The Widow's Son

by Daniel Kemp

  “Two days before the attack on the World Trade Centre in New York, on September 9, 2001, a man by the name of Ahmad Bassriud, but more commonly known as the Lion of Talik, was the target of a suicide attack by two Arabs posing as engineers at Khatuja, in the Sahar Province of Afghanistan. Bassriud died in the helicopter taking him to hospital. The funeral, although in a sparsely populated rural area, was attended by hundreds of thousands of mourning people. He was a hero to them, defending their villages against the might of my country's army and the Taliban. The assassination was not the first attempt on his life. Al-Qaeda, the Taliban, the Pakistani ISI, and before them the Soviet KGB, and the Afghan Communist KHAD had all tried to assassinate Bassriud. He survived those attempts with the help of his followers; let's for the moment call them, friends.

  “When the American-led war in Afghanistan began, its stated aim was to capture or kill Osama bin Laden and his Al-Qaeda militants as well as replace the Taliban with an American-friendly government. Bassriud was to become the link between President Bush and the next government of Afghanistan. He was precisely what Bush needed; a forward thinking patriot who would relish the challenge of realising Afghanistan's potential. However, someone, or perhaps more to the point, some organisation, didn't want that and that's why he was killed. I can see I have your attention, Mr West, that is good, but I will need it for some more time, so do not use it all up too quickly.

  “There is an American woman who was contracted two months ago to work as a translator for the CIA at a place that was referred to by those who contacted her, as the Posideium. She is my asset, not my government's, but mine. I am disclosing this in confidence, as I have been told my trust in you will not be misplaced.” I just sat, listened and watched his gnarled hands illustrate his tale in calm motioning movements.

  “I hope that is true,” he added chillingly as I withdrew a cigarette and pushed my pack of Dunhills towards him.

  “She is telling me compelling stories of regular meetings between senior members of a US intelligence corps and current leaders of Al-Qaeda. All are rostered, numbered, dated and filed openly. It's also attributed to serving officers, but some, not all, of that information is deliberately constructed to mislead. These meetings are not new. A few have flagged up in Moscow Centre in the past. They have been taking place since 1997 under the operational and file name of Gladio B. That name is also written down. Originally Gladio B was a 'stay-behind forces' directive aimed at a possible Soviet invasion of Europe. My superiors were aware of it under that title and designed for that purpose. They dismissed the whole programme as an absurdity and an imaginative myth. But they are unaware what it has developed into.

  “According to my asset, some of those named senior CIA agents, note senior please, have met with Ayman al-Zawahiri, a man who is the second in command of Al-Qaeda and senior official of a variety of Islamist organisations which have orchestrated and carried out attacks in North America, Asia, Africa, and the Middle East. They met with him at the American Embassy in Baku, Azerbaijan on numerous occasions between 1997 and 2001. Al-Zawahiri and other leading mujahideen have been transported by American aircraft to Central Asia and the Balkans to participate in Pentagon-backed destabilisation operations. She, my agent, found a 1997 communique emanating from NATO, in Brussels. It requested Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak to release from prison Islamist militants affiliated with Ayman al-Zawahiri. This he did. Those militants were flown under unrecorded CIA intelligence orders to Turkey for training and use in operations by the Pentagon. Those former prisoners are now in Syria.

  “In this same file there is evidence of how part of an Al-Qaeda leadership had been training some of the 9-11 hijackers at a base in Turkey in full acknowledgement by persons within this CIA roster. The file is genuine, Mr West, and my operative is the best there is. It is my estimation that Gladio B has transmuted into a cover operation for projecting American power in many of the former Soviet spheres of influence. What I'm not sure about is where the authorisation for such things is coming from. What also worries me and should worry you too, is does this conspiracy extend as far as their Armed Services Committee and the Joint Chiefs of Staff?”

  His stony glare gave nothing away in sentiment. His voice was a mechanical recount of facts and figures, name and places with no feelings to the words he chose to use. This was a front line artisan, not an office decoder in a silent room with headphones on and radio dials to stare at all day long whilst jotting down unusual transmissions.

  “Intelligence derived from intercepted, deciphered signal traffic in Lubyanka Square, Moscow's Centre of the Federal Security Service, leads me to believe there's some secret foreign policy driven by forces beyond normal constraints to increase covert action and spread disruption through certain parts of Africa, around the Caspian Sea and most importantly in Afghanistan's near neighbours of Turkmenistan and Pakistan.”

  He stopped speaking to remove a packet of cigarettes from a trouser pocket. He pushed my packet away but offered me one of his. It was a Tekal cigarette. The same brand as Henry Mayler smoked. 'I smoke too much,' he said on taking one. As I lit mine he began my tuition again.

  “In a part of Turkmenistan, on the shore of what remains of the Aral Sea, there is a top secret Soviet Union biological establishment with weaponised smallpox, sarin, cyanide and other pathogenic weapons which had not been decommissioned. But when it was last inspected there was an inconsistency. Not all that should have been there was there when the inspectors called. I was included in the select few who saw the report to that effect. Significant spores of anthrax encephalitis were no longer held in its secured state, they were gone. Four cases containing six rounds each of 95-pound M107 artillery shells in which the phials would be loaded, along with 10 cases containing the same number of shells of phosphorous 97-pound M549 shells are unaccountable, Mr West. This particular stock was never intended to be fired from Russian weaponry. It was calibrated to be fired from American guns in someone else's hands, not ours. Ours were to be whiter than white in this conspiracy. We now find ourselves embarrassed as we will not know who fires them and at whom.

  “The other senior officers on that inspection committee who read the report, then interviewed several high ranking army and naval intelligence commanders leaving them convinced that someone high up sold them to terrorists, but they have no answer to why other pathogens were not sold. I don't know why either, but I think I do know who was responsible.”

  “Are we to know who was responsible, General, and if that theft represents a threat to the West?”

  “Yes, I will tell you who the culprit is and if I could I would tell you the target, but not yet, my friend, there is work to do first. I have to refer you back to the file again. Everything revolves around that. The original file of Gladio B, with the logistical additions including the digital signatures and my connection to your intelligence service has now been encrypted, and would you like to guess where the code to unlock that encryption is?”

  “With you?” I volunteered.

  “No,” he laughed, “If only it was. I believe your Mr Ughert holds that key, and I'm sure he knows where the encrypted file is, but would you like me to tell you and save you the wait?”

  “I'm guessing you might just be on the verge of enlightening me, General. I would certainly appreciate if you could tell me that, yes.”

  “It is with the head of the people I intimated who shielded Ahmad Bassriud before he was assassinated. They are the friends of his that I spoke of. All are Armenians and perhaps you have heard of their fraternity. I used a shortened version when I spoke to our young friend Henry Mayler that I'm sure you are now aware of; Rosco, but to be more precise, they are known as Rosicrucians. Bassriud was assassinated by a drone strike, Mr West, and the only ones I know who have drones in Afghanistan are the Americans. If you are ever presented with an opportunity to erase my name from any file that falls into your lap, you will remember our conversation of today and how much I have assisted you, I hope.”r />
  Chapter Nine: Djibouti

  The pulsating beat of reggae music cannoned through the sparse vegetation closely followed by the thundering roar of approaching motor vehicles; however, no music or diesel engine noise could eclipse the rhythmical rat-tat-tat of machine guns as they were fired into the air by the columns of mercenaries announcing their arrival at the settlement at Sagi, deep into the desert of Ethiopia. By the time the guns were put away and the band of some thirty or so heavily armed individuals had satisfied their individual carnal requirements, seven men and three women were loaded into two of the open trunks and driven to the port city of Djibouti, the capital of the strategically important country of the same name on the tip of the Horn of Africa, at the entrance to the Suez Canal. From there the hostages were taken to Karachi in Pakistan by boat, where they were divided up.

  After a variety of transport methods the seven men were coerced to train as mujahideen soldiers at a place called Faryab, on the border of Afghanistan and Turkmenistan. Several months later and by a sheer stroke of luck three of these seven along with two other mujahideen, were captured by a British special forces patrol after a short fire-fight in the mountains near Pakistan. Of the twelve combatants the British engaged, those five were the only survivors.

  On interrogation by the British chief intelligence officer stationed in Kabul, using the translation services of trusted, indigenous Afghans, all three identified two vehicles in the Kabul coalition military compound as being the same models and colours their capturers used when entering their village at Sagi and being transferred into the same before departing from the harbour at Djibouti. They were personnel carriers used by the American Army. What's more, all three positively connected the accents of their abductors to that of Americans troops they encountered on five or more occasions whilst fighting in Afghanistan. That was one of the reports locked away in the floor safe in my office at The Hole. Another one carried the same markings; Top Secret. Level One. Eyes Director General Group:

  Dated 23 September 2002

  From Strategic Studies Group

  Copies To:

  Her Majesty's Prime Minister of the United Kingdom

  Secretary Of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs

  Chair Joint Intelligence Committee

  Director General Internal Security

  Director General Intelligence Service

  Director General Group

  Intercepted signals at GCHQ strongly suggest negotiations to lease an area south of the port of Djibouti, where the construction of an American naval base is proposed, are nearing completion. The Americans have already named the base as Camp Lemmonier after a French General who served in the country of Djibouti.

  Taking this now certain installation into account, along with the previous communiques forwarded on and attached to this one, it is our estimation to anticipate the following:

  When fully operational (estimate 2005, if negotiations are concluded this month) Camp Lemmonier will become the centre for a network of any number of US military drones and surveillance bases stretching from the Horn of Africa to The Caspian Sea.

  The smaller air bases, or remote control drone stations, will have few requirements to become fully operational. They can be situated within local military bases or civilian airports and adequately screened.

  Due to its tactical location Camp Lemmonier will serve as the axis for aerial operations reaching from the Red Sea as far north as Kazakhstan, including all Pakistan airspace.

  Drones that will be capable of flying into Saudi airspace, as well as across Pakistan, will not be able to unless permission is granted by home countries. Doubtful in both cases. Therefore we conclude that no permission will be requested. Their radar signature can be impossible to trace without state-of-the-art equipment which neither country has at present. Their probable source for this equipment would be Russia or China.

  We have no further information on the above at this time.

  Long Term Prognosis

  We have examined the available intelligence and it is our opinion that the Americans plan to execute further interventions in the immediate area of the Gulf as far east as Pakistan and, if conditions favour it, into the oil rich country of Kazakhstan. It is our combined belief that the concluding end of the chess game for the any American administration is Kazakhstan, and in particular an area known as the Kazakhstan Block, a geological paradise roughly centred on Lake Balkhash. We have intercepted three geological reports addressed to Rosneft, a Russian oil exploration, extraction, and production company, which when analysed detailed huge deposits of gas and oil exceeding known amounts anywhere else in the world, but not only that. There is as much as a quarter of the world's proven uranium reserves in the immediate region.

  We ordered a special analysis of financial undertakings in the area and uncovered an English company, registered in the Netherlands, called Barrow & Martin Investment Group. They have been tendering for several sectors of land near Lake Balkhash and its shoreline for industrial development. The company's portfolio did not elaborate further. However, after much digging we found this investment company to be merely a subsidiary company of a far more important group; N M Rothschild & Sons Limited or Rothschild Group, headquartered in London.

  There are two obvious routes for gas and oil exports from the Caspian region: one would be through Iran to the Persian Gulf, and a second would be through Uzbekistan, Afghanistan and then either Iran or Pakistan, into the Gulf of Oman. However, a more readily immediate route would be to utilise Western allies of Turkey, Armenia and Azerbaijan and then a conquered Iraq. The port facilities in Kuwait would prove to be ideal. The Americans could re-garrison Saudi Arabia which would facility a two-pronged attack on Iraq. Those troops would have to be stationed for a defined short period of time and then withdrawn. It is our opinion not all will be withdrawn.

  At some point the seaport of Ras Al-Bassit, (historically referred to as Posideium) at Latakia, in Syria, becomes pivotal to one party or the other for the overall success in the area. Israel will be encouraged to engage Syria in a military confrontation which the American would then feel an obligation to support on the side of the Israelis. We assume the Russians would side with both the Iranians and Syrians. The escalation of the hostilities will be engineered by one large indigenous terrorist grouping to act on several fronts. We are to be asked to facilitate this. It is not part of our remit to advise on that participation, however, if asked we would add this warning. We must be aware of the general feeling of subjugation in the whole of the Arabian Peninsula. To be seen assisting in arousing unnecessary hostilities in the area on behalf of an aggressor could lead to a global Islamic backlash against this country. The intelligence services would be well advised to tread carefully.

  Signed,

  General Sir Ralph Warrington

  Strategic Studies Group

  Ministry of Defence

  Whitehall

  Those last two sentences kept whirling away in my mind, as did the whereabouts of Liam Catlin. Liam had studied languages at Oxford, often bragging about his knowledge of the different dialects of Arabic and Russian. He was also good at insinuating himself into local Irish Republican army cells. I had no doubt that he would be a founding member of any terrorist army in Syria.

  * * *

  The ping of Geoffrey Harwood's message announced its arrival on my computer screen. He needed to see me. I knew the reason and decided to ignore him for a couple of hours just to piece things together and to chat with a London-based guy who worked under the CIA umbrella who I'd run across in the past. I was hoping he could shed some light on certain things. We met in the restaurant in the centre of Regent's Park. The wet snow that was falling forced my attention on Geraldine Darkley, Molly Ughert's younger sister, and the Christmas I would be spending in Buckinghamshire. I'd heard that she'd divorced her husband about a year back, on the grounds of his adultery. That was either an act of extreme chivalry on his behalf, or he had walked around with h
is eyes firmly closed to where his wife's infidelity must have far exceeded his own. She had a partiality for certain men: single, attractive, and well built. I wondered if that divorce had made her more discriminating when it came to sexual partners and now she concentrated on the desirable rather than the merely available. Shamelessly I hoped Fraser and Molly were still fond of afternoon naps as well as early nights. Christmas loomed large on my horizon.

  Spencer Morrell, my American friend, and I had very few similarities, in fact I could only think of one: we earned our money in the same trade. He was loud, brash and tawdry whereas I was quiet, modest and refined. I also lied better than him. He told silly jokes and I had no room in my memory to store them. We had known each other for some twenty odd years, first meeting five days after an attempted assassination of the Israeli ambassador to the United Kingdom outside the Dorchester Hotel in London in 1982, and then five days later during the heightened security measures taken for the visiting President Ronald Reagan to address the Houses of Parliament. Our paths intertwined several times over the intervening years and could have ended when Liam Catlin and I were victims of the IRA bomb. Spencer was five minutes away from the Erin Arms on his way to meet with me when the bomb exploded. He was the American unofficial Irish desk in Ireland, trading names of Irish Republican supporters back in the good old US of A for names of left-wing agitators wanting to visit American shores. If anyone knew the real reason for Liam Catlin being in Syria I suspected he would. I was not looking forward to his annoying habit of nosily clearing his throat before speaking. That hadn't altered.