Chapter Twenty-Four
The burner phone with the Union Jack cover had not rung since James Radlett had confirmed their lunch appointment. Harris could wait no longer. He picked up the second burner phone that lay on his desk, black casing in fake leather, complete with a few spiky studs. He always suspected Brett had a kinky personality… why pretend, he knew he did. Brett had not called either, but Harris’s request would take a little time for him to process. Irritating on both counts.
Harris shrugged on his old leather jacket. He left Vauxhall Cross, turned right at Albert Embankment. The roar of the traffic had died down at the junction with Vauxhall Station. He headed for the station itself and took another turn toward Vauxhall Arcade. The rumble of trains departing from and arriving at the platforms overhead made him miss a call. Harris cursed himself for having left his office… no point in going back though. Vauxhall Dirty Burger would be empty. He could do with a cup of their surprisingly good coffee whilst returning the call. Harris walked in, chose a table at the back of the café and ordered. The owner was not the chatty type which was fine by Harris. He pressed the recall button, tapping the top of the table with the tips of his fingers.
Radlett picked up the phone as it was about to switch to voicemail.
“Hello Steve.” Harris could hear Radlett walking at a pace, making his way out of earshot.
“Hello James. Can you talk?” Harris looked around, not that he was expecting any company, but he still had to make sure.
“Now, I can.” A door closed. “The story about Henry doesn’t quite make sense to me after reflection. I’m not sure I can help you as much as I thought I could.”
Harris took a breath and held it. Not the answer he was expecting.
“What makes you say that?”
“I thought I could read him, but I can’t walk away from the fact that he managed to con me into thinking he was a decent bloke.”
“Fair enough, but didn’t you question his involvement in the Albert murder? You must have been close to suspecting something then?”
“How did you…” The details of Henry and James’s stormy conversation had never been divulged to anyone.
“Know…? That’s my job.” Harris took a sip of coffee and smiled… good coffee and good point. “Look. I can’t, for obvious reasons, disclose much about Crowne.” Henry had said it to Harris and he, now more than ever, needed to heed the advice. Be straight with him.
“Still, I need more information before I make up my mind.”
Harris almost cursed. But he had nothing on James that would enable him to convince him the way he had Brett or Henry. Dealing with a squeaky-clean prospect was such a bore.
“I’ll see what else I can give you but I’m not promising anything.”
“That’s fine. I’m in no hurry.”
Harris and Radlett exchanged civil goodbyes.
“I have a fucking emergency in Syria. What about that?” Harris growled at the dark screen that lay on the table. He finished his cup, turned his attention to his second mobile, still pondering on his conversation. How could he convince James Radlett to play ball? If Radlett could not be coerced, he had to be convinced.
Duty. Harris smiled a wicked smile. Oh yes, duty it would be.
His second mobile phone rang. Brett must have done his homework. Surprising… Brett enjoyed being bullied into action, perhaps the remnants of a public school education.
“Yup.” Harris answered the call.
“I have the information you asked for.”
“Good man.”
“Nothing is going to come out of Mosul for the foreseeable future.”
“You mean, even stolen bits of art?”
“These are not bits of art, these are… never mind.” Brett’s irritated voice did not quite have the bite it usually had. “Something important is happening there. The city is in lockdown. Even smugglers won’t get near it.”
“Have you been penny-pinching… not paying these guys enough?”
“Harris… I’m not goddamn penny-pinching as you say. There is a real reluctance.” Brett’s voice trailed. “Perhaps even fear.”
“What if we get the parcel out of Iraq, over the frontier into Turkey or even Aleppo?”
Brett was thinking. “Look if the parcel as you call it is only a parcel then I’ll try Turkey, but if the parcel is something else…”
“What makes you say that?”
“Having to traffic people into the UK for a bunch of terrorists that the Counter-Terrorist Squad subsequently reduced to pulp and all at your request has given me a view on how you operate.” Brett blurted out. “I could have been there…”
“You couldn’t have been because I wouldn’t have let you… Don’t be such a drama queen.”
“Extremely unfair of you. You didn’t have to see the pictures of a certain former acquaintance with his throat…” Brett’s voice stuck in his own throat. It had been horrendous.
“Point taken, Brett. But you know I look after my assets… always.”
“So you say,” Brett grumbled.
“Try the Turkish route and let me know.” Harris killed the call.
* * *
“That could work.”
Wasim had said nothing to start with, going back into his room. Henry had wondered whether he had walked out, in the direction one of the tearooms to contact MOTHER and relay that Henry had gone mad or even worse gone rogue.
Wasim came back and handed him a can of fizzy drink. Henry had stopped moaning about no longer being a kid.
“I’ve been giving it a lot of thought… It will take time which we don’t have, for Mattie’s newspaper to gather the money we are asking for.” Henry pulled the metallic ring of the can and a little foam bubbled out. “And at the end the UK government might interfere with the payment, her father might interfere with the payment… but a straightforward exchange…”
“The UK government might even welcome getting rid of someone who has managed to radicalise thousands of inmates… at least when he is back in Syria they can order a drone strike.”
“That’s a bloody good point, Was.”
Wasim raised his can and they toasted. “Shame it’s not beer.”
“Stop complaining, it’s got bubbles. What’s the plan?”
“The Treasurer is convinced… The fixer wasn’t happy, but he knows he will be paid so now he doesn’t care who or what we ask for in exchange for Mattie. We need MOTHER to play ball… That might be the tricky part.”
“Always happy to have a good old argument with Mom.”
Henry moved to the edge of the balcony and cast a watchful eye towards the far end of the building. The racket of traffic had died down somewhat. Still he could see more trucks arriving, disgorging the jubilant fighters who had earned the right to stay in the most luxurious hotel in town. Henry had noticed that the beds that had been crammed into the hotel lobby when they arrived had been removed to give way to more comfortable surroundings of armchairs and leather sofas.
“Any news from Ali?” Henry focused a little more on the newcomers’ faces.
“Glad you asked. He has been injured, nothing serious, from what I could see.”
“You went to see him in hospital?”
Wasim smiled. “Unless you’re about to die, you’re not going to end up in hospital here. No, he is back here, sharing a room with two other men.”
“But he is fine?”
Wasim shook his head. “Not sure… he wasn’t going to say anything in front of the others. It was all boasting… about the war… the caliphate… Ali didn’t say much. The two others did most of the talking.”
“I’ll go and see him.” Henry glanced at his watch. He could spare an hour for the young man.
“Not sure that is a good idea.”
“Because?”
“You’
re still very new at the game here.”
“And?”
“They’re young guys… they are pumped up and you don’t want them to challenge you because they won’t trust you. Remember they’ve been slaughtering people without giving it a second thought… military, civilians… they don’t care.”
“Fine, fine, I get you. I can’t just ignore him though.”
“Then do it discreetly. It won’t do him any good either if you get into a fight with these nutters.”
* * *
The old pick-up truck rumbled along Malahi Avenue and within ten minutes it was parked inside the gates of ISIL’s Treasury offices. Henry no longer had to show his credentials for the guards to open the doors. He climbed the steps two at a time, reached the second floor and slowed down. It was never advisable to show too much eagerness in business.
The door of the large office was open. Unusual… The Treasurer had a strict confidentiality policy that would have made a few Western banks blush. Everyone was at their desks but the focus in the room had gone, young men distracted. Hamza didn’t stand up as he usually did to greet him. Henry had noticed the Humvee parked in the yard but not given it his full attention. The hair on the back of his neck bristled. Henry moved to the desk he now called his and dropped his rucksack onto it.
Perspiration broke out over his forehead. It was too late to run, time to prove he was still the best at defending the impossible. He took his time moving towards The Treasurer’s office, grabbed a cup of water from the water cooler and stood at the door.
The two sandy boots placed negligently onto the desk told him all he needed to know. Al-Haddawi was back from Mosul, victorious, lethal. The Treasurer’s round face had lost all its bonhomie. He waved Henry in. Henry nodded, dropped himself into the chair next to al-Haddawi without acknowledging him.
“No money yet?” Al-Haddawi’s focus was on The Treasurer.
“That’s right.”
Henry slowly drank his water.
“You talk a lot but what do you deliver?”
“Plenty, as long as I’m not interfered with.” Al-Haddawi threw his head back in a laugh. “It took me and my men no time to conquer Mosul.”
“Allah is merciful and bountiful. He rewards the just.”
Henry nodded.
The Treasurer’s eyes lit up. “But he does not seem to have granted you very much.”
“Abu Maeraka thought otherwise.” Al-Haddawi’s face turned towards Henry in a jerk. His hand had crept to the knife stashed in his boot, but it stopped. Perhaps not just yet…
“You will not get a cent for those hostages and I have a much better use for them.”
“Money is only one currency. There are more valuable assets that can be traded.”
Al-Haddawi dropped his feet from The Treasurer’s desk. “You are too full of horse shit, Englishman.”
“I was coming to discuss our next move… with the UK government.” Henry turned towards The Treasurer. “A prisoner exchange is one thing the British won’t refuse to consider. Helping Abu Maeraka to regain his freedom and join our ranks again is worth much more than the ransom we could get.”
The light of victory showed in The Treasurer’s eyes.
“What do you think?” Henry had finished his water, crushing the cup in his hand.
Al-Haddawi’s hand swept all the papers off the desk, a glass of water broke as it fell to the floor. “These hostages are mine and I will do as I please with them.”
The Treasurer stood up, about to call in his men. Henry had already moved towards al-Haddawi. The hatred in Henry’s eyes stunned everyone. It had risen in an instant, its intensity almost palpable.
“No… I will choose which hostage to release for Abu Maeraka first, then you can do with the rest of them as you please.”
The Treasurer pulled back a little. The fight was now between the other two men.
“Our military chief Abu al-Obaidi will decide.” Al-Haddawi’s face was so close to his, that Henry could see the movement of his dilating pupils.
“No, our leader Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi will decide.”
Henry kept an eye on the knife in al-Haddawi’s boot.
Al-Haddawi thumped the desk with his balled fists. “You are full of yourself, kafir… but you’ll meet your just end.”
“No doubt I will. One day, but not today, and not tomorrow either.”
“Call the head of our Shura Council, Treasurer, and call our leader too. Let’s decide who oversees the operations of our caliphate in Raqqa.” Al-Haddawi kicked the chair on which he had been sitting. He opened the door, making it bang against the glass wall, and disappeared.
Henry watched al-Haddawi as he stormed out, displaying his anger for all to see. When he had gone, Henry picked up the chair, went to close the door and returned to his own seat opposite The Treasurer’s desk.
“You were rather brave.” The Treasurer sat down, ignoring the mess on the floor.
“Or rather foolish.”
“Al-Haddawi has become a powerful man.” The Treasurer nodded.
“It doesn’t mean that he can have whatever takes his fancy.”
The Treasurer waved his podgy hand in the air. “No matter. Your idea is a good idea.” He picked up his prayer beads from the ground. “How many hostages will it take?”
“Let’s try to secure a couple. But hopefully one will do.”
“Mattie Colmore?”
“Since her father is a politician that’s a good bet.” Henry’s stomach tightened. Had The Treasurer guessed about Mattie or had they been seen this morning?
“A British MP to be exact. Agreed.” A small flash of amusement crossed The Treasurer’s eyes.
“Perhaps a man?”
“He would have to be British or American. The Europeans tend to pay ransoms for their people.”
Henry nodded.
“I will speak to our leader.” The Treasurer picked up the phone.
“Is he in Raqqa?”
“I don’t know.”
Henry looked surprised.
“No one knows where he is at any time… faithful to his other battle name Abu Dua.”
“The Phantom.”
The Treasurer was still holding the phone receiver in the air, ready to call. A call that he could only make in private.
Henry made to leave. “Two prisoners escaping from HSU Belmarsh: Abu Maeraka and I. That would be a coup that no one has ever managed before.” Henry closed the door behind him.
* * *
“That’s a very workable idea, sir.” Harris and Sir John had moved from his office to the ultra-secure location on Level -2 in the basement of the Vauxhall Cross building.
“I don’t share your enthusiasm, Steve. Maeraka was a major catch, one of the most prolific senior members of IS.”
“And he is expanding his reach into prisons all around the country without us having much success in stopping him.”
“That’s true too, but I doubt the Home Office will see it that way.”
“At least we need to agree to talk with IS. Give Crowne a bit more time to enhance his credibility and deliver on his mission.”
“But what happens if we pull back at the last minute?”
“We’ll have to think of a way to make it someone else’s fault, not his.”
“And if we don’t find ‘someone else’ as you say, what then?”
“I frankly don’t know, sir, but at least this solution buys us time and might help put a stop on Colmore’s idea of military extraction.”
“He won’t give up that easily. Any intel from your CIA contact by the way?”
“Nothing yet, but my contact is finding out what he can.”
Sir John moved his lower lip over his upper in a gesture Harris had learned to read as doubt. “I won’t call my contact at the CIA just
yet. Let’s find out from yours first whether Colmore is making any progress.”
The phone in the room rang, a low pitched buzz that startled both men. Sir John moved over to the desk and picked up. Sir John’s eyebrows almost reached his hairline. A flare of the nostrils and he cut the conversation dead, slamming the phone down.
“Colmore is in reception with one of the Home Secretary’s closest aides. Does he think he can bully me into taking action?”
Sir John picked up the phone again, calling his PA, and giving clear instructions on where to send the two men.
Harris frowned. “Here, sir?”
“Absolutely. In order to enter this place, they will need to go through more checks. The rooms around this floor have been informed of a visit that requires lockdown for an hour. Let’s see who wins the pressure game…”
Harris suppressed a smile. It was good to see his boss being exercised about something or someone.
It took half an hour for Colmore and the accompanying Home Office adviser to reach them.
Colmore entered first. He did not bother to shake hands. Sir John’s indicated they should sit around the large table at one side of the room; everyone sat down. Already Colmore was launching into a speech.
“I’ve spoken to the Home Secretary about our issue.” He pronounced the last word with an emphasis on the ‘s’. Sir John extended a please-go-ahead hand.
“We are all in agreement that the UK cannot be seen to be yielding to these terrorists, whatever their demands turn out to be.”
Harris and Sir John waited. Colmore did not need to speak to the Home Office to know this was the UK official policy.
“We equally agree that allowing a third party to pay ransom does not give the right message to terrorists. The government could be accused of facilitating payment through the back door.”
“Just the way certain European countries do, in particular the French,” the aide piped up. Harris and Sir John kept silent. It was true that Médecins Sans Frontières staff had been released through payments to so-called charitable organisations that had been set up for the purposes of transferring funds to the group that had abducted the medics. And why not? If the government of France wanted to save its citizens… fair play.
Spy Shadows Page 26
