Wasim was engaged in a friendly conversation with one of the young men in the office. He was asking for the best place to get a coffee or tea, and some food to eat. Henry noticed his features were relaxed, warm… someone one wanted to help. He nodded appreciatively at the answer he had been given, stood up from his leaning position… “I’m going out for a tea,” he simply said. No one seemed to notice. Henry stayed behind, an opportunity to engage with some of the young men who looked so eager. He had not yet been shown his desk in the separate The Treasurer had spoken about. Henry could hang around now that he had a good reason.
The young man whom he had spoken to the day before about oil prices was not at his desk. Henry surveyed the room more keenly than he had done before. The office contrasted with what they had seen on the streets of Raqqa. The loose robes, the baggy trousers and the taqiyah, all in white. It felt strangely peaceful and almost ordinary. Yet nothing was normal about the actions of this 20-strong team.
Henry had already identified who was doing what, but he could not expect to be given information about the assets they were managing until The Treasurer had indicated his trust. The young man he wanted to see had returned, making a detour to drop a small box in front of Henry.
“Abu Shabh.” Henry took the parcel in one hand, rotating it with interest. “Abu Hamia, The Treasurer, would like you to have this.”
Henry shook off the cover and opened the box. A brand-new iPhone was waiting to be activated. He nodded to the young man by way of thanks.
“What’s your name?”
“Hamza.” He bent forward a little when speaking his name, his voice smooth and pleasant. The shift was palpable in the room. The Treasurer had given him a mobile… note was taken.
Henry took the device out and started to set it up. He worked fast and wondered whether he could use it to communicate with London. The phone had an international range… trust or temptation?
Wasim reappeared just as Henry was about to test his mobile by calling him. “We need to speak.” His face was calm but his tone insistent.
The Treasurer’s door opened, waving them in. Wasim dropped his voice. “Ask about new assets requiring your expertise… from new territories.”
The Treasurer looked satisfied with his conversation. “My contact has validated the name you want to approach at the Sunday Times… It has also been approved by our leader, Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi.” His eyes spoke of something else that Henry had not yet witnessed… greed and cruelty.
“I am glad our leader thinks it is worth pursuing.” Henry’s voice was smooth, content and yet measured.
“You are free to contact the Sunday Times journalists, although I would recommend you use an intermediary.”
“Intermediary…?” Henry’s voice trailed.
“We know of reliable people we can use. They are not part of our organisation, but we have dealt with them in the past for more…” The Treasurer thought it through for a short moment, “…complex transactions.”
Henry cursed himself. He should have thought about this too. Why would he want to expose himself to a direct contact with London… unless… he had a hidden agenda.
A first mistake.
“Very good…” Henry gave an approving nod and hoped it was convincing.
“I’ll communicate the name to you shortly.” The Treasurer did not seem to have thought he would want to do this any other way.
“And I’ll be using this?” Henry waved the iPhone.
“You will, but you will have to disconnect on a regular basis. We do not permit mobile phones to be used and switched on all the time.”
“Understood…”
“You will receive instructions on your phone telling you when you need to switch off… then you must obey.”
The Treasurer looked at the two men, waiting for them to leave.
“I am not yet sure how I can best help consolidate your operation around a difficult-to-detect corporate structure. But perhaps if we could speak about the range of assets being used it would help.”
The Treasurer fiddled with his pen. It was tempting… Henry knew what he was talking about. “Let’s focus on the ransom idea first.”
He was about to return to his task, dismissing Henry and Wasim, but an argument made him raise his head again. Hamza was calling a client to say he was not happy about the outcome of his conversation. Hamza slammed the phone down. The entire room had come to a standstill. The Treasurer stood up. His placid face hardened. A problem with the sale of oil was not what he needed and Henry noticed a fleeting moment of concern pass over his eyes.
Hamza was still sitting at his desk. The Treasurer waited. Henry walked straight to the young man. Wasim had drifted out, ready to be of use without wanting to interfere.
“Distribution problems again?”
Hamza lifted his head. He hesitated, looking towards The Treasurer’s office. Should he reveal the problem? The Treasurer had appeared at the door of his office and nodded.
“The Turkish contact is still insisting on a discount and he agrees that the oil mixing alongside the Kirkuk pipeline works, but he says the Turkish authorities are becoming very inquisitive…”
“He is lying.” Henry had moved closer to Hamza’s desk. He took a piece of paper and wrote a name and number on it. “This is a contact who will make a call to your dealer. Mention Liam O’Connor of Belfast and his father Pat O’Connor.”
Henry stepped back. “Let me know when you’ve done that.”
Hamza nodded. He had nothing to lose.
“Is the other desk ready?” Henry turned towards The Treasurer who clicked his fingers at another of his men. He stood up and led the way to a small room adjacent to the Treasury Office. It had a desk, a chair. Another couple of seats of shabby quality were stacked against the wall. Even as a trainee in banking, Henry had had a better place to work.
Wasim entered after Henry. He grabbed one of the spare chairs and sat himself down in front of what was now Henry’s desk. “What did you mean out there… Liam O’Connor and his father?”
“The IRA sourced some of its weaponry from Libya. Did you know that?”
“I’ve never got into the IRA background, so no… but what’s the link with Turkey?”
“Transit… it was too hot to import armament directly from Libya when it was run by Qaddafi. Some well-connected people in Turkey facilitated and the structure I put in place was used to make payments even after the IRA was decommissioned.”
“How high is he? Government?”
“Senior officials… exactly.”
“And he doesn’t want their names mentioned…”
“That’s the idea… he may also like to get a bit of the action in oil trafficking, if he hasn’t already, that is.”
Wasim stretched. “That’s a good move… let’s see what Hamza manages to agree.”
“How about your tea break?” Henry sat in the armchair of the diminutive office he had been allocated and rolled it towards the desk.
Wasim smiled. “I found a tearoom that serves ISIL fighters exclusively… and guess what?”
“Tell me… the suspense is killing me.”
“As long as it’s only the suspense… I’ll tell you a little later.” Wasim circled his head round in a strange sweeping fashion and Henry understood it would have to wait until they were in a more secure place.
The door of the office opened without a knock and Hamza walked through it. He looked relieved, but perhaps less content than Henry had expected. “Abu Hamia wants to see you.”
Henry stood up slowly. No need to show keenness. “Do you mind?” Wasim nodded. It was Henry’s moment to shine on his own.
“Who is this contact?” The Treasurer was sitting at his desk, hands outstretched over it.
Henry gave the same explanation he had given to Wasim. “I ran the IRA fund structure fo
r a very long time… this has given me access to senior people in the world of arms trafficking.” He let this take effect…
“Why did Qaddafi help the IRA? Muslim… Catholics… Why?”
“Because he saw the IRA as sharing his own anti-imperialist views of England… a way to destabilise the establishment that represented colonial exploitation.”
The Treasurer pondered for a short moment.
He opened a drawer in his desk kept locked with a key he had on a keyring. He took out a document that looked official and placed it into Henry’s hands.
“We believe in a fanatical spending discipline.” He was most serious in making the statement. “This is our annual financial report, dated 2012.”
Henry took the document with precaution.
“You can read it in your office and bring it back when you have finished… today.”
Henry nodded, already flicking through the report’s pages.
If Henry had not spotted the AK-47 that lay against the side of his desk, he would have sworn he had just met a most thorough corporate CFO.
* * *
Someone was standing in front of the table where he had chosen to have his lunch… Alone.
Harris raised his head from his book.
“Ahmed… What can I do for you?” Harris smiled. He would have respectfully told anybody else to get lost but not the head of the Middle East OMA team at The Cross.
Ahmed dropped his tray on the table with a clunk. Harris surveyed the contents of his plate and tutted, shaking his head.
“Mate, this stuff will kill you… sausages, bacon… A full English breakfast at 1pm.”
“No, my mother will kill me if she ever finds out I’ve been eating pork on the sly…”
“As long as Nilay doesn’t mind.”
Ahmed grinned but did not reply. Harris put his book away, still shaking his head in mock reprobation.
“I’ve got intel for you, mate…” Ahmed sliced decisively into his sausage and took a mouthful. His face said it all… Heaven.
“’bout Raqqa?”
“Nope… about Mosul. … Amina told us we need to concentrate on this new target.”
“You used a drone?”
“And directed it on the Kurdish outpost near Dubok to the north of Mosul. The ISIL army is on the move… from a number of directions.”
“How about the Iraqis?”
“They have about two divisions gathered in the city, 30,000 men plus the latest US equipment.”
Harris toyed with some of the food he had left on his plate. What did it mean for RED HAWK?
“Will that deter ISIL?”
“Deter?… Not a chance… The Kurdish intel I have is pretty reliable. ISIL needs another big win to reach the credibility they aspire to. Raqqa’s fall rattled everyone, and it enabled ISIL to establish a strong base, but they need something bigger if they’re to dislodge Al-Qaeda in the region.” Ahmed scooped up the yolk of an egg with a piece of his toast. “More territory means many things, but most importantly the ability to persuade more people to join.”
“Because they have some wealth and land to distribute?”
“Exactly, houses, women, money for the fighters…”
“I suspect we’ve not seen the worst yet…”
“Ethnic minorities are already being rounded up and people are disappearing in Raqqa, never to be seen again.”
“Rape and pillage to instil fear… an old tactic that works every time.”
Ahmed put his fork down. His face had turned unusually serious.
“We’re facing something much more potent than Al-Qaeda ever was… I can’t quite get you the intel about it yet… but we’d better be ready to strike at the bastards as soon as we can…”
“You don’t need to convince me.… the Americans are in withdrawal mode though…”
“And so are the Brits…”
“And so are the Brits… What can I say? Iraq… disaster, no strategy for after Saddam, Libya… disaster, no strategy for after Qaddafi… Afghanistan… still a war zone.” Harris stopped himself… ranting would not solve anything. “How many people do you reckon ISIL has on the ground?”
“Maybe 2,000, perhaps a few more.”
“Got to be more… surely.” Harris arched his mouth in disbelief.
“Don’t think so…”
“Are you telling me they’re going to mount an offensive outnumbered 15 to 1?”
“I am… or rather…” Ahmed had started attacking his bacon. “The Kurds do. I’ve been following these guys for a while… I believe Kurdish intel… They’ll give the assault.”
“And win?” Harris had forgotten about his food.
Ahmed became thoughtful and put his cutlery down again. He nodded. “They might… no, I’ll get off the fence…” He nodded convincingly.
“They will.”
* * *
It had taken him a little over an hour. Wasim had disappeared again.
“I have finished reading the financial report you just gave me.” Henry had settled in the chair in front of The Treasurer’s desk; the latter raised an intrigued eyebrow and looked at his watch. He had much to do but Henry’s skills at doing business were proving too important to ignore.
“Strong performance, but still… You need to consolidate your assets.” Henry ignored the sudden disquiet that had descended into the room.
“How so?”
“You need easier access to your cash, for example, enough to make large transfers quickly and smoothly in case of urgent need.”
“Oil brings us $0.6 million a day…”
“Very true but you need to lay your hands on that money effectively…” Henry scratched his beard. “You can’t do account-to-account transfers…”
“What do you suggest?”
“Cash readily available, here in Raqqa… perhaps gold.”
The Treasurer drummed his fingers on the desk. His eyes were half closed behind his thick glasses. His chubby hand pulled the glasses off and started cleaning them on a small piece of soft cloth he took out of a desk drawer.
“You might have your wish.”
“New assets?” Henry’s question came naturally, a financier keen to work with new money.
“That’s right.” The. Treasurer’s words came out slowly.
“Anything to do with the activity we saw on the street earlier on?”
The Treasurer fiddled with a pen. Henry could hear Wasim’s advice…
Don’t push too hard…
“I couldn’t help noticing. In any case the only way to increase wealth is to acquire new territory.” Henry said, matter of fact. “But you’re busy… I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve contacted the Sunday Times.”
The Treasurer nodded, relieved he hadn’t had to discuss the imminent attack on a target.
Henry stood up. He walked out unnoticed by the young men, working hard at managing ISIL’s money.
Only Hamza lifted his head.
Chapter Seventeen
Their battered truck was going against the traffic. Other large vehicles of much better quality and sturdiness, SUVs and Humvees, were driving past them carrying fighters equipped with assault rifles as well as the expected Kalashnikovs. The darkness of their uniforms, the black flags proclaiming ISIL’s motto flying over the convoys, made their chants and shouts powerful and sinister. It was not a fight, more an execution.
“Where are they going?” Henry craned his neck to follow the third convoy they had passed within the space of five minutes.
“Mosul.” Wasim slowed down to let another convoy drive past before he could take the turn into the street leading them back to their hotel.
“Confirmed from…?”
“MOTHER.”
“You managed to make contact?” Henry turned in his seat to h
alf face Wasim.
“Told you… if I found a tearoom with internet.”
“And they let you use the computer?”
“I had to do a bit of arguing. Raqqa is on limited web access at the moment, but ISIL must have decided not to piss off their fighters too much. As long as you don’t use an email account or other social media account… you’re good.”
“And you only wanted to check a website…”
“With lots of guns on it… what else?”
“So… an assault on Mosul you said.”
“And they want us to find out more.”
“Is this why you wanted me to ask about new assets?”
Wasim gave a grunt.
“This could be a good way of delving deeper into IS operations.”
“But I don’t want to think about what’s going to happen to the poor buggers who are going to be at the receiving end of their assault.”
“I haven’t said I want them to win.” Henry waved a correcting finger. “I said it’s an opportunity… as long as The Treasurer and Baghdadi’s war council are convinced they’re going to win. I can gather intel on their next move.”
“That’s the idea.” Wasim nodded.
“I’m starting to understand how these people think… as always in finance… Greed Is Good… And I’ve been made to read their financial report…”
“What?” Wasim moved his face towards Henry for a brief moment.
“Eyes on the road, Was. Yup… a financial report… Very well put together I may add. I’ll tell you more about it over a cool drink of soapy lemonade later on.”
Wasim parked the truck almost in front of the hotel’s main door and they both jumped out. They had not seen Ali since the morning. Wasim walked towards the hotel gardens… Time for him to exploit what he knew the ISIL fighters who remained in Raqqa loved doing… gossip about those who had gone to Mosul. Henry followed him at a distance. He spotted Ali in the middle of a group of young men dressed in the expected black uniform, some sporting black bandanas, white Arabic letters scrawled over them… a chilling example of what a suicide squad might look like.
Spy Shadows Page 18
