“Don’t think you’ll be able to put this dinner on your expenses!” she declares, as she gets up to leave. “And by the way, Dick, I’m not ‘your lovely’.” The other diners turn to watch the disturbance. The maitre d’ is alarmed and hurries over. He asks Dick to leave and to settle the bill at the cash desk out of sight of the other diners. Dick’s humiliation is total.
******
The next morning, Samira turns up early before the arrival of Jackson, Farouk or Yassin. Unlike last night, her hair is back down, her make-up has been removed and she is wearing trainers, neat jeans and a loose top. She sees Dick in his office. He is seated in the new leather chair that he demanded. He is wearing his pen-laden safari suit and scanning the British newspapers on his computer screen. She takes a deep breath and goes in to confront him.
“Morning, Dick,” she says coldly.
“Good morning, Samira,” he says, struggling to maintain a semblance of authority.
Samira pulls up a chair and points a finger at him. “Let’s get some things straight: you and I have to work together for the next month or so until Mack returns, so let’s do a deal. I’ll make no mention of what you said last night and you’ll say nothing about how I retaliated. In other words, we will have a respectful professional relationship and will act as though last night never happened. Right?!”
Dick has met his match, for now, and knows it. “Yes, let’s do that,” he murmurs.
Samira returns to her desk in the main work area to find that Jackson has arrived. “Hey,” he whispers to her, “is it true that you and Psycho went out for dinner last night?”
“It’s true,” she says abruptly.
“Christ! Were you that desperate for company and a free meal?”
“No need to be rude, Jacko. He wanted to be briefed on a few things, that’s all. He now understands what’s what in the bureau.”
Jackson raises his eyebrows at this, but says nothing and turns on his computer. He scrolls through the news agency stories and comes across further references to senior government figures being snatched off the street. He wonders if this is developing into a story that requires more of his attention. He phones Thomas. “Have you seen the latest agency reports on the disappearing government people? Reuters says six have gone missing in the past few days.”
“Yes, I saw that. Very interesting.”
“Mmm. Yes, it is – especially as they all seem to have been lifted within a few hundred metres of the government offices. It’s almost as though the kidnappers or whatever had been tipped off.”
“I suppose that’s possible.”
“I don’t suppose this is in any way related to your lot?”
“Oh, I don’t see why you would think that. You mustn’t let your imagination run away with you. Anyway, must go. It’s a busy, busy, busy day!”
The next few days at the bureau pass without incident. There are no major stories to cover. Dick and Samira maintain an icy, business-like relationship, but he is determined not to forgive or forget what happened in the restaurant or the attitude of Jackson and Pete.
There have been a few shooting incidents and killings caused by bombs placed under cars, and despite hearing nothing from Binnie, Jackson assumes they are gang-related. At the same time, his gambling losses have mounted. His Roger Smith account has been cleaned out and he has sold the last of his shares. He and Zareena have had a row about his gambling and she tells him their business and personal relationship is over.
******
Jackson, Pete and Yassin investigate a bombing. They arrive in a rundown part of town to find the smoking ruins of a black Jeep Cherokee SUV with two charred bodies inside. In the front seat appears to be a chauffeur, while a woman is slumped in the back seat. They are not a pretty sight. It looks a rather routine event for Armibar, but Pete films it anyway, just in case it becomes significant.
Omar Abbas of Al Jazeera and Jane Kubinski of CNN turn up simultaneously. The police have yet to arrive and cordon off the area, so Omar is able to peer into the back seat. “She’s familiar and so is the car,” he tells Jackson and Jane, “she’s the mistress of one of the gang leaders, Abdul something-or-other.”
“Is it worth a story?” asks Jackson.
“Not really,” replies Omar, “Small bomb, two dead doesn’t really make it for us.”
“Nor us,” says Jane.
“Well, if you’re not doing it, we won’t either,” says Jackson. “Let’s go and have lunch.”
The others agree. As they prepare to drive away in convoy, Yassin takes a call on his mobile. “Sorry,” he informs Jackson, “I’ve got to go. Dick wants me to meet the lunchtime flight from London for a pick-up.”
“What sort of pick-up?”
“He said he’d give me the details when I get to the airport.”
“Never mind, Jacko,” says Jane, “you can come with us and we’ll drop you off at the bureau after lunch.”
******
The three crews travel to the Armibar Hotel where they have a leisurely meal. They swap gossip about past triumphs and failures and complain routinely about the way they are treated by their bosses back at headquarters. They are keen rivals, but not unfriendly ones. There is a mutual acceptance that no quarter will be given in trying to scoop each other, but when danger comes their way, a comradeship overrides this, as it did during the mosque bombing and the rescuing of Mack when he was shot.
It is mid-afternoon by the time Jackson and Pete stroll into the bureau, unaware of what awaits them.
“Anything doing?” Jackson casually asks Samira, expecting the answer to be “nothing”.
“Yes, there is Jacko, and you aren’t going to like it.” She nods towards Mack’s office where a tall, grey-haired man in a lightweight beige suit and brightly-coloured tie is chatting to Dick.
“Oh Christ!” exclaims Jackson, “what the fuck’s he doing here?”
“I’ve no idea. I came back from my lunch to find that Yassin had brought him from the airport.”
The cause of Jackson’s astonishment and anger is the discovery that star roving foreign correspondent Frederick Wynter is on his patch.
Jackson goes to his desk to find that his papers have been pushed to one side and replaced by Frederick’s files. The computer is on and logged into Frederick’s personal area. “What’s all this?” he demands.
“Dick said Fred could share your desk,” Samira tells him.
“I’m not having that,” he shouts.
He bursts into Mack’s office to confront Frederick. “What the hell are you doing here, Fred?”
Frederick turns on his best patronising manner. “Oh hello, Jackson. I thought it was time I checked out this patch – you know, just to cast a fresh eye on what’s happening here and see that nothing has been missed. Dick agreed with me, so here I am.”
“It would have been a courtesy to tell me you were coming.”
“Oh well, you know how fast things move in this business. Panorama wants an in-depth look at the situation here and I’ll probably do a few special pieces for the Ten.”
Jackson’s mood darkens. “You’re here now, so I can’t do anything about it, but I am telling you straight that you can get your arse away from my desk. I’m not sharing it with anyone. Samira can sort out another work area for you.”
Frederick is affronted. “Your hostility is not appreciated, Jacko. We are One BBC, I would remind you, and I expect some co-operation while I’m here.”
“You’ll get the co-operation that you deserve!” Jackson shouts.
Dick enjoys seeing Jackson so upset, but decides that it is time to intervene. “Calm down, Jackson. Your attitude towards a highly-respected colleague is quite unacceptable and will not be looked upon well by London should they get to hear about it. Go back to your desk and quieten down and I’ll get Samira to set up a temporary desk here in my office. I’ll enjoy Frederick’s company.”
Jackson realises that his behaviour is likely to be counter-productive and ado
pts a more emollient tone. “I’m sorry, Fred, but we’ve been through some difficult days here recently. A desk in here with Dick seems a good idea. I believe there is a spare one that can be brought upstairs from the storeroom.”
Frederick extends his hand and Jackson shakes it without enthusiasm. He goes back to his desk and moves the unwelcome visitor’s files to a shelf. He logs onto his own personal area in the computer and makes a routine check of the news agencies and Arabic websites. In particular, he is seeking news of the kidnapped Central Arabian officials, but there is none.
CHAPTER 18
Several hours later Jackson is at home, microwaving a ready-made meal and half-watching a video compilation of Rolling Stones hits on his TV. His landline phone rings and he hits the speaker button. It is Omar Abbas and he is angry. “Hey, Jacko, what are you guys playing at?!”
“I don’t understand.”
“That car bomb this morning. You said you weren’t going to run it.”
“Well, we didn’t, so what’s the problem?”
“Well, what’s that you’re now running on World News?”
Jackson grabs the TV remote and flicks over to the BBC, just in time to hear Frederick Wynter’s commentary on the film taken by Pete that morning.
“Oh Christ!” shouts Jackson, “it’s fucking Fred. What’s he been saying?”
“He says it’s terrorism and has been spouting all sorts of speculative bullshit about the political situation here.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, I’m not. I didn’t even know Wynter was in town.”
Jackson is apologetic. “What can I say, mate. The pompous arsehole turned up unannounced while we were having lunch today. I reckon that Psycho Passick did it deliberately to stir the shit.”
“Well, Jacko, I’m bloody upset. I’m now going to have to go back into the office and put together a ‘matcher’ of some sort, otherwise our viewers will reckon we’ve been doing a cover-up.”
“Sorry, Omar. I really am, but Wynter is a law unto himself and the bosses in London thinks the sun shines out of his exhaust pipe.”
Omar hangs up and Jackson pours himself a large whisky.
******
The next morning’s editorial conference is tense. Jackson angrily challenges Frederick’s assertion that yesterday’s bombing was terrorism, but his protests are haughtily waved aside by the roving correspondent with the unsurprising backing of Dick. “Anyway,” Frederick says, “I wasn’t the only one who thought it was worth a story. Al-Jazeera ran it, even though they were a bit slow off the mark.” Jackson gives a shrug, resisting the powerful desire to explain why Omar had done the story, or to point out that Al-Jazeera speculated that it was a gangland assassination.
Frederick announces that he is having his own cameraman and producer fly out from London tomorrow and that meantime he will spend the day resting back at his hotel. Jackson and Pete are pleased to know they will have him out of sight, if not entirely out of mind.
As they return to their desks, Jackson asks Pete if he knew that Frederick was doing a piece on the car bomb. “Sorry, mate, the first I knew of it was when I saw it on last night’s bulletin. I transferred the pix from my camera to our archive, just in case we needed them. Fucking Wynter turned up after we’d gone and got Farouk to send the pix off to London where they edited them around his voiceover.”
Jackson sighs and checks the news agencies. He sees there have been two more mysterious kidnappings of government officials in recent days. He gets out a map and discovers that all the kidnappings have been about a block or so from government headquarters. He rings the local Reuters bureau chief, Kareem. “Hi, it’s Jacko. Do you have any background info on all these guys who’ve been kidnapped?” He listens to Kareem’s thoughts. “Now that’s interesting! I’ve also been hearing that, so it might not be the usual gangland ransom stuff.”
Jackson puts the phone down and leans back in his chair, puzzling over the meaning of what he has just been told. His thoughts are interrupted by a call from Felicity. She is keen to tell him that his surprise $500 donation has been put to excellent use, buying urgently-needed medicines and second-hand exercise equipment. He feels a flush of sexual tension when she praises him as ‘a good and generous man’. “I’m glad someone thinks so,” he replies, adding that at some time in the near future he will see if he can do a ‘good news’ feature on her rehabilitation centre.
The call has to end as another one is coming in. Coincidentally, it is from Thomas responding to a text message sent earlier in the day. Although there is no reason why Jackson shouldn’t mention the call from Felicity, he opts not to. He has some questions for Thomas and they agree to meet in half an hour for a coffee. He puts on his jacket and opens the door to Mack’s office where Dick is busily typing on his computer. “Just going out for a short while,” he says, “I need to meet an old mate who’s just arrived in town.” Dick looks up and frowns, but before he can say anything, Jackson closes the door and heads for the exit.
******
When Jackson arrives at the coffee shop across from the British Embassy, Thomas is already seated at the usual spot and a waiter places two Arabic coffees and water on the table. The two men shake hands and get down to business without preamble.
“I see that you have ‘Wet’ Wynter on your patch,” says Thomas.
“How do you know his nickname?” asks Jackson.
“Oh, we like to keep tabs on high profile reporters. We probably know more about him that he does,” he laughs.
“I’m sure you do,” smiles Jackson, “but I can’t imagine there’s all that much to know, apart from the occasional extra-marital shag. He’s just a tedious, self-important suit full of bugger all.”
Thomas laughs. “You don’t care for him much?”
“You could say that.”
“So, did you give him the duff lead on yesterday’s car bombing?”
“Not at all. He just made one of his notoriously-shallow assumptions. If it’s a car bomb, it must be terrorism.”
“Yes, well as you probably know, it was a gangland job. Nothing more. We’ve checked it out.”
They sip their coffee and Jackson changes the subject. He wants to press Thomas about the mysterious kidnappings. “Are you sure you know nothing about them? I mean, the first one was just one day after I made that delivery for you in Khaled Mohamed’s office. I’ve just been told that all those who’ve been ‘lifted’ are members of Khaled’s faction in the government.”
Thomas responds with a knowing smile. “Just a coincidence, Jacko.”
“Really?”
“Well, that’s the official line anyway. Off the record, there may be a link, but don’t worry your head about it. They’ve just been removed from the scene where they can do no harm to Western interests.”
“Removed to where?”
“Who knows, Jacko? Just ‘removed’ – by our American friends.”
Jackson becomes worried. “Look, Thomas, I don’t want this thing to get out of hand. I did that little job for you on the understanding that it was to provide you with information – not to allow kidnappings or renditions or whatever. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”
Thomas tries to calm him. “What you did has been immensely useful to us and our friends. Sometimes the information received during operations like these necessitates some adjustments to our original plans. You must understand that. There’s a lot at stake here and there’ll be something in it for you, professionally and personally.”
Jackson is still uncomfortable, but before he can take the discussion further, Thomas slides a note across the table. “You won’t regret this, Jacko.”
Jackson studies the note, frowns and puts it in his back pocket.
“And one more thing,” Thomas says, “we best not meet in public any more – at least not for the time being. Instead, we should communicate by phone.”
“Really? Is that a good idea?”
“It’s not going
to be a problem. The geniuses in our technical department have successfully tested new telephone encryption software that uses a secure satellite link. It’s bloody brilliant. It means that when we call from the embassy or our designated mobiles, the only people who can understand what we say are those on the phone number we’ve dialled. Anyone trying to monitor the calls will hear nothing but a terrible screech that will feel like rusty nails are being driven into their brains. It’s truly bloody brilliant.”
“Very clever,” says Jackson, “but should you be telling me this?”
“Well, you’re one of us now, Jacko.”
Jackson is alarmed. “No, no, Thomas. I’m not. Just because I’ve helped you out a little, you can’t suck me further into your operation.”
“It’s not as simple as that, Jacko – not when the national interest is at stake. Anyway, let’s not fall out over this. It’ll be okay in the end.”
Thomas drinks the last of his coffee, gets up and leaves. Jackson reaches into his pocket for Thomas’s note and studies it thoughtfully as he finishes his coffee.
******
Next morning, Frederick Wynter turns up with his producer and cameraman and dominates the morning editorial conference with his plans and thoughts on the future of Central Arabia. When Jackson is finally asked by Dick if he has anything to contribute, he shrugs his shoulders and says that he and Pete are owed some leave and will take the rest of the day off. “Perhaps, if Yassin is not needed, he can take Pete and me to see some of the tourist sights we wouldn’t normally get to.”
This is news to Pete, but he makes no comment, instinctively suspecting that the statement should not be taken at face value. Frederick says he has booked a chauffeured saloon for the day and won’t need Yassin. The meeting breaks up.
Two hours later, the BBC car carrying Jackson and Pete is parked by Yassin in an avenue dividing Central Arabia Plaza from several hectares of bulldozed wasteland. Jackson consults the note given to him by Thomas. “This is the spot,” he announces.
Pete is annoyed. “Would you like to explain why we’re here?” he demands.
The Mortal Maze Page 18
