Have you seen Sahar?’
‘I love him,’ Aneeta said.
‘I need to find Sahar. It’s important – DO YOU UNDERSTAND? Have you seen her?’
Aneeta wasn’t listening. Petra had a déjà vu moment of realising how surreal this situation was. It wasn’t the first time that real life had spilled over into an operation. Alon called it the alternative reality moment when operational black holes opened up and stories entangled missions in grisly webs.
Petra needed to plug this particular black hole as fast as possible. She continued to hold the girl’s shoulder, hoping that steady and calm pressure might bring her down. ‘Forget about Sergei, he loves you. Do you understand?’
Something seemed to have penetrated the wall of outrage. Her face relaxed. Petra became aware her throat was aching; she had been shouting over the noise of machinery demonstrations, children’s clattering and the hubbub of the show.
‘I h
ave not see Sahar after we are off the bus,’ Aneeta said.
‘Okay. Right, there’s a coffee place at the end of the tent. Go there, sit down, and keep phoning Sahar and sending her text messages. If you see her, keep her with you, make her stay with you and call me. Okay? It’s important, really important.’
Petra’s reward was a teary smile but she couldn’t relish it because she was already striding towards the exit.
64
Techno Zone, RAF Fairborough – The Same Time
‘What am I doing here?’ Eli said. ‘What are you doing here, Derek? You look well.’
For once Eli wasn’t lying. Red Cap was wearing an obviously new jacket and a clean shirt. His eyes weren’t puffy and yellow and his hair wasn’t greasy and long; the agent looked ten years younger.
‘Have you been to a spa or something?’ Eli said.
‘Something,’ Red Cap looked at his watch and then at the door. ‘Dammit, I’ve got to get back to the desk, I’m already late.’
‘Desk?’
Red Cap rolled his eyes with rueful embarrassment. ‘I’m on the GCHQ education desk... I have a champion in HR.’
Eli ran his eyes over the new outfit, ‘Looks like more than a champion to me. Lady is she? Just a guess.’
‘She’s just a friend. I’m on half-day compassionate leave for another three weeks and she got me this gig on the education desk. Kids come up and we give them GCHQ quizzes so they get a taste of cyber security.’
‘Cute,’ Eli said.
‘And I don’t want to let her down. It’s not a romance but she’s stuck her neck out for me. Are you around later?’ Red Cap said.
‘No,’ Eli said. ‘Today I am not here.’
‘Understood... Listen. This... this seeing you is serendipity. I wanted to thank you for that night, for listening. I was angry and I still am; but I knew when I married Carole; I suppose I always knew it. And now I’m feeling... well, I’m not feeling paranoid for one thing. I’ve stopped imagining I’m being followed. My friend in HR has a lot to do with it.’