Light of the Sun: They always make a mistake and when they do, we kill them...
Page 16
‘I’m sure you both know why I chose you for this mission. This mission is not just for me or a cause. You are the representatives of Allah on earth. It is him you represent and him you disappoint when you let your earthly needs come before his will, blessings be upon him. You do not just disappoint me, but you disappoint Allah and that is unforgiveable. But you and I know that man’s flesh is weak, and the only way to be forgiven is to commit yourself to the will of Allah completely. His will demands your full obedience, and I as your teacher tell you to give that obedience to me now, totally, and maybe then we can complete our mission on earth in the name of the most holy. I’ll not tell you this again. There will be no next time, or your mistake will get you killed by the enemy, and that mistake not only puts the mission in danger but might get me killed as well. So, understand, if we were to survive such a mistake be sure I will kill you myself and you will die in sin before the eyes of Allah. Do you understand. Do I make myself clear?’
Both students nodded, afraid to look into those dark eyes they both feared.
‘I’ve stayed the night in a hotel near here and I see everything. From now, you only leave this building on my order, to do what I tell you. I’ll pick up some groceries later.’
Again, both nodded without saying a word.
Now the Arab produced two London A–Z street map books from his pocket and handed one to each of his students.
‘No more will be said. Yasmin, can you bring us coffee and I will tell you what you will do next in our mission?’
Five minutes later Yasmin had brought back the coffee and poured for everyone. The Arab took the book he had given to Yasmin and opened it.
‘Yasmin. Here you will see I’ve circled the area of Trafalgar Square. I want you to go there this afternoon and get to know the area very well. Take your time and find the place where the tourists gather the most in numbers. Use your mobile to take photos. You can walk from here, that way you will be able to look for enemy security forces. Hassan and I will leave right away. We have other parts to complete for the mission. Use the British money you have if you need to. Do not worry, we have more. Do you have any questions?’
‘Will I have a weapon?’
‘It is good that you ask and are willing to have one. Hassan and I will be collecting our equipment and we will all meet here at seven tonight when you will know more. For now, you must act and be like a tourist. The police do not randomly stop people in this country, the British shout and scream if such liberties are taken. Hassan, when you were given the keys for here, there were three on the keyring, I took one last night. Give one to Yasmin so she can return here if we are still out, then get your coat and come with me. We all have each other’s numbers in the phones, so we can call each other or text as necessary. Don’t worry about using them, just be careful what you say or text, the enemy may be looking for us at any time.’
Hassan followed the Teacher as they turned left out of the building and walked to the end of Edgware Road and turned left into Oxford Street. The rain had stopped so Hassan wore his shemagh as a scarf leaving his face exposed. Someone walking with his face covered in the Arabic style, while walking with someone in a business suit, might bring the kind of undue attention they did not need. Hassan could see the Teacher knew his way around. Using no map or looking for street signs, he appeared to know where he was going. He could also see the way he looked discreetly for signs of the enemy he had talked about. He looked for people behind him by studying the reflections in shop windows. He would take his time, looking left and right when crossing the road, not just for traffic but for anyone who seemed to be going the same way. Halfway down Oxford Street the Arab flagged down a black cab. When both men were seated in the back, he asked the driver to take them to Kensington High Street. They had not exchanged any conversation since leaving the apartment and remained silent until the taxi dropped them off.
‘We are going to the Iranian Embassy. They’re expecting us. You will remain silent; I’ll do the talking. Do you have any questions?’
‘No,’ Hassan replied. They continued to walk and once more both men used the training they’d been given, and in the case of the Arab had grown up with, to look for the surveillance of the enemy. There are many cameras throughout the city of London; from the usual business cameras to traffic cameras and then the security cameras that most large cities and towns relied on to back-up their security and surveillance capabilities. Most of these cameras look down at angles that give a wide panorama of the whole area. Both men knew they should walk with their heads down looking straight in front and not to look up at any time, thereby making it difficult for anyone watching to get a full-frontal face shot.
‘When we get near the Embassy you should pull your shemagh to cover your face as the cameras will be covering the building.’
The Arab then took a pair of thick rimmed glasses out of his pocket. Putting them on Hassan noticed how this simple move changed the Teacher’s whole appearance.
The Embassy of The Islamic Republic of Iran is a building in a row of similar terraced buildings next to the Embassy of Ethiopia and overlooks Hyde Park in South Kensington.
The building was the location of a hostage siege, when the then British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher gave the go for Operation Nimrod. The world watched on live TV as the SAS stormed the Embassy on the 5th of May 1980, using framed window charges and overpowering firepower and training, killing all the terrorists but one and releasing the hostages. On that day, the world found out that the British would not give in to terrorists trying to hold them to ransom, and the SAS who up until then had operated in secrecy became a household name around the world. The building had been severely damaged by fire as a result and rebuilt to continue as the current Embassy.
They pressed the doorbell and were admitted to the main foyer of the building. The staircase in front of them was still the same one where the SAS had practically thrown the hostages down from one trooper to another and out the rear door into the Embassy Garden; where they were made to lie face down on the ground, with their hands tied behind their back, until everyone was identified as a hostage. In this way they were able to identify one of the rescued as a terrorist who was lucky not to be shot as there would be too many witnesses.
The receptionist at the desk just inside the main door made a quick phone call to an internal number when the Arab asked for the Deputy First Secretary and told her to say, ‘Your friend Abdullah is here.’ Both men then sat and waited. Five minutes later a short, well-built man, wearing a dark business suit not dissimilar to the one worn by the Arab, came down the stairs carrying a large canvas holdall.
Both men stood to greet him as he came over to them with an outstretched hand. Shaking their hands, ‘As-Salam-alaikum.’ he said.
‘Wa-Alaikum-Salaam,’ replied the Arab.
The Arab knew the Deputy First Secretary was also the main officer from its VEVAK Intelligence Agency. He would have been told to be ready for a visit from an important person who would introduce himself with the words ‘your friend Abdullah is here.’ That friend was here, and his other instructions were to pass on a canvas bag and offer whatever assistance was required without question.
‘I’m the Deputy Secretary please come through to the office.’
Walking ahead he showed them into a room behind the reception desk and closed the door behind them.
The room had high ceilings with a desk and four chairs. The desk had a laptop and a telephone; the walls were bare except for a large poster filled with writing in at least five different languages, two of which were Arabic and English.
‘Please take a seat,’ said the man as he sat behind the desk.
‘I have my instructions. I’m to give you this bag which contains everything you requested and to offer my services if required without question.’
The Arab took the bag and handed it to Hassan.
‘Take the bag and return to the apartment, I’ll meet you there later as arranged.’
‘You have fulfilled your instructions. I may need more assistance in the next few days. Do you have a private number where I can call you at any time?’
The man reached into his waistcoat pocket and producing a business card handed it across the desk.
‘Thank you. If I do need to call you, I will say this is your brother Abdullah. As you have been told, you will provide whatever I ask without question.’
Looking into the Arab’s dark eyes, the Deputy First Secretary could feel a coldness surge through his body, as small beads of sweat trickled down the side of his head. He nodded rather than spoke as he thought the words would come out in a squeak.
The Arab tapped the number on the card into his phone and placed the card back on the desk before standing to leave.
‘Allah be with you,’ said the Arab.
‘Inshallah,’ replied the Deputy First Secretary.
Throughout the short visit Hassan had kept his face covered with the shemagh and continued to do so until he had walked a good distance from the building. The bag was slightly heavy, but Hassan could easily carry it in one hand. The rain had stayed away although a slight wind brought with it the cold feeling of more to come. Hassan kept to the main streets where he knew he could find a taxi more easily. The streets around Kensington were busy and he continued to look discreetly for anyone paying attention to this man with a canvas bag and a shemagh around his neck. Trying hard not to be obvious, he decided to find a café where he could have a coffee and sit at the window to observe the street, the people and traffic without attracting attention to himself. Kensington High Street is mostly high-end retail but there were still one or two restaurants and café’s. The one he entered was exactly what he was looking for, a small café with a window seat, perfect for what he needed.
The Red Team from MI5 had arrived in Kensington High Street and the surrounding area at the same time. The team’s brief, for the moment, to cover the streets leading to and from the Embassy of The Islamic Republic of Iran. Report anything considered of interest and especially be on the lookout for the woman and man in the photos provided. At the time they did not know the names, but the photo of the woman showed her face as she’d passed through an airport security system. The photo of the man was split into two separate images, one sitting outside a café, the other beside a swimming pool. Although MI6 now had all three targets’ photos, the third man’s face was not clear enough to use for the surveillance teams and would only cause confusion.
Hassan watched the street and the passing traffic as he sipped his coffee. He realised two things: the coffee was not that bad, and even if he did spot surveillance people, he couldn’t be sure he knew exactly what he was looking at. People did not wear a deer stalker hat or wraparound sunglasses unless it was sunny or walked with the collar of a raincoat pulled up around their face. He realised it would be exceedingly difficult to spot professional surveillance people. Their job, like his was not to be conspicuous, to fit in to the surroundings and look as normal as possible. He felt himself relax. He would still be careful and try to spot the danger, but it might not be there; so better to relax and be natural, the more he did that, the less likely he would raise suspicion.
At the same time, the Red Team had passed where Hassan sat drinking his coffee and, took up positions around the Iranian Embassy. It was one of the female agents who spotted what looked like the man in the photograph sitting outside the café in Tehran leave the Embassy.
‘Control from Red Three I have male resembling Target One leaving the Iranian Embassy.’
‘Stay on him Red Three describe and give directions, over,’ came the reply.
‘Heading towards Kensington High Street wearing dark three-piece suit and wearing glasses. The glasses may be a disguise so not one hundred per cent sure it’s him.’
‘All Red Team, converge on Red Three it’s all we have for the moment so let’s get on it,’ said Red One, the surveillance team leader.
The Arab spotted the woman at almost the same time. She had been walking away from him but had stopped to investigate a shop window where he could tell she was following him in its reflection.
The Arab increased his pace as he neared High Street Kensington Underground Station. Red Three saw him walk into the station. Informing the rest of the team, who had yet to catch-up from their original positions around the Embassy, they approached the Underground station from two directions. Apart from the people on foot, the first to get there and back-up Red Three was a car, with two operators and Red Five on a motorbike. Screeching to a halt they quickly followed into the station.
‘Lost contact,’ Red Three’s voice sounded over the radio.
Allah had been with the Arab. He just made it onto the Circle Line train pulling away from the platform. The Circle Line could take him all the way to Edgware Road but that was the third stop from High Street Kensington and could take fifteen minutes giving plenty of time for the enemy forces to be there if he stayed on the train. He got off at the next stop, Notting Hill Gate; keeping his head down to avoid the cameras he knew would be looking for him. Exiting the station, he turned right and walked away from the station entrance. Over the next three hundred yards he crossed the road three times then took his time walking through the Notting Hill Market, all the while looking for the danger of enemy surveillance. After walking through the market, he climbed into the back of a black cab sitting at the end of the line of other black cabs and instructed the driver to take him to Oxford Street. He had the Glock pistol the Deputy First Secretary at the embassy had given him in his pocket. He would have used it if cornered, feeling reassured by the weight, it gave him more confidence. They may have been looking for him or just following anyone coming out of the Embassy, either way he felt he had lost them for now. He had no reason to go back to the Embassy, and London was a big place, with over eight million people; a great place to get lost in. After the taxi dropped him in the middle of Oxford Street, he walked the rest of the way to The Beaumont Hotel, again checking for surveillance crossing the road several times and going into two large shops, one of which had doors at the rear going out into another street. When he got to his hotel room, even though it had been cold outside with rain in the air, he felt the sweat sticking to his shirt. He stripped off his clothes, placed the gun under one of the pillows and had a shower. Feeling refreshed, he returned to the bedroom and, as an afterthought he sent a text to both his students. Be careful our friends are looking for us
Hassan read the text. He was just finishing his coffee and all the time he had been sitting at the window he had seen nothing to raise his suspicions. He knew he had to keep control of his imagination otherwise he would see danger everywhere he looked. ‘Keep calm, keep relaxed, be natural’ he kept saying to himself. Leaving the café, he continued to walk in the opposite direction to the Embassy and when he saw a black cab with its vacant light on, he flagged it down and asked the driver to drop him of at Sussex Gardens, just off Edgware Road. Thirty minutes later he was back at the apartment. He placed the canvas bag on the kitchen table and poured himself a glass of water; and then sitting on the couch he turned on the TV, switching channels to Sky News.
Yasmin found her day less stressful. Acting like a tourist was easy, realistically that’s what she was. She had never been in London before but had seen travel programmes on TV and had always wanted to go there. She had used the A–Z and had decided to walk the whole way to Trafalgar Square. The rain had stayed away; she felt the air cooler than what she was used to, but fresh despite the smell of traffic fumes. Everything looked so much bigger than she’d imagined: the shops, the historic buildings, the statues, the crowds.
Even though the day was cold, the tourists around the fountain and Admiral Lord Nelson’s column were still plentiful. Yasmin took photos using her phone, the kind any tourist would take. She used the skills she possessed to observe the crowds, trying to guess who they were a
nd where they came from, at the same time looking for the odd one out who could be surveillance. All she could see were Londoners and tourists, workers and families, no obvious surveillance; then again, good surveillance operators wouldn’t be obvious. She took her time enjoying the excitement of the whole adventure. After a pot of tea in a café close to the square, she made her way back on foot to the apartment again.
Chapter 22
Reece found the traffic lighter when he drove across the city, once more he parked in the Park Plaza allocated car park. When he entered room 303, he found Mary smiling back at him from the bed. Her long black hair almost covering the pillow. She was wearing a dark skirt and a white blouse of silk that showed the outline of her breasts and Reece realised how much he had missed this woman, even though it had only been for twenty-four hours.
‘You’re a sight for sore eyes,’ he said. ‘What every man needs when he comes in from a hard day’s work.’
‘Well, if you feel you need to lie down be my guest.’ She laughed.
The love they made brought back to Reece the memory of the first time, and the last time, always different, always better, always with love at the heart of it.
The room was beginning to get dark because of the rain clouds gathering around the city. Reece looked at his watch. He still had an hour before he needed to be at the briefing. He could walk to MI6 Headquarters in that time but even with the car he couldn’t trust the traffic, or that he wouldn’t get a soaking.
As they lay in the darkness of the room the clouds outside the window dark and foreboding, Mary curled up close to him, feeling the warmth of his body his skin against hers. She let her fingers stroke down from his neck to the scar on the right side of his shoulder.
‘Any pain lately?’