True Colours ss-10

by Stephen Leather

  ‘We have a villa there. The villa has a full staff and I sent a driver and two of Dmitry’s best men with them.’

  ‘Do you think that’s enough?’

  Grechko frowned. ‘You think that someone would hurt my family?’ He smiled and shook his head. ‘You do not understand Russians, Tony. Those dogs in the Kremlin would kill me, they’d lock me in a dungeon and throw away the key, they would steal all my money if they could get their hands on it, but they would not dream of hurting my family. That is not the Russian way, Tony. It never has been and it never will be.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for that,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘You can,’ said Grechko. ‘No matter how much I hated someone, I would not attack their family. It’s just not something I would do and nor would any other Russian. Men do not attack women and children, Tony. And if you are worried about my ex-wife’s security you can check it for yourself in two days. I’m flying out there. You should come.’

  ‘I will do, Mr Grechko. I’ll be with you now whenever you leave the house. And what about the present Mrs Grechko? She is in France?’

  ‘Nadya has her own security. She will be safer away from me for the time being, that’s what I told her. Who’s to say that she won’t be standing next to me if the sniper should try again.’

  Shepherd stood and turned to go. ‘Then I’ll say good evening and go through tomorrow’s schedule with Dmitry.’

  ‘And you’ll be coming along with my security team?’

  ‘Every time you leave the building, yes.’

  Grechko jutted his chin out. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I can see you are a professional, Tony. I like to work with professionals.’

  ‘As do I, Mr Grechko.’

  Shepherd left Grechko’s house at just after ten o’clock and drove back to his Hampstead flat. On the back seat of his car he had a transceiver and the Bluetooth earpiece was in his jacket pocket. Popov had also taken a print of his thumb and given him a four-digit keypad code for the security system. He phoned Button on hands-free as he drove and updated her on his progress. ‘What do you think?’ she asked.

  ‘His house is a fortress,’ said Shepherd. ‘I don’t think he’ll have any problems while he’s there. Fully alarmed and with CCTV everywhere, and most of the time he’s underground.’

  ‘Underground? How does that work?’

  ‘His house is like the Tardis,’ said Shepherd. ‘I mean, it’s big enough but there’s even more of it below ground. But the house isn’t overlooked anyway so no sniper’s going to get him while he’s at home. The problem is, he does put himself about and while he’s outside he’s vulnerable.’

  ‘Well, make sure he stays inside as much as possible.’

  Shepherd laughed. ‘He’s an oligarch, I don’t think anyone tells him what to do. But I’ll give it my best shot. One thing’s for sure, we’re flying to Cyprus the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound such a great idea,’ said Button.

  ‘He’s got a private jet so we’re flexible about the take-off time, and his plane is at RAF Northolt so security there is tight.’

  ‘And what about Cyprus? What’s the story there?’

  ‘He says it’s not generally known that he’s flying out there, he’ll be taking security with him obviously, and there’s security on the ground. It’ll be OK. Can you speak to Europol and get me cleared to keep my gun while I’m there?’

  ‘I will, but I’m not happy about this,’ said Button.

  ‘The gun?’

  ‘The gun’s fine. It’s Grechko flying around the world while there’s an assassin after him that worries me.’

  ‘I’m not thrilled about the idea, but he’s probably safer in Cyprus than he is in London. Plus if anything happens to him when he’s there, it’s not really our problem.’

  ‘I do hope you’re joking.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Because if anything happens to Grechko while he’s in our care, we’ll be the ones carrying the can. And by “we” I mean “you”, of course.’

  ‘Message received loud and clear, ma’am,’ said Shepherd, and he ended the call just as he drove into Hampstead High Street. He found a parking space in the road close to his flat. He popped into a corner shop and picked up a bottle of milk, a loaf of bread and a packet of Birds Eye fish fingers before heading for the flat. He did a quick U-turn and looked at a mobile phone shop window display to check that no one was following him, more out of habit than because he seriously thought he was under surveillance, and then he walked home. He let himself in, tapped in the alarm code and went through to the kitchen and switched on the kettle. He’d left Harper’s Samsung phone in the cutlery drawer and he took it out and checked the screen. There had been no texts or calls while he’d been away.

  He called Harper’s number and he answered almost immediately. ‘Where are you?’ asked Shepherd. He walked through to the bedroom and sat on his bed.

  ‘In the hotel,’ said Harper. ‘It’s doing my head in. There’s no hot water after nine and the guy above me is watching some foreign channel with the volume full on. I might look for somewhere else tomorrow. It’s finding a place that’ll take cash that’s the problem.’

  ‘Why don’t I help?’ said Shepherd, bending down to untie his boots. ‘You can use my credit card to book somewhere.’

  ‘Yeah, but then if it turns to shit there’s a clear link between you and me,’ said Harper. ‘Also, in a fleapit like this no one looks at me twice.’

  ‘You really are serious about keeping below the radar.’

  ‘I have to be, mate,’ said Harper. ‘So what’s happening with Khan?’

  ‘I’m on the case,’ said Shepherd, slipping off his boots. ‘They can try some face recognition software but it’ll take time. What about you? What are you up to?’

  ‘I’m staking out the mosques.’

  ‘You’re what?’

  ‘I’m checking out the mosques in West London. There aren’t too many and he’s got to be going to one of them, right? He’s a Muslim and Muslims pray five times a day.’

  ‘Yeah, but they don’t have to pray at mosques. They can do it home, they just need to be facing Mecca.’

  ‘They’re happier in mosques, you know that. And in that newspaper photograph he was happy enough walking around. I figure he’ll use a mosque fairly close to his home, so assuming he’s living in West London there aren’t too many options.’

  ‘It could be that he was just passing through when that photograph was taken.’

  ‘It could be. But he was holding a carrier bag so it looks to me like he’d just popped out for a bit of shopping. I don’t think he was too far from home when that picture was taken.’

  ‘Be careful, Lex. You’re playing with fire.’

  ‘Even if he saw me, I doubt he’d recognise me,’ said Harper. ‘I don’t think he ever got a good look at me in Afghanistan. I saw him in the camp but he’s got no reason to remember me.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Shepherd. ‘Most of the mosques are under constant MI5 surveillance. Especially those that are in any way connected with fundamentalism. They’ve got agents inside the mosques but they’ve got people on the outside watching as well.’

  ‘I’m not going inside,’ said Harper. ‘Give me some credit.’

  ‘Lex, they’re not just watching for Islamic fundamentalists. They’re also looking for the right-wing nutters who go around leaving pigs’ heads on the doorstep. If you start hanging around outside any mosque, alarm bells will ring.’

  Shepherd waited for Harper to reply, but there was only silence.

  ‘You see what I’m saying?’ said Shepherd eventually.

  ‘Yeah. I hadn’t thought of that,’ said Harper. ‘I was too busy watching out for Khan to think that someone might have been watching me. Shit. If I have been spotted, what will they be doing?’

  ‘They’ll have a tail on you, to find out who you are and what you’re up to.’

  ‘I’m pretty muc
h sure I’ve not been followed.’

  ‘If they’re good, you wouldn’t see them,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘It’s not the end of the world,’ said Harper. ‘I’m not registered under my own name and the passport I came in on isn’t in my name either. But you’re right, I need to be careful.’

  ‘You might be OK,’ said Shepherd. ‘But better safe than sorry. How are you on counter-surveillance?’

  ‘I look over my shoulder from time to time.’

  Shepherd laughed. ‘Yeah, that’ll do it. I tell you what, stay put and I’ll take a look tomorrow. You can take a walk around and I’ll see if there’s anyone on you. I’m free in the afternoon so I’ll fix something up and give you a call. But in the meantime, stay away from the mosques.’

  Shepherd ended the call, lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. He was as keen as Harper to track down Ahmad Khan, but it had to be done properly. There was no point in finding him if they exposed themselves at the same time. But the question that was troubling Shepherd was what had to be done once they’d found Khan.

  AFGHANISTAN 2002

  Ahmad Khan left Lailuna with his sister and went to meet his Taliban comrades. He knew that many of them were privately as unhappy as him with the extremism of some of their leaders. Sitting around a campfire sipping cups of hot sweet tea, he told them what he proposed to do, knowing that he was putting his life in their hands.

  ‘You all know me,’ he said. ‘We have fought together side by side, some of us for many years. We have defended our country and our faith. We have fought the Russians, the Americans, the British, and we have crossed the border to fight the Pakistanis when they attacked our brothers there and, when there were no faranji to fight, we have fought among ourselves. But now I am growing weary of war. Have I, have we all, not earned the right to live in peace? Soon it will be time to go home, cultivate our land, raise our families and live our lives.’

  There were nods and murmurs of agreement from his men. And when it came time to leave the campfire, his men had agreed to his plan. He left them and made off as if heading for his home, but after nightfall he made his way down from the mountains, walking westwards throughout the night and the day that followed. A few miles outside Jalalabad he stopped and lay up in the cover of some trees, observing an American Forward Operating Base. He knew its location because he and his comrades had mortared it on several occasions. He watched and waited, less concerned by the comings and goings of military patrols than the whereabouts of Afghan civilians. Among them, he knew, were Taliban spies and informers, and he could not afford to be seen by them. In late afternoon, he saw his chance. The road leading to the base was largely deserted and a convoy of American vehicles returning from patrol had created a cloud of dust that hung in the air like fog.

  Holding his AK-74 rifle by the end of the barrel, and with both arms spread wide to show he posed no threat, he walked slowly towards the gates, calling out that he wanted to speak to an officer. The guards ordered him to stop and open his jacket to prove he was not wearing a suicide vest and he had to lie flat in the dirt while they searched him and took his weapon. When they were satisfied that he wasn’t a threat he was allowed into the base under guard and taken to see the commanding officer.

  The officer heard him out in silence, asked a few less than penetrating questions and then left the room to confer over a secure link with his superiors at Bagram. Through the half-open door, Khan could hear the murmur of the officer’s voice and then his returning footsteps. The officer tossed him a can of Coke, cool from the fridge, winked and said, ‘Welcome aboard.’

  Khan was given back his AK-74, though the magazines and spare ammunition were kept in a locked box carried by his American escort. He was flown to Bagram by helicopter that night, and debriefed by an African-American intelligence officer with the Defense Intelligence Agency. ‘Salaam alaikum, Khan,’ the officer said, touching his hand to his heart in the Afghan way, as Khan was shown into his office. ‘I’m Joshua.’ Khan suspected that it was not his real name, but the officer seemed open and honest, he met Khan’s gaze when he spoke to him, and he treated him with respect.

  Khan first laid out his terms. ‘I’m willing to come over to your side,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you everything I know, the names of my comrades and the senior Taliban commanders I know, the tactics they use, the places where their weapons and explosives are hidden, the locations of their safe houses, and how they’re financed. I can tell you about the money house across the border in Pakistan where the money from drug smuggling, protection rackets and the stolen bribes you pay to buy the loyalties of warlords is stored and distributed to Taliban fighters and their allies. I can tell you the names of a few of the spies and sleepers within the Afghan regular army and I’ll even spy for you if you want.’

  ‘And what’s your angle?’ Joshua said. ‘What do you want in return for all of this?’

  ‘Do you have children?’ Khan said.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because if you have children, you will understand. I want a new life for my daughter in the West. Afghanistan is not safe for her. The Taliban have beaten her and I fear that one day they will return to kill her.’

  ‘And presumably you want to go to the West with her?’

  ‘Insh’allah, yes. But you must promise me that even if I am killed, you will still arrange for my daughter to leave this country.’

  He waited in silence as Joshua weighed his words. ‘Deal,’ he said at last, and held out his hand. ‘Shake on it.’

  For the next forty-eight hours, Khan told and retold his story, as Joshua interrogated him, probing and cross-examining him like a courtroom lawyer, never satisfied until he had teased out the last detail of everything Khan said, and, where possible, had cross-checked it against other information that he already possessed. He also brought in a succession of his colleagues for whom Khan had to repeat his story over and over again.

  When Joshua at last pronounced himself satisfied, Khan added one final piece of information. ‘I think my men are also ready to come over,’ he said. ‘They are disenchanted with some of our leaders and tired of the endless fighting. There’s been no peace in Afghanistan for thirty years. They’re proud men and they won’t surrender to you, but if you give them a way to save face and hold out the prospect of peace to them, if not immediately, then at least soon, I think they will take it.’

  He explained his planned rendezvous with his comrades and showed Joshua the place on a map. ‘The Brits are responsible for that area,’ Joshua said, ‘and they’ve an FOB a few miles from there. I’ll introduce you to a British contact and he can make the arrangements to bring your guys in.’

  Khan was unconvinced by Joshua’s insistence on involving the British. He realised that Joshua didn’t completely trust Khan so he was letting the British handle the surrender. That way, if anything went wrong, it would be the British and not the Americans who would take the blame.

  ‘One other thing,’ Joshua said. ‘There is another agent in the same area. I don’t know his identity but he’s being run by the Brits, and if his own cover is threatened and he has any inkling that you are also an agent, he might betray you to save himself.’

  ‘Is there nothing else you can tell me about him?’

  ‘There is one thing. I’ve heard the Brits talk about him when we’ve been exchanging intelligence, and they used a code name for him that apparently he chose himself: “Abu Qartoob”. Do you know what it means?’

  ‘It means Father of the Earlobe,’ said Khan. ‘Afghans and Arabs don’t always see eye to eye, but we do have our sense of humour in common, and it is quite strange and very dark. You have heard of Abu Hamza, for instance? Well, his name translates as “Father of the Five”. Know why?’

  Joshua shook his head.

  ‘It’s because he blew off one of his hands in an explosion, so he now has only five fingers.’ He studied Joshua for a moment. ‘I told you our sense of humour was strange.’

&n
bsp; ‘So this Abu Qartoob is likely to have a physical distinguishing mark too: big earlobes, or no earlobes at all, or something?’

  ‘Possibly. I shall watch out for such a man.’

  Joshua completed briefing Khan on codes, systems for contacting Joshua or another American agent-handler, dead drops in which messages could be left, and emergency procedures, and then stood up. ‘Give me a few moments to brief the Brit guy,’ he said, ‘and then I’ll introduce you.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Captain Harry Todd. He’s a British Army officer serving a three-year tour with the SAS, but he’s been detached from his SAS squadron to the Intelligence Clearing Centre, where we collect and evaluate all the intelligence from human and electronic sources.’ While Joshua went in search of Todd, another American handler entered the room and began chatting to Khan.

  Joshua returned half an hour later with the English officer. Todd’s long, floppy blond hair and pink, fresh-faced complexion gave him an air of boyish innocence. ‘I’m Harry,’ Todd said, extending his hand. ‘It sounds like you have an interesting story to tell.’

  ‘Salaam alaikum, Harry, I hope you’ll find it worthwhile,’ Khan said. He repeated his account to Todd, noting to himself that the Englishman asked far fewer questions about it than Joshua, and those that he did ask were less perceptive and incisive. After they had talked for some time, Todd nodded slowly. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’m convinced, let’s go and get them.’ He glanced at Joshua. ‘If you’ve finished with Khan, I’ll take him back to our section and arrange for some transport up to our FOB.’

  Joshua reached into a desk drawer and handed a bundle of dollars to Khan.

  ‘What’s this?’ Khan said.

  ‘Payment.’

  Khan shook his head. ‘I don’t need your money. That’s not why I’m doing this.’

  Joshua spread his hands wide. ‘I understand that,’ he said. ‘But everyone needs money. Take it for your daughter, if not for yourself.’

  Khan hesitated, then shrugged, took the dollars and stuffed them into the money belt that he wore around his waist. Most men in Afghanistan kept their cash and valuables in money belts, pockets were not to be trusted.