A Fatal Game

by Nicholas Searle

When she’d first been selected as joint case officer for Rashid, she’d vented. ‘Don’t think you can use my faith as some kind of tool. Don’t imagine I’ll be stepping in as the token Muslim to work magic with this person. I won’t allow my beliefs to be used in that way. I’m not going to start debating doctrine. I’m not about to try to map out his path to spiritual salvation.’

  He’d waited for her to finish before saying, ‘That’s not it at all. I wanted you to be involved because of you. The fact that you’re a Muslim means nothing. For the purposes of the case it’s immaterial whether you’re a Muslim or, for that matter, a woman. You’re the right person, you’re good at the job – better than me, probably – and that’s what we need. I trust your judgement and your skill, that’s all there is to it. I’m fresh out of vision. We need yours.’

  Before the Abu Omar case reached its horrific denouement, they’d been in the office doing their own separate write-ups.

  ‘It’s all technocratic twaddle,’ he’d said suddenly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘People seem to think this can be reduced to systems. Pro formas before you meet someone, checklists, risk assessments, psychological profiles, pro formas after meetings, casework reviews …’

  ‘Yes, well –’

  ‘Strategic analyses, coverage mapping, covert human intelligence source policies, liaison groups, operational strategy meetings, wellness diagnoses. The business is actually quite simple. Two or more people come together, one tells the other some secrets, and the other converts what is said into something that’s valuable and useable without jeopardizing the first person.’

  ‘Up to a point.’

  ‘Sorry?’ He hadn’t been accustomed to being challenged. Not by her.

  ‘It can’t be that subjective. Not any more. There has to be some rigour.’

  ‘Quite. All this flannel doesn’t help. Just adds to the verbiage. We need to cut through the crap.’

  She understood now that his petulance had been displacement for what was really worrying him: Abu Omar and the case’s doomed trajectory.

  Once, Jake had been her role model. He’d shown her how to do this stuff. Though he, with the modesty he wore on his sleeve, would no doubt say there were no such things as role models. He’d been the one with the wise words, the one who’d impressed with his demeanour and results. The one who’d handled Rashid with such gentle facility.

  But he’d worn her to the bone, no matter the pain and injustice he’d suffered. Whatever George had said about cutting him some slack. She could see that he’d failed, that he’d lacked courage. At root, she could not say that Stuart was wrong to hook him from the case, even at such a late stage. She was now left to pick up the pieces.

  She thought of everything she’d learned. Find something to like in them, however difficult. Most of them think of themselves as outsiders; but remember, they’re generally no more outsiders than any of us. They’re just needy – but you have to meet that need. It’s not about being clever, it’s about being right. These are just ordinary human relationships in extraordinary circumstances. Don’t exploit them, find the common ground. It’s not the flash tradecraft that matters, it’s the bond.

  It maddened her. He’d been so wrong – inexcusably so, whatever allowances she tried to make. He’d been wrong about the Abu Omar case. He’d probably been wrong about everything, with his little homilies about personal integrity and authenticity. Sound bites, the lot of it. He’d probably never believed them himself in the first place. He’d said he’d let her down, and he had. When they next met in the office, she’d have it out with him. She wouldn’t make the same mistakes. For now, though, she needed to concentrate and rehearse once more what she would say to Rashid.

  Stuart Calloway picked up the phone and told Shirley he needed to speak to the Chief Constable. He held the line while she called his staff officer.

  She reported back to Stuart. ‘He’s not available. He’s in a meeting.’

  ‘Well, tell his staff officer to bloody well get him out of his meeting pronto. Meanwhile get me Julian.’

  Julian was the senior legal adviser, young and fresh from Treasury Solicitors, so a whizz-kid. Trusted by government, not so much by Stuart, he was a tall, willowy, quite beautiful creature with a casual, vague manner that disguised a dangerous skewering intellect.

  ‘What can we hang on Jake Winter, then?’

  ‘Hang on him?’

  ‘For a swift departure.’

  ‘W-e-e-ll, I suppose …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We could float the idea of exploiting his approach to the possibilities of the Americans using inhumane treatment with Abu Omar.’

  ‘Torture? Do you think he’d be tolerant of that?’

  ‘Not for one moment. All his contemporaneous notes, all his interview recordings, they all point to a very assiduous good little soldier. And I can’t imagine anyone who’s been in this place after the Iraq fiasco could fail to understand their obligations.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘His responses under oath. He’s much more equivocal about what the Americans may or may not have done.’

  ‘And might they have mistreated the asset?’

  ‘Who can know? I’d hardly have thought so. They know the minefields as well as we do. I speak to counsel over there all the time. They say they’re just as rigorous in theatre. I know, they would say that, wouldn’t they? There’s a new wind blowing there, too. That’s not the issue, though. If you wanted to stretch a point you could pick out the discrepancies between Winter’s statements on file and on tape, when he knows he’s speaking for the record, and what he’s said in the hothouse of the inquiry room. The discrepancies could be argued to be suggestive of a tacit acceptance that bad things happen which he’s happy to ignore. And tacit acceptance isn’t acceptable. It’s a breach of all of our codes.’

  ‘I don’t like it. Though it would be satisfying to hang such a self-righteous prig as Jake on his lack of ethics.’

  ‘Well, it’s risky and untested but it may be a legally acceptable route. You might even get the odd plaudit from the liberties lobby if you played your cards right.’

  ‘I doubt that very much. Not much kudos for them in that. But could you get someone to work up some options? Today? I’d like to give it some thought before the fun and games start this afternoon.’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  At last he was there. The surveillance team reported his approach and, sure enough, there was that tentative rap on the door. The surveillance team leader said into her earpiece, ‘Good to go. He’s clear.’ Surveillance and the lurking firearms team would be in the vicinity, disposing themselves ready to pick up quickly for the next stage of this journey. They would alert her to any problems.

  She opened the door and he stepped past her quickly.

  ‘Where’s Jake?’ he said immediately.

  ‘I’m sorry, Rashid,’ she said. ‘His –’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re not doing this to me. You get Jake here.’

  ‘I can’t do that. He’s at the hospital. His little girl was knocked over by a car.’ Where was her moral compass now?

  Rashid looked at her questioningly. ‘I didn’t know he had kids.’

  She knew Jake had neither children nor partner. She’d researched her selected mendacity in the case files and was confident Jake hadn’t mentioned his circumstances to Rashid. It wouldn’t have been his way. She thought fleetingly of her own family, Anoushka and Robbie, but could not afford to dwell there more than a moment.

  ‘Well, you do now,’ she said. ‘Normally they take second place. But now …’

  He gave this consideration. ‘Fair enough. It’s off, then. I’m on my bike, man. This is all going to shit.’

  ‘This couldn’t be helped.’

  ‘I know. But right now, it’s a bad moment. Terrible.’

  ‘I know. So what do we do?’

  ‘I walk away.’

  ‘And where will that get you? You know
as well as I do how those people would regard that. You don’t walk away from something like this.’

  ‘You sort it. You take care of me, just like you promised. There’s no choice, the way I see it.’

  ‘No. We just carry on as planned. Do you not trust me?’

  ‘Yeah, of course I do. It’s …’

  ‘What? I know this as thoroughly as Jake did. We came up with everything together, the three of us.’

  ‘This is too much to take in, dropping this on me now. It’s easier to call it off. Think of some excuse.’

  ‘There are no excuses. It isn’t easier. We’d do our best to look after you of course, but these boys would still be on the loose to do what they want. We carry on, nothing changes, apart from Jake not being around.’

  ‘I don’t like it. This is fucking shit.’

  ‘No one’s asking you to like it. I don’t like it. But nothing changes. It’s as safe as it ever was. We haven’t got the time to think. The moment’s now. We are where we are. We’ve little choice. Unless you have no faith in me, we should stick to the plan. No hesitation. Now’s the moment. This very second.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ he said, but even as he raised his eyes to look at her she knew she had won.

  ‘All right then,’ she said after a pause. ‘No contact with anyone?’

  ‘None,’ he replied.

  ‘You’ve prepared as you were instructed?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘The others?’

  ‘Just said, not spoken to them. Far as I know, they’re just doing their own thing.’

  ‘Here’s your bag’ she said, and handed Rashid his rucksack, which he slung over his shoulder.

  Rashid looked at her, full of doubt. ‘I don’t like this.’

  ‘No one does. This is where we keep our nerve. Most likely it’ll all be fine. You’ll do your bit, we’ll meet up at the agreed place half an hour after, and we’ll plan for next week. But we have to be on our game.’

  ‘Right,’ he said, questions still in his eyes.

  She was tempted to utter some worthless phrase like ‘You’re very brave’ or ‘I’ll be with you every step of the way’ to smooth the goodbyes with sentimentality. Never do that, Jake had said, never mask the reality. He was right on that. These moments need to be lived in their full intensity, on both sides.

  ‘Will she be OK?’ he asked.

  She coughed. Jake’s notional daughter. ‘I don’t know. Let’s hope so. Nothing you or I can do about it. We just have to focus on this. You’d better be going. Everything clear in your mind?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Could you take off your coat, please?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know we have to, Rashid.’

  He gave her his coat and it felt warm from his body. She went through it slowly, methodically, calmly, feeling the seams and the padding as well as searching the pockets. Nothing. She called in one of the team waiting outside. He and Rashid avoided looking at each other and they exchanged no words as he frisked Rashid. He left without saying anything.

  ‘All right, said Leila. ‘You know, no diversions. Not for anything. Straight through, as we’ve talked about. That route. No other. Take it steady. Normal pace. Ready?’

  ‘Ready as I will be.’

  They looked at each other and smiled. Before she knew it he was gone and the door clicked quietly to.

  ‘Bob. How’s life?’

  ‘Hello, Stuart. Social call, is it?’

  ‘Not exactly. Thought it might be a good moment to touch base. How are things going?’

  ‘Everything seems to be under control. So far as it can be.’ The Chief Constable chuckled. ‘Having kittens down in London, are we?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Stuart affably. ‘Bob, let me get to the point. I need to speak to you. Something new has come up. Intelligence from a super-sensitive source. Under no circumstances for evidential use. Of impeccable pedigree, thought to be right on the money.’

  ‘Yes?’

  Stuart stood and began pacing behind his desk. ‘I can’t stress the sensitivity enough. This source is in a potentially highly exposed position. Upstream. I’ve briefed the Home Sec and the Commissioner is aware in general terms. I’ve suggested that each deny all knowledge of this information if questioned and I’d ask the same of you. I myself will refuse to be pressed on the matter. My own staff on the ground have no inkling of the source or the intelligence.’

  ‘Where is this leading, Stuart?’

  ‘The information has just been passed to us. It cannot under any circumstances enter the evidential chain. I will deny its existence. It’s of direct relevance to your op. According to the report I have in my hand what they are terming a run-through is in fact anything but a dry run. These people are equipped to murder. What we may have on our hands is a reprise of the station incident. Given the numbers of people involved, it could be worse. Each of the four conspirators is equipped with an explosive device.’ He held an office circular in his hand as if it offered his patter greater plausibility.

  ‘Including your primary source?’

  ‘Including him, yes. Of course he may be operating in entirely good faith.’

  ‘I won’t indulge in an “I told you so”. But I told you so. You realize the implications of this?’

  ‘I do. Far be it from me to suggest what you do with this. But you may judge that your op should be brought to a conclusion before these people get anywhere near the football stadium. A hard stop.’

  ‘And the information is reliable?’

  ‘Its derivation is highly sound. Can I guarantee it’s accurate? Of course not. It’s in the nature of intelligence …’

  ‘You understand the difficulties? My officers have trained for a hard stop scenario, of course, but a lot depends on a compliant response from the subject. My officers have been briefed to deploy with extreme caution with regard to public safety.’

  ‘Indeed. I wish we weren’t in this position. But weighing public safety –’

  ‘I don’t need you to tell me my responsibilities on that score,’ said the Chief Constable sharply. ‘My predecessor’s experience provided us all with a reminder about that, if ever we needed one.’

  ‘Of course. I know you won’t be keen to be in the same boat.’

  ‘I won’t be keen, Stuart, to endanger the lives of people in this city. This information changes everything. You knew that, of course, with all your “far be it from me” nonsense. It leaves us in a right pickle as far as the policy log is concerned. And if the hard stop gets messy, my officers won’t be able to rely on your intelligence to defend themselves.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that, but we must afford the source of this new information maximum protection.’

  ‘And if we deploy with lethality unnecessarily, you’ll wash your hands of it? I’m on my own?’

  ‘It’s not easy, Bob. Wish it was. Goes with the territory.’

  ‘I’ll speak to the SIO. Goodbye.’

  ‘Good to speak, Bob. I trust your judgement implicitly.’

  ‘I don’t care what you think of my judgement, Stuart. You’d best be concerned with your own.’

  ‘Good luck.’ But the line had already gone dead. A bit prickly, Stuart thought, but neatly finessed.

  The yips, golfers called it. Last-minute staggers and stutters, possibly from fear of completion. Or, more charitably, conscience: that thing he thought he’d lost years ago in the icy furnace that is Whitehall. Unusually, he’d had a sleepless night. That the blameless sleep the undisturbed sleep of the innocent is the opposite of the truth. He was glad to see those old friends, fear and uncertainty, pulling him back from the brink, loom again. He was alive once more.

  This was it. Rashid walked purposefully towards the stadium, not too fast, not too slow. Important not to be self-conscious, though it was difficult to avoid it with the eyes of the secret world on him. How many guns were pointing at him at this moment? Keep your nerve and, like she said, it would a
ll be over before too long. He reckoned he was maybe twenty minutes from the ground, so probably in half an hour he’d be on his way, bumping shoulders with the crowd leaving the ground on his way to the next RV with Leila.

  It was cold but the day had been bright. Ambling along the street of terraced houses, he squinted as he looked to the sky. He was grateful for the coat. Abdullah would be approaching from beyond the opposite end of the ground, Bilal and Adnan from the two other quarters.

  This was what it’d feel like on Wednesday – much darker then, though. It occurred to him that he wouldn’t need to do this walk ever again. He’d have to discuss with Leila, or Jake if he was back by then, whether he could bunk off out of it after the last meeting with the other boys, once they were launched on their own separate trajectories. It would be all up then, anyway. No way would he be able to go back to anything once the thing was wrapped up. So what would the point be? It’d only be dangerous. He hoped they’d be able to net the other boys safely and without any fuss. He wasn’t exactly fond of them but they were people too, whatever anyone else thought. Jake had said they’d take care. He liked Jake. He was the man. Poor guy, with his daughter. No time to think of that, though. Sodding awful timing.

  He liked Leila too. She was all right for a Manc. He was slightly afraid of her. Not of old Jake, though. He could’ve run rings round him, he reckoned, so trusting. Such an open book. But he’d chosen not to.

  Apart, that is, from not telling him what he’d really got up to out there.

  They were people too, those he’d killed. He’d been instructed that they were enemies and he’d believed it, to begin with. Old and young, men and women, kids sometimes, all weeping and pleading in that moany way that was so grating you yearned to do it quickly and get it over and done with. You knew that if you saved them you’d have their awful, keening gratitude. Then someone else would do them. And then you too. All you could do was harden your heart, deploy a glassy stare and do it. Until the point you couldn’t any more and the dams burst inside you. You could never show it, though.

  These were the thoughts you had on a cold Sunday afternoon when the sun had vanished from the sky, leaving the darkening blue of night, and the street lights set the city alight.