‘He’s that highly regarded?’
‘And some. I saw the reactions from people around him. They worshipped him.’
Harry looked cynical. ‘Obviously not all of them. What about the bodyguards?’
‘There were ten on constant rotation. He never travelled with less than six and they all lived in the compound around his house. It was a miniature fortress.’ She looked down at her mug. ‘They were all big and macho, so full of themselves it was laughable. Good at their jobs, though. They’d have had a fit if they’d ever found out what I was there for.’
‘Which was?’
Joanne sighed. ‘“If all else fails” was how Gordon Humphries put it to me. He wasn’t one for flowery words. I don’t think he was happy with the situation, but I doubt there was much he could do about it. He had his job, I had mine.’
‘What did that mean?’ muttered Rik, speaking for the first time.‘“If all else fails”’?
She gave him a level gaze. ‘What it said. If all else failed and the security perimeter around Rafa’i was breached, he had to have a final backstop. That was me. I was his last line of defence.’
TWENTY-NINE
‘It was quite clever, really,’ she said softly. ‘Any killer coming after Rafa’i wouldn’t have given a woman a second look. Women out there aren’t a threat – especially not a pen-pushing westerner.’ She looked at them. ‘The average Iraqi doesn’t think much of female soldiers. Not that they knew my background, of course. It gave me a slight edge.’
Harry nodded. It was clever – but for Joanne, deadly. On a very basic level, the idea of it appalled him. She had been utterly alone, isolated by her situation and gender, not knowing where the first threat might come from. No matter how close Coalition forces had been, for all the good they could have done they might as well have been on the far side of the moon. ‘It was a hell of a position to put you in. What was the plan if things did fall apart?’
‘My orders were to get Rafa’i out of the house by any means possible and go underground until they could send in a patrol to lift us out. I was expected to fight my way out if necessary, although nobody put it in so many words. I figured all that special training must have been for something.’ She shook her head resignedly. ‘They were out of their minds, of course; I realized that the moment I arrived in the area. Apart from an open square on one side, the area around the house was a rabbit warren. Tight streets, packed with houses and barely wide enough for a donkey, let alone a car. We wouldn’t have made it two blocks without being clocked and stopped.’
‘What went wrong?’
‘Part of the arrangement was that I had to meet Humphries, my handler, every week for a briefing. It increased the danger to us both, but they insisted it was necessary. I’d tell him whatever I could about the people around Rafa’i and hand over any other information I’d gathered.’
‘Wait . . . what other information? You were spying as well?’
‘That was part of it, yes. I was given some electronic equipment to take in with me, so I could listen in on meetings held in the compound. I didn’t like it; I thought it was too risky. But they insisted it was necessary to protect Rafa’i from the elements around him.’
‘Such as?’
‘They said he was under constant pressure from extremist factions who wanted to gain influence with the Coalition. They were nothing more than cowboys looking for a fight. They were also riddled with distrust and rivalry, and it was vital to weed out who was who and isolate the troublemakers.’
‘So Rafa’i was their way in.’
‘Yes. Whenever I met Humphries, I’d hand over the discs so he could take them back for analysis. They also gave me a digital camera to record anyone new arriving at the compound, and I had to give Gordon the memory cards. It felt sneaky, but I had no option.’
‘How did you communicate with him?’
‘I had a sat phone, but the signal was unreliable. It was probably because of all the Coalition radio traffic and the jamming signals the US forces used in the area to block mobile phones being used by insurgents. Otherwise I’d have used it more often.’
‘Why not use the same network as the US forces?’
‘Humphries didn’t trust it. I don’t blame him – it wasn’t as safe as they claimed. The moment they began yakking at the start of a patrol, you could almost see the insurgents tracking their direction of travel.’
‘Did you tell Rafa’i when you were going to these meetings?’
‘Yes. We had an agreement: he knew what to do if something went down and I wasn’t there. He didn’t like it but he needed the Coalition’s agreement and support.’
‘Support?’
‘They paid him.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s the way things work out there.’
‘Did he realize he was being spied on by the Coalition?’
Joanne appeared unconcerned by the term. ‘I’m not sure. He wasn’t stupid; he knew what was expected of him and he must have suspected they’d go to any lengths to watch him and those around him. But he never said anything directly to me. He was very respectful to me all the time I was with him.’
‘Was Humphries MI6?’ Harry queried.
‘No idea. He never said.’
‘But your opinion?’
‘I think so.’
Rik shifted, eager to hear what had happened. ‘Go on.’
‘One day I got a call to a meeting. It was unscheduled, but I’d been told to expect that in case of emergencies. Humphries left a message on my sat phone. He sounded stressed. I figured maybe something had gone wrong and he was getting ready to haul me out. We usually met at a private house to which I had a key. I arrived and waited, but he never showed. I gave it thirty minutes, which was way longer than I should have done, because standing orders were that if one of us failed to show, it was probably for a bloody mortal reason and the place might have been compromised. I tried calling him but the signal was crap. There was a radio in the house, so I turned it on while I was waiting. The local news station was going apeshit, screaming about betrayal and enemies of Allah. There had been a massive car bomb in the compound where Rafa’i lived. I’d heard an explosion, but hadn’t been able to place it.’ She looked at them and explained, ‘With the jumble of narrow streets and the thickness of the walls, sound gets badly distorted. To me, it had just been another bomb.’
‘We know. What happened?’
‘The place was flattened. The reports said everyone was accounted for apart from three people: a bodyguard who was seen crossing the square just before it happened, another guard covering the front of the building when the bomb went off and . . . and me. I couldn’t believe it. Why would anyone do that?’
‘You told Rafa’i you were going to the meeting?’
‘Yes. He was fine about it; he said he’d keep his head down until I returned.’
Harry thought back to the various news reports he’d read at the time, including the rehashed report in the newspaper near Param’s hideout. It now seemed a long time ago and most of the coverage had slipped by without lodging in his consciousness. Like so much of what passed for daily life over there, it was one among so many bombings, each new outrage indistinguishable from the last. He figured Joanne’s information was as reliable as any. ‘You think the missing guards were behind it?’
‘They had to be. They weren’t supposed to leave the compound. It was a security tactic to avoid a suicide bomber walking in off the street and changing places with someone on the inside. But there were other ways of getting a bomb into the compound: one of the guards or house staff could have been bribed or a delivery could have included a bomb. Someone in the crowd said a delivery truck had stopped there just before the explosion, and with the two guards seen outside the compound at the time . . . it’s the obvious connection.’
Harry nodded. ‘Unless that’s what everyone was supposed to think.’
She blinked. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s an easy explanation, that’s all. B
lame the missing guards . . . divert attention away from someone else. It’s all politics, is what I’m saying.’ He continued looking at her, trying to read what was in her face and why she had reacted so defensively. The inevitable guilt, perhaps, of the protector having failed to protect? ‘What did you do then?’
She took a moment to reply, then said, ‘I was switching channels trying to pick up more news reports when I heard shouting from outside. I looked out and saw a four-wheel drive stuck at the top of the street. The turning was narrow and the driver had cut the corner too tight. He’d knocked over some pots outside a small shop. The owner was going mental and screaming at the driver. Lucky for me – I knew where it was headed.’
‘It could have been a rescue patrol,’ Harry pointed out.
She shook her head. ‘No. If they were anything to do with Humphries, they’d have come in faster and no messing. These guys weren’t familiar with the area. It was quiet, but it wasn’t the sort of place to hang around unless you could pass as locals – and they didn’t even try.’
‘You saw them?’
‘I caught a glimpse of one in the back when he dropped the window for a second. He was a westerner, in civvies and a flak jacket like most of the contractors.’ She shook her head. ‘He could have been army, but . . . something about them being there wasn’t right – I don’t know what it was. Gordon Humphries always said to rely on my instincts and not trust anyone I didn’t know. I know, they were westerners, so logically I’d have been safe. But not every contractor out there is working for the good guys. Some are mercenaries, just out there to do a job and get paid. I decided not to find out; I bugged out the back and made my way back to the compound.’
‘Risky thing to do.’
‘Not really. I was dressed as a local and I’d been taught to walk like one, so I was able to filter back into the area and join in the crowd. It was mental. Rubble everywhere, body parts, paper like confetti . . . everyone was piling in, saying it was insurgents or the Americans or one faction or another. Some were saying it was the bodyguards who’d been paid to let it happen.’ She shivered. ‘You have to be in the crowd to experience it, but in a place like that, everyone has a theory, and it changes every five seconds. Gossip gets blown out of proportion, but if you can filter out the crackpot ravings, you sometimes get pretty close to what might be the truth. Somebody always knows something, from a brother or uncle or cousin with connections. It’s that kind of society.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I still had my phone, so I ducked into cover and tried calling Humphries again. This time I got a cancelled signal, so I called a crash number he’d given me. It was for use only in absolute emergencies. He told me on the first day that calling that number meant everything was blown and that I’d get lifted out by a Special Forces combat patrol and flown to a safe place. The number was dead. That’s when I got scared.’
Harry nodded, although he had a problem imagining Joanne Archer being scared of anything. ‘What then?’
‘I was too far from any of the Coalition bases to risk walking it. As a woman, I didn’t dare try getting a lift out, and approaching one of the American patrols in the area was too dangerous – they’re so jumpy about suicide bombers, they’d have shot me before I got anywhere near. But I was running out of time. I knew the people around Rafa’i would be wondering where I’d disappeared to, and that they might put two and two together and make a giant Coalition conspiracy – with me at the centre of it. Can you imagine? “Western PA goes AWOL prior to assassination.”’
Rik whistled. ‘It would play for weeks in the local press.’
‘Right. If they’d found me, I’d have been torn to pieces. Anyway, I remembered Humphries telling me once that he was friendly with one of the Reuters correspondents – an American – so I went round to one of the hotels where they all hung out. Luckily for me he was in, so I asked if he knew where Humphries was. He was surprised I hadn’t heard.’
They both waited.
‘He said there’d been a random drive-by shooting. Gordon Humphries was dead.’
THIRTY
‘How did you get out of the country?’ It was nine at night and Rik had sent out for a takeaway curry. Hunger had hit them all, and they were sharing the food around the table, washed down with cans of lager.
‘I had a stash of alternative papers for emergencies and an open flight voucher out. Gordon Humphries called it my wild card; it would trump every other ticket and get me a seat out on the pilot’s lap if necessary. I joined a bunch of aid workers and walked on to the first available flight, no questions asked. It was easier than I thought. I got back here on the same papers and . . . and that’s where I ran into a brick wall.’
Harry stopped chewing. ‘How do you mean?’
Joanne put down her fork and rubbed her face. Her eyes were dark and her face had developed an unnatural pallor, as if the past few hours had filtered out all her natural skin tone. When she spoke, her voice showed signs of a tremor. ‘I didn’t know what to do. Can you believe that – after all that bloody training? I didn’t even know who I could trust, and with Humphries gone, I was cut loose with no backup.’ She brushed her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘As if it wasn’t bad enough losing my principal, I was also out of a job.’
‘But they must have given you a fallback number in case your lifeline to Humphries got compromised or you became isolated?’
‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Only they never told me anything like that. I had the emergency number in Baghdad and one back here in the UK. I figured that was the norm. I mean, I don’t know any spooks, but how many numbers and fallbacks do they need? As soon as I landed here, I dialled the number, expecting to be called in for a debrief. It was dead. I tried for two days but got nothing. Crazy, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alone.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘I sailed through Immigration without being stopped, then nothing. Some bloody security.’ She stared towards the window. ‘I think I’ve only just realized what I owe Gordon Humphries: he saved my life.’
‘How do you figure that?’ Rik queried.
‘I’m convinced he got wind of something happening and got me out of there. We’d not long had a meeting, yet he called for one on the day of the explosion. I thought it was odd, but didn’t argue.’
‘Good thing you didn’t,’ said Harry.
Nobody spoke for a few minutes after that. Harry and Rik were digesting what Joanne had told them, and the young woman herself was sunk deep in her own thoughts. The two men knew the workings of officialdom fairly well, especially in the darker reaches of the security world, and what they had heard was not so wild they couldn’t believe it, given their own experience of double-dealing in high places. And going by everything Joanne had told them, it was plain she had been employed under very murky circumstances. No wonder she didn’t know who to trust.
‘Why did you clear out of your flat in Finchley?’ Rik asked.
‘It didn’t feel safe,’ she replied. ‘Nowhere did. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I didn’t have a bloody clue what to do.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘Put a nine millimetre in my hand and drop me into a firefight, and I’ll be fine. But this . . .’ She shook her head. ‘I began to think I was being watched, although I never saw anyone. In the end it got to be too much and I bugged out. I suppose I wasn’t being too rational, was I?’
‘Your instincts weren’t too far off.’ Harry told her about the two callers at her flat. ‘They could have been from Humphries’ department.’
‘If they were,’ she replied, ‘they’d have left a contact number. It’s been like I never existed.’
‘They thought you’d been killed,’ Rik pointed out. ‘The few people who knew about you, anyway.’
‘Well,’ Harry murmured, ‘they certainly know different now.’
Joanne looked puzzled. ‘I don’t see how. They’ve cut all links with me, so I can’t contact anyone. How would they know I’m here?’
‘Bureaucracy.
’ Rik was on familiar territory. ‘You used the wild card to get out of Iraq. That would have shown up on a board somewhere, linking it to Six or the army. A number cruncher would have spotted it and backtracked it through the system. Easy.’
‘There’s also the body,’ Harry added, ‘or the lack of one. You were unaccounted for at the compound. It probably took a while but somebody must have finally cottoned on that you’d got out and were on the loose.’ He took out the photo of Silverman again and slid it across the table, face up. ‘Are you certain this is Rafa’i?’
She studied it closely for a while, then nodded. ‘It’s him. The mark on his face was caused by an explosion when he was a boy. He and a friend were playing with an old mortar flare they found in the desert. It went off and that was the result. I’m certain, yes.’ She pushed the photo away as if wanting nothing more to do with it. ‘He had a way of holding his head . . . sort of lopsided. It used to make people think he was listening very carefully to what they had to say.’
‘Handy trick for a politician,’ murmured Rik.
‘OK.’ Harry left the photo where it was. ‘But that opens up a whole list of questions.’
‘Does it?’
‘Yes. One: if he’s here in the UK, how did he avoid being killed in the explosion? Two: someone must have identified a body as his. Three: who planned the explosion and why?’
‘Four,’ Rik added darkly, ‘how did he get away safely without you holding his hand?’
Joanne looked away. It was clear by the set of her mouth that she didn’t want to think about it. ‘I don’t have any answers,’ she said finally. ‘Our default agreement was that he’d wait for me to return. Maybe he got spooked by something and slipped away by himself. You don’t hold his kind of position in Iraqi society without developing some instincts for survival. We’d talked it over enough times, so he knew what to do. As to who identified his body – that could have been someone covering for him . . . or maybe wishful thinking by somebody wanting to take his place.’
Tracers Page 14
