by Tim Heath
“Then what do we do?”
“I do have an idea,” came a small but confident voice of one of the two translators still working through the remains of the text.
“Go on,” Roy added.
“This invitation is nothing but chum. Throw any types of scraps out into shark-infested waters and the predators will gather. This intercept, if genuine, is proposing every major terrorist network come and see for themselves what Boko Haram have––so that’s Daesh, al-Qaeda, the Taliban and a whole host more, including many in neighbouring African countries. All are converging to a single location, most probably at a single time.”
“But there is no date connected to this information, and they aren’t inviting anyone to a specific meeting.”
“No, of course not. But do you want to be the last group to get around to seeing the information for yourself, or do you want to be the first? They won’t wait around, and they’ll move quickly. None of them would want to miss out, and my sense in Boko Haram releasing this is that they won’t have an issue hosting all these people. They want their payday and their power day. Whatever gets traded with them, they move up the pecking order. It suits them to have multiple people come and ask for the information, as it makes no one group the aggressor. They all have something to gain; therefore they all have something to protect from others monopolising the information for themselves.”
“How quickly do you think they’ll gather?”
“It’s hard to say and depends on the right people seeing the information, of course, but we know the go-betweens already have the invitation. Judging by how quickly it has moved along the line so far, I’d say it’s only a matter of days.”
“Days?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Does anyone else have anything to add?” Roy said, looking around the room that had become very quiet. No one dared to challenge what had been spoken. It all made too much obvious sense.
“So if this idea is to be believed, we will soon have a concentration of representatives from every major terrorist network on the planet in the same place at the same time, along with their only available copy of highly sensitive information.”
“Yes, now that’s an interesting proposition, wouldn’t you say?”
There was total silence as Roy looked around the room. Nothing like this had ever been attempted before, but no opportunity of this scale had ever presented itself to them before either, as far as they were aware.
“This information stays in the room, do you all understand?”
There was an agreed consensus around the table. Roy turned to leave, before adding, “Everything on this situation comes through me. I want full transcripts within the hour. I want watches put on all major airports, especially those in Nigeria. Get some satellite back-up to assist with this. Even if we don’t know where they are flying from, we do know where they are heading roughly. Somewhere in what the Nigerians are sharing, there must be a way of giving out their location. Find it. We need to know where this is happening and from the information about arrivals, when known terrorists start randomly turning up in Nigeria, it will tell us when. Then it’s just a case of carrying out what we need to do, what needs to be done. And I’ll work on that aspect with the Pentagon.”
22
Morocco, North Africa
It was a pleasant day in Morocco, not that the weather ever got too unpleasant in that part of North Africa. Elizabeth had altered her destination fifty minutes into her flight from Amsterdam the other week and had instructed the pilots to take her to Tangier instead. She knew it was doable in one go and the pilots of this private jet, not for the first time taking with them someone fleeing a situation, had very much expected a change to be made mid-flight. She’d disembarked as soon as they landed and had waited for the jet to leave again before making her next move, which was to board another private plane that she had waiting for her for the roughly one hour flight down to Marrakesh. There were no direct internal flights, despite the relatively long distance between the two major Moroccan cities. She could easily afford the luxury, anyway, and it left less trace of her trip, or so the theory went.
She’d been in Marrakesh for several days now, savouring the smells, the atmosphere of the street sellers, all trying to sell her their wares. The noise of the vendors––selling everything from spices to pottery, carpets to clothes––melted into one long sound, almost a song. They were singing to her.
She was staying at the Villa des Orangers, an exclusive luxury hotel centrally located. The hotel was half full, no one appeared to be watching her and why would they? No one knew she was there, apart from the Americans.
As chance would have it the Americans had connections with the firm she’d used to fly her down from Tangier. Her Dutch passport had been checked, copied without her knowing, and photos taken, to be passed on to their CIA contact who had been informed to look out for any lone female travelling on a Dutch passport. She also roughly matched the description given to all firms with whom the CIA had connections. It was the first piece of good fortune that they’d had, and though she’d used this company which serviced most of northern Africa and southern Europe, the fact she’d made contact herself made it all the sweeter. She’d placed herself in their net.
A team was already close at hand, monitoring her situation. Another two teams were on their way. When they all arrived, they’d make their move. In the meantime, they’d keep their distance. She didn’t seem to be in any hurry to be going anywhere just yet.
Gudu had himself also flown to Africa, though a little further south than Elizabeth had ventured, landing in Accra, the capital city of Ghana, on the southern coast of West Africa. The General had requested he be close at hand in case his involvement was needed in Nigeria. The Chinese already had a team on their way, and it was hoped they’d be able to deal with the situation without Gudu’s help, though there was no knowing if that was possible quite yet. He hadn’t stayed long in the city, heading about one hundred kilometres east along the coast. He stopped in an area of forest near the border with Togo. Just a hundred and fifty kilometres further east on the other side of Togo and Benin lay Nigeria.
Gudu loved to be outside. Growing up in central China, with its vast and varied landscape, he preferred nature over cities, and immensely enjoyed the quiet and solitude the wilderness offered. Cities were where he was usually needed most, but right from his earliest adult years, starting back in China, these places of mass-population only forced negative impressions on him, his mind from a young age shaped by the violent and dangerous situations in which he’d found himself. Now he was the one making it dangerous, though it hadn’t always been that way. He was young and vulnerable once and had fallen victim to the ploy of men himself.
In Ghana at that moment, with nothing but forest for companionship, he was a happy man. He was a skilled hunter and expert tracker, of both animals and people, though this near the coast, there were no significant predators in the animal kingdom about which to be concerned. He trusted the same was true for the human kind.
Building himself a basic but adequate shelter, he covered it up as best he could to keep it as hidden as possible, though in this part of the forest, with dense trees around him and no road near him for a long way, he was quite alone.
He’d walked into the area, exploring as much as he could, seeing what other signs of life were around, before settling on a suitable spot to make camp. He was wary of snakes, these probably being the biggest threat to him from nature’s side, and carried anti-venom with him, though not all snake bites were the same. As a protected zone, a fire was prohibited, nor would he want to draw attention to himself, but the cold was not such an issue, neither was the need to cook. He was an accomplished fisherman and knew how to prepare sashimi. He’d spent much time in Japan a few years ago and learned the skill during his stay there. The rivers and swamps would keep him fed, and he’d spent the first days there setting up his various traps that would keep his food supplies well stock
ed.
His only contact to the outside world was a satellite phone that he carried with him always, readily contactable by his commanding officer, a man he merely called the General, able to be anywhere should he get the call. For now, he was very content to be watching the birds that flocked above him.
Nature changed the world over, the sounds and often smells unique to certain parts of the planet. He’d never needed to be in this part of Africa before, probably visited the continent less than anywhere else, so it was a real treat to allow his senses free rein to take in all that was happening around him.
While on the flight from Amsterdam, he had read up on everything happening in Nigeria. Unlike his boss, he sensed he would be needed there before too long, that is if they wanted to save their man. Being someone Gudu respected and always had quite liked, he would certainly not stand by and let them kill him, though Gudu had never acted without an explicit command since joining that particular unit in the Chinese Secret Service.
Before leaving Elizabeth, he’d also taken the time to place a tracker in her shoe, something he’d done while she’d slept on their crossing by boat. He, therefore, knew her jet had followed him, unknowingly, to Africa and that she was in Morocco at that moment. It was comforting thinking she was not that far from him, globally speaking. He thoroughly expected her to disappear and do an excellent job of it as well. One day, when the opportunity presented itself, and it was time to vanish himself, he would find her. If she ever got rid of the shoes, he would have to locate her another way. It was possible she would discover the tracking device, but he’d made sure she would know it was his as he’d written a particular note on it for her, something she knew he would only say. She would, therefore, most likely leave it in place. Hoping one day he’d come, he’d turn up and surprise her and together they could live out whatever number of years life had left for them. Until that time, they’d have to make do with just staying alive.
For Gudu, his adult life had been one of constant danger, of always watching over his shoulder. He had to be better than anyone who might come for him, better than any situation into which he was walking. His life always depended on it.
For Elizabeth, her life up until a few weeks ago had been entirely different. Yes, she was a double agent and to that end had to be careful, but she’d established a very easy, surprisingly easy in fact, routine that had served her well for so many years. As a senior member of the British Security Service, she was protected on that front; if not monitored continuously, people were looking out for her safety. On top of that, she had the Chinese, who were even more invested in her survival and the information she provided for them and the role she performed.
Now, she was mostly on her own. She’d accepted the fact that they needed to separate. She was planning to disappear, while at the same time knowing Gudu didn’t have that option and had they tried to do so together, therefore, it would have only added the Chinese to the list of those trying to track them down. So they’d said their farewells and made good on the plan. Still, sitting alone, she wondered when she’d see him again.
Gudu, too, slept alone but his mood that night was one of total contentment as he lay there, gazing at the stars above him, the forest noises alive with all sorts of animal calls, though, without any light to interfere with what he was looking up at, the view was spectacular. He would enjoy his time there while it lasted, knowing he wouldn’t have long before the General would once again be in touch and he would be running off into danger yet again.
Beijing, China
In China, the team of people monitoring the outside world, and especially Nigeria, had been very active in the last few days. They too, like the British and Americans, had picked up on the information passed to Saleem Ahmed––a man they had been watching longer than even the Americans had been––the invitation from Boko Haram to come and see what they had. China had tracked one group already moving, a senior Taliban leader and his team from Afghanistan. It was unquestioned that they were making a move to get to Nigeria, though because of their situation and justified concern for their safety, they were taking the slow route. To have tried to fly directly from their own country would have been too risky. They were instead currently in neighbouring Iran, working their way through in an armoured convoy heading towards Iraq.
Iraq was a mess, ravaged by years of war, though they were used to that. Afghanistan was now much the same, all because of foreign invaders, forces of great strength coming to their shores and destroying the nation. It made their journey all the more poignant, their purpose more focused. To be able to hit back, to really hurt their enemies, and maybe the tables would be turned. Maybe their fortunes would change.
Beyond Iraq, through which they’d have to navigate carefully due to the high level of crime, not to mention police roadblocks, was Jordan. It was from there that they planned to finally board a flight to Nigeria, which would have to make at least one stop on the way, possibly two. They had forged Jordanian passports, and by using the Royal Jordanian Airlines flight, they would come under much less scrutiny, and once in Africa, probably less again, especially when a large bribe could be paid. They expected to be in Nigeria in about four days if everything ran smoothly.
The Chinese had a team of local informants in place in Kabul, who’d followed the convoy to the border before returning to the city of Herat in the east, where they passed on the information to their handlers in Beijing. They’d been waiting for movement and were themselves working out how much the British knew about the invitation. For once, they were in the dark when it came to having information from the UK, and to a similar degree the USA. Elizabeth’s absence suddenly made a real difference. It didn’t suit them to be in the dark––it didn’t feel right, either.
Surveillance was stepped up in the other hot spots, the Chinese well aware of where most of the world’s most wanted men were located, a list the Americans would have loved to get their hands on, but few people knew about. That suited the Chinese. It was better the world underestimated their ability than force them to play a more significant role in world peace. They were tailored to keeping in the shadows, relying on first-hand information from teams of locals recruited over decades to form their grassroots basis of intelligence. It was always such helpful intel, too.
Chinese policy had been never to get too involved in the affairs of others unless it affected the safety, reputation or honour of their nation. London from five years ago had been a case in point. They had been there then because they believed, more than that, actually knew, that the British had stolen their blueprints for the power plant. Honour was at stake. Their own Shadow Man had excelled himself then, and it was those very blueprints which had been used to build their latest range of power stations. It was also the information their device had managed to grab five years ago that was now being boasted about by the terrorists in Nigeria.
The Chinese felt no remorse for what was happening. It was British greed and state-sponsored theft that had led them all there. Relations between China and Britain, America too, had been strained ever since the nuclear disaster. There was a distance of silence, which suited all, though it was clear the British were starting to try and make a stand, the dismantling of the Chinese spy network a bold step and something none of the previous governments had been able to break. It would set the Chinese back at least a decade regarding the UK. Now they could only monitor from afar, though plans were underway to re-establish a ground network, rebuilding it once more from the very bottom up.
With one of their senior men, albeit a former diplomat, not a current one, being held in Nigeria, it did keep the Chinese involved in the situation longer than they would otherwise have liked. To have taken hostage a man sent to serve the nation––albeit with a handsome payoff in exchange for the blueprints––was already a matter of honour. They were in Nigeria to help the country, to rebuild and reeducate the place, to offer greater security, more significant opportunity for the future. These terrorists, this riff-raff, care
d nothing about rebuilding the country. China, for its part, was keeping its eyes on the situation; the fact that, presumably, over the next couple of weeks, a collection of the worst men on the planet were going to descend onto the same compound their man was being held, didn’t bear thinking about. Getting him out alive was their primary concern.
23
Syria
About twenty minutes out of Raqqah, a little further north, Daesh had set up their new command centre, hidden underground. With increased airstrikes against other known locations, including several that were already abandoned before the bombs started falling, they had worked hard and fast in Syria to establish a base that would be more permanent, and only a select few knew of its location. They’d once lost a facility, and the lives of a few key people, because of a photo posted to social media that inadvertently directed the Americans to its location. Just twenty-two hours after the slip-up, it had been obliterated. They’d once used that in their favour, leaking a supposed site of theirs only to have the Russians come and wipe out a critical facility for the resistance. Two could play that game.
Nowadays, everything came out of their Raqqah base. They also controlled vital oil supplies in the area, which once sold through the black market, brought in over $3million a day, despite the falling oil prices. This money aided the recruitment and training of new soldiers, no longer only young men coming from the more impoverished towns of Iraq and Afghanistan, but increasingly more from Europe, France especially.
