Empire State rh-2

by Henry Porter

  ‘Yes, if you’re dealing in absolute terms, I guess there is. But the war on terrorism is not about moral absolutes. This isn’t a clash of moral systems of equivalent worth. The attacks on ordinary people aren’t justifiable in either Islam or the Judaeo-Christian systems. What we are dealing with is a profound, undermining evil that threatens everyone, and I suppose it’s understandable, if not forgivable, if the West tortures one or two men to save large numbers of people, some of whom may be Muslims.’

  ‘But a line is being crossed. Once we condone it, we lose the thing we’re fighting for.’

  ‘I’m not persuaded of that. You could easily argue that killing someone is worse than torturing them. When those guys were targeted by a missile in the Yemeni desert, that was clearly extra-judicial killing and wrong by any moral standard. Yet almost no one objected because people saw it as the justifiable elimination of a threat. Why is torture any worse than that?’

  Herrick thought for a moment. ‘Because the slow and deliberate infliction of pain on any human being is in most instances worse than death. And then there’s the question of whether it produces the information that you want, assuming you know the individual is in possession of that information in the first place.’

  Lyne leaned back. ‘Mostly I agree with you, Isis. A few years ago I wouldn’t have condoned it in any circumstances. But say one of these guys we’re watching is about to let loose a virus on the continent, a virus that might kill millions. No one could stand in the way of extracting the information by all available means. That’s the nature of the inglorious, shitty war we’re fighting. It’s rough, but these guys chose it and now you and I are in the front line of the response. That’s our job right now.’ He put a pen to his lips and examined her, rocking silently in his seat. ‘How badly was Khan tortured?’

  ‘Not while I was there.’

  ‘What would you say if I told you I believed he was still alive?’ Lyne asked.

  ‘The official version, the version that your people have decided will be the record, is in my report. By your people I mean the high command of RAPTOR – Vigo, Jim Collins, Spelling, the head of bloody MI5, God bless her. Who am I to doubt their wisdom?’

  Lyne threw himself forward. ‘You’re shitting me. What do you know?’

  ‘Nothing. I simply asked you about torture because all this took place with the CIA involved. I wanted to know what you thought about the issue.’

  ‘No, you were sounding me out for another reason.’

  ‘I thought you were sounding me out!’

  ‘Either way, tell me what’s up.’

  ‘Honestly, Nathan, I think it would serve both our interests if you were to accept everything in my report and then forget about it.’ She looked down.

  ‘I hear you.’ He raised his fingers in a boy scout salute. ‘Don’t tell. Don’t ask.’

  She smiled again. ‘So what’s been happening here?’

  ‘It will be easier if we go out onto the floor,’ he said, brightening. ‘Andy Dolph is looking forward to seeing you. I think he carries quite a flame for you.’

  They went together to Lyne’s desk. On the way Herrick noticed new spaces had been opened in the short time she had been away, and there was a lot of new equipment manned by people she didn’t recognise.

  ‘Forget those guys,’ said Lyne, gesturing in their direction. ‘They can only talk number theory and they’re losing their backsides in Dolph’s poker school. One of them has been running a program based on the cards he draws, trying to figure out if he’s cheating.’

  ‘He is,’ said Herrick.

  Lyne also told her that ‘Collection’ had bugged all the apartments where the suspects were hiding. The live feeds from these could be seen on every computer hooked up to the RAPTOR circuit. The behaviour of the nine men – their toilet routines, exercise regimes, diet, reading patterns, religious observance and evidence of sexual frustration – was subject to minute scrutiny by behavioural psychologists.

  ‘Did they find anything interesting?’

  ‘Uh-uh.’

  They arrived at Southern Group Three to find Dolph leaning back in his chair wearing a pair of lightly tinted sunglasses and a black trilby with a small rim.

  ‘Hey, Isis, what’s cooking?’ he said, getting up and giving her a brief hug.

  ‘Andy’s won the Blues Brother award for investigative excellence,’ explained Lyne, ‘which means he gets to wear John Belushi’s hat until someone betters his achievement. The shades and ghetto-talk are optional.’

  ‘How’d you win it, Dolph?’ she asked.

  ‘The Haj,’ said Dolph, sitting down again. ‘My man here will explain.’

  Lyne grimaced. ‘Andy did some research which tied all the suspects together. They basically all went on the Haj pilgrimage. Every single one of them arrived in Mecca on the fourth of February. They each went as one person and came away with a new identity.’

  ‘A variation of the Heathrow switch,’ she said.

  ‘I told you she’d take credit for it,’ said Dolph, raising his sunglasses to the rim of the hat.

  ‘Okay then, tell me how it worked,’ she asked, bowing in mock respect.

  ‘How much do you know about the Haj?’

  ‘A bit.’

  Dolph put his feet on the desk. ‘The Haj takes place every year for five or six days. Nearly one and a half million people from all over the world are issued with special visas by the Saudi Ministry for Religion. The pilgrim goes stripped of his worldly possessions, with nothing but a two-piece white cotton wrapping and a money-bag tied round his waist. The whole point is that you go as one person and return as another. “Re-chisel then your ancient frame and build up a new being,” says a Pakistani poet. That sentence rang a bell with me and I realised the Haj was the perfect occasion for these guys to swap identities.’ He stopped.

  ‘That’s the traditional break for applause,’ said Lyne drily.

  ‘I just knew that’s what they had done. And after just forty-eight hours we found three had travelled to Mecca on the same day in the first week of February. The whole thing is so damned easy because the Saudi authorities insist that each pilgrim hands in his passport when he enters the country. They only give it back when he leaves. How much organisation would it take to do that switch? Answer, nil. By the way, all of them travelled in that period and acquired the identities they’re currently using. They re-chiselled, Isis. And there are more. We think a total of seventeen men moved through Saudi Arabia during that week and came away as other people.’

  She thought for a moment. ‘But would they do this – sully the holiest pilgrimage of the year with a terrorist plot?’

  ‘Of course they would. Anyway, I think it happened as they were leaving, after the visit to the holy sights was done and dusted.’

  ‘You deserve the hat,’ she said. ‘But what would be the point of the second ID switch at Heathrow? If they’d already established a very efficient way of doing it on Arab soil why the hell would they risk everything by repeating the operation at Heathrow?’

  ‘Aye, there’s the rub,’ said Dolph.

  ‘So what’s happening about this?’

  Dolph looked pained. ‘They put it on the back burner. They were interested, but the focus is on these nine men. We’re going to hunt down the others at some later point.’

  ‘Still, it was very smart of you.’

  ‘That’s what I keep saying,’ Dolph exclaimed.

  ‘I can vouch for that,’ said Lyne.

  Five minutes later, Herrick asked, ‘You remember when the Stuttgart suspect killed himself and Walter Vigo ordered an intensive surveillance of calls from the Stuttgart helpers? He thought they would make contact with the leadership. Was a call traced?’

  Before she had finished Dolph’s eyes were revolving.

  ‘Yep,’ said Lyne absently, ‘there was a trace to a satellite phone in the Middle East, but that’s all I know. It’s Umbra.’

  ‘Umbra is NSA-speak for very restricted
knowledge,’ said Dolph.

  ‘Right, so shut the fuck up,’ said Lyne without smiling.

  ‘Why’s that so sensitive?’ she asked. ‘Anyway, where in the Middle East?’

  ‘Search me,’ said Dolph.

  Lyne got up and made for the water machine shaking his head.

  Herrick spent the next few hours doing what the Chief had instructed, roaming the system and reading anything that caught her eye. ‘Go into the garden and pick what flowers you like,’ he had said. ‘Then come back to me.’ She concentrated on the connections between the Lebanese-based terrorist group Hizbollah and the suspects who had visited the tri-border region in South America. It was a random thread, but she followed it because of Sammi Loz’s background and her particular interest in Beirut.

  When Lyne asked what she was doing, she told him she was familiarising herself with the new material and then added, ‘You know, the suspects still seem like they’re all half-asleep. Why haven’t they been arrested?’

  ‘Maybe they will be,’ said Lyne wearily.

  ‘When?’ she demanded. ‘When are they going to take these people into custody?’

  Lyne revolved his chair and used his feet to wheel it round to her. ‘You’ve been back precisely ten hours, Isis, and you already want access to the policy decisions. You understand the deal here. We gather the intelligence, okay? And the guys living up in the beautiful English summer get to make the policy, right? I don’t see why you need to raise this again. If you want to decide policy, go see your Prime Minister. He and the President will decide when to take the suspects off the street. Not you, Isis. Not me.’

  ‘But what kind of advice are they getting?’

  ‘Twice daily assessments. The President and the Prime Minister value the information we’re getting here. That’s what we’re told, and I believe it.’

  ‘Nathan, I accept it’s good material – really impressive in a way – but doesn’t it strike you as odd that there’s no movement, no sign of what they’re planning, no hint of a target or of a battle formation? They’re inert. ’

  ‘But this is exactly what they do. The key men always lie doggo before an attack, right up until the moment they’re needed. In the files you’ve just read there are cross-references to the capture of a Spanish cell and their plans to drive a truck full of explosives and cyanide into the US Embassy in Paris. None of the principals cased the joint, none went anywhere near the target. That’s the way they operate.’

  ‘So if we already know their MO, why the hell are we studying it further?’

  ‘You know, you’re a very smart, very beautiful woman Isis. But you can’t run the whole goddam programme.’

  ‘You’re beginning to sound like an old-fashioned male supremacist, Nathan.’

  ‘That’s not true. But you are becoming a royal pain in the ass.’

  ‘Aha, the same phrase used to me by a member of the CIA in Tirana after a briefing from your Jim Collins. Were you in on that conversation, Nathan?’

  ‘No, but I did overhear a little of what they said. Collins and Vigo were talking on the phone to Milos Franc. I heard that – yes.’

  ‘Right. During that conversation, information about me – my address and my father’s address – was released so that the Albanian Intelligence Service could threaten me.’

  ‘I wasn’t party to that,’ said Lyne, looking her straight in the eye.

  So Vigo was responsible, she thought. That was hardly surprising, but she was puzzled by his motive. ‘Why do you think he would do that? It’s not as though Karim Khan was remotely important to RAPTOR. Why would he go to the trouble of threatening me?’

  ‘Has it occurred to you that he might just have wanted to scare you a little? Clearly you were causing trouble in Tirana. Maybe it’s Vigo’s way of warning you to toe the line.’

  ‘By releasing my father’s address, which is still classified information? That’s a serious breach of security. Vigo is breaking the Official Secrets Act.’

  ‘Look, Isis, my patience is kind of running out here. I saved your ass when you were in trouble with Vigo and Spelling over the break-in. Will you just give me a break and shut the fuck up? Okay, so you were threatened a little. So what? You’re back here and now you’re expected to work for a living.’

  ‘You know I’m right, Nathan.’

  ‘Right about what?’

  ‘About RAPTOR. It’s not working.’

  ‘I’m not going to discuss it any longer. We both have work to do.’ He pushed himself back to his screen.

  Dolph had been watching the exchange. He got up and came over. ‘Permission to give Herrick a jolly good spanking, sah.’

  Lyne didn’t smile.

  ‘Failing that, perhaps we could go for a smoke up top?’

  ‘Fine, I’ll see you back here in half an hour.’

  Herrick checked her watch. It was 4.20 a.m. Beirut was two hours ahead and she could just about get away with calling Sally Cawdor. She picked up her bag and followed Dolph to the elevator bank.

  A minute or two later they walked out of the modest brick building which capped the Bunker and strolled a little way to the airfield, surrounded by the scent of mown grass mingled with dew. Dolph took out a pack of Marlboro and offered her one. She looked up with the first drag. ‘No stars,’ she said.

  ‘Did you make the call to Beirut?’ he said, flicking the match away.

  ‘No, I will in a few minutes.’

  ‘What are you up to, Isis?’

  ‘Following my nose.’

  ‘And what a nose. Tell me.’

  ‘Not for the moment.’

  ‘It’s got something to do with you breaking into the bookshop? ’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Why don’t you just tell Dolph about it?’

  ‘Because I can’t,’ she said.

  ‘You think I’ll tell Vigo?’

  ‘You did work for him once.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean I’d grass you up, Isis.’ He looked at her. ‘You know, there’s a really fascinating intelligence problem here. These guys are a mystery. They are not following any of the usual patterns. They’re not making the connections with al-Qaeda, the Armed Islamic Group or any of the other groups – Salafist group for Call and Combat, for example. They’re like a parallel group. There is no communication between the individual members. They’re-’

  ‘What about the money transfers from the Gulf, the network of helpers, the training in Afghanistan and the tri-border region? It looks pretty standard to me.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s not. There’s something else, isn’t there?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been saying. You’re trying to draw me out by repeating my arguments to me. It’s the oldest trick in the book, Dolph.’

  A look of theatrical hurt passed across his face. ‘Captious, that’s the word for you. Even when someone agrees with you, you find a reason to doubt them.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said distractedly. ‘What about the foreign intelligence services? They must have got wind of RAPTOR by now.’

  ‘Yeah, they have. In Hungary the local plods are showing interest in suspect Eight, the Yemeni, and the French are definitely on to the Saudi in Bosnia, though we don’t believe they’ve sussed the operations in Toulouse and Paris. It’s a matter of time though. In Germany the BND are showing interest in the late Mohammed bin Khidir, in particular his fake passport.’

  ‘Time,’ said Isis, screwing the butt of the cigarette into the ground with her toe. ‘The whole thing is based on the assumption that we have time. Somewhere there’s a clock ticking. We seem to have forgotten that.’

  ‘Nathan hasn’t. He wants to know when, where and how. He’s just working within the system. He’s a genuinely good guy.’

  She nodded. ‘Yeah, I know. Hang around, will you? I want to ask you about Lapping but I do need to make this call first.’

  She walked off into the dark and dialled the Beirut number. A bleary male voice answered after half a dozen rings and
she asked to speak to Sally Cawdor. Sally came on, also a little sleepy.

  ‘It’s me – Isis. I’m sorry to call so early but-’

  ‘You picked your moment,’ said Sally. ‘We were up half the night trying to get me pregnant.’ She paused and giggled. ‘That’s on a need to know basis.’ In the background there was the sound of male complaint.

  Isis smiled. Sally had been in the Service for four years before marrying a Lebanese businessman. Herrick had known her at Oxford but they were recruited independently. Sally was already in SIS when Isis joined.

  ‘You know that problem I had…?’ started Isis.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you manage to do anything about it?’

  ‘I emailed you and sent a message through Dolph to call me.’

  ‘Sorry, I was out of the country.’

  ‘I gained access – for which you owe me lunch – and managed to get a sample which I’ve sent to your home address.’

  ‘You didn’t! That’s terrific. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.’

  ‘I know it’s there because it was delivered by one of Rafi’s couriers.’

  ‘How the hell did you pull that off?’

  ‘Rafi disapproves so I’ll explain when I see you. I pray I got enough of what you want.’

  Herrick thanked her profusely and said she’d let her know how things turned out.

  ‘What was that about?’ asked Dolph.

  ‘Did Lapping find out anything in Sarajevo yesterday?’ she asked.

  ‘Not much, but I know he will.’ Dolph had taken off the hat and was brushing his hair back.

  He caught her look of appraisal. ‘What’re you thinking?’

  ‘I was blank – sorry.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, replacing the hat so it was tipped forward over his brow. ‘I did find something for you. There was a woman I knew, Helene Guignal, a terrific looker. She spent most of the period from 1993 to 1995 in Sarajevo filing for Agence France Presse. For part of that period she had an affair with a man who was one of the defenders of Sarajevo. He was important, a kind of liaison between the Bosniaks and the foreign Muslims.’

  ‘Has she got a photograph of him?’