Shepherd looked at Shortt. ‘Sounded okay,’ said Shortt.
Shepherd smiled. ‘Well done,’ he said.
‘Now can we go?’ asked Fariq.
‘You know that’s not possible,’ said Shepherd, patiently. ‘You can’t go until this is over.’
‘You can let my family go. They won’t do anything as long as you have me.’
‘You’re all staying here,’ said Shepherd. ‘That’s the way it has to be.’
‘My brother doesn’t know me any more,’ said Fariq.
‘Yeah, you said,’ said Shepherd. ‘Now shut up or I’ll gag you. You can get changed.’
‘Do I have to wear my pyjamas?’
‘Whatever you like.’
The Major was checking the recording.
‘Okay?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Looks fine,’ said the Major. He handed the camera to Shortt. ‘Get our guy to look it over. Anything suspicious, anything not a hundred per cent kosher, I want to know.’
Shortt took the camera and headed for the stairs.
Shepherd waited until Fariq had pulled on a pair of trousers and a white shirt then bound his hands behind his back and took his arm. ‘We’re going to the servants’ quarters,’ he said. ‘You can stay with your family.’
‘Thank you,’ said Fariq.
‘Don’t thank me,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s easier for us to keep you in one place.’
‘You’re a good man,’ whispered Fariq. ‘I know you are.’
‘I’m not a good man,’ said Shepherd, ‘and don’t bother trying to play me. Now, move.’ He pushed Fariq out of the door, along the hallway and down the stairs.
O’Brien was in the kitchen, inspecting the contents of a huge stainless-steel refrigerator. ‘Do you want anything?’ he asked Shepherd.
‘I’m okay.’ Shepherd’s stomach was churning.
‘It’s mostly Arab food,’ said O’Brien.
‘It would be,’ said Shepherd.
‘Hey, Fariq, where do you keep the bread?’ asked O’Brien.
‘It’s in the cupboard there, by the coffee-maker. If you want, my cook can prepare something for you.’
‘She’s staying where she is,’ said Shepherd, and pushed Fariq across the kitchen towards the stairs to the servants’ quarters. ‘Coming up,’ he called.
Armstrong was waiting at the entrance to the sitting room with the Taser.
He stepped aside to allow Fariq and Shepherd into the room.
Fariq sighed with relief when he saw his wife and daughter sitting on the sofa. ‘Anaa aasif,’ he said. ‘Saamihnii.’
‘English!’ snapped Armstrong. ‘Speak only English.’
‘He was saying he’s sorry,’ said Fariq’s wife. ‘He was apologising for you, you moron.’
Armstrong pointed the gun at her. ‘I warned you, shut up!’ he said.
‘What’s wrong?’ she said, her chin up. ‘You don’t like it when we speak Arabic and you don’t like it when we speak English.’
‘Don’t, darling. They’ll leave soon.’ Fariq smiled at his daughter. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. The little girl’s wrists had been bound together with tape.
‘Al-umuur aadiyya,’ she said, close to tears.
‘English, little one, these men want us to speak English so that they can understand what we’re saying.’
‘Did they hurt you?’ she said.
‘No.’
‘But you’ve been crying.’
‘I was worried about you, that’s all.’
‘Are they going now?’
‘They’ll stay just a little longer,’ said Fariq. He turned to Shepherd. ‘Can I hold her for a bit?’
Shepherd cut the tape binding Fariq’s wrists. The Arab sat down on the sofa next to his daughter and put his arms around her. ‘Can you untie her?’ he asked.
Shepherd shook his head.
‘Scared of a child?’ said Fariq’s wife.
‘I warned you,’ said Armstrong.
‘Ughrub annii!’ hissed the woman, and spat at him.
‘Right, that’s it,’ said Armstrong, and moved towards her.
Fariq slid across the sofa to his wife. ‘Please – she’s stressed, that’s all,’ he said. He tried to put his arms around her but she shrugged him away.
‘Laysa ladayka ash-shajaa’a al-kaafiya!’ she said.
‘What can I do?’ he said. ‘They’ve got guns.’
‘You can stand up for yourself,’ she said.
Armstrong pushed Fariq to the side, then started to wind tape around the wife’s mouth. She struggled but Armstrong was too strong for her. The child was crying in Fariq’s arms. ‘Please, do not let him hurt my wife,’ he begged Shepherd.
‘The bitch hasn’t shut up since we brought her here,’ said Armstrong. Fatima tried to headbutt him but he shoved her back on the sofa.
Shepherd pointed at her. ‘You, sit still. If you behave, we’ll take the gag off. If you carry on being a pain in the arse, we’ll put you in a wardrobe. It’s your choice.’ He went to Fariq. ‘I’m going to have to tie you up again now.’
‘Please, I just want to hold my daughter.’
‘I understand that,’ said Shepherd, ‘but there’s less risk of anything happening to you if you’re restrained.’
‘Daddy, I want them to go,’ whispered the girl.
Fariq kissed the top of her head. ‘I know you do, honey,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, they will soon.’
Shepherd taped Fariq’s wrists behind his back, then taped his feet together.
He stood up. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said, to Armstrong.
‘I wouldn’t mind a coffee.’
Shepherd went downstairs. O’Brien was slicing a loaf of bread. ‘Billy wants a coffee,’ said Shepherd, ‘and you might take up some water for the family.’
‘How did the video go?’
‘He looked scared to death.’
‘Should do the trick,’ said O’Brien. He held up a slice of bread. ‘You want toast?’
‘Maybe later,’ said Shepherd. The front door opened. He grabbed for his Glock and brought it to bear on the figure that stepped across the threshold but relaxed when he saw it was Shortt.
Shortt closed the door carefully. ‘Halim says the video’s fine. Fariq stuck pretty much to the script, just added a bit about please do what we say because he’s sure we mean to kill him.’
‘How do we get the video to al-Jazeera?’ asked O’Brien. ‘Email?’
‘Too risky,’ said Shepherd. ‘They could track it back to its source. Maybe not to the exact computer but certainly to the server and definitely to the country. We need them to think that Fariq’s in Baghdad. If the police suspect he’s in Dubai they’ll tear the country apart. We’ll copy the DVD and have it hand-delivered to al-Jazeera’s office here, the same way they got Geordie’s video.’
The Major came down the stairs. Shortt gave him the camera. ‘It’s fine,’ he said. The Major pulled a small cable and a blank DVD from his pocket. ‘Give me a hand,’ he said to Shepherd.
Shepherd followed him to the study. The computer was still on, the fan in the main unit whirring quietly. Shepherd sat down in front of it, slotted in the DVD and connected the camera to one of the computer’s two USB sockets. It took several minutes to download the video, then Shepherd edited out the first few seconds and ended the video at the point where Fariq was about to ask if what he’d said was okay. He and the Major watched it through from start to finish, checking that nothing on screen would identify the location.
‘Looks good to me,’ said the Major.
Shepherd burned the video on to the DVD, ejected it and handed it to him. ‘Do you think it’ll work?’ he asked.
‘I hope so,’ said the Major.
‘What Fariq said, about not being close to his brother, he might have been telling the truth.’
‘Blood’s got to be thicker than water,’ said the Major. ‘Close or not, I can’t see a man standing by and seeing his brother killed
.’
‘Unless he’s a dyed-in-the-wool fundamentalist who reckons his brother’s in the pay of the infidels. I figure the hard-liners have got to see Dubai as a threat to what they’re trying to achieve in Iraq and Iran. Fariq’s taken his family from Baghdad and set up home here. Maybe Wafeeq would be happy to see him dead.’
‘You’re a cynical bugger, Spider.’
‘I’m a realist.’
‘Any other suggestions?’
‘I wish I had,’ said Shepherd. ‘I just worry that this is all we’ve got.’
‘It’s our best shot. Let’s see how it works out.’ He waved the DVD. ‘I’ll take this to John. He can get Halim to have it delivered first thing. With any luck it’ll be on air by lunchtime.’
‘Do you think they’ll believe he was kidnapped in Iraq?’
‘I don’t see why not. Fariq travels back and forth. Worst possible scenario, the local cops will come around to see if the wife’s here. We get the old guy to answer the door and say the family’s away for a few days. I don’t see there’ll be any reason for them to be suspicious.’
‘I can’t believe we’re doing this,’ said Shepherd.
‘Believe it, Spider, because it’s the only chance we’ve got of freeing Geordie.’
Richard Yokely’s mobile rang. There were two men in the office with him, both wearing Bluetooth headsets. They were in their early thirties and were wearing dark sweatshirts with the sleeves pulled up to the elbows, jeans and heavy workboots. They could have been brothers they looked so alike, but one had a broken nose and the other a thick scar above his lip. ‘Excuse me, guys, I have to take this,’ he said. He went out into the corridor. A marine in dress uniform with an M16 in his hands stood to attention. ‘Marion, sweetheart, how are you?’ said Yokely.
‘Where are you, or is that classified?’ she asked.
‘London,’ said Yokely. ‘The embassy.’
‘Information retrieval?’ she said.
He laughed. ‘Embassies are a lovely grey area,’ he said. ‘American soil, yet not American soil, and safe from prying eyes.’
‘Anyone I know?’ she asked.
‘One of the Invisibles,’ said Yokely. ‘British-born Pakistani. He’s been under the radar here but NSA picked up some interesting phone traffic that suggests he might be a link to some heavy-hitters in Afghanistan. We’ve just brought him in for a talk, see if there’s any way we can persuade him to change sides. You know how it is.’
‘Sadly, I know exactly how it is,’ she said. ‘Have you been watching al-Jazeera?’
‘It’s on my must-watch list,’ said Yokely. ‘Right after Larry King on CNN.’
‘I heard he died three years ago and that it’s all computer-generated, these days,’ said Cooke.
Yokely chuckled. ‘I heard that, too,’ he said. ‘How can I help you, Marion?’
‘I just wanted a chat,’ she said. ‘There’s a new kidnap video, just been released. An Iraqi businessman by the name of Fariq bin Said al-Hadi.’
‘Ah,’ said Yokely.
‘Coincidence, or not?’
‘I’m in London, Marion,’ said Yokely. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
‘I know you wouldn’t lie to me, Richard. We go back way too far for that. But is this something I should be worried about?’
‘It’s absolutely one hundred per cent nothing to do with me,’ said Yokely. ‘Mitchell is a Brit and Brits are out there causing mischief.’
‘This Fariq is not a player, Richard. He’s a businessman. He’s been looked at in the past and there’s not a black mark against him. And you know who his wife is?’
‘I did a bit of digging, yes, but what’s happening is nothing to do with me. Or you.’
‘Well, that’s reassuring,’ said Cooke. ‘I have to say, it’s a nice spin, isn’t it? Kidnap a close relative of someone who’s holding one of your friends. Tit for tat. You let yours go and we’ll let ours go.’
‘That seems to be their thinking.’
‘Do you think it’ll work?’
‘Actually, Marion, I don’t,’ said Yokely.
O’Brien was frying eggs, splashing fat over the yolks with a spatula and humming. Muller had visited a local supermarket and delivered two carrier-bags filled with Western groceries including eggs, bread, Heinz ketchup, Nescafé, breakfast cereal and milk. ‘Easy over, Spider?’ asked O’Brien.
‘As they come,’ said Shepherd. Since they’d broken into Fariq’s house, he’d lost his appetite, not from fear but because he had a growing sense that, despite their intentions, what they were doing was fundamentally wrong.
The Major and Armstrong were in the servants’ quarters keeping watch on their captives, and Shortt was in the front bedroom, watching through the window. Halim had delivered the DVD to the television station’s office just before noon, and by three o’clock they had seen it on the al-Jazeera website. Fariq was described as an Iraqi businessman and the story with the video reported that he had been kidnapped in Baghdad.
O’Brien slapped an egg so hard on to a slice of bread that the yolk burst. ‘Help yourself to sauce,’ he said.
One of Shepherd’s two mobile phones rang inside his leather jacket, which was hanging on the back of a chair. He fished it out and cursed under his breath. It was the Graham May phone and Ali was calling. ‘Martin, keep quiet, yeah? This is business.’ He pressed the green button to take the call. ‘Yeah?’
‘Graham?’
‘Yeah, what’s up?’
‘It’s Tom,’ said Ali. ‘Where are you?’
‘Why do you care?’ snapped Shepherd. ‘You’re not my mother.’
‘When I called the ringing tone was different, like you were out of the country.’
‘I’m checking on the gear,’ said Shepherd.
‘That other stuff we talked about – you know what I mean?’
‘Yeah.’
‘We want some. Can you get ten kilos? And twenty of the things you said were fifty quid.’
‘Sure,’ said Shepherd. ‘But it’ll be another eleven grand.’
‘We’ve got the money,’ said Ali. ‘When can you get the stuff here?’
‘Birmingham or London?’
‘London’s fine,’ said Ali. ‘We want it as soon as possible. The other gear, too.’
‘Are you on a deadline?’
‘We don’t want to hang about,’ said Ali. ‘When will it be ready?’
Shepherd rubbed the back of his neck. He had no idea how long he was going to be in Dubai. He could tell the Major he had to go back to London and he would understand, but Shepherd knew where his loyalties lay. ‘A few more days,’ he said. ‘There’s been a hiccup but we’re getting it sorted.’
‘A problem?’
‘Not any more. But this is difficult stuff to move around – we’re not shipping bananas. As soon as I’ve got it in the UK, I’ll call you.’
‘How long?’
‘Not long,’ said Shepherd.
‘You’re not fucking around with me, are you?’ asked Ali.
‘Tom, I want to sell you this gear as much as you want to buy it. Keep your mobile on, I’ll call you as soon as we’re sorted.’
Shepherd cut the connection and cursed again.
‘Problems?’ asked O’Brien, laying more eggs on to slices of bread.
‘Work,’ said Shepherd.
‘How much do they pay you to be a cop?’ asked O’Brien.
‘Not enough,’ said Shepherd.
The transceiver on the kitchen table crackled, then they heard Muller’s voice. ‘We’ve got visitors,’ said Muller. ‘Cops. They’ve pulled up outside.’
‘Shit,’ said O’Brien. ‘Just when I’m ready to eat.’
The Major’s voice came on. ‘What’s the story, John?’
‘They’re locals, just one car. Two guys are getting out now, not drawing their weapons. Looks routine. Make that three guys. Two men and an officer.’
‘Let me know if more arrive,’ said the Major.
> Shepherd rushed up the stairs to the servants’ quarters. The Major was already at the door. ‘They’re off the mark quickly,’ he said. ‘Get the old man. Explain to him what he has to say, then take him downstairs.’ He nodded at Armstrong. ‘Gag them all. Quickly.’
‘I’m on it,’ said Armstrong.
Shepherd went through to the bedroom and used his Swiss Army knife to cut the tape from Yazid’s feet and wrists. He helped him to sit up. ‘The police are here,’ he said. ‘You are to tell them that your boss is in Baghdad, with his wife and daughter. You think they’ll be back in a week. You don’t know where they went or where they’re staying. Do you understand?’
The old man nodded.
‘My friends will be up here with their guns. If the police make trouble, people here might get hurt – your wife might get hurt. It will be best for everyone if you make sure that the police go away.’
Yazid nodded again.
‘My friend will be listening to you and he speaks Arabic. If you say anything to the police, he will know. There is one thing you must understand, my friend. If the police force their way in here, they will only care about your boss and his family. They won’t care what happens to you. You and your wife could easily be killed.’
‘I understand,’ said Yazid, rubbing his wrists. He was still wearing his pyjamas.
‘Get changed quickly,’ said Shepherd. He waited while the old man pulled on a pair of brown trousers and a wool shirt.
‘I haven’t shaved,’ he said.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Shepherd took the man’s arm and led him out of the bedroom. Fariq, his wife and daughter were sitting together on the sofa, bound and gagged. Fatima glared at Shepherd as he walked by. The Major was standing at the top of the stairs with Shortt, both holding their Glocks.
‘Okay?’ said the Major.
‘He understands,’ said Shepherd.
‘I will do as you ask,’ said the old man. ‘I will make them go away.’
The Major put the transceiver to his mouth. ‘Sitrep, John.’
‘They’re walking up to the gate. No weapons drawn, it looks like a friendly visit.’
There was a buzzing sound in the hallway. ‘The intercom,’ said the old man.
‘Answer it, and open the gate,’ said the Major. Yazid went down the stairs with Shepherd beside him and Shortt following. O’Brien was in the kitchen, Glock drawn, eating an egg sandwich.
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