Janov shook his head. ‘I cannot, but I can make him pay.’ He lifted his glass and drained it. Maggot turned round towards the bar and attracted the attention of one of the barmaids. He pointed to Janov’s empty glass. The girl nodded.
‘How can you make him pay?’
Janov belched and put his hand to his mouth. The sound was swamped by the noise pounding out from the speakers.
‘When I go back I will go to Kabul. Abdul goes there often.’ He pointed at Maggot. ‘That is where it will finish; I will see to that.’
‘How will you do that?’ asked Maggot, doubting whether Janov had the support in Kabul that he would need. ‘It isn’t your territory. You don’t have the people in place there.’
Janov smiled slowly. A shadow fell across him as the barmaid put a full glass in front of him. Janov put his hand up her skirt and squeezed her thigh. She pulled away sharply and looked daggers at him. Maggot laughed.
‘It isn’t always necessary to have people there, as you say Rafiq.’ His face brightened. ‘But so long as I have someone with me who I can rely on and trust, I can get the job done.’
‘Who’s that someone?’ Maggot asked, sensing the direction the conversation was going.
‘You, Rafiq.’
Maggot laughed. ‘Why me?’
Janov opened his hands in an empty gesture. ‘Because you are no longer safe here in England. You have to be there.’
‘I don’t have to be anywhere,’ he told Janov, shaking his head.
Janov nodded vigorously. ‘But you do, Rafiq. You are no longer safe in England.’ He leaned closer, repeating his point. ‘How much longer will it be before they connect you with The Chapter?’ He leaned back in his chair but kept his gaze fixed firmly on Maggot. ‘Don’t you see? You will be safer with me in Afghanistan than you are here in your own country.’
Maggot could see a modicum of sense in what Janov was saying. He thought back to the day he had met Susan Ellis in Marcus’s empty office and began to see one or two pointers into the way things were changing. He had told Susan that if Marcus was involved in the big boys’ games, he could be in trouble. He linked that thought to Susan’s reason for contacting Marcus, namely her brother David and he could see where those pointers were going: all the way to Afghanistan.
He put all this into the melting pot of supposition and conjecture, including Janov’s assertion that he might not be safe in England, and realised that it might be the time for another trip to Pakistan, or even Afghanistan simply to keep away from the security forces in England.
‘How easy would it be to hit Abdul?’ he asked carefully.
A huge smile blossomed on Janov’s craggy features and thumped the table top with his huge fist.
‘That’s it Rafiq; the old Rafiq that I know.’ He came closer. ‘First of all we must get you to Kabul, and then we can plan everything else once you are there.’
‘How will you know where Abdul is?’ Maggot asked.
Janov tapped the side of his head with the tip of his finger. ‘I have somebody close to Abdul. He tells me what I wish to know. So when we get to Kabul I will find out where Abdul is and you and I will finish it.’
EIGHTEEN
David was asleep on a small bed when the sound of his bedroom door opening woke him. He had been given a very tiny room to sleep in, much like a prison cell but without bars. Despite being allowed certain freedoms, David still found himself being contained rather than confined, and knew that his existence depended purely upon Abdul Khaliq’s state of mind. He had made precious little mention of the so called ‘freedom’ he had told David to expect and wondered if it was some delusion that Abdul carried around in his head all day.
He opened his eyes and rubbed the sleep from them, allowing himself a moment to get accustomed to the orange sunlight filtering through the small opening in the wall that served as a window. He blinked away the sleep and opened his eyes fully as the door burst open and Abdul Khaliq walked into the room.
‘Get dressed!’ Abdul shouted, flicking his arm in the air. ‘We leave in ten minutes.’ He stormed out of the room.
David sat there staring at the back of the door which was closing slowly. He had no idea why Abdul had done that, and he knew it would do no good asking. He stood up and pulled on a pair of trousers and then went out into the courtyard of the farmhouse in which they were staying. There was a small, square bathing area which was little more than a low walled box into which water was hand pumped from a subterranean well.
David operated the handle of the pump and doused himself in cold water. It brought goose bumps up on his skin in the chill morning air. Water ran from his beard and he shook his head vigorously sending droplets flying like a dog shaking itself after a dousing.
He straightened up and looked around the small courtyard. It was strangely quiet, as though as air of expectancy had suppressed any life. He guessed it had something to do with Abdul’s dramatic order to be ready to leave.
As he walked across the yard he could hear the sound of a Toyota Landcruiser starting up. He guessed it must have been Abdul’s wagon. David quickened his step and hurried back to his room where he finished dressing.
Seven minutes after Abdul had left his room, David walked out of the house eating an apple which he had picked up from the table in the kitchen. He had grabbed a drink of water from a jug that was always kept full, and hoped it wouldn’t be too long before Abdul explained what the drama was all about, and then perhaps he could get a satisfying meal inside his belly.
Abdul had seemed nervous lately, not that it was too obvious, but David had been in Abdul’s custody long enough now to know that something was worrying him.
As usual, the two lieutenants signalled David to join them in the Toyota. He clambered in and took up his usual position in the rear passenger seat, sandwiched between the two men.
Abdul came hurrying out of the farmhouse and looked quickly at another Toyota that had lined up behind his car. He gave a satisfying nod of the head and clambered into the Landcruiser. The driver slipped it into gear and hit the accelerator, spinning the wheels on the sandy ground and throwing up clouds of dust.
The second Toyota followed and the two vehicles motored away from the farmhouse in which the men had stayed overnight. David peered through the window and watched the dwelling grow smaller until it was lost from sight behind the rising ground they were leaving behind.
But if David had looked up into a sky that was coming to life in a mixture of reds and dark blues, he might, just might have seen an American MQ-9 pilotless drone watching their progress, eight thousand feet above them.
***
Cavendish was standing behind a United States Air Force Colonel who was sitting at the control desk of the MQ-9 Reaper unmanned drone. The aircraft was flying above Abdul Khaliq’s Landcruiser, looking down from the sky at an easy target. They were inside the MQ-9 control station that had been fitted into a windowless, air conditioned trailer at the American Air Force base at Khost.
Immediately in front of the USAF Officer was essentially the ‘cockpit’ of the MQ-9, with hand controls to fly the unmanned drone. In front of him were two, large coloured screens that gave him a camera shot looking down towards the ground, and a moving map on which he could track the drone’s progress. With the camera view he was able to maintain contact with the target which, in this case was Abdul Khaliq’s Toyota Landcruiser.
Beside him was the sensor operator who operated the sensors that were essential to fly the aircraft. Between them the two men were like the flight crew of a two man jet. Fortunately for Abdul Khaliq, this was not a hostile interdiction.
Cavendish was at Khost base at his own request; he had flown out the moment he had received the most unexpected text message on his phone just a couple of days previously, and had been met at the base by the Base Security Officer, Lieutenant Brad McCain.
Cavendish now knew that David Ellis was alive and well. Although Cavendish had put a trace on the call, the number was
unlisted, but he was now convinced that the search for his man would end in Afghanistan.
Cavendish believed he knew the reason Susan had received those letters; it was because someone was definitely trying to contact him without making it known in Afghanistan. And David had named Abdul Khaliq in the text message. Putting two and two together was fairly simple logic, but Cavendish knew he was not quite touching home base; there was still plenty to do.
He stayed in the MQ-9 trailer until he had seen enough, and told the young officer at the cockpit controls that he was leaving. He said he would check with the operations officer on the time of the next MQ-9 over flight of the suspected target.
On his way back to his quarters, Cavendish passed by a great number of service and civilian personnel all walking from one place to the other, intent on their business, getting on with their own lives in that hostile environment.
As he walked past the Base Headquarters, Cavendish saw two men come out of the building and get into a waiting car. One of the men was wearing the uniform of a pilot. The other was a civilian and Cavendish thought he recognised him. He watched the car pull away but was unable to get a closer look at the man because of the darkened windows of the car. He shrugged and thought no more of it, and continued his progress towards his own accommodation block, hoping it would come to him later.
***
Janov had no trouble crossing the border between Turkmenistan and Afghanistan. It was something he had done countless times before and would probably do countless times in the future. It crossed his mind at the time that he might even move the centre of his operation into Afghanistan once he had disposed of the troublesome Abdul Khaliq.
Sitting beside him in the Nissan 4x4 was Maggot. He had travelled with Janov to Turkmenistan, leaving behind the good life in England for a while. He hoped it would only be temporary, but deep inside his instincts told him it was for good.
With Janov were two men; his permanent minders. The four of them were on their way to Maymaneh, a small town about fifty miles inland from the border. It was one of Janov’s safest towns, simply because of its closeness to the Turkmenistan border and the fact that the opium fields like the war did little to interfere with the lives of the local Afghan people.
They reached Maymaneh in time for lunch, and Janov’s driver pulled into the parking lot of a small hotel. He killed the engine and the four men climbed out and went into the hotel for a meal. Janov wasn’t keen to stay too long, so within the hour they were on their way again, driving down the single carriageway that divided the town.
On the way to the airfield they passed a white, armoured scout car with a Finnish emblem emblazoned on the side. It was part of the United Nations security force. The Finns were there alongside their Norwegian counterparts. Janov almost felt sorry for the poor sods that had to serve in such a god forsaken wilderness.
They reached the airfield and left the car in a parking lot. Then they walked through to the airport waiting room and took a seat while one of Janov’s men went in search of their flight crew. Because they were flying internally, there were no formalities to complete other than logging a flight plan and a passenger list.
While they were waiting for the formalities to be concluded, Janov received a text on his mobile phone. He read the message and grunted in satisfaction. He now knew where Abdul was heading.
Within thirty minutes of arriving at Maymaneh airfield, Janov, his two minders and Maggot were on their way to Kabul, and a final showdown with Abdul Khaliq.
***
Susan was sitting in an armchair in her hotel room reading a book. The television was tuned into Sky News, but the sound was off. It was early evening and Susan was more or less at the end of her personal quest to find her brother. She had spoken to the editors of the three newspapers she had chosen at random from the internet, and received much the same, condescending attention she had experienced at the British Embassy. Sure, there would be press coverage, but with so much happening, so many people being killed and injured by suicide bombers and roadside bombs…. Blah, blah.
Susan had no real idea what to do next. Perhaps she would go up to the Mission at Jalalabad, but wondered if there was anything to be gained by doing that. It might bring her closer to her brother, but it was almost a year now since the attack. She gave up the thought and stared sightlessly at the page of her book. Then she got up, threw the book on her bed and wondered if she should ring Marcus and suggest they share a drink downstairs in the hotel bar.
Just then there was a knock at the door. For a moment she wondered if it was Marcus. Perhaps he had come up with the same idea as her. She felt a little excited and hurried across to the door and opened it.
Ali Seema, the interpreter was standing there with Marcus. Seema bowed his head a little.
‘Miss Ellis, please forgive this intrusion, but I would like you both to come with me please.’
‘What on earth for?’ she asked.
He glanced left and right along the corridor. ‘It will be in your interest to come with me. Please,’ he added solemnly.
Susan felt nervous and didn’t know what she should do.
‘Is this about David?’ she asked hopefully.
He dipped his head again. ‘Please.’ He even held out his hand to her.
Susan hesitated for a moment. Then she thought about the reason she was there.
‘Give me five minutes,’ she told him. ‘I will meet you downstairs.’
‘Thank you.’ He glanced at Marcus. ‘We will wait outside the front of the hotel.’
He turned and walked away as Susan closed the door.
Susan went across to the small chest of drawers that graced one wall and opened the top drawer. She took out her handbag and from that she pulled out the mobile phone Cavendish had given her. His instructions were quite explicit; any change in circumstances, any change in plan, or anything she might be concerned about, she was to phone or text.
Susan dialled the number she had been given and waited for the connection. When it came she left the simple message explaining that she was going out of the hotel with Marcus and their interpreter, Ali Seema. She switched off the phone, put it back in her handbag and spent the next five minutes getting ready to go out.
She walked past reception and tossed her key on to the counter, then walked out through the front doors of the hotel. Ali Seema was there with Marcus. He was leaning up against the wall smoking a cigarette. As soon as he saw her, he pushed himself upright and threw his cigarette on to the ground. Then he waived his hand at somebody and stood there as Susan walked up to him.
Susan stopped and waited for Seema to speak. But just then a car pulled up alongside them. Seema hurried forward and opened the door.
‘Please,’ he said with urgency in his voice. ‘Get in, quickly.’
Marcus and Susan exchanged glances and climbed into an old, Indian Tata saloon car that had seen better days.
Seema slammed the door shut and climbed in beside the driver. Suddenly the engine roared into life and the battered old car roared away from the hotel and disappeared into the teeming streets of Kabul.
NINETEEN
‘Where are we going?’ Marcus asked after a brief silence.
‘I am taking you to see someone who can help you find your brother,’ Seema told him.
‘David?’ Susan’s voice sounded harsh and breathless; gushing out of her mouth.
Seema nodded. ‘Yes, but please, we must be cautious.’ He turned round and faced Susan. ‘There could be many problems ahead.’
Susan shook her head gently. ‘Why are we acting like fugitives?’ she asked.
He smiled. It was almost condescending. The car lurched in the darkness and threw Susan sideways into Marcus’s arms. He pushed her gently upright as the driver apologised after letting out a stream of Afghan abuse.
‘There are always eyes and ears around us here in Kabul,’ he explained. ‘It isn’t always sensible let your adversaries know what you are doing.’ He held his
hand out, palm upwards. ‘Someone is always listening. Once they knew you were in Kabul to look for your brother, you became valuable to certain members of our society.’
‘I can’t believe we are that valuable,’ Marcus put in. ‘We are just two civilians who have no allegiance to anyone except David Ellis.’
‘It’s a point of view,’ Seema told him, ‘but a peculiarly British one. Just trust me and try to relax.’
Susan tried to relax a little but was still not sure whether to trust him.
‘Who are these people who may know about David?’ she asked, trying to keep the tone of demanding inquisition out of her voice.
‘I cannot say,’ he replied. ‘But you will meet them soon.’
Susan glanced out of the window, peering into the darkness. ‘Where are we going then?’ she turned and asked him.
‘We are going where you will find your answers,’ he replied cryptically.
As they journeyed on, conversation became limited until it eventually stopped. Marcus and Susan were left with their own thoughts, each one feeling a little apprehensive. Seema would say something from time to time, but to the driver and always in Farsi. The two men would chuckle and this display of ease between them actually unsettled Susan. Marcus didn’t seem the least bit affected by it although Susan did notice that he was not his usual, lively self.
She felt the car slow until it eventually stopped. Seema turned round and looked at them over his shoulder. He told them they would have to wait a few minutes. He then got out of the car and disappeared in the darkness.
Five minutes later Seema was back in the car. He looked satisfied and Susan wondered if he had used the time for a comfort stop. She asked him.
‘Telephone,’ he told her. ‘I used the public phone in that hotel,’ he said pointing out of the window. ‘Safer.’
‘Who were you phoning?’ Marcus asked him.
‘The Mission,’ he answered, and tapped the driver on the shoulder, barking our something unpronounceable. ‘We are going there now.’
A Covert War Page 20
