by Azam Hossain
I peered round and saw the car park and the drive leading to the Highway. Walking to Persia was not an enviable prospect. I walked furtively towards the cars. I stooped down and looked into the drivers seat of the first vehicle I came across; a 4WD. I gently tried the door to discover if it was locked – it was. I then moved to the next vehicle, a saloon car, where I discovered the same. I then moved along to the third vehicle another 4WD, when I was startled to hear the sound of the main door to the building being unlocked and opened. I crouched down behind the 4WD and watched; such was my apprehension, that I felt my heart beating prodigiously. I was half expecting a plethora of Iranian Guard to run out urgently, as they sought me. But only two Persians appeared, quite languidly, as one might expect at this hour. They were speaking softly as they walked towards another vehicle, a box van - three vehicles down from the 4WD behind which I was crouching.
One of them had opened the rear doors and was loading something in to the back, whilst the other man was returning to the building. I raised my head sufficiently to be able to continue watching them through the windows. A moment later they were both standing by the back doors and one of them got inside. The two of them then both headed back to the building, while leaving the back doors open. This was an unexpected opportunity! I ran to the back of the van and looked inside – there were boxes piled up rather untidily. However there was a gap between the piles, behind which there was an empty space but for a few blankets. As it was a box van, where the cargo compartment was completely separate from the driver’s cabin, there was no window to the cabin and so it was dark inside. Just then I heard them returning. That decided it! I climbed in and went past the piles of boxes and lay down concealing myself under the filthy and rank blankets, staying as still as possible - realising there wasn’t a moment to lose. I heard them loading more cargo and speaking the occasional word to one another in Farsi. I became inured to the cold metallic floor of the van and the rank smell of the blankets. As I waited – I couldn’t help but close my eyes. After a few moments I heard the doors being shut, the men getting into the cabin and the engine start up...........
The slamming of the doors as the men got out must have woken me. The engine was at that moment switched off. I rebuked myself for having fallen asleep, removed the blankets to see the van in darkness and the doors still closed. Where were we? With any luck in Persia! It was an effort to rouse oneself after one’s nap. I felt utterly cold, hungry and tired. I heard some faint voices outside. Suddenly they got louder and I heard footsteps approaching the rear doors of the van and then someone turning the handle. I immediately threw the blankets over me and lay down again. Although my eyes were open I could barely see anything under the blanket in the back of an already dark van. I tried to control my breathing and listened. The doors opened and some light came in. I heard someone climb into the back and felt a minor vibration as their weight was borne by the van. They were removing boxes; and it sounded as if there were three of them. I froze with fear. I could feel the van shake as boxes were dropped from a short height after being taken down from the top of a stack and then shoved toward the door for others to carry out. I realised then that I had not a clue as to what was in these boxes.
I reasoned that the pile of boxes closest to my head was now being unloaded. This made be feel extraordinarily vulnerable to discovery; and as if to accentuate my travails there was a resurgence of the soreness in my head. Just then I heard the footsteps of the man who had boarded the van walk toward the door and jump out. I could no longer hear voices, just the sound of the van doors creaking closed and then the sound of footsteps walking away into the distance. I listened a moment – there was complete silence. I threw back the blankets and stood up. My eyes gradually adjusted to what little light there was and I examined one of the boxes. All I could read were the words “Nitric Acid” HNO3. Spent fuel rods are immersed into nitric acid to extract the Plutonium – the presence of the Nitric Acid therefore made perfect sense and corroborated my suspicions! As I felt my way around the van like a blind man, I could discern that the number of boxes had been reduced significantly.
Fate is a strange commodity! If I stayed I could be discovered but if I left now I might get clean away; on the other hand the reverse might be true. I placed my hand on the door and pushed firmly. To my astonishment the door swung open a couple of feet out; revealing a foggy landscape. I jumped down and closed the door quietly and then looked around to reconnoitre my new surroundings. There was an uncomfortable and eerie silence about the place. Visibility was very poor, hampered as it was by the fog and the dark. A chill went through me, now that I was exposed to the elements. A short distance just to the right of the van was a long hut, rather like a Nissan hut. There was no sign of life and the door was closed. I walked toward this hut and looked around its corner and saw a little further away and behind, a couple of similar long huts, just about visible in the dark and the fog. The one nearer had its lights on. I presumed that was where the men had gone. I hadn’t a clue as to where I was - Azakistan or Iran. You know you’re lost when you can’t even be sure which country you’re in. Damn the fog I cursed! It would disperse as the morning progressed and the temperature rose – but that required time, which I didn’t have. I saw up in the distance and around as if like shadows, the ethereal outline of peaks, of hills or mountains – I couldn’t be sure which. They appeared almost mystical in the fog; that would cloak them one moment and then teasingly reveal their silhouette the next, before obscuring them once again.
I walked back to the van and looked over to the area to its left and glanced around warily, before running toward this area cautiously. After running for a moment I could see a wall of rock suddenly becoming apparent; rising up at a gentle gradient at first, before assuming a steeper gradient as it rose above me. The fog obscured the rest so I couldn’t see how tall this wall was. I chose to turn left and followed this wall, keeping a few metres from its base. The silence was abruptly broken. I instantly stopped to listen. For a little way to my left I could hear footsteps and voices talking softly - they were getting louder. I moved closer to the wall quietly and crouched down. I was unable to hear clearly enough, to be able to deduce in what language they were speaking; for it might have revealed what country I was in. As the voices got closer, my eyes followed their direction as they went past me in the fog and the dark, far to my left. And then they were gone....to be replaced by silence. I rose up from my crouching position and resumed walking tentatively. As I did so I heard something behind me. I stopped and quickly turned around, shivering – as much from the cold as from fear. I could see or hear, neither man nor beast. I mused that my want of sleep might be causing my mind to play tricks. I resumed walking and half wondered whether I shouldn’t have got into that inviting bed, rather than blowing the locks.
The line of the wall veered away to my right and seemed to pieter out - raising my hopes that this augured its end. I followed it round and as I did so I bumped into a man who came out of nowhere from the opposite direction. He was initially surprised, but then began gesticulating at me as he started reproaching me in Farsi. This had the perverse effect of rather pleasing me for it meant that I must now be in Persia. I kept silent but gestured with my hands in apology and tried to get past him, but this only seemed to aggravate him further and he blocked my path. Only then did I notice that he had a machine gun slung over his shoulder. Our bumping into each other was as much his fault as mine, so I was particularly piqued at his manner. It would be a shame to kill a man for such as trifle. I readied myself to draw my knife. He raised his voice which alarmed me. There seemed no appeasing him. I had no idea what he was saying. He then grabbed my arm, at which I recoiled and took a step back, causing him to lose his hold on me. I was now out of his reach, when suddenly something quickly came out of the darkness from behind him and seemingly enveloped him. It all happened in a second that I could barely comprehend it. The man sank to the ground lifeless and his killer, knife in hand, rose up fro
m behind the corpse - I was struck with incredulity for I recognised him!
CHAPTER 27 – A FIEND. A TRAITOR. AN ANNIHILATION.
Taking a step back and fearing for my own life, I pulled out my Glock and instinctively pointed it at the mad man.
“Keep your distance,” I ordered.
In the cave the Hermit was compliant and docile; whilst now by comparison, he was like a fiend that had just come out of the darkness and butchered a man. The Hermit raised his hands and dropped the knife at the sight of my gun in submission.
“Don’t be alarmed,” he advised calmly in a perfect English accent.
This naturally evoked my curiosity and unsettled me further.
“Who - are - you?” I asked very deliberately, regaining more confidence now that he was unarmed.
“Tarquin it’s me.”
The mention of my name sent a chill through me. This knave could have been sent by Beelzebub himself to vex me; so much so that I had half a mind to put him down there and then.
“It’s me – Guy Worthington, Tarquin. You haven’t forgotten me?”
I could barely believe what I was hearing. He looked nothing like Guy – his face, his skin. But his height, frame and voice matched Guy’s. He must have seen my scepticism.
“I trust you’ve been putting the Glock that Edward sent you in the diplomatic bag to good use,” he remarked with a nod to the gun, “Any doubts I may have expressed about your commitment when we sipped champagne at the German Embassy, I can now see were totally unfounded. Oh...and Ollie sends her regards.”
“Is it really you?” I queried – my doubts fading away, “If you are Guy, then at the German Embassy whom did I mistake as the person who would be useful to us?”
He smiled. “Simon Hurd,” he said immediately.
“OK Guy if it is you, what the hell are you doing here?”
“The answer to that question is tied up with my answer to your previous question – Simon Hurd,” he answered intriguingly.
“I’ve seen him!” I announced.
“Yes.....so have I,” said Guy knowingly, before looking around to see if anyone was about. He then gestured for us to move toward the wall where we hid the corpse and he retrieved his knife.
“I’m here to gather intelligence, to see what damage, if any, you and our German friends inflict; and to observe Simon Hurd, whom we suspect of treason.”
“Well you need have no concerns on the first ground,” I said proudly, “the base will be destroyed comprehensively. I’ve planted explosives within it myself. Major Von Weizsacker, an Azaki and I have also dynamited the wall of Khazali’s Mound overlooking the base. It should be quite a spectacle!”
“That’s excellent,” praised Guy.
“I saw Hurd that would have been,” I thought for a moment, “....yesterday, late afternoon. He was being shown around by two Persians. When I realised it was him, I was startled. It seems my worst fears about him were well founded.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” mused Guy sadly.
“Was it necessary to kill him?” I asked referring to the man, whom Guy had just slain.
“Yes! He was a member of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard. Would you rather he arrested or killed you? He was asking you what you were doing here and who you were. He had to be neutralised before he drew his weapon or called for help.”
“Well in that case I’m in your debt,” I said feeling chastened, before adding, “Why didn’t you reveal yourself in the cave?”
“The fewer people that know the better – even those on your own side. Besides you can’t betray, inadvertently or otherwise that which you don’t know,” Guy explained before asking, “When are your explosives timed to kick off?”
“Five o’clock this morning.”
“What’s the time now?” he asked.
I looked at my Breitling casually, “Its 04.42am,” I said looking back at Guy.
His eyes seemed to enlarge in horror, “We’d better get out of here sharpish. We’re exposed here on the floor. Come on!” he ordered.
“What’s the problem?”
“What’s the problem?” he queried aghast, “This valley is about to be rocked by your explosives and you need to ask?”
“What do you mean this valley? We’re in Iran....aren’t we?” I asked with a horrible aura of uncertainty coming over me.
“Like hell we are!” he rebuked me brusquely. “What’s wrong with you Collingwood? Get a grip! We’re right in the heart of the Bactria Valley! Come on!” he roared.
He began running and I followed, feeling like an unutterable fool. I had thought I was safe in Iran, when unbeknown to me I had been in the Bactria Valley all along. My thoughts were consumed with self reproach for my folly; so I just followed, with no notion as to where he was leading. After a moment I could see the silhouette of some of the Portakabins that made up part of the building site on my left some way off. We then reached the base of the valley wall, above which I deduced we had been, when we had reconnoitred the site two days earlier with our binoculars. Guy found a path and led me up it. Finding my footing was precarious in the dark, whereas Guy made easy progress. He was stricken with urgency and it was all I could do to keep up.
“Where are we going?” I panted.
“We’re here now and it will be five o’clock any moment; so we might as well watch,” he gasped between strides as he negotiated a path that took us inexorably higher, “It should be quite spectacular. Don’t you want to see your mission reach its climax?”
Whilst mindful of the need to escape, the temptation was too great. The C4 which we had carried so benignly would now be shown off to devastating effect, “Yes I suppose so.”
After a few moments Guy judged that we were high enough for him to get a good enough view of the base - about half way up the wall. We therefore stopped at a spot where the lay of the rock enabled us to sit and for me to get my breath back. The time was 04.56hrs. Now that I had a respite I could orientate my surroundings. The Nissan huts were on the opposite side of Khazali’s Mound to the base. I’d come round the southern end of the Mound when I bumped into that fucking Persian and was rescued by Guy.
“So tell me about Simon Hurd,” I invited.
Guy went on to explain that he was wearing a silicon face mask, which completely changed the shape of his facial features and provided a better disguise; but additionally meant that should he come across Hurd, he would be all the more difficult for the traitor to recognise. He explained that Hurd had been put under surveillance three months earlier, when some confidential documents went missing.
“This had shown that he had been having secret meetings with the Iranian Secret Service and one of their Military Attaches in Moscow and Vienna, during which he was secretly photographed receiving bulging brown envelopes. It was assumed that these contained cash; this was corroborated when analysis of his bank account revealed large deposits shortly after each of these meetings. We then planted false information to which only Hurd had access to see whether he would betray it to the Persians – he did! We have a double agent in VEVAK – the Iranian Secret Service; that’s how we know. That left no doubt as to his guilt. In these three months he’s been disclosing British Foreign Office communications with our Embassies; Royal Navy deployments in the Persian Gulf; Secret Intelligence that has been pooled with our allies and information about the level of protection that British Army vehicles have in withstanding IAD’s in Afghanistan....”
This last one made me particularly furious; for I knew men who had been the victims of IAD’s.
“....that’s just what we know he’s betrayed. We don’t know how long Hurd has been betraying secrets. So Lord knows what else the cur has revealed to our enemies –Iranian or otherwise.”
“Is money his sole motivation?” I asked my anger rising.
“Everything suggests that, yes.”
If there was one thing I couldn’t abide it was a traitor. There were different gradations of treachery: for ideology, misguid
ed loyalty, blackmail, manipulation by a lover - these were all bad enough; but to betray your country for something as base as money was as low as one could get. I remembered my meeting with Hurd at the Embassy just before I met Ollie, when he treated me in a rather off hand manner and dismissively urged me to return to London. Had he been before me now, I would’ve executed him as a traitor without any compunction.
The time was 04.59hrs. I had witnessed a few explosions in my time in the army; but they were all insignificant compared to what I was about to witness. I was excited; this diminished at least for the time, my feelings of exhaustion. Finding Guy’s companionship after being so alone had rather rejuvenated my spirits and I felt strangely elated as I counted down the seconds. As I surveyed the valley floor down below me, there was barely any sign of life. Perhaps that was just as well; for it would mean fewer casualties. I’d seen enough slaying in the last few days to last me awhile. Just then my Breitling turned from 04.59 to 05.00hrs – the climax had at long last been reached upon which my entire time in this country had been predicated. I looked up toward the wall of Khazali’s Mound overlooking the base, which was partially obscured by the tarpaulin canopy and the semi darkness. Visibility was improving before our very eyes. Dawn was now approaching; and only the last vestiges of fog remained. I breathed softly in anticipation, as a shiver of excitement went through me. Guy was looking intently toward the object of our hopes, his back to me a little to my left. I focused on the top of the valley wall overlooking the base, now just a silhouette, where I had been the previous day; and as I did so I recalled our efforts in planting the C4. Several seconds had now gone by since my Breitling struck five, yet nothing had happened. A pang of self doubt gripped me and numerous permutations as to what might have gone wrong flooded in to my mind.
