The Mortal Maze

by Ian Richardson

  Jackson returns his personal items to his pockets while the pawnbroker unlocks his safe and places Granny Dunbar’s box of jewellery on the counter. Jackson is furious, but there is nothing he can do about it. He takes the jewellery and goes to leave, but the pawnbroker waves him back and hands him $10. “For taxi home,” says the pawnbroker with a smirk.

  Back at his apartment, with just $1 left after paying for his taxi, Jackson pours himself a large whisky. He is rattled, but not yet prepared to accept that his latest misfortune is largely due to his own foolish behaviour.

  ******

  Next morning at the bureau, Jackson is recovering from a hangover and still deeply upset about what happened over Granny Dunbar’s jewellery, but he affects a cheerful air. Mack returns to the subject of the local troubles. Now that President Hasani’s rival, Khaled Mohamed, has been removed from the scene, the only recent violence in Armibar has been some low-level clashes between criminal gangs. He wonders why nothing has been heard of the Soldiers of Allah or Bin Hassan.

  “Is there any way you can get in touch with him?” Mack asks.

  Jackson shakes his head. “Sorry, he just makes very brief calls from a mobile whenever he wants to tell me something.”

  Mack thinks about this for a bit before coming up with an answer. “Tell you what… Why don’t I write a general piece about the security situation here and suggest in passing that Soldiers of Allah might no longer exist? Do you reckon that might flush out Bin Hassan, if he’s still active?”

  “It might, Mack. It’s worth a try, anyway. Just don’t show me the piece before you send it so that I have an element of denial.”

  “Right then,” Mack announces, “I’ll knock together something now and put it over before lunch.”

  “Righto,” replies Jackson, “I’ll make myself scarce while you do it. I’ve been thinking of doing a package on the Fouad Rehabilitation Centre.”

  “Oh, what’s that?”

  “It’s a charity that helps the victims of terrorism and violence in Central Arabia. Mostly looks after kids who’ve been injured.”

  “It sounds a bit marginal. I’m not sure we could successfully pitch it to London. Is there a British angle?”

  “Yes, it’s run by this English woman who’s married to some guy at the British Embassy.”

  “Do I know her?”

  “Possibly. Felicity Fulham.”

  “Mmm. I remember her. An interesting woman. I met her a few months ago at an embassy cocktail party. Her husband is commercial attaché or somesuch. He’s a bit of a smooth-talking bastard, I thought, but I guess you have to be in that sort of job.”

  “Yes, I guess so,” agrees Jackson. “Anyway, I think I’ll pop round to the centre now and see if they’d be interested in me doing a TV piece. By the way, I’ve just given Samira my latest expenses and would appreciate it if you could sign them off today.”

  “Short again, Jacko?”

  “Sorry, but I’ve had some unexpected costs that have left me a bit tight until my salary comes through tomorrow.”

  Mack shrugs his shoulders, reminded of what was suggested in London about Jackson’s constant financial shortfalls.

  ******

  Felicity is hard at work with her patients when Jackson turns up at the Fouad Centre. She is replacing the bandages on the stump of an arm of a young girl. She is pleased to see Jackson. “This is a nice surprise. What brings you here?”

  “Officially, I’m here to explore the possibility of doing that TV report I mentioned before, but I also thought it would be nice to catch up with you.”

  “Thank you,” she says, giving him a broad smile.

  Jackson points to the young girl being bandaged. “What happened to her? Another plaza bomb victim?”

  “No, she was messing about with some unexploded stuff lying on a bit of wasteland. She’s lucky to be alive.”

  Felicity completes the bandaging. The little girl is quietly weeping. Felicity gives her a reassuring hug and turns back to Jackson. “Have you time for a coffee?”

  “Sure. It’s a quiet day so far.”

  They move to the kitchen where Felicity lights a portable gas stove under a kettle. She goes to a large cupboard and points to the contents. “There you are, Jacko: all the medicines and bandages we bought with your money.”

  He nods approvingly. “Well, money very well spent. It’s my pleasure to have helped out.”

  The kettle is now boiled and Felicity makes two cups of instant coffee. She and Jackson sit down in a couple of battered leather seats.

  “How are things with Thomas? Any more drunken episodes?” Jackson asks.

  “No, nothing like that. He seems a little less stressed and was very embarrassed about how he behaved that night.”

  “Are the kids okay?”

  “Oh yes, they’re fine, but a little cautious when he’s around because of his drunken outburst the other night.”

  There is a pause while they sip their coffees, then it is Felicity’s turn to ask questions. “So, how have things been with you, Jacko?”

  He hesitates before answering. “Umm, a mix of good and bad, I suppose. The best bit is that Mack is back running the bureau instead of that nasty bag of shit, Dick Passick.”

  “And the bad?”

  “Just a few temporary financial problems that need sorting out.”

  Felicity studies him intently. “You’ve been gambling again, haven’t you!”

  “Just occasionally – as a distraction really.”

  “A distraction from what?”

  “Well, you know, the mosque bombing and that sort of thing. But, you know, I’ll have things sorted soon.”

  Felicity knows Jackson too well and is sure there is more to it than that. “Just how much gambling? And how much drinking?”

  “It’s okay. It’s manageable,” he insists.

  “I’ve heard that before, Jacko. I hope you’re not going back to the bad old days.”

  Jackson is irritated. “Leave off, will you! The ‘bad old days’ as you so tactlessly put them, are behind me.”

  “Sorry, Jacko,” she says, “it’s not my business anymore, but I still do worry about you.”

  They finish their coffee in an uneasy silence, broken only when Felicity says she must get back to her patients. He promises that he will be in touch again if he gets the go-ahead for the TV feature.

  ******

  Jackson returns to the bureau to collect his expenses – mostly hospitality and a few taxi fares totalling $120 – and checks his computer to see if there is anything that needs his attention. All is quiet and Mack tells him that his promised story raising questions about Soldiers of Allah has been written and delivered to London. He also reports that one of the TV magazine programmes is interested in taking a feature on Felicity’s rehab centre.

  With Mack’s agreement, Jackson says he will spend the rest of the day on call back at his apartment. When Yassin delivers him there, he is immediately greeted by the sight of a partly-consumed bottle of whisky on the kitchen bench. He is unsettled by Felicity’s reference to the “bad old days” and empties the bottle into the sink. He feels better for this positive act and wishes Felicity could see him doing it. He makes a cup of coffee, and ponders the dire financial situation he once again finds himself in.

  He switches on his electric keyboard, but before he can play anything, the telephone rings. It is Bin Hassan – the call he was hoping for. “What’s this nonsense I’ve heard about my group disbanding?” his old school friend demands.

  “Where did you hear that?” replies Jackson, affecting not to know.

  “Mack Galbraith on your news just now.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “It’s rubbish, Roger – and we’re about to prove it. It’s pay-back time for the Americans. Just you wait!”

  “Binnie, please!” implores Jackson. Please stop this before it’s too late. It’s crazy. Please, Binnie!”

  The line goes dead.

  ******<
br />
  Half an hour later, Jackson makes a surprise return to the bureau. He goes straight into Mack’s office and breathlessly tells him about the call from Bin Hassan. They are immediately faced with a serious dilemma. Do they tell the Americans and risk losing an important contact, or do they say nothing and hope that it is an empty boast? It quickly becomes clear that they must alert the American Embassy, even though the warning is in such vague terms.

  As they consider how best to do this, Samira pokes her head in the door. “Mack, have you seen the service message from Reuters?” Mack turns to his computer and sees. “URGENT: Unexplained tightening of security around US Embassy, Armibar. More later.”

  Mack turns back to Jackson. “You’d better get down there fast and find out what’s going on. Pick up Pete on the way. We’re going to have to disturb his ‘quality time’ with his Aussie lady friend. I’ll phone him now to make sure he has time to get his trousers back on!”

  By the time Yassin and Jackson reach Independence Avenue, Pete is already waiting outside girlfriend Kelly’s gated apartment block. He is annoyed as he gets into the car. “Christ! A guy can’t even have a shag without being ordered out on a story. What the hell’s this one about, Jacko?”

  “Not sure, but there’s something going on at the American Embassy. It might be big.”

  As they approach the embassy compound, they find the neighbouring streets barricaded by American marines in armoured vehicles. They wave their press passes and are allowed through to the wide avenue where the embassy – once the grand palace of an Arab dignitary – is situated in spacious grounds surrounded by high iron railings and razor wire. Concrete slabs have been placed strategically around the compound with the specific intention of stopping car and truck bombs from reaching the grounds. There are more armed marines in armoured vehicles, and a body scanner has been set up at the entrance to the building.

  Their car is ordered to park on the opposite of the avenue, about 100 metres from the embassy building. Pete jumps from the car and starts filming. Jackson phones Mack to report his arrival and is told that there has been nothing new from Reuters or any of the other agencies. He hurries towards the embassy gates and is surprised to see Thomas Fulham leaving.

  “Hey, Thomas, what are you doing here?” he demands.

  “I’m here for the same reason as you – the tip off from your old friend Binnie.”

  Jackson is taken aback. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, Jackson! Stop making out you don’t know any Binnie. Of course you do! You went to school with him – Ahmed Faisel Bin Hassan. That was easy to find out.”

  Jackson knows that he can no longer deny the connection. “So, you’ve also been monitoring his calls to me?”

  “Of course, we are. That’s our fucking job. We hear the lot: your calls to the Zing Zing Club, your rows with your mother and your calls from your old school mate, Binnie. And I guess from the tone of your phone discussions with my wife, there’s more to your one-time relationship than you’d be prepared to admit.”

  Jackson is shaken by this last revelation. “You’re wrong,” he protests, “we’re just good friends, no more than that.”

  Thomas laughs. “Yes, I know that. She’d be mad to be involved with someone as screwed up as you.”

  Jackson doesn’t respond.

  “Anyway, get on with doing your story, dear boy,” Thomas tells him. “Binnie is just trying to put the frighteners on us, I reckon. He would guess that we’re listening to his calls, which is why they’re so brief and why he uses a different mobile from a different part of the city whenever he phones you. But it’s inevitable that one of these days he’ll slip up and we’ll get him.”

  “Don’t underestimate him, Thomas. He’s a very clever chap committed to his cause, which seems to be largely aimed at the Americans.”

  “Maybe, but the Yanks have their security well in hand. They know their stuff.”

  “I’m not so sure. It’s an old building and doesn’t look as though it’d withstand a well-placed rocket or bomb.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Jacko. It may look like a vulnerable building, but in truth, it’s been turned into a bunker.”

  “Well, I hope they’re checking their drains. They don’t want a repeat of what happened with Khaled Mohamed.”

  “Their drains are good. I checked that. There are super-strong grilles across them and they’re inspected every day for anything suspicious. If the Soldiers of Allah do try anything, it will be with a truck bomb or something like that, but they won’t be able to get past the barriers.”

  “I hope you’re right,” says Jackson as Thomas goes to his waiting embassy car and it is waved on its way.

  CHAPTER 23

  Jackson and Pete are joined by their CNN and Al-Jazeera rivals, along with the news agencies and a couple of reporters from the state-run media. Only Jackson knows why there is this tightened security. After a while, press officer Randy Abrahams comes out of the embassy to give a briefing to the assembled journalists. He plays down the significance of the extra security, claiming that it is primarily an exercise to demonstrate to potential attackers that they cannot succeed. He denies that there have been any specific threats. Most of the journalists take this statement at face value and go back to their offices.

  The CNN and Al-Jazeera crews also want to leave, but are reluctant to do so while Jackson and Pete remain on the spot. Mack instructs his team to stay put until at least the evening. All three crews send satellite reports back to their bases, but these get only the briefest of showings in view of the downbeat and reassuring statement by Randy Abrahams.

  Finally, as the sun goes down, Mack allows the team to leave. Yassin drops Pete off at Kelly’s address and returns Jackson to his apartment. Once inside, Jackson finds a message waiting on his answering machine. It is from Binnie and it is brief and to the point: “It’s noon tomorrow, Roger. Exactly at noon. Be there, but don’t get too close.”

  Jackson is baffled why the message is so specific. Binnie must know the line is likely to be monitored by the security services, so why also tip them off? Is it an attempt to frighten or deliberately mislead them? Is he just playing games?

  Jackson decides to go back to the bureau so that he can talk privately to Mack. They go into a huddle, but they get no nearer to coming to any plausible conclusions about the purpose of Binnie’s message.

  Mack decides that the time has come when he must tell Marina Kerner about the source of Jackson’s information. He rings her office and the call is taken by the deputy head of news.

  “Good evening, Robert, I need to speak to Marina,” says Mack.

  “She’s very busy at the moment. Perhaps I can deal with your call.”

  “Sorry, but I must speak to Marina.”

  “Well, it can’t be so important that I can’t deal with it.”

  Mack is getting angry. “Don’t piss me about, Robert, just put me onto Marina.”

  There is a pause and some clicks on the line before the call is picked up by Marina: “Yes, Mack, what’s the problem? Not a complaint, I hope.”

  “No, it’s not a complaint; it’s something you need to know about the scoops that Jackson has been getting.”

  Mack explains in broad terms that Jackson has been getting direct messages from the leader of the Soldiers of Allah and that this has become known to the British and American security services. He also mentions the mystery about the latest specific threat.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Jackson’s source when you were here?” she demands.

  “I decided that it was best you didn’t know, but the situation has now changed because I’m not sure where this is taking us.”

  “Yes, I can see that, Mack. Make sure we’re not being taken for suckers as a mouthpiece for a two-bit terrorist group with high, unrealised ambitions. I don’t want any blowback over this. The government is still breathing fire over our recent revelations about the minister who was caught in a pants-
down situation with an opposition spokeswoman.”

  “I understand. It’s very sensitive, but I think it’ll be okay. I’ll send our team to the embassy tomorrow even though it seems highly likely to be a total waste of time. All the evidence is that the embassy security is rock solid.”

  There is a pause while Marina considers the situation, then she gives the go-ahead, adding “Make sure those guys of yours are wearing flak jackets and helmets. I don’t want families complaining that we don’t observe a duty of care with our staff. Is that understood, Mack?”

  “Yes, it is very well understood, Marina,” he replies, exchanging resigned smiles with Jackson, who is still sitting beside him.

  ******

  Next morning, Yassin drives Jackson and Pete back to the American Embassy and they park at the same spot as yesterday. There is no sign of other news teams.

  The extra barriers set up the previous day are still in place, but there is a more relaxed atmosphere among the marines on guard duty. Jackson assumes that Binnie’s call to him yesterday was monitored, but if that was the case, it isn’t obvious that it is being taken too seriously.

  Pete is having another ill-tempered day. “Surely Mack doesn’t expect us to waste another boring 12 hours here.”

  “Just shut up, Pete!” orders Jackson, “the boss wants us here, and here is where we’ll stay as long as he wants us to. Why don’t you get out of the car and make yourself useful by getting some shots around the embassy?”

  Pete grumpily agrees. Yassin hands him a flak jacket and steel helmet. “Bugger that, Yassin. I’ll look like a poseur and a wimp.”

  Jackson checks his watch. “It’s now 11.30. Make sure that you’re back here before noon,” he instructs Pete.

  “Why so time-specific, mate?”

  “Don’t ask! Just make bloody sure that you’re back here before noon.”

  “Jesus, mate! Lighten up!” he tells Jackson as he picks up his camera and walks off down the street.

  ******

  It is five minutes before noon and Jackson is feeling the tension, worried that Pete has not returned to the car as ordered. He sees his cameraman nonchalantly making his way back and waves to him to hurry up.