“What if he starts negotiations at another level?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure yet… But he has set his mind on this idea… To him nothing else is worth considering and he won’t stop until he gets what he wants…”
“Have you spoken to your team?”
“Good point…” Harris pressed redial. Amina picked up immediately. Harris’s face grew pale. He squeezed the phone tightly in his hand.
“Are you sure?” Amina repeated what she had said. “I’m putting you on loudspeaker.” Her voice bounced around in the office. “There is talk of a caliphate.”
“What do you mean?” Harris’s mind felt at a loss for a reference. The word sounded almost obsolete.
“It means that al-Baghdadi is creating a new country… ruled under Sharia law as interpreted by ISIL… A caliphate.”
The news had left both men silent…
“Are you still there… where are you?”
Sir John joined in on the call. “We have just got back to my office… we’re coming down.”
A few minutes later, both men burst into RED HAWK Control Room on the third floor. Amina did not quite lose her usual grumpiness at the sight of Sir John.
“Social media is full of the news and it won’t be long before they pull one of their video stunts.” Amina’s words tumbled out, fast, fiery. She could sense the impact of what had just happened before her mind could begin to analyse the outcome.
“I’m sorry if I appear a little rusty here… Could you both remind me how a caliphate works?” Sir John’s admission of ignorance calmed Amina down. She needed to help him make sense of what had just happened, to make people unfamiliar with Wahhabism understand the full impact of the declaration.
“You’re right, sir. It’s a term that hasn’t been used since the Middle Ages. What ISIL’s leader seems to be saying is that ISIL is more than a geopolitical state. A caliphate claims religious, political and military authority over all Muslims worldwide. By calling itself this, it claims its global statehood and encourages all ‘true’ Muslims to join it.” Amina’s throat had run dry. She reached for her bottle of water and took a sip from it. “It’s challenging the entire Middle East, not only the West.” Amina’s eyes darted from Harris to Sir John. Did they understand the full extent of what she meant?
“How large is the territory al-Baghdadi is claiming?”
She swirled on her chair and enlarged a map on her screen. “With the latest conquest… A third of Iraq, half of Syria, without forgetting its other provinces.”
“You mean Afghanistan, Pakistan, Yemen, etc.”
“That’s right.” Amina kept typing on her keyboard for more data to appear. “It covers land inhabited by 12 million people in Iraq and Syria alone.”
Sir John ran his hand through his light brown hair and held it there for a moment to help him think. “So much for Barack Obama’s disengagement.”
“Did you manage to get hold of Wasim?”
“It’s proving more difficult without his laptop and mobile. He’s hoping for a mobile so we can resume daily briefings to MOTHER. But we can’t yet predict when he might be able to contact us.”
“But what’s the best time?” Sir John had moved closer to Amina’s screens to check the data.
“Just before Zuhr… I mean...”
“I know, early afternoon prayer. I’m not completely ignorant about the Muslim world.” His smile was amused, interrupted by the buzz of his phone. “Got to go to my next meeting. Keep me posted. I’ll make some calls in the UK.”
“I’ll see what the CIA has got to say for themselves too.”
“Obviously very little it seems.” Sir John shot back, leaving hurriedly.
Harris and Amina felt a load had been lifted from their shoulders.
“Wow. Much more approachable than I had anticipated.”
“Even with your grumpy self too.”
“Yup. Don’t care whether I deal with The Chief or the PM, I’m at my best that way.”
“It’s the fighter in you. Not being able to deal with these bastards on the ground.”
“You’re right. I should join the Peshmerga so I can go and finish them all off.”
Harris shuddered. “Scary…”
A call indicator started to flash on Amina’s screen. It was Wasim and it was too early for him to be using the tearooms of Raqqa.
* * *
The fixer was on the line and he was not happy.
“I know we agreed I would give the UK another 24 hours, but things have changed substantially.”
“You need to think about your other plan carefully.”
“Prisoner exchange?”
Silence. Henry wondered whether he was still on the phone.
“If it’s about your share of the ransom, the deal still stands.” Henry’s voice was calm and level. “A deal is a deal.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Call me in a couple of hours.” Henry killed the call. It was 10am in Raqqa. Al-Haddawi would soon be on his way back to Raqqa from Mosul. Thankfully he almost certainly would need to give a full account of his prowess to al-Baghdadi as well as the military chief and the head of the Shura Council… the price of becoming a jihadi superstar. Wasim had spent time explaining to Henry how a traditional Sunni Muslim state would work. It was cumbersome and rigid… al-Haddawi would have to follow the rules.
Henry checked his watch again. He had a few hours to wait and nothing else to do. Wasim was contacting MOTHER. Hamza had started to let him in on how the IS oil trade was doing, but Henry was not in the mood. It was perhaps time to check on one of their most precious assets, Mattie Colmore.
He scrolled through the notes he had started to capture on a small pad he carried with him at all times. He found what he was looking for, the address Mattie had been taken to after their conversation. Henry walked back to the large office, grabbed his rucksack and disappeared. Hamza lifted his head in expectation and his eyes followed Henry with interest when he left.
The pick-up truck joined the flow of traffic and turned left at Fardos Street into another large boulevard. It felt palatial and spacious. Trees afforded the road welcome shade against the summer sun; the area felt unmistakably Middle Eastern and yet the houses were almost European in style. Henry parked the car opposite a block of luxury apartments. He spotted two guards at the entrance of the building. This had to be the place. Henry walked slowly towards them, fingering in his pocket a letter carrying the IS seal and signed by The Treasurer. It was the latest move by The Treasurer to enable him to circulate more freely and go about on ISIL business, notably checking on Mattie Colmore’s whereabouts. She had become the victim of a power struggle between al-Haddawi and The Treasurer. Henry would make good use of it.
The guards looked up. Henry presented the letter. He needed to see the hostages immediately. There was a conversation between the two men that Henry could not understand. Perhaps it was a different dialect? Their body language expressed irritation, hesitation but also fear of displeasing one of the most powerful men within ISIL’s command structure, The Treasurer.
“It is urgent… The Treasurer can’t be kept waiting.”
The shorter of the two men moved aside and let Henry through the entrance. He felt the eye of the guard on his back until he disappeared inside the property. Henry climbed the marble stairwell two at a time and found himself on the first floor. There were only two apartments on this floor. He turned to the first front door and stopped. The building was unusually quiet. No voices or sound of activity in the apartment he was about to enter. Everyday life seemed to have ground to a halt around Raqqa.
The solid wooden door, the marble floors, the white walls, felt suddenly cold and lifeless. Henry shuddered. The almost imperceptible sound of cloth moving around surprised him. A woman clad in full niq
ab and gloves appeared at the top of the steps. Her eyes were barely visible, underneath the heavy black cloth that covered her face. Still, she looked neither scared nor surprised.
“Salaam alaikum.” Henry avoided looking at her directly.
“Alaikum as salaam.” She had not moved, deciding whether she wanted to cry for help.
“I came to see Mattie Colmore. The Treasurer wishes me to speak to her.” Henry sounded demanding. “Come on. I don’t have all day. Shall I return to him not having spoken to her?”
The woman took a set of keys from underneath her face cloth. The metallic jingle of the keys took him by surprise. Her keyring was laden, making her more jailor than housekeeper. Henry stepped in as soon as the door was opened. Another woman appeared from a room further down the corridor. She brought her veil around her face when she caught sight of Henry. Henry’s stomach clenched. The place felt sombre and threatening.
“Where is Mattie Colmore?” The urgency to check on Mattie became overwhelming. Henry struggled to stay calm, reminding himself that raising a hand against any of these women would compromise all he had achieved so far. The woman who had opened the door disappeared down the corridor, but the second woman stayed put.
Henry walked into the lounge. The spacious room overlooked large gardens. Henry opened the French doors that led onto a shaded balcony. He would find a space speak to Mattie alone. A dark shape moved into the lounge captured in the reflection of the French doors as he closed them. He did not recognise her until he heard her voice.
“Salaam alaikum, Abu Shabh.”
Henry hesitated. He turned around abruptly in a mix of rage and relief. Mattie had changed her clothes and the dark blue abaya intensified the blue of her eyes. She dropped the veil around her face. She looked tired and the marks of resilience on her face he liked so much had died a little. She had opened the French doors and stood on their threshold, the two Arab women standing behind her.
“Leave us.” Henry’s voice had taken the sharp edge of a serrated knife. The two women hesitated once more. “I will not ask again.” The threat might be empty – what could he really do? Still, he was a man in a world in which women were given little importance; it did the trick.
Mattie moved slowly past him onto the balcony. Henry brought a finger to his lips indicating they were not yet free to speak. Mattie nodded. He pointed towards the far end of the balcony.
The gardens below were empty. Mattie leaned against the wall and inhaled deeply.
“How have you been?”
Mattie closed her eyes. “I’m… alive.” Her voice faltered.
Henry turned around. His hands grasped the thick stone balustrade. He could not look her in the face. He heard Mattie’s light step come closer. She rested her head against his back and closed her arms around his chest. Henry moved one hand and wrapped it around one of her arms. “I promise you. I will get you out of this.” Mattie nodded. Henry felt the movement through his shirt, and it took all his will not to move around, take Mattie by the hand and walk out of this godforsaken place. He breathed in slowly and her arms tightened further around his chest, pressing against it. Henry loosened her arms gently and slowly turned around. Mattie drew back with a slight inclination of her head. She managed a faint smile.
“Am I allowed to call you Henry… again, Mr Cro…” Henry placed his fingers quickly on her lips before she could speak his name.
He looked at her for a moment in silence. She had finally recognised him. Perhaps the memories of their encounter at an art charity dinner, years ago, was still etched in her mind as it was in his.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Of course not.” They both looked around for somewhere to sit, but had to sit on the floor or the balcony, sheltered by the balustrade.
“I can’t stay long. Tell me everything you think I need to know.” Henry held her gloved hands in his.
“There are at least two other women staying in the same room as me. Two US girls. As far as I can tell, we are not alone here. There are others.”
“What nationality?”
“Yazidis, Christians… Europeans… according to the girls I’m with.”
“How long have they been here?”
“Not long, each of them has spent time at Raqqa Stadium, before being moved to this place.”
“Who are the women who look after you?”
“The women at the door, they are relatives of a very senior ISIL figure, Umm Sayyaf… his sister and daughter, and the others are… slaves.”
“Slaves?” Henry face whitened.
“Yes, one of the worst forms of Wahhabist ISIL’s practices, it allows them to enslave people, non-Muslims and Muslims who do not share their interpretation of Islam alike.”
“What else?” Henry moved his hands around hers.
Mattie’s eyes shifted away from Henry’s face.
“What is it?” Henry squeezed her hands gently in is. “Tell me.”
Mattie squeezed back. “This is irrelevant.”
“Have you been hurt?” He clenched his jaw so hard he could feel his teeth grating. “How bad…”
Mattie put a finger over his lips “I am fine. You must trust me in turn to manage what’s happening here.”
“Why have they moved you all here?” The thought that flooded his mind was unbearable. It could not be the case and yet he had been told it happened all the time.
“Nothing has happened to me.” Mattie read his mind. “Nothing.”
“You mean not yet.” Henry closed his eyes. “If you think you are in danger, ask these women to call me. Tell them… you are under my protection. I’ll speak to The Treasurer.”
Mattie gave him a kind smile. He was no longer in London… This was ISIL Raqqa.
“Don’t… we are all here at al-Baghdadi’s request.”
* * *
The drive back to the hotel was as slow as the journey to visit Mattie had been. Henry’s jaw had been clenched all this time and it ached. The memories of their meeting at the art charity dinner came to mind. They had been sitting next to one another and the conversation had moved in every direction, from art to politics, from economics to philosophy… Mattie had shone in the depth of her knowledge but also in her ability to take risks for what she believed in… a lot of risks. For the space of an evening Henry had felt he had perhaps found a kindred spirit. They had exchanged phone numbers, but he never heard from her and for some reason he did not call either. Henry Crowne did not get close to anyone… ever. And it seemed neither did Mattie Colmore.
Henry left his truck in front of the hotel, aiming a glare at a couple of men who seemed to question his parking there. He rode in the elevator to the fifth floor and entered his room, yanking the door open. He threw his rucksack with rage onto the bed and shoved the terrace doors open.
Wasim was already out there, waiting.
“Where have you been?”
“We need to talk.”
“I know…”
Henry looked confused. How could he know? He could not… surely.
“You go first.” Wasim picked up on his confusion.
“I went to see Mattie.” Henry ignored Wasim’s frown. “I have a pass from The Treasurer. There are women in the same flat as she is, American, European.” Henry’s story felt disjointed. “I’m sure they are abusing them. They are…” The word stuck in Henry’s throat.
“Raping them?” Wasim moved his hand over the back of his neck.
“How do you… know?”
“This is a war zone, Henry. What do you expect?”
The fist came out of nowhere and Wasim avoided it by a fraction of an inch. The missed blow threw Henry off balance. Wasim dug his elbow into Henry’s ribs and stopped him with an arm lock. Not a word had been spoken. Henry remained silent. He let his body relax. Wasim was right, having a go at
him in that fashion was the most stupid thing he could have done.
“Sorry.”
Wasim let go of the arm lock. “I was wondering when that would come…” he said with a nod.
“Am I that predictable?”
“No, but you’ve never been in a war zone before. Even the training camps don’t prepare you for all this and for what you’re going to see.”
“I’ve seen nothing yet.” Henry slumped onto one of the chairs, head lowered. “I don’t want to let people down. I can’t let people down.”
“I told you… you were ready when we left Manchester and I still stand by that.”
“This did not feel that ready to me.” Henry massaged his sore arm.
“As long as you still trust me, everything’s under control.”
Henry nodded. “The only thing Mattie knew is that it was al-Baghdadi who ordered those women to be kept where they are.”
“Shit, that really complicates matters.” Wasim slumped back in his chair.
“That’s really got to be bad, Wasim. I’d never heard you swear before and you’ve just done this twice in less than 24 hours.”
“I spoke to MOTHER and things are not going smoothly in London either.” Wasim changed tack.
“The UK government’s sticking its nose into our deal?”
“Colmore has spoken to The Chief.”
Henry’s eyes widened. “What… Why? He couldn’t care less about his daughter from what I’ve gathered.”
“I don’t know why but I know the how… and that involved a combined SAS and SEAL operation.”
“You mean, extraction?”
“That’s the sum of it.”
“This fucking idiot is going to get everybody killed.”
“That’s what MOTHER is afraid of. So, she’s asking for an alternative course of action.”
“Good, because I’ve got one.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Wasim cocked his head. “Will I have to say sorry before you tell me what you’ve got in mind?”
“Nope.” Henry grinned. “We’re going to ask for an exchange. Abu Maeraka in return for Mattie Colmore.”
Spy Shadows Page 25
