Henry called the guard. “I want to see the person in charge of this prison. This fighter has been wrongly imprisoned.”
The guard’s young face went blank. No one had ever made a demand of the sort. He shifted from one foot to another. He called the other guard that was helping to keep the prisoner. The older guard arrived, full of importance.
Henry repeated his demand, adding he was here at The Treasurer’s request. The older guard’s assurance shifted. Henry could see it now. He had wondered a minute ago how far up the hierarchy the scheme went. Now he knew… just a few guards making money on the sly. At the end of the day, they would free their victim, relieved he did not have to report the unauthorised purchase to his emir.
“Communications are being controlled but not the purchase of items such as USB keys…”
The two guards looked at each other. Their racket was about to be busted. The older guard tried to draw his gun but Wasim sprang into action. He had been put through the mill but was far from incapacitated. His elbow slammed into the guard’s throat, blocking his airway. The gun dropped. The young man was not fast enough. Henry punched him in the gut and he collapsed in a heap.
Wasim collected the guns that lay on the ground. He pointed the gun to the face of the older guard. “Give them back to me… slowly.” The man fished three USB keys from his pocket and handed them over with a shaking hand.
“I’m taking him out now. If I hear any of you call out, I’ll kill you. If you report this, I’ll have you investigated and you’ll end up in one of these cells.” Henry voice was calm but threatening.
He and Wasim walked backwards. And when they reached the stairs, they ran. They slowed down at the top of the stairwell. Henry pushed Wasim in front of him as if he was wanting to manhandle him himself. The two young guards looked at them, hesitant. But if it was one of The Treasurer’s men, why interfere?
Henry pushed Wasim into the back of the SUV. “Lie down when we reach the gates.”
Henry drove the car through the gates slowly. He wound down the dark glass window on his side and acknowledged the guard with a short nod. The SUV turned into the street and reached the place where the truck was parked. Henry parked the SUV near to where he had left and hoped the driver was not already looking for it. They jumped into the old truck and were off.
“Shit, Was… that was close.”
Wasim nodded. “I didn’t see that one coming.”
“Did you manage to send a message to MOTHER?”
“Yes, just before I got jumped.”
They drove in silence back to the hotel. Wasim was looking through the window, all the way pulling on his lower lip, nervous. They quickly found themselves on Henry’s bedroom terrace for a debrief.
“What’s worrying you?”
“I think we’re now sitting on a ticking bomb…”
“Because I went to pick you up at the stadium?”
“We don’t know who’s in charge of this nifty little racket but I bet the guards are only a small part of it… Second, I’ll be surprised if someone doesn’t call The Treasurer and ask why you have a pass… and if he learns you’ve used it to get me out he’s not going to like it… at all.”
“Well, I can always say I wanted to find out what the problem was before disturbing him.”
“That’s not the way it works here… You’re not senior enough to make that decision. He’s your emir.”
“What are you saying? That we need to get out of here asap?” Henry’s jaw tightened. He needed another day or so to clinch the exchange between Mattie and Maeraka.
“If we could, I’d say we get the info you need today and leave.”
“How about Mattie?” Henry couldn’t help it.
“You and I ending up in Raqqa Stadium won’t help her a bit.”
“You and I on the run won’t help her a bit either.” Henry had a point.
“Depends on how we disappear… if we make it sound as if we’re joining another faction…”
Henry stuck his hands into his thick hair and left them there, pressing on his skull. He had to find a way. “I need to think…” Henry stood up. He needed to be at The Treasurer’s office and keep matters as normal as they had been.
* * *
The morning had been painfully slow and unnerving. Henry had been surveying The Treasurer’s every phone call, half expecting to be called in. There was no food or drink for distraction. Henry had spent time with Hamza, questioning the results they were having on their new oil strategy. The men The Treasurer had recruited were sharp. They understood fast and could execute with precision. By bombarding him with questions and forcing him to login repeatedly, Henry had managed to crack Hamza’s password. The Treasurer had received news about Mosul’s central bank. As expected, there was gold, dollars… 400 million of them, and assets saved by the wealthy people of Mosul who had not had time to retrieve them before fleeing, if they could flee at all. No one had seen the fall of the city coming.
No one.
The Treasurer had kept his door shut and Henry’s frazzled nerves made him almost lose patience, waiting his turn to speak about the hostages. Henry walked out at midday. The sun was burning his skin and he had become unbearably thirsty. He returned to the hotel, went through the routine check in his room and stuffed his rucksack containing his phone into a wardrobe. Ali was nowhere to be seen and Wasim had disappeared as well. Henry took out of the fridge a large bottle of water he had kept there to cool, drank half of it and finished a packet of nuts he had bought from a little store next to the hotel.
Henry opened the doors leading to the terrace. The heat almost suffocated him. He sat back on his bed. The assets that Mosul was bringing to the Treasury’s purse were making The Treasurer bold. Henry shook his head. He was almost certain he would have to yield to the demands of IS and exchange Maeraka against only one person and that person could only be Mattie. Henry let his upper body collapse on the bed, arms outstretched. He closed his eyes but couldn’t find rest. The images of the men trapped behind bars in the old oil factory and the orange suit in the recording studio preyed on his mind.
Wasim was right though. Even if he had not wanted to admit it first. The minute The Treasurer was told he had used the pass he had given him, they were both in deep trouble and he was here to deliver operation RED HAWK.
He stood up again, left his room and walked down four flights of stairs to a place that looked more like a cupboard than a bedroom. Henry knocked at the door but there was no reply. He walked to the deserted lounge. Ramadan made the large welcoming space less vibrant. It was hard not to drink or eat during the day, and the enthusiasm from the capture of Mosul had somehow died down a little.
The young man was reading at the far end of the room.
“Is that the latest IS magazine?”
“Abu Shabh.” Ali smiled. He turned a few pages and nodded. “Yes, it is.”
“Any good?”
Ali shrugged. “But I have good news for you… I found it.”
“A new truck?”
“Better…”
“A large truck… with special ramming bars?”
“Better…”
“A small SUV?”
“Better…”
Henry was enjoying the silly game. “A large SUV?”
“With extra…” Ali was searching for the word.
“Additional feature.”
Ali clicked his fingers. “Radio.” Ali looked triumphant.
“You’re the best.” Henry slapped his shoulder and Ali grew a little taller. His face turned serious unexpectedly, perhaps thinking about what Henry would do next with the vehicle.
“When do you need it?” He switched back to Arabic in a low and urgent voice.
“Very soon…” Henry hesitated. If Henry had been a good judge of character when he was in banking, he had been made caut
ious in IS Raqqa. “Tomorrow.” But Ali felt an exception. “How much is it going to cost?”
“It’s not for sale…”
Henry pulled back.
“You can have it… you just say you’re with The Treasury.”
“How do you know that?”
“Everybody knows that here.” Ali grinned.
“Is that the way it works?”
“Here… Always… The people who beat me, it’s because they are Abu Kasim al-Haddawi’s people… They can take whatever they want.”
“I get it… But you do not need to get the truck right away. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you exactly when.”
Ali pondered. He had learned not to ask questions. “I find a way… It won’t go anywhere.”
Henry left Ali in the lounge. It was almost the end of the day and time to test whether MI6 had been right to trust him.
* * *
“Your boss didn’t protest?”
“He did but I have so much holiday, I could take a six-month sabbatical and still have some left.”
“How about your team?”
“I have a very good number two…” James smiled at the irony of it. “When can I meet the team?”
“Today, but before that I have a question. I remember reading that you had contacts with SEALs teams when you were in Afghanistan.”
“I spent some time working alongside their dedicated CIA operative.”
“You were with those boys?”
“For a while… I would have stayed but as you know I could no longer follow them on the ground.”
Harris nodded. How could he forget about James’s injury? “Any chance you could check where they’re deployed at the moment?”
“If you tell me why it is you want to know, I can be better prepared.”
“There’s a hostage situation, with a possible extraction tonight.”
“Is Crowne part of that?”
“He is but not in the way you may think…” Harris hesitated but James was committed and part of the team now.
“What then?” James cocked his head.
“He has become one of my assets. He and another operative have infiltrated IS. They’re relaying information to us.”
James’s face dropped for a moment. He walked to the window and leaned forward against the frame. Henry infiltrated in Syria… almost unthinkable, and yet. “What is he looking for… Absolution for all the crap he accumulated over the years?”
“Something like that… But he’s not that naïve, he’s being practical about his new role. You know him better than most. You have a track record in intelligence. And he trusts you to work with him no matter what.”
James stayed silent, his back still turned to Harris. “You can see why I couldn’t tell you much when we first met… No one has ever been so deeply infiltrated than my two assets in a terrorist organisation.”
“Where are they?”
“Are you still in?”
James came back to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. Harris could see it on his face… he hated it and yet he wanted to be part of it.
“Where are they? And yes, I’m in.”
“Raqqa.”
“You mean…” Anger disappeared instantly from James’s face.
“Yes… within IS headquarters. To be more precise their treasury operation.”
“How did they…” James shook his head. “Scrap that question. What do you need from me?”
Harris could have punched the air.
“We need to find an alternative way of communicating with the team in Raqqa. The way we currently exchange information has been compromised. We’re cleaning our tracks and moving to the emergency protocol.”
James nodded.
“The second thing we’re working on is the extraction.”
“Did you not have an extraction plan before they left?”
“We did but it relies a lot on the boys telling us how they can best meet at a rendezvous point.”
“Very risky.”
“They know that.”
“Do they know about the hostage intervention?”
“They don’t know the timing and they don’t know they’ve been compromised either.”
“Let me work on your Plan B… If Henry senses they’re at risk, he’ll be thinking about this too.”
Harris stood up slowly.
“Let’s go up. You can meet the rest of the team.”
* * *
The UK government had offered a couple of concessions when it came to the location of the exchange. The fixer had again voiced his surprise at the speed at which it had been agreed. Echoed by The Treasurer’s opinion.
“Very speedy progress.” He looked pleased. “Commander al-Haddawi insists on choosing the final exchange site himself.” There was no indication that he considered the request unacceptable.
“As long as I can join the team that will proceed with the exchange.” Henry was sitting in The Treasurer’s office and the door was shut.
“He will object but, as you brokered the deal… it’s reasonable. Caliph Ibrahim will agree with me.”
“It will be good to see Abu Maeraka again.”
The Treasurer nodded slowly but there was something else. “Our leader Caliph Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi insists… there can only be one hostage in exchange for Abu Maeraka.”
There would be no arguing or compromise. Henry tried to replace his anger with a show of mild surprise. “The UK might say no.” But they wouldn’t and al-Baghdadi seemed to have sensed it.
The Treasurer shrugged. These were the instructions.
Henry looked at his watch. There was little time before prayer, but he still needed to reach the fixer now. Their conversation was short. All Henry had to tell him was that it was al-Baghdadi’s decision. He would go back to his UK contact and revert.
The call that might have rumbled Henry had not come. Perhaps it wouldn’t…
Allahu Akbar… Ash-hadu alla ilaha illallah… the adhan, the call to prayer, reverberated around Raqqa.
Everyone made themselves ready to leave the Treasury room. It was the call that announced the end of the day for the young men who worked there. Hamza looked around as his colleagues were leaving the room. Henry joined the main crowd and was already kneeling on his rug when Hamza finally joined the congregation.
The Treasurer entered and prayer started. Henry’s rug had been placed next to the door. When the foreheads touched the ground, he slid out of the room. Bare footed, he ran out towards the Treasury’s office.
The space looked much larger now it was empty. Henry clicked the timer on his watch. He had five minutes.
He took three USB keys out of his pocket. Wasim had delivered on his promise to find more for him. Henry moved first to Hamza’s desk, logged in and inserted the key. He moved to the file cluster that dealt with the list of contacts Hamza was using to trade oil as well as details about wells and production levels. The download bar started to move, and Henry switched to another desk. He stopped for an instant, certain he had heard a noise.
Nothing…
He resumed the process, this time harvesting information on the dollar accounts and list of armament suppliers IS was using. The USB key started loading.
The door of The Treasurer’s office was locked. Henry knelt in front of it, inserted the long stem of his lock-opening kit into the small hole. He moved another, slenderer stem in, feeling for the catch to grip… the lock was about to give… not quite. Henry steadied himself. His fingers had become moist with perspiration. He pushed a little harder and the door opened silently.
Henry sat at the desk and recalled the moves of The Treasurer’s hand on his keyboard. The Treasurer had managed to find a Bloomberg keyboard, proudly though absurdly, fitting it to his computer. Henry had spent too many years on the tradi
ng floor to forget the place of each key on the board.
Henry flexed his fingers a few times in the air in preparation and keyed in the password… access denied.
His watch beeped… four minutes to go.
Henry inhaled, focused… he brought back the image of the keystrokes… access denied.
Fuck… it’s got to be close.
Henry looked around for a clue. Perhaps The Treasurer did what most of Henry’s colleagues did in investment banking: leave their password hidden somewhere on their desk. The large ornamental knife looked heavy and out of place on this otherwise functional desk. Henry lifted it and found what he was looking for. The Post-it gave the beginning of a word and the end with a series of numbers scribbled down and regularly replaced by a new one. Henry smiled – he had guessed right – it seemed The Treasurer had changed his password only yesterday and replaced the final number. The USB key started loading the files Henry had selected… lists of assets, financial statements, corporate structure, more bank accounts…
Another beep… three minutes to go.
Henry rushed back to Hamza’s desk. The download was almost complete. The second was doing well too. Henry took out his phone from his rucksack and photographed the room, and the large map on which the oil wells under IS control had been marked.
Beep… two minutes.
Henry swiped from the computers the two USB keys that had completed their loading. He moved to The Treasurer’s desk. The transfer bar had slowed down a little… Henry cancelled the timer, eyes on the small hand of his watch… only a minute to go. The bar speeded up as if aware of the pressure. He yanked the key out, locked The Treasurer’s computer, closed the door behind him… There was no time to lock it. He darted out and dived into the men’s room just as people were arriving in the corridor.
It was time to see whether Wasim’s schoolboy idea would work. Henry took a small tub out of his rucksack. The egg that lay in it was still intact. He wrapped it in the tissues he had brought with him and slowly crushed it underneath his foot. The smell of rot spread around him instantly. It made his stomach heave. Henry held his breath, scooped up the wet tissues with toilet paper and flushed the lot down the toilet. He forced himself to stay there for a very long minute and left the cubicle, moving to the wash basin to clean his hands and splash his face.
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