‘The captain and crew have been taken by helicopter to Algeciras where they have been admitted to hospital uninjured, but suffering from shock. The Princess Bouchra sank immediately. It is believed that four members of the Saudi royal family were on board, two with government portfolios and two provincial governors. We are still awaiting confirmation of their names.’
Zap.
‘The suicide bomber, who has been named as Yousef Daoudi, is believed to have set off from the coastal town of Mertil, about ten kilometres from the northern Moroccan town of Tetouan.’
Zap.
‘The explosion was first reported by the captain of a gas tanker called the Iñigo Tapias at eight forty-two. The position was confirmed later by the coastguard just out of the Straits of Gibraltar, about forty-three kilometres due east of La Línea. It is believed that there were no survivors.’
Encarnación, his housekeeper, appeared at the door of his study.
‘What's going on, Javier?’
‘Just trying to get some news.’
‘The ship that blew up off the Costa del Sol?’ said Encarnación, crossing herself. ‘They said on Ondacero that it was al-Qaeda.’
That gave him the idea to try the Al Jazeera channel. Encarnación handed him the post she'd picked up by the front door.
‘A crew member of the dry cargo vessel, which picked up the survivors of the Princess Bouchra, said that he saw the power boat take aim at the luxury cruiser and hit her amidships. There was an explosion, a massive ball of flame and the Princess Bouchra broke in two and sank immediately. We are still trying to get confirmation who was aboard the vessel. It is believed that there were six members of the Saudi royal family, who were travelling from Tangier to Marbella. A Moroccan-based terrorist organization called the GICM – the Moroccan Islamic Combatant Group – have claimed responsibility. They have named the assassin as Yacoub Diouri, who we understand is owner and director of a clothes manufacturing company based in Salé, near Rabat in Morocco. And here to talk to us about these developments is –’
Falcón turned off the television, let the remote drop to the floor. The mail Encarnación had given him scattered across the tiles. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, head viced in his hands, trying to force some logic into his stunned brain cells. If last night had gone badly, this was disaster on an epic scale. He felt hollow, black and hideously cold inside.
Grief and the horrific repercussions of Yacoub's act fought for supremacy in his mind as he stared into the clay tiles and noticed a hotel envelope on the floor: the Vista del Mar in Marbella, with his address in Yacoub's handwriting. He picked it up, it was stamped with yesterday's date.
Marbella
19 September 2006
Dear Javier,
By the time you open this you will already have been told about what happened last night in the Straits of Gibraltar, or you will at least have seen it on the news. (Al Jazeera is my recommendation for this kind of thing.) Although, because it took place out at sea, there will inevitably be some confusion. The confusion is deliberate and an important part of the plan. But rather than starting with confusion, let me begin at the beginning and hopefully make everything clear for you.
First of all, I am sorry, Javier, that I have lied to you. Abdullah has not been, and now never will be, recruited by the GICM. You will remember what I told you in Madrid about their ruthlessness; I learned about it the hardest way – through practical experience. I also told you that they were nervous of my non-Moroccan half. That was quite true. They did not completely trust me, not from the very first moment But they wanted access to Faisal. So the first thing that happened was that they declared their intention to recruit Abdullah to the cause. They said he would be proud to join his father in the jihad and they would train him up to be a great mujahideen fighter.
I was not acting when you saw me in Madrid. I was completely horrified at this prospect. It would, of course, have been impossible for me to prevent this from happening without revealing myself as an enemy to their cause. They, having proposed this idea, then did nothing about it, but rather started talking to me about Faisal. They approached the subject as if they already knew Faisal and that he was, if not an active supporter of their cause, then at least an ideological supporter. And to a certain extent that is true, except that Faisal has a much broader mind. Over the weeks this attitude gradually changed and they drew my attention to some of Faisal's less likeable traits as far as they were concerned. They also started to grill me about his security arrangements when he was travelling.
The threat of Abdullah's conversion was meticulously maintained by a person whose capability to successfully recruit him I did not doubt. The worst of it all was that they infected my mind. From the moment they first mentioned his recruitment I started watching Abdullah, looking for changes, checking his computer, his friends, where he went They made me spy on my own son.
I had already told them that Faisal's security arrangements were impregnable. Nobody was allowed to see him without being searched. This was not quite true. I was never searched, but his security detail watched me, checked my movements, made sure I was clean even before I got to see him. But I didn't want the GICM to think that they had any chance of getting someone close to Faisal. That would be an unpredictable situation. This was when the marine navigation training started. They were clever. They trained three of us at the same time. None of us was given any clue of the mission.
I was getting increasingly nervous. The pressure on me has been enormous. I told Faisal everything. Sorry, Javier, but he was the target, after all, and, as you so rightly said, you had no experience in these matters. He could have saved himself a lot of trouble by just getting rid of me, but he feared for my safety and, of course, Abdullah's future. He was that sort of man. Our only resort was to counteract the GICM plan by hatching our own.
I told the GICM of Faisal's travel arrangements, which included his annual trip from Tangier to Marbella. They already knew about this, which was the reason for the marine navigation training. Then I struck the deal with my closest contact in the GICM. I volunteered to ram the Princess Bouchra and in return he would guarantee that Abdullah would never be recruited to the cause. I explained that it was not a life I wanted for him. It was quickly apparent that this had been their aim all along.
I won't bore you with all the details about how we planned to get Faisal and his fellow royals on to the boat and then off it again in Tangier. Suffice to say that the idea was to create a big confusion with lots of people and in the end the Princess Bouchra would set sail with the captain and a slightly larger crew of highly trained marines on board. The ship, by the way, was fifteen years old and in need of a complete refit. They were going to trade her in for a new one, but now the insurance will take care of that. The Saudis will delay their press release about those on board for at least twenty-four hours. You'll understand why later.
In the original plan I was going to jump from the boat before the fatal collision, but only James Bond can get away with that sort of thing and anyway I would have been condemned to a life without my family, living in secret in Saudi Arabia and, after my childhood, this was not what I wanted. The other alternative – to tell Abdullah everything – would have put an intolerable strain on the boy and, because of his close relationship to the GICM recruiter, would have left me constantly exposed. And I didn't want to be a spy any more, Javier. I found that out very quickly. The way I had imagined it contained nothing of the horror of the reality. Believe me when I tell you that I am completely at peace. My vision, which I told you about in Madrid, beneath the cotton shroud, is where I am.
Some final requests. You must show this letter to Abdullah, but it must not remain in his possession. It is, of course, vital that he does not see me as a martyr to any terrorist cause, which is why I have penned this in my own hand. You must do this as quickly as you can. He will be in Rabat on Thursday, but given the developments, possibly before.
I would also like you to
go to Fès and find Mustafa Barakat. He should be there until Friday, when he is scheduled to fly to Germany. If the CNI are any good at their job, you should know more about him by now. There are very strong ties between the Diouris and the Barakats. He has been like a brother to me, and this is why I could never do what I am going to ask of you.
I want you to find Mustafa Barakat and kill him.
He has been my main contact with the GICM and is a very dangerous man. He recruited me specifically to carry out the assassination of Faisal and he is responsible for the abduction of Darío. He might argue that he did this to distract you, so that you would be less likely to discover ‘his plan’ to ram the Princess Bouchra. However, I know that it was done as much out of spite as anything else, and this has made me very angry. He has also committed the unforgivable transgression of threatening a family member and for these reasons he must die. The Saudis will delay their press release until they hear from you.
I am sure you will find Darío in the Diouri family home in Fès. Be careful of the woman there, who lives apart from the rest and is probably the one holding the boy. She is Mustafa Barakat's mother and is both vicious and, in my opinion, clinically insane. If she hears that her son is dead, she will kill Darío immediately.
This is the challenge: you must kill Mustafa Barakat and rescue the boy straight away. Do not do this in a way that threatens your safety or your future. However, I do not want you to contact the Moroccan intelligence services through the CNI. They will have no compunction about torturing Mustafa Barakat, and it will be to the death because he will reveal nothing. I do not want that to happen. I am afraid that a conscience may come with me into the afterlife.
One final mystery for you, because I know that it is in your nature. You might be interested to check Mustafa Barakat's DNA; from that you will understand his story.
You are, no doubt, in a state of shock. I am sorry, my friend, to have done this to you. I was very touched by what you told me in Brown's on that grey afternoon in London. You must believe, Javier, that you will never be alone, you have far too great a heart for that.
I wish I could embrace you again. I was very glad to be able to say goodbye in Osuna that afternoon.
Do not be sad for me. I am free now.
Your friend,
Yacoub Diouri
Falcón folded the letter, put it back in its envelope. He called Consuelo and told her to pack and be ready to leave for Morocco before midday.
30
Jefatura, Seville – Wednesday, 20th September 2006, 10.10 hrs
The square reinforced-glass window set in the door of interview room number four perfectly framed Nikita Sokolov, who was considered sufficiently dangerous to be held in handcuffs, hands behind his back. Ramírez was waiting for the translator and was dismayed, several minutes later, to be shaking hands with a small middle-aged Cuban woman.
‘Have you done this before?’ he asked.
‘Translate?’ she said, giving him the eyebrow.
‘For us,’ he said, ‘with criminals.’
‘What's he done?’
‘He's a particularly nasty murderer and you're going to hear some ugly stuff … to do with women.’
She had to stand on tiptoe to see through the glass.
‘Thanks very much for being so considerate, Inspector,’ she said. ‘But I used to live in Miami. There the ugly stuff happened in your living room.’
‘Did they cut women up with a chain saw there, too?’
‘Only if they were feeling kind,’ she said.
‘Guess what?’ said Ferrera, appearing on Falcón's shoulder.
‘Comisario Elvira wants to see you.’
‘When?’ asked Falcón.
‘Probably since he got a call from the Juez Decano de Sevilla at around two o'clock this morning,’ she said. ‘Ramírez is about to give Sokolov his first interview.’
‘Is Inspector Jefe Tirado from GRUME in the building?’
‘I'll find out,’ said Ferrera. ‘By the way, last night Juan Valverde gave me the name and address of the puti club where they're holding Marisa Moreno's sister, Margarita, or at least where he had sex with her.’
‘You'd better get out there then,’ said Falcón. ‘Contact the local Guardia Civil and take Sub-Inspector Pérez with you.’
‘OK, Detectives Serrano and Baena are going through Alejandro Spinola's apartment looking for evidence of his involvement with the Russians and sending inside information to Horizonte.’
Falcón went up to Elvira's office. The secretary sent him through. Elvira looked barricaded behind his desk and didn't even let him sit down.
‘I can't believe you mounted an operation like that without getting my approval.’
‘Normally I would have done, but you told me I was not to have any contact with Alejandro Spinola on pain of being suspended,’ said Falcón. ‘Not only did I realize that Spinola himself was in danger, but I could also see that he was potentially drawing other people into a dangerous situation in the Hotel La Berenjena. I therefore had to act without your approval of the plan.’
‘The plan?’
‘The improvisation,’ said Falcón, correcting himself. ‘There hasn't been much time for planning.’
‘Do you know what the Juez Decano told me last night?’ said Elvira. ‘That you'd hounded his son to his death.’
‘His suicide, you mean,’ said Falcón. ‘Remember, Detectives Serrano and Baena were present and the truck driver was emphatic.’
‘We'll see.’
‘Alejandro Spinola told me he was into Belenki and Revnik for gambling debts and cocaine and that he'd leaked confidential information about competitors' bids for the Isla de la Cartuja development to Antonio Ramos, Horizonte's chief construction engineer. He'd also betrayed his own cousin by introducing him to Marisa Moreno, who was being coerced by the Russians,’ said Falcón. ‘That was a guy I didn't hound nearly enough.’
‘I can only hope that with Belenki, Revnik and Marisa Moreno dead and Antonio Ramos keeping his mouth firmly shut, we can gather enough evidence to prove you right,’ said Elvira, who looked at his watch. ‘As it is, Inspector Jefe Falcón, I am going to have to suspend you from duty with immediate effect, pending a full inquiry. Inspector Ramírez will run the investigation from now on. You will leave the building by eleven o'clock. That is all.’
Falcón left the Comisario's office, went down to his own, where Inspector Jefe Tirado was waiting for him, chatting to Ferrera. Falcón told him the latest intelligence about Darío being held in Morocco and that it would probably be a matter for the CNI, working with the Moroccan authorities. He also told him about his own suspension from duty and that he would ensure that the CNI contacted Comisario Elvira with news of Darío. Tirado left. Ferrera looked at Falcón, shook her head in dismay. He went into his office, closed the door and called Pablo, who'd just arrived in the Jefatura and was on his way up the stairs to his office. He took out Yacoub's letter, reread it. This was going to be a hard sell.
Ferrera let Pablo in, said she was leaving for the Costa del Sol, pulled the door shut. Pablo put his briefcase down, sat. He was angry. Falcón decided to let him start.
‘We've just heard from Saudi intelligence,’ said Pablo. ‘They've been in touch with the British, too, confirming that no members of the Saudi royal family were on board that vessel and there will be no press release for at least twenty-four hours on the matter. How much did you know?’
‘Pretty well nothing, except that there was a Saudi connection. Yacoub didn't even tell me his real name.’
‘That was a very dangerous game you were playing there, Javier,’ said Pablo. ‘He was an assistant to the Saudi Minister of Defence.’
‘Think how you and the British would have behaved if you'd known that last week,’ said Falcón. ‘And if the Americans had been informed?’
‘I'm not sure that blowing a ship up on the high seas is what I would call a contained intelligence operation,’ said Pablo.
‘Did Saudi intelligence come directly to you, or higher?’
‘What do you think?’ said Pablo. ‘I've been made to look an arsehole on my own territory. As soon as Yacoub got off the plane in Málaga I had a man on his tail. After you met him in Osuna I had two agents, front and back of the hotel. And still a GICM logistics cell can put a power boat, packed with high explosives, at the disposal of an amateur, to complete a fucking impossible mission. We were nowhere…’
‘How could I have helped you?’ said Falcón. ‘I didn't know about the power boat or the Princess Bouchra.’
Pablo grunted, looked out the window into the hot car park.
‘I've got a problem,’ said Falcón, ‘and I'm going to need your help.’
‘I don't know why. It seems that amateurs have just as good a chance as the professionals,’ said Pablo. ‘Is this about Darío?’
‘Partly,’ said Falcón. ‘But in order to get to Darío I have to kill someone first.’
Silence. Pablo's brain ticked over.
‘The problem is,’ said Falcón, continuing, ‘this person is someone that both you and the Moroccans would very much like to interrogate, but Yacoub's last request was that, while he wants this person killed, he does not want him tortured to death.’
‘This isn't what you talked about in Osuna,’ said Pablo. ‘It couldn't have been. He'd have had to tell you he was going to die. So, somehow you've heard from Yacoub, but not by email. Did he write you a letter?’
‘You can read it in a minute.’
‘In the meantime, you want me to agree to facilitating a mission in a foreign country in which you assassinate an anonymous but valuable intelligence source,’ said Pablo. ‘Fuck off, Javier. That's all I can say.’
‘I thought that might be your attitude.’
‘You're in no position,’ said Pablo. ‘Let me read the letter.’
Falcón handed over the letter, sat back while Pablo read it.
‘I want a copy of this and I'm going to have to make a call,’ said Pablo. ‘Would you mind waiting in the outer office?’
The Ignorance of Blood Page 36