by Oliver Tidy
‘You’ll go searching for her?’
‘Of course, as soon as possible.’
‘I’m sorry again that we’re holding you up.’
‘Don’t look at it like that, Dominique. I don’t. If she’s alive I’ll find her.’
‘I truly hope she is and that you do.’
She didn’t say that over a year for a child at that age was a very long time. It was time enough to forget what little of a mother tongue had been learned, and one’s parents. It was time enough to have ceased to be the child one was and become a child unrecognisable. If she were still alive.
Their food arrived and they wondered whether to knock on Niki’s door. But both were of the opinion that she wouldn’t thank them for it and then she probably wouldn’t join them anyway. So they spared themselves that unpleasantness and the three of them sat around the table eating and drinking until Zoe had stifled her third yawn and Dominique deemed it bedtime.
They said their goodnights and when mother and daughter had retired Acer took a chair and what remained of the second bottle over to the big window and sat watching London be amazing, and thought of what was to come.
***
85
Crouch came to them. It made sense and even if it hadn’t it was the right thing to do. He came with genuine friendliness, compassion and time for them. Acer knew that he must be tremendously busy with a crushing timetable and stacks of files, physical and virtual, demanding his urgent attention. But he gave no indication that anything was more important than welcoming home Mrs Hammond and her daughter. He left his bodyguard in the hall.
He’d given them time to rise and have breakfast. His greeting for each of them was warm and genuine. Acer was treated to a rare view of the service chief’s ‘human’ side. The way he interacted with Dominique and Zoe in particular got him wondering about whether he had children and grandchildren of his own. Acer realised that he quite liked Crouch.
They arranged themselves in the furniture and Crouch asked his questions, listened attentively to their answers, sought clarification, made appropriate sympathetic noises and faces, and expressed his deepest condolences for Dominique’s losses and her fate. If only they’d known sooner, he said.
Dominique was impatient to tackle the question of what the British government would do about Iran and she had some fire in her eyes that was fuelled by her retelling of her personal tragic and recent history.
Crouch became grave. ‘Naturally, you, I, everyone wants to see Iran brought to some sort of account over this. And we will have a reckoning with them. But...’
‘But what, Mr Crouch?’
‘If we throw these accusations around, no matter how true they are – and I don’t doubt any of it for a moment – it cannot be guaranteed that it wouldn’t do more harm than good.’
‘To whom? And why should I care?’
Crouch sighed heavily. ‘To British interests and British citizens abroad, especially those already in Iran. Other people could suffer for it. Please, understand that I am not seeking to play any of this down, Mrs Hammond. What you have suffered is quite unimaginable for most of us. But I know how governments and their diplomatic damage limitation machines work. If we come out and publicly confront Iran with this they will deny, refute, counter-claim, shut-down, purge, retaliate. It would get ugly.’
‘I don’t understand. It already is ugly,’ said Dominique, and her face was becoming harder.
‘This is going to sound quite horrible because it is. But it’s also the way the world works. We have no hard, incontrovertible proof to back up any accusations we could make. Yes, we have your testimony. Yes, we have Acer’s testimony. But that just isn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough in a court of law and it certainly wouldn’t be enough for the international community.’
‘What about the word of an Iranian? Niki?’
‘Would she speak out? What would that potentially cost her and any family and friends she still has in Iran?’
‘So what can you do, Mr Crouch?’
Crouch settled forward a little to show his enthusiasm for exploring alternative paths of ‘justice’.
‘We can liaise with Iran. I know the Iranian ambassador personally. He is a good man. He will be appalled by this. I can press Iran through him for some form of private apology for you, for compensation. I know nothing could possibly compensate you for the losses of your loved ones but, brutal as it sounds, they are gone. You have a daughter and a life to rebuild. Compensation could remove financial worries from your lives. You could be secure and free to concentrate fully on raising your daughter.’
‘You are right, Mr Crouch. It does sound quite horrible to hear that Iran could buy its way out of such heinous practices. It also sounds quite horrible to me that the British government would seek to encourage such a thing. I want justice for my husband, my son, my daughter and for myself and think of all those other poor souls who lost their lives in a Pacific massacre just so that Iran could be in a position to exploit us.’
‘I do think of them, Mrs Hammond. Often. But we could not hope to lay responsibility for that awful event at Iran’s door. I urge you to think about what I’ve said. There is something else, too. I agree that if you went to the media with your story and kicked up an almighty fuss you would get airtime. You would have your five minutes in the spotlight. But Iran is a country that traditionally does not do embarrassment. I am not trying to threaten you. I am just trying to make you see the way things are. If you sought to tell your story to the world’s media you would spend a lifetime looking over your shoulder. And one day they’d be there. And where would that leave Zoe?
‘There is something else to consider, Mrs Hammond. Because of where you were held and forced to work, you know things about Iran’s uranium enrichment programmes, things that they will not want the West to know. You have very valuable knowledge. Iran will not want that revealed. If you go putting your head above the parapet you’ll be making yourself a target for them. And historically they have shown themselves to be quite dogged over such things.’
Crouch’s words seemed to be getting through to Dominique. He tried to capitalise on them. ‘Please, take your time to mull over what I’ve said. Ultimately, the decision is yours. I can only give you my advice based on experience. I consider that advice to be in your best interests. And please know that I will do everything I can to help you and protect you, whatever decision you come to.’
‘If I am so potentially harmful to them with what I know about their operation in Qom, won’t they be looking to silence me anyway?’
‘The truth is, yes. I don’t doubt it. We have protection programmes the equal of anywhere in the world. Work with us and you and Zoe will have new identities, new homes, new lives. A fresh beginning. For both of you.’
Acer had to hand it to Crouch. He was proving himself, once again, as he had when Acer had been the other side of the counter, to be something of a skilled negotiator. Acer could see Dominique’s resolve melting away with each point Crouch made. And that was not, perhaps, because of how he managed his words but because what he spoke was the harsh truth.
As Dominique contemplated the information, Crouch said, ‘What about this Iranian girl you’ve brought with you? Where is she? I’d like to meet her.’
Acer went into the little hallway off the lounge area and tapped lightly at Niki’s door. He tapped louder. Then called and knocked. In his impatience he opened the door and put his head around it. The curtains were not drawn. The bed was made. Niki was not there.
He came back into the lounge area and said, ‘She’s gone?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Her bed hasn’t been slept in. She and her backpack are missing.’
‘Where’s she gone?’
‘I have no idea. But she could have disappeared last night when we were all shopping in the lobby.’
‘Why would she leave when she’s only just got here?’
‘Again, I have no idea. This was not somethi
ng she’d mentioned.’
Acer caught Crouch’s eye and let him know that he wanted to speak with him privately.
Crouch turned his attention back to Dominique. He reiterated that she could ask anything of them and urged her to think seriously on what he had said. He said he’d be in touch and asked Acer to accompany him to the lift.
When they were in the hallway, he said, ‘What’s going on, Acer?’
‘Really, I don’t know. She’s been acting more and more strangely the longer this has gone on. At first, I thought it was about her brother disappearing. Now I’m not so sure.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he could have been one of the men I saw arrive outside the place in Suez that Zoe had been taken to.’
Crouch thought for a moment and then said, ‘Come with me.’
***
86
They spoke to the hotel manager. He called for the head of security. He arranged for them to view the CCTV camera recordings from the previous night. From the camera at the reception desk they were able to get a good face shot of Niki. The image was forwarded to Crouch’s headquarters for circulation and for cross-referencing with known Iranian faces.
They jumped forward a couple of hours and found where Niki had left. It had been while they were shopping for clothes. She had gone in the clothes she’d arrived in, headscarf and sunglasses, despite the fact that it was dark out. Her distinctive backpack was slung over one shoulder.
The camera outside the front of the hotel showed her emerge and remove the glasses. She spoke to the concierge who immediately hailed her a black cab. They were able to get the cab’s number plate. That was the last they saw of her as she was driven away in the direction of the Thames.
‘Her backpack?’ said Crouch. ‘What was in it?’
‘A lot of money for a start.’
***
87
Acer went with Crouch to SIS headquarters. They were met at the entrance by a woman Crouch had organised while they were en-route across London in Crouch’s car. Crouch left Acer with her and with instructions to provide him with security clearance and to let him know when it was done.
Acer was fast-tracked.
The woman escorted Acer to where Crouch was waiting for him in a darkened room. He had company – a man he introduced simply as Platt from MI5. The men didn’t shake hands and Acer could see from the look Platt gave him that he knew something of Acer’s past and present. He also sensed something was very wrong.
One wall of the room was a mass of screens. It was quickly apparent to Acer that these were the varying viewpoints of numerous CCTV cameras of the capital. The images on the bank of screens were of London at night. The previous night, Acer was told. Before they followed Niki’s journey as far as the technology would allow there was something else that needed to be aired and shared. Acer was asked to look at a computer monitor. A face filled the screen. It was Niki’s face. It was something zoomed in on with clarity. It wasn’t recent.
‘Is this the woman you brought into the UK?’ said Platt. And the way he said it knotted Acer’s stomach.
He swallowed. ‘Yes. Her name is Niki.’
‘No. It’s not. Her name is Saba Sabeti.’
Acer felt his breakfast misbehave. It looked like a surveillance photograph. ‘How do you know her?’
‘We ran the image from the hotel through face recognition software. She was an officer with VEVAK. The Iranian intelligence services.’
Acer couldn’t speak for a long moment. When he found his voice, he said, ‘Was?’
‘She and her brother were both important people in the organisation. But they had a reputation for being a little too brutal, even by VEVAK’s low standards. And that is saying something.’
‘Have you got an image of her brother?’
A photograph of the man Acer had known as Hassan was quickly found and shown.
‘His name is Davoud Sabeti’
‘I know him as Hassan.’
‘How do you know them?’
Acer heaved out a big breath and smelled stale coffee. ‘They posed as friends, my contacts. It was them who made the initial approach, fixed everything, got us out of the country. Hassan, or whatever his name is, disappeared at Tehran railway station. We thought he’d been taken by VEVAK agents.’
‘I think we’d better hear it from the beginning,’ said Platt.
Crouch said, ‘I think that can wait. We have a rogue VEVAK agent in London. And it looks like getting her here under our radar was probably the point of this whole business.’
***
88
Acer felt hot and a little nauseous at what he’d learned. He thought back to everything that had happened and how events would fit with the idea of Niki and Hassan’s possible subversion. A man had definitely been shot to death on the Internet. There were the two men in Dubai in the boot of the taxi, although he hadn’t seen them dead. And the pirate. The ambulance ride, his journey in the back of the truck in a barrel, the clandestine moving around, the changing of address in the middle of the night, Zoe’s abduction. Was it really all classic smoke and mirrors? Things contrived to deceive, confuse and disorientate him? He felt sick with the idea that he’d been duped so comprehensively and so easily. He’d ignored a basic rule – question everything. And then his imagination pounced on why Niki would be here and his blood chilled with possibilities.
They followed the taxi’s journey as far as they could before losing it as it strayed into an area where CCTV cameras were not so prevalent.
‘Right,’ said Platt. ‘This is our show now.’
He gathered up his coat and bag.
Acer said, ‘I’m sorry.’
Platt didn’t answer him. He didn’t even look in his direction when he said, ‘Can I suggest you get your man debriefed ASAP? Anything that could be useful to us, you’ll pass it on, yes?’
And then he was gone.
Acer saw the disappointment, embarrassment, frustration and conflict on Crouch’s features.
‘It’s not your fault, Acer. It’s ours. They fooled us before they fooled you. We gave you to them on a platter. You have nothing to reproach yourself about.’ Crouch looked like someone had let some air out of him. ‘There’s nothing more for you to do here. Go home. You’ve earned your rest. I’ll see to it that Mrs Hammond and her daughter are taken care of. You’ll need to be debriefed. Someone will be in touch.’
***
89
Crouch arranged a car and driver for Acer. Crouch had said go home but Acer told the driver to take him back to the hotel. He had goodbyes to say before Dominique and Zoe were whisked away into some programme of protective custody where he’d never find them.
He got out onto the damp pavement outside the hotel. The steady, fine, misty rain that had started up when he’d been on his way to SIS headquarters continued to fall on the capital. He wondered how much longer Dominique and Zoe would be in the hotel. With Niki gone and her history exposed it would be safer for the Hammonds to be moved to a safe house sooner rather than later.
Reception was three deep in Japanese tourists. Acer knew the way. The LED pads showed that both lifts were high up in the building. He stepped left and took the stairs. He needed the exercise anyway, and a good pace up the stairs would release some of the pent-up frustration he was feeling.
By the time he had trotted to the top of the building he was breathing heavily and a light perspiration was prickling his forehead. He stopped on the deserted stairwell to catch his breath.
Recovered, he opened the fire door and stepped into the hall. The man who should have been on the Hammond’s door was absent and Acer felt his spirits plummet at the thought that he’d missed them; they’d already been collected. A room service trolley was parked outside the door.
He walked along to check they had left. On the carpet immediately outside the room he saw blood. He bent and touched it. It was wet. Then he noticed that the door’s lock had been shot out. Without thought fo
r what or who might be on the other side, he pushed it open with his fingertips.
The dead secret service man was lying on the floor in the hallway. Acer stood on the threshold and listened for sounds of life, of movement. A loud thump, like the noise of a door being kicked, followed by a scream shattered the quiet. He knelt to the dead man and opened his jacket. His pistol was still in its shoulder holster. Acer removed it, checked it, flipped off the safety and went forward into the suite just as a second crash echoed through the space. This one was accompanied by the sound of splintering wood.
Weapon extended in front of him, he hurried in the direction of the screaming.
A man was standing on one leg outside one of the bedrooms. His back was arched and his other leg was raised about to deliver another boot to the door in front of him. He gripped a pistol with silencer attachment in the fist closest to Acer.
The man turned his head at the movement to his right. Already the pistol was coming up to extinguish the threat. Acer fired. And missed. But it was close enough to have the man turning his head away instinctively. Acer fired again. The report was deafening in the confined space. Like being hit by a paintball pellet, the man’s white shirt with burgundy piping, the uniform of the hotel’s room service, was stained a rich crimson. He toppled over.
Acer kept his gun on him as he approached. The man made no effort to return fire. He bent and took the gun from the limp hand.
The man was not dead. His breath was coming in shallow rasps. His eyes were open.
‘Dominique!’
‘Acer?’
‘I’m here. It’s safe. Are you all right?’
‘Where is he?’
‘I’ve got him. Are you both all right?’
He heard the door unlock. Dominique tried to pull it open but the splintered wood made it stick.
