Mackenzie simply stared straight ahead, and Gray knew he wouldn’t get anything out of him, even with the threat of torture. Everyone in the room, with the exception of Ackerman, had been through interrogation training in the regiment, and Gray knew Mackenzie could hold out for at least a couple of days.
Time they couldn’t afford.
‘So now what?’ Sonny asked.
‘We tie him up and go. Kyle has paid for the room for two more days and asked that we not be disturbed. That should give us enough time.’
Ackerman opened the door and brought in a large paper bag. He rummaged inside and handed one knife to Gray, another to Sonny. Next, out came an ancient petrol lamp, its glass housing blackened and cracked. Gray took it and removed the glass, leaving just the copper base, with a full reservoir and singed flat spirit wick. In the bag was a disposable lighter, and Gray used it to test out the lamp, which produced a decent flame the first time of asking. Thankfully there were no smoke detectors in the room, as a column of black wound its way towards the ceiling.
Gray set the lamp aside and walked over to Mackenzie, placing the tip of his knife under the man’s eye.
‘We’re going to get up nice and slowly, and you’re going to lie on the bed. No need to tell you what’ll happen if you make any sudden movements.’
Smart dragged Mackenzie to his feet and walked him over to the nearest bed.
‘Lie down, arms outstretched.’
Ackerman walked over with a handful of rope and tossed some to Sonny. They both began tying Mackenzie to the top corners of the bed, then moved down to work on his feet.
Once he was secure, Gray took his knife from Mackenzie’s face and slit his T-shirt open from waist to neck, the two sides flopping down onto the sheet.
‘Anything to say before we go?’ Gray asked.
Mackenzie offered only silence in return.
‘Fair enough.’
He instructed Sonny to gag the prisoner, then fetched the lamp and extended the wick to a couple of inches before placing the apparatus on Mackenzie’s chest. Ackerman came over with the bag containing the finishing touch.
‘This is fine thread cotton,’ Ackerman said. ‘I took the liberty of dousing it beforehand, so it should take a flame nicely.’ He demonstrated by slicing off a strip and holding it over the lamp, and the fabric caught immediately.
Ackerman threw that piece into the metal bin and used his knife to slice the remainder of the cloth into thin strips, which he placed either side of Mackenzie’s torso.
‘That flame should keep going for a couple of days,’ Gray said, ‘so I wouldn’t try to struggle if I were you. If that falls, you’ll be toast before anyone finds you. Meanwhile, I’d try real hard to stay awake for the next forty-eight hours. Shouldn’t be hard once the place starts to stink of your shit and piss.’
Ackerman left the room and returned a moment later, holding Mackenzie’s passport. ‘Ready to go?’
‘Where are we heading?’ Sonny asked.
‘Jakarta,’ Ackerman told him. ‘That’s where the trail ends.’
Andrew Harvey sat in Armando’s, nursing a half of lager, checking his watch every thirty seconds. It was unusual for Doug Wallis to be late, even to these impromptu meetings, and he couldn’t help but feel nervous.
It wasn’t often that he called upon his American friend, but it was times like this that made him glad they had the informal arrangement. They got together roughly once a month to share the latest scuttlebutt, though there were times when one of them would call an emergency liquid lunch in order to get intel that the bosses didn’t want to share with each other.
When Wallis finally arrived he was full of apologies. ‘I got dragged into an emergency meeting. What’s so urgent?’
He motioned to the barman for his usual pint of bitter while Harvey told him what he needed.
‘You want access to our people in Havana?’
‘I don’t need to meet them, just some help with . . . logistics.’
‘Such as?’ Wallis asked, sipping from the brown drink that had been placed in front of him.
Harvey handed over a handwritten list of the items Gray had requested, having also added a couple of his own.
‘Looks like you’re planning an invasion.’
‘We’re just after one man,’ Harvey assured him. ‘One of ours.’
‘I’m going to need a lot more details before I sign off on this. Give me names, for a start.’
Harvey rubbed his temples. ‘I can’t, Doug. I need you to trust me on this one.’
‘Then I’m afraid I can’t help,’ Wallis said, standing up and straightening his coat.
Harvey grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back into the booth. ‘Okay, but this can’t go through official channels.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘His name is Harold Ericson. I need to send an ex-fil team in to bring him home.’
‘What’s Ericson done?’
‘We believe he’s behind the recent attacks,’ Harvey said.
Wallis sat back in his chair. ‘So tell me why this doesn’t go beyond the two of us. One call from your prime minister and our guys would pick him up for you.’
‘Because the PM doesn’t know. We think a senior cabinet member was in on it, and this is big enough to bring down the entire government.’ Harvey waited for Wallis to absorb the implications of his statement. ‘See? This is why I’m saying you can’t tell a soul.’
Wallis allowed himself a chuckle at Harvey’s predicament. ‘Christ, Andy. You Brits don’t do things in half measures.’
‘From what I’ve heard, your government’s not exactly squeaky clean.’
‘Touché,’ Wallis conceded.
Harvey leaned in close. ‘Look, if you don’t help me, the people ultimately behind these atrocities will walk, and God knows where they plan to attack next. It could well be Stateside . . . .’
Harvey locked eyes with his CIA counterpart, and the silence seemed to drag on for what seemed like minutes. Eventually, Wallis relented.
‘I know one of the people in Havana. I’ll make a call.’
Harvey exhaled, not realising that he’d held his breath while awaiting the answer. ‘Thanks, Doug. I owe you.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry. I plan to collect big time.’
Harvey assured him he would repay him any way he could, and explained that in addition to the armaments, he would need help locating Ericson. ‘Our men are already on their way, and Hamad and I will be setting off tonight. If you could have an address by the time we get there, that would be great.’
Wallis nodded. ‘How many did you send?’
‘There’ll be five of us in total.’
‘All your own people?’
‘We had to go external, but they’re good men. The best.’
‘Okay, I’ll go and make the call. Give me a ring later when you have further details.’
‘It’s best if we meet in person,’ Harvey said.
They agreed to join up again at six that evening, and Harvey left, grabbing the first available taxi. He gave the driver Farsi’s address and hoped his colleague would have everything they’d need for the trip by the time he got there.
Chapter 37
19 December 2014
‘So tell me why Farrar is in Cuba, we tell Mackenzie we’re heading to Jakarta, but we’re actually going to Pretoria.’
‘Because we need new passports if we’re going to stay off the radar,’ Gray told Sonny as they queued at the departure desk. ‘Harvey wants everyone to believe that Farrar is in Indonesia. Once we get to Pretoria, Kyle’s colleagues will meet us with new ID papers and tickets to Havana.’
‘So that’s why you let Mackenzie keep his phone,’ Sonny said. ‘I thought you’d gone soft.’
‘No, I wanted him to be able to call his people
once he’s rescued. I told the hotel manager to send someone up to the room at six in the morning the day after tomorrow to check on our friend who isn’t feeling too well. Once they find him, we’ll know if our ruse worked.’
‘Mackenzie will have had plenty of time to think this through,’ Sonny pointed out. ‘He’s bound to know his phone was traced.’
‘That’s possible,’ Gray said, ‘but Harvey’s also tracking the recipient, so he’ll know if Mackenzie gets in touch, even if he uses another phone.’
Ackerman joined them, dumping his overnight bag at their feet and handing Gray the phone. ‘Andrew said he’ll meet you in Havana. He’ll sort out accommodation and get back to you with the details.’
‘Did he mention the items we requested?’
‘His contact is working on that. He might even have an address by the time you land.’
‘That’ll certainly save us some time,’ Gray said, as he reached the head of the queue. He handed over his passport and ticket, then collected his boarding pass and waited for the others to check in.
The flight to South Africa required a stopover in Abuja, and by the time they arrived in Pretoria, darkness had descended. Once they’d cleared immigration, they made their way to the arrivals hall, where a man in his thirties held up a board with Ackerman’s name on it. They followed the driver out to a waiting SUV, and Ackerman ushered the trio inside.
‘Got the documents?’ he asked.
The driver opened the glove compartment and handed him a thick envelope. Inside were three passports, and Gray could see that they weren’t British.
‘You’re Australians,’ Ackerman said, handing them out. ‘You should all have a two-week holiday visa, staying at the National Hotel in Havana. Here are your tickets, and there are three suitcases in the back. It would look strange if you turned up for a two-week holiday with just hand luggage.’
‘Did you arrange the other surprise for Mackenzie?’ Gray asked.
‘It’s all in place.’
Gray shook hands with Ackerman. ‘As always, I really appreciate the help.’
‘Don’t mention it, Tom. Just go and sort that bastard out.’
Andrew Harvey sat at his laptop in Farsi’s front room and wondered just what search criteria he should use to filter out the results from Haddon Hall. He wasn’t sure how long he’d have, once connected to their system, so he needed to plan his strategy in advance.
His second meeting with Wallis hadn’t gone to his liking, though the American had managed to arrange the weapons he’d asked for. The downside was that the CIA had no record of Harold Ericson beyond his entry at Jose Marti International Airport. Ericson was registered at the Hotel Habana Libre for visa purposes, but he’d never turned up, which meant he must have had other accommodation arranged in advance. Harvey knew it was likely that wherever he was staying, it was under yet another name, making the search almost impossible.
Harvey hit the remote icon on his desktop and was soon presented with the familiar Brigandicuum search screen. He entered the home secretary’s mobile number and watched as the web of related numbers stretched out from London to Europe and then farther afield. Harper was one of the high-level officials whose phone was blocked from the Brigandicuum system, but everyone who had had phone contact with Harper was shown. The only drawback was that the results were limited to data that had already been downloaded by Brigandicuum. Doing an up-to-date worldwide scan would mean adding the phone number to the keyword file, which was something Harvey couldn’t do. His eyes were on the long, thin island in the Caribbean, and it wasn’t long before a green line snaked from England’s capital to a waterfront property to the north of the capital, Havana.
He zoomed in and saw a detached house with what looked to be a swimming pool on the roof. The plot was surrounded by a white wall, with the nearest neighbours over five hundred yards away.
‘Got you,’ he breathed.
He still needed proof that Farrar was there, though. It could well be the residence of the British Ambassador, or another dignitary whom the home secretary had called. Harvey checked the time of the contact, and saw that it had occurred only twenty hours earlier. It still wasn’t conclusive, but as the seconds ticked by, it remained the only connection to the minister’s phone.
Harvey entered the Cuban phone’s number into the Brigandicuum search screen and hit the Download button. Immediately, data began scrolling down the screen, and Harvey selected the link to filter it to text messages. There were only thirteen in total, and it didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for.
‘Bingo!’
Farsi walked in from the kitchen with two cups of coffee. ‘What did you find?’
Harvey turned the laptop towards him. ‘A text conversation between Harper and someone in Cuba. It was routed through a crude attempt at a relay in the Philippines.’
Progress report?
They think you’re in Indonesia.
Not even warm.
Okay, I’ll keep you informed.
‘Looks like she swallowed the Jakarta story,’ Farsi said.
‘Let’s hope so,’ Harvey said. He made a note of the location of the house and took a screenshot of the satellite view, which he sent to his phone.
‘Do you think Farrar will come quietly?’ Farsi asked.
‘I hope so,’ Harvey said. ‘If he doesn’t . . . well, that’s why we have Tom Gray.’
Paul Mackenzie was running out of ways to keep his eyes open as the hours wore on. He couldn’t see a clock, but guessed that over twenty-four hours had passed since Gray had tied him to the bed and set his little booby-trap.
As soon as Gray and his team had left the room, Mackenzie had tried blowing the flame out, but the gag over his mouth made it impossible. He’d also had a couple of near misses, not least when he’d sneezed twice in succession. The lamp had wobbled on his sternum, and it was a miracle that it hadn’t fallen off and set fire to the bed.
A faint knock on the door stirred him to full alertness. He immediately began making as much noise as possible without upsetting the lamp. The gag muffled the sound, but he continued nonetheless. Another knock, and he was relieved to hear the sound of a key entering the lock.
The hotel manager stuck his head inside the door, and pushed it fully open when he saw his guest strapped to the bed. He ran in and removed the lamp, then pulled the gag down, asking what had happened.
‘I was robbed,’ Mackenzie said, sounding almost as desperate as he felt.
The manager helped to untie him, asking if he’d suffered any torture, but Mackenzie waved him off. ‘I’m fine, I just need to get dressed and get to the airport. Unless you’d like me to involve the police and the media . . . ?’
The manager was only too happy to avoid the negative publicity, and he promised to do all he could, starting with a limousine to the airport. The hotel bill had already been paid, so he offered Mackenzie a few dollars to help with sundry expenses.
Mackenzie checked his jacket and found that his wallet and phone were still there, but Ackerman had taken his passport. ‘Thanks, but what I really need is to get to the British embassy.’
‘We have a British consulate,’ the manager told him. ‘I’ll let them know to expect you and have a car waiting to take you there.’
He left the room in a hurry, and Mackenzie went to his own room and grabbed his belongings before going down to reception.
‘I called ahead,’ the manager told him. ‘They will be expecting you.’
Mackenzie was shown to a waiting car, and after a short drive he was dropped off outside the consulate. A portly man was waiting at the steps, and he ushered Mackenzie into the building.
‘The name’s Dennis Engle. I understand you had some bother with your passport.’
Mackenzie noted the smell of alcohol on the man’s breath, but as long as he got his paperwork, he
wasn’t concerned. He repeated the lie about being robbed, and Engle led him into a side office, seating himself at a desk before making a quick call.
‘If you could fill this in, that would be great.’
Mackenzie took the passport replacement form and entered his details. He was almost finished when a young woman knocked on the door and let herself in.
‘Go with Karina,’ Engle said. ‘She’ll take your passport photograph. I’ll begin processing this.’
Mackenzie picked up his holdall and followed her.
‘You can leave that here. It’s no problem. I won’t be going anywhere.’
Mackenzie dropped the bag by the door and followed the girl down the hallway and into another small room. He fixed his hair as best he could, then posed in front of an instamatic for his picture. It took a few minutes for the prints to be developed, and then Karina escorted him back to Engle’s room.
‘Almost done,’ Engle said, tapping away on his keyboard. He looked at Mackenzie, then back to the screen, and, satisfied that the image on file matched the man in front of him, he hit the Submit button.
‘Your papers will be delivered in a few minutes,’ Engle said. ‘In the meantime, do you wish to file a police report?’
‘No need,’ Mackenzie said. ‘I’d just like to get home.’
‘I understand. Do you have a flight booked?’
‘I’ll do that once I get to the airport.’
‘Nonsense, I’ll get Karina to do it for you. I assume you have the money . . . ?’
Mackenzie handed over a credit card, and Engle asked Karina to pop back in. She returned five minutes later with a printout of the flight details.
‘Thanks for everything,’ Mackenzie said, shaking Engle’s hand.
‘It’s what we do.’ The red-faced attaché smiled.
The car that had brought Mackenzie was still waiting, and he told the driver to take him to the airport. On the way, he sent a text message to Sarah Thompson, updating her on developments.
Gray Vengeance Page 26
