The Silent War

by Andreas Norman

  ‘The package?’

  He realises they mean Pathfinder.

  ‘We’re not taking anyone out.’

  The sergeant and the others look at him silently. He is completely dependent on them; without them he will die out here in a field in northern Syria. But they don’t trust him. If they are forced to choose, they will leave him behind, he thinks.

  ‘We have our orders, sir,’ says the sergeant calmly. ‘This is the objective.’

  ‘And I have mine. I’ve come here to talk to the people in there.’

  The soldiers look at him mutely.

  ‘You’re under my command,’ he says.

  The sergeant crawls forward. The whites of his eyes shine against the backdrop of the camouflage paint.

  ‘We’ll fetch the bastard for you. But how we do that is up to us. You stay here.’

  He can’t understand what is happening. The plan was to buy the release of the captive. He can tell they are preparing for battle, they will kill him, they don’t understand what is at stake. ‘Wait,’ he whispers, but the sergeant doesn’t reply.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he hears the sergeant say. ‘Collection in thirty.’

  As if responding to a silent signal, the group rises and rushes across the field.

  He can’t wait. This is his assignment, he thinks, they’re ruining everything. He tears off his rucksack and runs after them as fast as he can.

  Exhaustion and fear clarify his thoughts. He is afraid; he is sure the rebels have them in their sights right now. When he reaches a ditch he throws himself down. His legs are shaking, but he has to carry on. In front of him in the dark he can see the soldiers a long way across the field. They have already reached the house.

  He hears a quiet shot pierce through the morning tranquillity. Then two rapid bangs – tak-tak.

  It is as if the entire house comes to life. He can hear screaming. A prolonged salvo destroys the silence with its loud bangs. He throws himself to the ground and, lying on the hard earth, he hears yet more shots.

  When he doesn’t hear more he lifts his head. Is it over? He gets to his feet and runs until he reaches the wall around the house and clambers over. He doesn’t notice at first that he has got caught in the barbed wire coiled around the top of the wall; it catches his combat vest. He tugs, horror-struck, taking the wire and pulling in despair while feeling blood running down his hand. Then he is free and tumbles down on the inside of the wall.

  He draws his pistol and runs crouching towards the house, throwing himself against the white roughcast walls of the building. He can see no one and hear no shouting, no voices.

  It is as if fear were shutting down parts of him. All he can think about is that he must find Pathfinder before the bloody soldiers kill everyone.

  A wide staircase leads up to a veranda that the rebels have converted into a fire trench. Crouching, he creeps up the stairs, slipping; the ground is covered in thousands of shell casings.

  Just off the veranda is a large, bare room. He stops and listens. There is nothing there apart from a dirty sofa and some rugs on the floor. Then he sees the body, like a sticky bundle by the wall.

  Now he hears steps; someone is running towards him on the other side of the door. He raises his pistol.

  The man stares at him in surprise with his mouth wide open. A young man with a chinstrap beard, wearing a T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. If things had been different, he would have greeted the man courteously and thanked him for seeing him, explaining that he was there on behalf of the British Government.

  The man raises his assault rifle.

  In that moment he thinks: Him or me, and if I die, that second will never be followed by another. Blood rushes through his body; he just wants to live.

  He fires.

  *

  The shot is deafening in the bare room. The man collapses in the doorway. Jonathan’s ears are whistling and buzzing and there is a strong smell of gunpowder. He squints; what should he do? Where is Pathfinder? Violent explosions are audible from upstairs, salvos of shots filling the house.

  He doesn’t have time to react when a strong hand clamps over his mouth. He flounders, instinctively striking out with his arms to defend himself, but the hand presses harder, covering his mouth and nose.

  ‘Shut your face.’

  He relaxes.

  The sergeant is nothing more than a dark shape close to him. ‘In here,’ he whispers.

  Someone shouts in Arabic: Don’t worry. Keep calm. It is incomprehensible. Then there is a shot, then another. Someone screams.

  The sergeant pulls at his jacket as if he were livestock and shouts: ‘Down!’

  He presses himself in amongst the sandbags. The impact is like a gentle slap on the back. He collapses and is lying down, and for a long time his body is shut off and heavy like a rock. He gasps for breath.

  Then he finds air and the world opens up before him. The sergeant shouts at him: ‘Up, up!’ He gets up laboriously.

  ‘Two minutes,’ the sergeant bellows.

  He stumbles forward next to them, the sergeant still holding his jacket as they run out of a dented gate.

  ‘Where is Pathfinder?’ he shouts.

  But the sergeant isn’t listening, merely pointing at the gate that has been blown open.

  ‘Run,’ roars the soldier.

  A morning mist covers the fields. He rushes onward.

  A dull, pulsing sound is approaching and rapidly increasing in intensity until it becomes a throb dominating the world. Then he sees the helicopter, like an enormous, angular bird sweeping across the plain and heading straight for him. He crouches, as if it demands submission as it sweeps out of the sky and kicks up earth and sand in a thudding whirlwind.

  There, in the swirling dust, he can see two of the soldiers emerging from the house with someone between them. An emaciated, gangly man.

  The night sky is fading. He can see the mountains, they are flying close to the ground. The soldiers are sitting opposite him. They are pumped up, shouting to each other through the noise. Then they fall silent, sitting immovable for the rest of the flight. As dawn breaks they cross the border.

  Pathfinder is sitting still, between them in the throbbing space. He is bony thin and silent, glancing occasionally at him and the sergeant who are sitting opposite. It is as if he realises that at this moment in time he has no power whatsoever over his body, and has surrendered to the fact that he is being transported from one place to another. He doesn’t make a fuss when the soldiers put a hood over his head after landing and lead him across the blustery apron at Hatay Airport where Hakan is waiting for them with the car.

  He is relieved at how compliant Pathfinder is. On the way to Antakya he turns to the man in the backseat and says in Arabic that he has nothing to worry about, they just want to speak to him. That’s all. A conversation.

  Back at the House, one of the soldiers jumps out and opens the gate. Hakan is nervous and floors it, making the car screech into the courtyard. Once inside, the soldiers calm down. They pull the captive out of the backseat and he silently allows them to lead him to the basement. Jonathan would have preferred not to hold the interrogation in the windowless, messy basement room, but they can’t guarantee security if they lock him in one of the rooms in the house, he thinks. If the man cooperates they can always move him later on.

  After the long night it feels wonderful to take a quick shower. The steady water rinses the dirt from him – it feels like a long exhalation. Afterwards, he finds a towel from the cupboard in his room and notes how well organised the operation is – there are even new, soft towels. He feels better. He is ready to get to work; yes, he is looking forward to talking to Pathfinder.

  19

  Sunday morning arrives grey and chilly. Fredrik makes breakfast, they perform their morning routine, forming the slenderest impression of unity. Fredrik
tries to tell a funny story to the boys and they smile cautiously. They have noticed something is wrong. The silence is pushing them apart into different rooms.

  Why hasn’t Gustav called? she thinks. Fredrik is due to see Heather in less than six hours, and she still doesn’t know what the plan is.

  She is willing to do anything to get away, and after breakfast she asks Rasmus whether he would like to go to the park for a kickabout. He looks at her quizzically, as if she had gone mad. Then he fetches his football.

  ‘What’s wrong with Dad?’ he asks once they are in the car.

  How can she explain to him what is happening? ‘Dad is working together with Swedish Counter-Espionage to bring down an enemy agent. Dad is a bastard.’ She’s tempted to say as much.

  ‘He’s just stressed,’ she says.

  Everything that is happening is happening in the light of an unavoidable farewell. The boys too are approaching a parting of the ways, although they don’t know it. Daniel is spending the night at Julia’s again. He has his life, but what will happen to Rasmus? There shouldn’t be so much pain in young people’s lives, she thinks, looking at him sitting beside her in the passenger seat.

  The satnav comes on. She hasn’t turned it on.

  The car’s Bluetooth is connected to a different computer. She turns around in her seat and looks out of the windows and in the mirrors. There are cars around her that have also slowed down for a red light ahead. She stares at the drivers in the other cars, but they all seem wrapped up in their own lives and completely disinterested in her. One of them is hacking into her satnav.

  The traffic starts moving.

  The park is nearby, but the map on the screen is showing a route to a completely different location three kilometres away. The usual clear, female voice used by the satnav begins speaking to her. In one hundred metres, turn right.

  She turns. Rasmus looks up. Aren’t they on the way to the park? he asks anxiously. She nods and says she just needs to do something else first. He looks sceptically at her; he doesn’t believe her. Perhaps that’s what the boys will take with them into the wide world, she reflects. The art of keeping quiet and seeing through lies.

  She quietly follows the route. The person who entered it into her satnav has been watching her for some time and knows where she is. Rasmus is lost in his impenetrable thoughts as they leave town and continue along the main road.

  Remain on this road for two kilometres.

  She glances anxiously through the windscreen and in her rear-view mirrors.

  Just outside of Nivelles, the satnav tells her to turn right and then announces she has reached her destination.

  A car wash?

  She drives to a vacant door and waits. The door slowly opens and reveals a dark opening. The man-sized brushes in the car wash stand ready for action, drooping slightly sadly.

  Just as she is about to drive in, the back door opens and someone gets into the backseat. She doesn’t have her service weapon, she has Rasmus in the car and he cannot come into harm’s way. The boy’s eyes pop open and he begins to turn around, but she puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder because she can now see who it is.

  She drives into the car wash.

  Gustav looks out of his window. The brushes close in on the car and start rotating at full force.

  ‘Tell your boy to turn his data off and put his headphones on,’ says Gustav calmly.

  So he knows that Rasmus usually has headphones, she thinks in surprise, and wonders whether they ever leave anyone in her family alone.

  ‘Who is he?’ asks Rasmus in irritation.

  ‘Just a friend. Don’t worry. Put on your headphones.’

  The lather runs down the windscreen and water thunders against the roof. Rasmus sits next to her, focusing intensely on his phone which he has connected his headphones to – he is scared and that makes her angry, she shouldn’t have to put up with this.

  ‘You’re under surveillance,’ says Gustav. ‘I couldn’t find a better way to meet you quickly.’

  She looks out of the windscreen at the whirling storm passing over the car as he explains that they have been able to confirm everything. Heather Ashford is MI6.

  ‘The Brits have got you under surveillance. They’re in your electronics. They’re listening to everything.’

  She nods; it doesn’t surprise her. She doesn’t even have the energy to be upset.

  Gustav asks her to tell him what she knows about the agent. It is odd to describe the most sordid details of her life while Rasmus is sitting next to her. But it makes it even easier. She briefly outlines what Fredrik told her, about what she found in the satnav and about the apartment in Ixelles. But nothing about the candelabra, because she knows that Gustav would see her in a different light.

  Cascades of water rinse the body of the car.

  ‘What are they saying about me in Stockholm?’

  All trust in her is gone, Gustav explains. Management have been unhappy with how she has been handling things since she made contact with the British leak without checking with them first.

  Yes, she thinks. That was a mistake.

  ‘Now we’re aware of the House, but what are we meant to do with that information? There are some things not even spies want to know. You should have talked to me,’ says Gustav mournfully.

  This is personal for him too. She is his favourite and it makes her sad that he is looking at her as if she were letting him down.

  ‘We’re taking over,’ he says. ‘Fredrik is receiving his instructions at the moment. He will be at the hotel at noon and will see Heather at three o’clock.’

  Gustav grimaces self-consciously. He hopes that she understands that they need to question her, about everything, to establish exactly what happened and ascertain what damage there is. It will be a clear warning to London to leave them alone.

  ‘It would have been easier if you hadn’t spoken to Fredrik,’ he says. ‘You could have told us without fighting with him, then we could have kept an eye on MI6 in peace and quiet. Ordinary counter-espionage work. Now the Brits know that you’re aware of Fredrik’s infidelity.’

  She understands his line of thinking, it is a purely tactical assessment. But does he really think she should have kept quiet and let Fredrik keep sleeping with Heather?

  ‘They don’t know that I’ve discovered Heather’s real identity. And Fredrik is my husband,’ she says, looking angrily at Gustav. ‘Do you know what he did to my boy here? Rasmus discovered him and Fredrik forced him not to tell me. Has he told you that?’

  Gustav sighs. No, Fredrik hasn’t said that.

  ‘I understand that this is hard for you, Bente,’ says Gustav, and then it is as if he were embarrassed to say more.

  ‘I want to be there at the hotel.’

  ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what is a good idea,’ she exclaims.

  Rasmus lifts one headphone and looks at her, puzzled. ‘Is everything okay?’ She smiles hastily at him and tells him to put his headphones back on.

  Once she is certain that Rasmus can’t hear she says to Gustav:

  ‘Fredrik is a wimp. He doesn’t think he can do it.’

  The car wash door opens. A beam of milk-white daylight appears. She turns on the engine. Without saying a word, Gustav gets out and wanders through the opening. Rasmus looks up and looks at Mum’s friend in confusion.

  The small boutique hotel is fashionable in an exaggerated and slightly vulgar way. She can’t quite stomach that Fredrik chose this particular hotel for their meetings.

  She looks around. This being a Sunday afternoon in November, the lobby is sparsely populated – just a few tourists and two businessmen in suits preparing for a meeting. She lingers nearby, listening, waiting. But they are genuine. Their humdrum, porous business talk follows her as she heads for the lift. />
  On the way up, she thinks about the apartment in Ixelles, and worry simmers within her. The gash, she thinks. She can no longer pretend that Heather won’t have noticed it. Naturally she would have noticed something like that, being trained in the same methods as she is.

  Of course, if she had known who Heather was she would have behaved differently. Perhaps the agent doesn’t live there, she reflects. Perhaps Heather hasn’t yet discovered the damage.

  Fredrik is sitting on the edge of the bed in the room that counter-espionage have booked. He stares at her uneasily and she sees a pathetic middle-aged man sitting there on the brink of disaster.

  Gustav is standing by the window. When she comes in he waves impatiently at her to come and join him.

  ‘You were right,’ Gustav whispers. ‘He’s on the edge.’

  She looks over her shoulder. Fredrik is shrunken and pale. No, it won’t work.

  ‘Can you talk to him?’

  If he leaves, then yes. Gustav gives her a measured look. They’ll be waiting in the room next door, he says, disappearing through the door.

  Then it is just the two of them. Fredrik has buried his face in his hands, like an ashamed child. There are many things they ought to say to each other, but not now.

  She crouches in front of him.

  ‘Fredrik, look at me.’

  He looks up. His eyes are red with tears. He looks at her as if all is lost, and she is tempted to yell at him to stop feeling sorry for himself. But, of course, she doesn’t say that. It wouldn’t help.

  ‘Do you know what we usually say in the Security Service? The individual means nothing, the assignment is everything.’

  Now he is listening, wide-eyed, as if hoping for salvation.

  ‘This is my work,’ she continues, as if speaking to a child. ‘All those times you wondered what it was that I do – well, now you know. You are part of it. That man is my boss. I’ve worked for him for as long as you and I have known each other,’ she says, checking herself to keep her voice gentle. ‘And now you work for him too.’

  He nods slowly. His face crumples in an ominous sob.