Three Great Novels

by Henry Porter

  ‘Two!’

  ‘Yes, two, unless you both want something, in which case I’ll treat you.’ She proffered a twenty-pound note. ‘Really, it would be a big help.’

  He examined her. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? Not suffering from shock or anything?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I’m feeling pretty damned good. It’s not every day you get the chance to knock out a man with baseball bat.’

  He took the money and went to the door, just as the bell rang. Herrick looked round from the kitchen to see him open it to a man in a chauffeur’s uniform.

  ‘Yes?’ she called out.

  ‘Miss Herrick? A package from the Nabil Commercial Bank. You are expecting me. I have it for you, here.’

  It was only when she took the fat brown envelope from him and recognised the handwriting on the address label that she realised this was the package Sally Cawdor had promised her.

  It occurred to her that the contents of the package were the only thing that anyone could want from her. But why were two Albanian thugs looking for it? Some twenty minutes later as she sat at her kitchen table, working her way through the crusty bread bacon sandwiches, she began to put a theory together.

  ‘Cunning is the dark sanctuary of incapacity,’ said the Chief quietly. ‘Are you familiar with that aphorism, Isis? It comes from the Earl of Chesterfield, who knew that cunning is a substitute for talent and originality. In this particular situation someone is being very cunning indeed, so perhaps it is simply a matter of looking around us and settling on the least talented.’ She knew he was referring to Richard Spelling and Walter Vigo.

  ‘Despite everything, I wonder if the business at my house is really a side issue, Sir Robin,’ said Herrick, wanting to get off the subject of what the men were looking for and why they might have been sent by Vigo.

  ‘If you really think that is the case,’ he said, ‘I am happy to leave it, at least for the moment.’ He turned to the window with his glasses lodged in the corner of his mouth. ‘Do you know how many people are under surveillance by the Security Services, Special Branch and us, Isis?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘No.’

  ‘About five hundred and fifty require close attention. And that’s in this country alone. Outside, the number reaches into the thousands.’ He paused and turned from the view. ‘Yet the preponderance of our effort is deployed watching nine people.’

  ‘I feel rather responsible for that. I’m—’

  ‘You did your job. It is the reaction to the discoveries you made at Heathrow that is flawed, and I am more than responsible for that.’

  ‘But the Prime Minister only has to say the word and we bring all the foreign intelligence services into the operation and immediately diminish the commitment as well as the exposure.’

  He nodded slowly. He couldn’t say it, but she understood that Spelling and Vigo had monopolised the advice going to the Prime Minister. ‘Who knew that you would not be sleeping at the Bunker after your shift? You had your bag with you, so it was a fair assumption that you would be staying there.’

  ‘Only Andy Dolph, I think.’

  ‘So anyone else might imagine your house was free to be searched at leisure today?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘And you say they were definitely Albanians?’

  ‘The second man wasn’t apprehended, but the one in hospital is certainly Albanian.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said the Chief. ‘But as you say, this is beside the point. I think we should move on to Karim Khan.’

  He pressed a button on his desk and got up. ‘I have made a lot of calls on your energy and I’m going to ask that you give a little more over the coming week. I hope that will be in order.’

  He showed her to the door at the side of his office and they made their way to a room sealed off from the outside world, reputedly armoured and protected from every known surveillance device. They sat down at the table and the Chief looked expectantly at the door. After a few seconds it opened and Colin Guthrie, the head of the joint MI5-MI6 anti-terrorist controllerate and his main aide, Gregor Laughland, came in. They were followed by Charles Harrison, head of Security and Public Affairs, his deputy Christine Selvey, Philip Sarre and three men she had not seen before. The group had a marked conspiratorial air about it and Herrick was intrigued that both Guthrie and Selvey were in attendance, since they had originally been supporters of RAPTOR. Perhaps they’d thrown their lot in with the Chief knowing they’d be thrown out under the new regime. More likely the Chief had encouraged them to attach themselves to RAPTOR to find out what was going on and report back to him.

  The Chief began speaking in a quiet, uncertain tone that gave the impression he did not know quite what he was going to say. ‘Time is short and I believe we have only a matter of days to act.’ He gestured to the three strangers. ‘These gentlemen are from a security firm that specialises in hostage negotiation. In a moment I will ask the firm’s head of operations, whom I will call Colonel B, to speak about the plan he has been putting together for us in the twenty-four hours since we heard that Karim Khan had been flown for interrogation to Cairo. Colonel B’s team will remain anonymous to all but myself and Colin Guthrie. It is Colonel B’s condition that their involvement in this matter will not be referred to outside this room and so I stress to you all that the need for secrecy has never been more imperative.’

  He stopped and looked round his staff, seeking a sign of consent in each person. Herrick understood that it was not simply for the consultant’s peace of mind. The Chief was going beyond his powers as specified by the Foreign Office and Parliament. Despite the studied calm and modulation of his voice, this was a desperate last move and might very well also be Herrick’s last work for the Service.

  ‘Over the next few days,’ he continued, ‘we plan to remove Karim Khan from the custody of the local intelligence service and question him in the proper manner. It is my belief that this man possesses crucial information about future terrorist attacks in the West. In particular he can identify two, maybe even three, terrorist leaders who have so far escaped our attention. The first problem is that Mr Khan is being questioned simply as an operative who may, or may not, be involved in a particular attack. Mr Khan’s knowledge is, I am certain, of a much more general and historic nature. He knows much, but is not in a position to appreciate what he knows, or how valuable it could be.

  ‘The second problem is that our American friends are convinced Mr Khan knows things that are of immediate worth. They are therefore content to allow the Egyptians to torture him until he talks. Previously the Egyptians have been constrained by the requirement to produce foreign suspects in court, which entails exposure of their methods. But there will be no court case for Mr Khan because he is being held as Jasur Faisal and a sentence has already been passed on him, in his absence. So the Egyptians will have a free hand. Hence our need to move quickly.

  ‘Now, we already have good information about where he is being held. Up until 6.00 a.m. today he was in a holding cell in police headquarters in central Cairo. At some stage he will be removed to a facility attached to a very secure prison on the southern outskirts of the city, at which point we may give up all hope of freeing him. According to our people, there are no signs of that yet. We have pulled out all the stops on this one and the sources of information are proving fast and responsive to our requests, so I am confident that at least in this regard we’re not working in the dark.

  ‘Before Colonel B outlines his thoughts, I want to say what happens after we have got Khan. The immediate aim will be to restore him to a condition where he is able to talk about what he knows. This will not be a simple matter. He is likely to be quite badly injured, to say nothing of the psychological trauma of torture. What I have in mind is this: we do not attempt to exfiltrate Khan immediately, but keep him in Egypt at the safe location being prepared at the moment by some unusual associates of ours. It is important that Khan sees some friendly faces - people he knows he can trust.
>
  ‘His oldest friend, Sammi Loz, will be on hand. Loz is an excellent doctor and I am hoping we can rely on him to treat Khan. Also at this location will be Robert Harland who has been shadowing Loz, and Isis Herrick who saw Khan in custody in Tirana a couple of days ago. It will be Isis’s job to question him, and since she has already attempted to intervene to prevent him being hurt, I believe he will be inclined to trust her. There will be backup but we will keep them out of sight. Once Khan has given us what we need, we will bring him to this country and provide safe asylum. Any questions?’

  The only question in Herrick’s mind was why the Chief believed Khan knew enough to risk mounting the operation, but no one asked a question and she decided to keep quiet. It was clear the members of SIS in the room had decided to pay him the supreme compliment of taking him on trust.

  ‘I should point out that if any of you are caught in Egypt,’ continued Teckman after a brief pause, ‘Her Majesty’s Government will deny all knowledge of you. However, I am satisfied that we stand a very good chance of success, and that even if we do not get Khan out, all of you will be able to disperse and leave the country without difficulty. The one problem is that our friends at the CIA will be in evidence. We should of course make every effort to avoid injuring these people. They may be misguided, but they are still our allies, and in the end I believe they will come to see the error of their ways in this matter.’

  He handed over to Colonel B, a compact man in his mid-forties with sandy hair, a freckled tan and pale crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. The colonel stood and opened a laptop which sent a series of maps, diagrams and satellite photographs to a large screen at the end of the table. Over the next hour and a half, he roughed out several plans, each of which required intensive surveillance of the route between the police headquarters and the prison. Meeting places, covers and arrangements for communication between members of SIS and the snatch team were then settled.

  After two hours, including a break for coffee and sandwiches, the colonel closed his laptop and looked around the room. ‘Generally, I find in these operations that we have to be very light on our feet and willing to adapt to new circumstances. Everything we have sketched out may fall apart. Success will come, but only if we are prepared to change our plans at a moment’s notice.’ He shook the Chief’s hand with military firmness and made for the door with his two silent lieutenants.

  Before leaving, Teckman drew Herrick aside. ‘A lot of this operation relies on your ability to gain the trust of Khan and Sammi Loz, but you will have to watch Loz like a hawk. Harland will be with you, armed. He is on his way to Egypt with Loz now.’

  He reached over to a dark blue plastic box the size of a computer case. ‘This is the medical equipment which Loz will need to treat Khan after his ordeal. It contains all the usual drugs - antibiotics, vitamins, anti-inflammatory drugs, painkillers, sleeping pills - and some unusual ones, together with bandages and syringes. Our people have tried to allow for the sorts of injuries Khan will have sustained at the hands of The Doctor. Loz will know what to do with them. If not, there are instructions for each. In the unlikely event of your being questioned by Egyptian customs, you will say this is the emergency pack for the elderly patient you and Christine Selvey are accompanying.’

  ‘Which elderly patient?’ she asked.

  A flicker of a smile escaped the mouth that had been set in grim purpose for the past two hours. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely open with you, Isis, but there has been very little time. Your father has agreed to take part in the operation.’

  ‘What! You can’t be serious. He’s in his eighties.’

  ‘It’s only a very minor capacity and I still have the highest regard for his abilities.’ He put up a hand to silence her objection. ‘Besides, what would be better cover than you and his devoted nurse travelling to see the Pyramids at Giza and Saqqara?’

  ‘But it is such a liability. I can’t think of a worse way of going about an operation.’

  ‘Nonsense. The moment Khan is in our hands, your father will travel home with Christine Selvey, with whom, by the way, he gets on splendidly.’

  ‘With Christine Selvey!’

  ‘Security and Public Affairs are not all she knows. She gave up field-work a dozen years ago because there was no one to look after her ailing mother in the evening. She was an excellent operative. Quite superb.’

  Herrick shook her head in disbelief. ‘It’s so bloody unorthodox, sending two related people on the same job.’

  ‘The whole thing is bloody unorthodox, Isis.’ He didn’t smile. ‘Now, all you have to concentrate on is getting Khan to a point where he can tell you what he knows. I believe you are right about Bosnia and I’m sure that line of inquiry will prove fruitful. In the meantime I will tell Spelling that you’re doing some work for me.’

  She wondered fleetingly whether to tell him about the package from Beirut that she had forwarded to the address in Oxford before getting to the office, then decided that there wouldn’t be any point until she had got the results.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A large wheel was fitted into a wooden beam in the ceiling. Through it ran a dirty brown rope that had been stretched and pulled until it had the appearance of a rusty cable. One end of this hawser led through a pulley fixed on the stone floor, then to a two-handed winding mechanism, allowing the load to be lifted to the ceiling and held there by a ratchet. The other end was attached to a number of chains and manacles designed to be fastened round human limbs.

  Though elementary, the capstan provided several options. A man could be hauled up by both arms, or just one; he could be suspended with one arm behind his back and bound to his leg; or he might be winched up by his neck only, so that for what seemed like many minutes he experienced the sensation of being garrotted. Usually, being hung by his arms for several hours was all any normal man needed to persuade him to talk.

  The man in charge of the interrogation understood perfectly well that most people would talk when confronted with the prospect of this treatment, but in his trade there was a saying, which translates as ‘squeezing the lemon dry’. It summarised the belief that when a man was broken he could always find something more to blurt out - the name of a street or a person, some old gossip about the activities of a neighbour. There is always another drop to coax from the crushed fruit. Even if the persistence of the interrogators produced stories and lies - for it was often the case that the man really had nothing more to tell the security forces - the process was still vindicated. The suspect was talking, wasn’t he? And talk in all its forms - babbling, whispering, crying, pleading or cursing - is less threatening to the state than silence. Put simply, the information that came from a man experiencing such brutality was the operation’s product and, like any diligent workforce, the men who stepped into this hellish place every day had standards of productivity, a yardstick by which they measured their output. The stories and lies were merely the husk of the operation, the off-cuts that would eventually be discarded after the creaking security apparatus had checked out the statement through its thousands of investigators and informers and established which parts were unlikely to be true. But even this might result in some innocent being lifted from the street and given similar treatment.

  Karim Khan entered this brutal world at precisely 7.30 a.m. local time and was straight away hoisted by his arms so that his whole body was suspended four feet from the ground. The Doctor was in the cell with him but an Egyptian was in charge and gave the order for Khan’s feet to be beaten by two men with long rubber truncheons. Khan cried out that he would tell them anything they wanted. They stopped and the Egyptian shouted questions at him in Arabic. Khan pleaded that he could only speak English. The men returned to beating him and soon the pain in his feet, together with that in his arms and shoulders, took hold of his mind, though he did experience a fleeting astonishment that strangers would take such care to hurt him. After several minutes they let him down to the ground with a bump so tha
t the force of his weight shot through the injuries on his feet.

  The Egyptian officer approached him and spoke in English. ‘You will talk to us now.’ He said it like a reprimand, as though Khan had been impossibly obstructive.

  Khan nodded.

  ‘And make full statement of your plans to make terrorist attacks.’

  ‘I will do this.’ Khan understood the pretence that he was Jasur Faisal had been dropped.

  He was put on a tiny stool which required him to use his feet to balance, and the only way of doing this was to turn them in so that the outside of his soles rested on the floor. The Egyptian lit a cigarette and offered one to The Doctor, who shook his head, and then with fastidious care replaced the packet and lighter in the pocket of his jacket. With the cigarette in his mouth and one eye closed against the smoke, he put out a hand to one of the men who had been beating Khan and snapped his fingers for the truncheon. He slapped it gently into the palm of his left hand, then leaned forward and brought it down on Khan’s collar-bone. Khan fell from the stool screaming and had to be lifted up and held straight by the two thugs.