by Churton, Alex; Churton, Toby; Locke, John; Lustbader, Eric van; van Lustbader, Eric
‘Not the Grand Lodge, that’s for sure.’
‘Exactly. At the moment, it all works fairly cosily. The Grand Lodge of England doesn’t claim jurisdiction over any other Grand Lodge. If Grand Lodges abroad balls things up, that’s their problem, and London can always – and often does – remove recognition.
‘Look at Turkey, Toby. There, Freemasonry is problematical. Members of the army are associated with it. What if an internal Masonic conflict in Turkey got out of hand? This would be ammunition for every critic and enemy of Freemasonry in Turkey. Anything which puts Freemasonry into the newspapers makes Masons in the army uncomfortable. On the other hand, there are other members of the army, I believe, who are anti-Masonic, associating Masonry with foreign interference. Do you follow me, Toby?’
‘I am experiencing enlightenment, Julian.’
‘Good. I can do no more. At least, I hope you can see that my employers are not entirely to be condemned.’
‘Check.’ Ashe thought for a second. ‘Just one thing, Julian.’
‘Shoot.’
‘From what you’re saying, if the Grand Lodge of England had been able to have everything its own way from its establishment until now, there would never have been a Grand Orient Freemasonry, French or Italian, and therefore, there would never have been a modern, secular Turkish state.’
‘It’s a thought, Toby.’
97
Ashe sat back in his chair, his head spinning. He looked up at his Yezidi dancing girl poster. Round and round, with no centre in sight. No secular state. No Atatürk. No… Mahmut Aslan.
Aslan.
What about Aslan? In intelligence circles there was often talk of good links between Turkish secret services and Israel’s Mossad. As the thought curled itself into Ashe’s head like a cat before a fire, Karla slipped a memo behind his ear. ‘Busy day, maestro – getting somewhere?’
‘If only I knew where “somewhere” was.’
‘This might help. Overheard your chat with Mr Crayke. I checked past records.’
Ashe examined the memo. ‘Mati Fless’s number!’ Ashe blew Karla a kiss and phoned the number. It rang and rang: no message-taking facility. A click.
‘Matthias Fless?’
‘Who is speaking?’
Ashe immediately recalled the Israeli’s deep, gloomy voice.
‘Toby Ashe. We—’
‘Toby!’
‘You remember?’
‘The Shmuel ben Yackai case. You helped us with that creep who wanted to blow up the al-Aqsa mosque and rebuild Solomon’s Temple. Mad.’
‘Madness is my business.’
‘No shortage of work.’
‘I hear you’ve recently suffered an interruption to your activities.’
‘Really?’
‘In Chicago.’
‘All part of the job, Toby. How much do you know?’
‘I gather that if you had pursued your job without interruption, both the CIA and myself would not be quite so harassed by circumstance as we presently are.’
‘I do like your English understatement. If they had let me do my job, Toby, they wouldn’t be in the shit, and I wouldn’t be in Tel Aviv being roasted alive by my superiors, and you wouldn’t be speaking to me during my toilet break. I presume you’re not calling to reminisce?’
‘Simple question.’
Fless laughed.
‘I understand, Mati, that you intercepted messages from a guy who called himself…’
‘Go on!’
‘Called himself “the doctor”.’
‘You got this from Beck, or from Kellner?’
‘Both.’
‘What else do you know, Toby?’
‘Like to know more.’
‘Look, this is something I need to check up on with higher authority. I’m in enough—’
‘I understand, Mati. But before you check up on me, just remember that although you failed in your mission, and we have not yet succeeded, we all have a common interest here. You really must help me if you can. You do want al-Qasr stopped, don’t you?’
‘Stopped from what, Dr Ashe?’
‘From… murdering people.’
‘That was the intention, Dr Ashe. And I believe, still is.’
It was late afternoon when Karla called Ashe in from a walk around the dull campus.
‘Tel Aviv, Toby.’
Ashe smiled. ‘Thanks, Karla. You never fail.’
Ashe sat on his desk and picked up the phone.
‘Ashe speaking.’
‘Congratulations on your promotion.’
‘Thank you. I deserve it.’
‘Agreed, Dr Ashe. Now ask your question.’
‘Does the name Mahmut Aslan mean anything to you?’
The line crackled. ‘Mati, you there?’
‘I’m thinking. Remarkable man. Do you know him?’
‘Yes, at least I thought I did.’
‘Then you probably know Colonel Aslan is a specialist in Kurdish relations, or, if you like, the lack of them, from the Turkish point of view.’
Ashe laughed.
‘So, he has had a finger in northern Iraq for a considerable time, on account, you understand, of the succour shown the PKK by a minority of Kurds there. And we, of course, have a vital interest in Ansar al-Sunna and all the other anti-Israeli forces operating in the same area.’
‘You’ve shared intelligence.’
‘We have shared intelligence, of course.’
‘I have another question.’
‘Is this one simple too?’
‘I hope so. Has Aslan ever shown any interest in Sami al-Qasr?’
‘Is that what British intelligence wants to know? Interesting.’
‘I hope so. And I hope I’ve come to the right place.’
‘Some years ago, Dr Ashe, Aslan attempted to pressure one of our informants at Baghdad’s al-Tuwaitha facility.’
‘Informants?’
‘You know what I mean. This was in Saddam’s time. And al-Tuwaitha held all Saddam’s secrets. Aslan, a very resourceful man, contacted our informant, which, you can imagine, was for him a great surprise.’
‘I can imagine!’
‘Aslan wanted information on al-Qasr. We told our informant what he could safely disclose to Turkish security. That information gave Aslan negotiating leverage later on.’
‘Negotiation?’
‘I’ll come to that. But I believe the colonel first heard about al-Qasr through Yezidis who had crossed the Iraq–Turkey border one way or the other. That wouldn’t give Aslan many hard facts about al-Qasr but it certainly stimulated his interest. I think Aslan got most of his knowledge about al-Qasr from us. Part of a shared-intelligence arrangement. He was very helpful in other matters. Jihadists in northern Iraq. Insurgents from Iran. Anti-Zionists in Turkey. It all helped to grease the wheels. The interest in al-Qasr was a very small part of what we shared.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘Enough. Everything short of a personal introduction, you might say.’
‘Aslan’s angle?’
‘Aslan’s angle was straightforward: counter-insurgency.’
‘Where did he think al-Qasr fitted into that?’
‘Good question. At the time, I was a little surprised by his interest, but then he was curious about our interest in al-Qasr too. There’s always a bit of cat and mouse. You know how it is. He talked about hunches, but nothing concrete. It seemed like professional curiosity. Then we discovered independently that al-Qasr did have terrorist contacts. At which point Aslan’s interest in al-Qasr made sense to us. He was right to be concerned. He was simply keeping his sources secret. And you must remember this, Toby. Aslan is popular with my colleagues. He is useful to us. Colonel Aslan is respected. If it were not for our concern about al-Qasr, you and I would not be having this conversation.’
‘Did Aslan know you knew about al-Qasr’s links to terrorism?’
‘Aslan has his ways. When he realised we knew about it, he con
gratulated himself on having got there before us! We asked him if he would share what he knew with the Americans. He said talking to America was our business, but insisted that further cooperation from him required that his name be omitted from any communications with the US. He said he was cautious of giving intelligence to Americans unless Turkish national interest was involved. He insisted the Americans were too tolerant of the PKK in northern Iraq. So we stepped lightly. But once we were certain al-Qasr had terrorist contacts, we started concocting the “doctor” scenario.’
‘It was you! Not a question of intercepts then? There is no real “doctor”?’
‘I should not be surprised if Kellner and Beck have realised that by now.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, I think you can work that out, Dr Ashe!’
‘OK. Let me get this straight. With al-Qasr protected by US security, you had to find a way of undermining his position. But why didn’t you just pass on your information?’
‘If I might say so, that’s exactly what we have done, in our own way. I told Kellner and Beck what I know to be true. Al-Qasr is working with al-Qaeda. Of course we in Israel want to take al-Qasr out of the picture! We are sensitive to his kind of craziness – or science, if you insist. Do you remember that phrase Churchill used when describing what the doctors were doing in the Nazi camps?’
‘“The lights of perverted science”?’
‘Yeah. That’s al-Qasr. The lights of perverted science. There were discussions over the best way to deal with the problem. We knew the Americans would resist giving up such an important scientist, even if he was in contact with terrorists. They’d just tighten things up. Of course we remembered how America was ready to employ scientists who had worked for Hitler’s war-machine. Would there have been an Apollo programme without Wernher von Braun – the very man who designed the V2 rockets that brought about the deaths of thousands of civilians in London at the end of the Second World War? So we cooked up the “doctor” story, based on someone we had on file who was known to have had a relationship with al-Qasr in their student days and who, as far as we could tell, was on the run in Europe. We had messages sent first from Iraq, then Turkey, Austria and Germany. It was as close to the truth as lies can get.’
‘I get it… I get it. You wanted the CIA and FBI to investigate the matter for themselves. Create enough steam so it couldn’t all be swept under the carpet. Did you hope to force al-Qasr’s hand? Make him panic, or quit?’
‘We didn’t want him to quit like that of course. And the doctor scenario was only one idea. The other idea was mine. It became clear to us that al-Qasr might at any moment flee, especially if the CTC bungled their investigation in any way. We didn’t want al-Qasr to disappear.’
‘And when you failed, the doctor messages became your only hope.’
‘Not our only hope, Toby! Contrary to rumour, we cannot tell the Americans what to do.’
‘Did Aslan know anything about the doctor messages?’
‘We’re not sure. If he didn’t know to begin with, he probably does now. He has his ways, as I said.’
‘Do you know where al-Qasr might be?’
Fless laughed. ‘Afraid not, Dr Ashe! Of course, if we did, we might keep it to ourselves. But we are very interested in your call. I cannot help wondering, now I have heard what you have to say, that the best way to find al-Qasr might be—’
‘To find Aslan.’
‘I didn’t know the colonel was lost.’
‘He isn’t. We are.’
98
‘Call waiting for you, Toby.’
‘I don’t believe it! It’s like hitting the jackpot today. Who is it now? The Sultan of Brunei?’
‘Brigadier Charles Radclyffe. Calling from London.’
‘Shit! The Director of Special Forces!’
Ashe took the call. ‘Good afternoon, Brigadier.’
‘Heard good things about you, Ashe, from Richmond and from Crayke. Pity our last meeting was cut so short.’
‘Indeed, Brigadier.’
‘Oh, call me Charles or DSF for God’s sake. You’re not in uniform are you, Ashe?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Well, you can tell me to fuck off, if you like.’
‘Rather not. Got a feeling you’ve something important to say.’
‘Bugger your feelings, Ashe. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the way we work in the SAS. Doesn’t matter. Listen. I’m in receipt of information sent by Richmond to our Operational Intelligence cell at Stirling Lines.’
‘Hereford.’
‘Correct.’
‘You call it “the Kremlin”.’
‘Correct again. Then you’ll also know that they disseminate intelligence to their operational planners. If the information calls for an operation, they contact me for my point of view and authority to proceed. If I agree with their assessment, I then task the Kremlin for a feasibility study. Now, Ashe, I have read their report concerning suspicious military activity in Iraq’s Hakkari Mountains. I have consulted with senior authority and have requested the Kremlin go ahead with plans to be submitted to the sortie commander. The sortie commander is Major Richmond.’
‘May I ask who is the relevant authority in this case?’
‘The relevant authority in this case is not unknown to you. He’s requested you be informed and liaise in strictest secrecy with the sortie commander. Am I making myself clear, Ashe?’
‘Very clear. Except for one thing.’
‘And that is?’
‘What’s the information, sir?’
‘Don’t ask me, Ashe! Contact OP/INT and do as they tell you. One more thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘How’s the investigation going?’
‘Investigation?’
‘Admiral Whitmore’s bloody Tower! Any closer to finding out who blew it up?’
‘Nothing certain yet.’
‘Well, I don’t know if this is any use, but I’ve been sent a curious message. Got it here in front of me.’
‘Care to share?’ Ashe was intrigued.
‘It’s a bugger of a thing. Cheap drawing paper. Written in charcoal. Rough capitals. Reads as follows: “THE TOWER OF BABEL IS NOT DESTROYED. AS CAIN SLEW ABEL SO WILL YOU DIE BAD. ABEL DIED SO SETH CAN LIVE. I SETH, THE IMMOVEABLE RACE, JUDGE.” Make anything of that, Ashe? Bloody foxes me.’
Ashe had a strange sense that he’d seen something like it before, but when? ‘I’ll give it some thought, sir.’
‘I’ve had a go. What’s all that stuff about Seth?’
‘It’s in Genesis. The Bible says that after Adam’s son Cain murdered his brother Abel, Adam and Eve had another child. This new child, Seth, was seen as a new hope for the human race after Cain’s crime. Seth had “the knowledge of God” and was a patriarch of science and wisdom.’
‘News to me, Ashe. What’s that “immoveable race” stuff all about? Sounds a bit Nazi.’
‘Some time after Christ, various groups appeared who claimed they were the Children of Seth, that they were the guardians of something pure, which had survived through time to reappear at the end of time. They saw themselves as the unmoveable or “unchangeable” race. A group that had held the true torch burning from the beginning of mankind. The original, undivided, inspired race.’
‘True torch burning? Sounds like some bloody weird cult. I’ll send this crap to you at Shrivenham in the diplomatic bag. Sounds right up your street, Ashe. Good luck. Over and out.’
99
Kurdish Autonomous Region, northern Iraq
Ashe was soaking. It had rained all the way from the airport at Mosul – a steady drizzle, persistent enough to dampen any good feelings.
The Land Rover 110 splashed its way along the winding mountain roads. On the approach to the village of Kurahmark the gradient increased and the earth got browner and browner as the sky got filthier and filthier. Traces of green slowly faded away as they made the last twenty kilometres to the RV, the rendezvous point near the vill
age of Kurku. Just outside the village, the road stopped abruptly. The Land Rover carried on along the rough mountainside for another kilometre, until it became too steep.
‘This’ll be it, chum.’
The driver – a Mancunian – Kev ‘The Blade’ Norton (signals), gave a one-sided grin and jumped out of the Land Rover. He was swiftly followed by Pat Scrabster (linguist and sniper), Derek Hayes (demolition), and Andy Tongue (medicine).
The men had worked as a team for two years in Afghanistan and Iraq. All of them were used to prolonged periods of silence and seemed to know what the others were thinking. Quietly, they started loading equipment onto their backs.
Three Pink Panther – ‘pinkie’ – desert vehicles were waiting for them under camouflage, which also gave some shelter from the rain. Out from under the camouflage, dressed in Kurdish costume, stepped Major Richmond. He shook hands with Ashe.
‘Welcome to the RV. This is where we’ll regroup after the show. I hope you’re ready for a walk, Toby.’
‘How far?’
‘About eight kilometres, as the crow flies.’
‘And we’re not crows.’
‘It’ll seem longer. We need to move out in four minutes, so I’d like you to get some extra kit on. We’re all adopting some aspect of Kurdish style. This will help Jolo and his men identify us. But first I want you to get into this vest and a few other things.’
‘What’s that?’
‘That’s the Kevlar body suit. It can take a bullet, and it’s got ceramic inserts, which really do save lives.’
Ashe pulled off his desert fatigues and hauled himself into the body suit.
