Ali did not quite understand what was happening. He simply looked eager to help.
“Not a good idea.”
“We can’t let her die.”
“Henry, we don’t know it’s her.” Wasim’s thunderous face told Henry to hold back. He turned towards Ali and gave him swift instructions. The young man disappeared into Wasim’s bedroom. They heard the sliding door close behind him. Wasim waited for a short moment, checked Ali had left his room and came back to Henry.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Wasim’s use of foul language sobered Henry up.
“But we can’t…”
“Of course, we can’t let her die… and I wish we could prevent any of them dying.” Wasim’s voice was shaking. “But Ali’s not part of the plan. He may look innocent, but he has chosen the jihad, nonetheless. Don’t bloody well put us in more danger than we need to be.”
“Understood.” Henry felt his cheeks burn a little, grateful for the beard that was covering them.
Wasim walked to the balustrade of the terrace, looked over it, then passed up and down its length a few times.
“We do need, as you say, to talk to The Treasurer, but we also need to know who we are facing.”
“You mean someone has taken Mattie and already claimed her…” Henry’s voice wobbled a little.
“That’s probably right… If it is one of al-Baghdadi’s lieutenants, then we’d better know how high he is in the food chain… and if it is al-Baghdadi himself… don’t even think about going there… she’s lost.”
The unexpected lump in his throat surprised Henry. He had not anticipated al-Baghdadi might be involved. Or might be as irrational as not trying for a ransom first…
“Hang on… You might be right. The big man might be involved himself but from what I’ve seen of his operation he won’t pass up the chance of making money.”
Wasim was about to protest but Henry held his hands up.
“Hear me out.” Henry walked back inside his room and returned with two glasses of spiced tea, carrying the financial report under his arm. “I have been through this in detail.” He let the financial report drop to the floor. “It’s incredible, I mean it, there’s a real desire to make ISIL look, well… legitimate, organised… with the financial rectitude a well-run organisation should have.”
Henry offered a glass of tea to Wasim and flicked through the report he had picked up.
“Pages upon pages of information, showing how well financed they are and how strict they are with their money.”
“And so…” Wasim’s face had relaxed a little. The message had hit home.
“I really don’t think The Treasurer would want to let an opportunity to make money go without exploring it in the first place. He’s the one supervising the way money is managed and I’ll wager that al-Baghdadi will listen to him.”
“You want to tell The Treasurer you could get a ransom for Mattie?”
“I certainly want to tell him it’s worth trying before anything happens to her…”
“And if you fail?”
“I can’t fail…”
“He will know the UK doesn’t pay ransom.”
“The UK doesn’t, but the Sunday Times might, as I said before. Mattie Colmore is a well-known journalist. They won’t want to let her down.”
“It’s not as simple as that. The UK won’t let even an organisation like that make a deal with jihadists.”
“Then I’ll have to find a way they can make the payment without it being identified as ransom. I should be good at that.”
Wasim remained silent for a moment.
“Fine, let me find out who’s holding her.”
“Know thy enemy.” Henry nodded.
* * *
The website had hundreds of posts. It specialised in military-grade weapons made available to the public. Particularly popular and generating much comment was an article about Winchester now making ammo, developed for the army’s Modular Handgun System, available to consumers. The enthusiasm was palpable. Amina ignored the noise and went to a place on the website where transactions were taking place… the buying and selling of weapons which should never have reached the public.
She looked for a specific request and still couldn’t find a reply.
Her mouth went dry. They had not spoken for 24 hours since Henry and Wasim had made contact with ISIL. Amina tried another website and yet again her message had not been answered. She cleared her throat. Once in Raqqa it would be more difficult to communicate. She had not expected it to become an issue so soon but perhaps she should have. Both men would have to prove themselves before they could be trusted. Amina placed a call with the Crypto team. Could they please check for any unusual activity on Wasim’s laptop or phone?
“Anything in particular… I’ll do the normal sweep, but if you’re expecting something specific…?” Rachel asked.
“I need to know whether the laptop is controlled by someone else.”
“OK, I’ll make it a priority… I’ll call you back in a couple of hours.”
“Thanks, Rach…” Amina bit her nails and pulled a face.
Harris had remained a little longer with the OMA team. He reappeared in their office just as Amina was sending the last of her messages. He pulled his office chair out and rolled it over to her desk.
“So?”
“Still no news…”
“Which may not be good news…” Harris shook his head. “Have you…”
“Called Crypto… Rach is on the case.”
“How long?”
“Couple of hours… Anything worse reported on your side?” Amina didn’t give him time to speculate further.
“I was going to come to that.” Harris slapped the arms of his chair.
“The Chief or the CIA?”
“Don’t steal his thunder from a bloke… That puts him in the wrong frame of mind.”
“Don’t care… we’re nowhere near evaluation time… c’mon, what is it?”
“CIA.” Harris grinned. No one could hide from Amina Brown and he liked it that way.
“Something big and ugly to share?”
“Mosul is about to be attacked by ISIL… and, yes, ISIL are actively discussing hostages with other countries around the world, France, Italy and Japan, apart from the US.”
“Mosul.” Amina grimaced. “That’s a big city with a lot of American-type weaponry and a very rich place too.”
“I checked this morning with the DATA OP team. The Iraqi army has been kitted out with the latest US armament and munitions, vehicles, helicopters… and the Iraqis have moved two divisions there.”
“Who says ISIL is close?”
“Kurdish intelligence has sounded the alert. Now the ex-Ba’athists, who used to support Bashar al-Assad and formed the rebel groups in Syria, are also seeing movements of troops.”
“Shit… this could be a turning point… what are the Yanks doing on the ground?”
“So far nothing, neither are the Brits for that matter… the Iraqi prime minister seems to want to go solo on that one.”
“If ISIL captures Mosul…” Amina let it hang.
“They’re not there yet.” Harris had not decided on where the balance of power lay.
“I need to let them know. This could change things for them in Raqqa.” Amina’s forehead creased. “On the face of it, they might not capture the city, but if they do...”
“It’s a game-changer for everyone… including our guys on the ground.”
Amina’s fingers were running over her keyboard. “Let me do some more digging about the city, but I’m certain it’s a prize.”
“On the other hand, it also means that the big chiefs around al-Baghdadi will go into battle, fighting for the privilege of becoming a martyr and meeting in paradise with their full quota of vir
gins, milk and honey.”
“Which might give our guys a break.”
“Let’s get more intel before we tell the boys.”
They both avoided the question of comms… it was still business as usual. Wasim would find a way to contact them.
“Why?” Amina was already pulling data from GCHQ files.
“I want them to focus on The Treasurer.” Harris raised his hand before Amina could protest. “And before you tell me this is crap, I know Wasim can take it but Henry might get a bit too carried away.”
* * *
He was on time, one minute early to be exact. James Radlett walked through the reception area of Vauxhall Cross, went through the extensive security checks… mobile and all metals in a separate tray, to be returned upon exiting the building, body scan, body search, walk through a second metal detector… cumbersome.
The receptionist directed him towards the meeting area, where another security guard took over from her and led him to a meeting room. No visitor was allowed to walk alone at The Cross. Steve Jackson was already waiting, James noted; courtesy or keenness… he would have to see.
Harris had been remarkably straightforward and to the point with him. It had surprised James. Had Harris been tipped off by someone who knew him well? He had wondered who that person could be without coming up with any name. He would keep playing his own hand straight. This is who he was and he made no apology for it.
Their handshake was amicable. Harris offered tea and coffee. They both chose the latter.
“I’m not going to give you the usual spiel about joining MI6. You know your way around the service already even if most of your time was spent with the army.” Harris sat down and indicated James should join him.
“And I’m not going to pretend I’m not interested.”
Harris smiled, nodded, drank a little coffee.
“Would you go back to the field? Local presence if need be?”
“Do you mean infiltration or support?”
“For the time being local support… with possible intervention on the ground.”
It was James’s turn to drink some coffee. “I should be fine with that. My wounds won’t allow me to be part of an active op team, but I can do support.”
Harris registered the immediate mention of what had cost James his career. A warning… never use this to treat me like an underdog.
“Middle East OK? You have learned Arabic and Pashto… right.”
“Middle East is the place to be… I would go back there without hesitation. Although things have moved greatly since I was last there.”
Harris refreshed both their coffees.
“Tell me more about what you are looking for. What are you missing?”
“I’ve enjoyed being at the cutting edge of high finance in the city… Some of it has been challenging as I explained yesterday, but worth it. I have learned a lot from an industry that finances everything… armaments, research, cyber but it is also very… abstract.”
“You want to be back in the field, having a direct impact on what you see, the conflicts, terrorism…”
“That’s a good way of putting it… and I also need a new challenge. My job has become predictable. True financial innovation is rare and the political shenanigans, the tension within teams or with competition have remained the same… People, or at least bankers, never seem to learn.”
“Would you work around people you find questionable, or that you have been disappointed with?” Harris nodded, bringing his cup to his lips slowly.
“You mean people who were considered hostile and who have changed camp?”
“Something like that…”
“That’s part of the game… Convince people they can change camp and that you will look after them.” James had finished his coffee and replaced the cup on its saucer. “Is there someone you have in mind?”
Harris’s face was smooth and his eyes calm.
“Henry Crowne.”
Chapter Fourteen
“You’re certain?”
“One hundred percent.” Ali gave Henry two thumbs up. It was hard to imagine him as a hard-core jihadist. Why had he joined the fight? To make his mother proud? To avenge the death of a brother? Or perhaps because he was lost and needed to belong, caught in the ideals of the fight?
Henry gave Ali two thumbs up in return. He beamed a smile and his face looked even younger. Wasim shook his head but he too could not quite figure out what drove Ali.
“Kasim al-Haddawi…” Henry detached each word. “The man who interviewed me for The Job, wants a bite of the action. Blast, this guy is everywhere.”
Ali frowned and Henry slapped his shoulder. “You did good.”
“I find more information.” Ali grew serious.
“You sure?”
“Yes, sure.” Ali stood up from his squatting position and disappeared from the secluded gardens at the back their hotel.
“Why is he helping?” Henry hoped Wasim might have an answer.
“It’s a good question… And I hope the answer is that his heart is not in the jihad.”
“If not?”
“Then he has been sent to observe us… giving us information to make us trust him.”
“Ali?” Henry pulled a questioning face.
Wasim did not answer… Trust no one, Henry had been told.
“I s’pose you’re right. I used to be a pretty good judge of character, until I was betrayed by my best friend, that is.”
They both fell silent for a moment.
“We need to see The Treasurer…”
“We do.” Wasim nodded. “And don’t tell me you were right in the first place.”
“Never.”
They both walked back into the hotel and jumped into the old truck that had been parked in the hotel’s driveway. Wasim had not bothered to take the key out of the ignition, half hoping the vehicle would disappear. But there had been no takers and he crunched the gearbox, moving the truck slowly onto the road.
“How much do you know about al-Haddawi?”
“He is part of al-Baghdadi’s close circle of lieutenants. He has recently been made Emir of Deir ez-Zor, the Eastern Syrian Province. Yet, he is only a medium-ranking officer. He has a bit more to prove to al-Baghdadi.”
“Do you think he sees this hostage-taking situation as a way to promote himself?”
“Very probably… What we need to find out is his relationship to The Treasurer.”
“Ah… A bit of run-of-the-mill corporate infighting and competition.”
“The more I think about it the more it seems likely.” Wasim’s eyes were on the road, making sure he did not attract attention to the truck and its occupants. Perhaps an old battered vehicle was a good thing after all.
“The Treasurer is part of al-Baghdadi’s inner circle, right?”
“Right.”
Henry fell silent. Mattie’s face kept creeping into his mind since he had heard the news about hostage execution. The large blue-green eyes, the dark lashes that created a shadow over them. The tall forehead that creased and smoothed when she spoke. Her determination had been captured in these lines, waves expressing her opinion without fear of being contradicted.
The truck slowed down and turned into a gated entrance.
Two armed men dressed in the usual black ISIL uniform walked towards them. Their brand new M249 light machine guns glimmered in the sun.
One of the guards leaned forward to inspect the occupants of the humble vehicle. Wasim gave their names and asked him to contact The Treasurer. The walkie-talkie crackled. There seemed to be some hesitation at the other end. Wasim was about to insist, but the gate opened with a smooth sound.
The Treasurer was waiting at his desk. He looked more puzzled than displeased, his large round face and bushy eyebrows twitching a little in anticipation
.
Henry did not bother to sit down when offered. He launched immediately into Arabic.
“I fear one of our assets might be misused.”
The Treasurer grinned. The new recruit was showing promising keenness. His face became serious again and he asked Henry to please explain.
“Hostage execution…”
The silence that followed reassured Henry. If it had been decided, he would have known and looked less surprised.
“The group derives revenue, large sums from ransom money… It would be ill advised to execute a hostage outright.” Henry’s fluency was improving, the slightly guttural sound of Arabic rolling out of his throat easily.
“Are you certain your information is correct?”
“We don’t have the network to check it out, but we’re concerned there is enough truth in it.”
Wasim stepped in. “We would not want it to be the English journalist we brought with us.”
“The British do not pay ransom.” The Treasurer was expecting a fresh argument as to the value of this new asset.
“But a well-known newspaper like the Sunday Times might well pay. At least we should try it.”
The Treasurer half-closed his eyes. He pulled a face that seemed to indicate he had bought the idea and moved his hand slowly towards his phone.
Both Henry and Wasim took the hint. He needed to make a few calls to find out who had decided on this action without informing him.
Out of the room, Henry walked towards the bank of desks he had spotted during his first visit. One of the young men was having an animated conversation with a buyer. He spoke fast so that Henry could not follow the whole conversation. He gathered though that the argument concerned the value of a barrel of ISIL oil. The price was heavily discounted, but was it discounted enough? Wasim joined Henry’s eavesdropping. The young man slammed the phone down. There would be no further discount given by ISIL. The group needed every dollar they made to fight the jihad.
“Ask him where his buyer is located.” Henry thought better than to approach him directly.
The young man turned around to speak to Wasim. “Border between Iraq and Syria.”
Spy Shadows Page 15
