Spider Shepherd 11 - White Lies Page 29

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘At the very least you’re in breach of the Official Secrets Act,’ she said.

  ‘Miss Button, please, is there anything you can do?’

  Button shrugged. ‘Five and Six are completely separate,’ she said. ‘You’re just going to have to make a clean breast of it.’

  ‘You really think I’ll go to prison?’

  Button shook her head. ‘I think Six will want to draw a veil over the whole sorry episode,’ she said. ‘They’ll probably ask you to resign and that’ll be the end of it.’

  ‘And what about Salma? What’ll happen to her?’

  Button shrugged. ‘That’s not my concern,’ she said. ‘But if I know Willoughby-Brown, he’ll want his pound of flesh. If I was a betting woman I’d put money on him telling the ISI about her once this is over.’

  ‘They’ll torture her,’ said Bashir.

  ‘Well, that’s her problem,’ said Button. ‘You need to think about yourself from now on. She’s caused you enough trouble as it is.’

  Bashir sat down at the table and put his head in his hands as Button left the room. She walked down the corridor and pushed open the door to the operations room. Amar Singh was sitting in front of the monitors and talking into a headset. He flashed her a thumbs-up as he continued the conversation. ‘Got it, Eric, thanks.’ He pointed at the left-hand monitor, which was showing an overhead view of Islamabad. ‘That’s the live feed from the drone,’ he said to Button.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Button. She pulled up a chair and fitted a headset. ‘What about Salma?’

  ‘She was on to al-Haznawi as soon as she hung up on Bashir,’ said Singh.

  ‘Did we hear the conversation?’

  Singh shook his head. ‘No, but it was short and sweet.’

  Button pressed the button on the console that connected her to Richard Yokely. ‘Richard, it’s me. What’s happening?’

  ‘According to my team on the ground, Salma has just left her office. And al-Haznawi is in his car as we speak,’ said the American. ‘If they’re not heading for a meeting then I’m a Dutchman.’

  ‘And I know you’re not a great one for clogs or dykes,’ said Button. ‘What about your SEALs?’

  ‘On the plane,’ said Yokely. ‘As soon as we get a definite location they’ll be in the air. Have to go, Charlotte, I need to talk to my teams.’

  Yokely cut the connection. Button settled back in her chair as she watched the live feed from the Sentinel drone, high above the Pakistan capital.

  Harper closed the shutter door to the industrial unit before opening the rear doors of the Transit and dragging Mohammed Ullah out. He was conscious and stared sullenly at Harper as he lay on the concrete floor.

  Harper had already fed a length of chain through a pulley affixed to one of the metal beams that criss-crossed the roof space. He took one end of the chain and tied it around the imam’s ankles, then used a penknife to cut the duct tape away from his mouth. Ullah spat out the rag and gasped for breath.

  ‘How do you contact Akram Al-Farouq?’ asked Harper, putting on a pair of heavy leather gloves.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You know who. Don’t play the arsehole. He’s the guy who sends you al-Qaeda money. Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten.’

  ‘You have me confused with someone else,’ said Ullah. ‘I am an imam. A holy man. I am not political, I have nothing to do with al-Qaeda. Somebody has been lying to you.’

  ‘How do you contact Al-Farouq?’

  ‘I don’t know anyone by that name.’

  ‘I know that you do know,’ said Harper. ‘All you’re going to do by denying it is cause yourself a whole world of hurt.’

  Ullah shook his head. ‘I am an imam.’

  Harper pulled on the chain and it tightened. He pulled again, using his full weight, and Ullah was scraped along the concrete.

  ‘This is madness!’ shouted Ullah. ‘You can’t do this.’

  ‘Yeah, I can,’ said Harper. He grunted and used all his weight to pull down on the chain. Ullah’s feet lifted off the ground. Another hard pull and his legs were up in the air and Ullah was bent at the waist. ‘Last chance.’

  Ullah swore at Harper and Harper grinned savagely before pulling down on the chain. It took several hard pulls before Ullah’s head left the ground and another three to get his head up to the level of Harper’s knees. Harper looped the free length of the chain over a water pipe and tied it fast.

  ‘I don’t know who you are talking about,’ wailed the imam.

  ‘Yeah, you said.’ Harper walked over to a bench and picked up a length of two-by-four. He hefted the length of wood in his hand and swung it like a cricket bat.

  ‘Al-Farouq sends you money,’ said Harper. ‘You send him jihadists. So you have to have some way of contacting him at short notice.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’

  Harper waved the piece of wood under Ullah’s nose. ‘You can stop this right now,’ he said. ‘Just tell me how you contact Al-Farouq.’

  ‘You’re crazy!’ spat the imam.

  ‘No, crazy is you preferring to be treated like a piñata instead of telling me how to contact Al-Farouq.’

  ‘I don’t know!’ Ullah screamed. ‘Believe me, I don’t know!’

  Harper banged the free end of the wood on the floor. ‘Here’s the thing,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  Salma Jawanda checked her driving mirror again, then turned off the main road and parked. She kept looking in her driving mirror and when she was satisfied that she wasn’t being followed she did a U-turn and drove back on to the main road. It was the third time she’d done the manoeuvre since she’d left her home and on all three occasions her followers had pre-empted her. There were two teams tailing her, one in front and one behind. Each time she had turned off the car ahead of her had turned first and the car behind her had continued on its way. The cars were in direct radio contact with each other and they continued to play tag with her car as it headed west out of Islamabad. It was just before five o’clock, rush hour, so the roads were busy and the traffic moved slowly. There were two CIA agents in each car, a driver and a female passenger. The passengers monitored the radio and also maintained contact with Richard Yokely in Basra, who was monitoring their progress through the stealth drone that was flying fifteen thousand metres above them.

  Salma drove to the outskirts of the Pakistan capital and parked outside a small café. As she climbed out of her Honda Civic she saw Al-Haznawi’s white Daihatsu Terios. There was a man sitting in the driver’s seat reading a newspaper and a garland of white flowers hanging from the driver’s mirror, the sign that everything was OK and that the meeting was safe. She adjusted her headscarf, put on a pair of dark glasses and headed into the café.

  Al-Haznawi was sitting at a corner table, a copy of the Pakistan State Times in front of him. That was the final check. If the paper was open, as it was, the meeting was safe. If the paper had been folded it was a sign the meeting had been compromised and she had to leave. Salma sat down opposite him. He greeted her with a smile and a nod of his head. An elderly waiter came over and she ordered a mint tea and Al-Haznawi asked for fresh ice for his fruit juice.

  Al-Haznawi didn’t speak until the waiter was out of earshot. ‘You are sure you weren’t followed?’

  ‘I was careful,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘Tell me what he said.’

  ‘He said they knew where the SAS man was being held. He said the SSG were going to go in and rescue him and that this time there would be no mistake.’

  ‘And he is still in England?’

  ‘He was in to see his bosses this morning. He phoned me shortly after the meeting.’

  ‘How did he sound?’

  ‘Happy,’ she said. ‘It means they are sending him back to Islamabad.’

  Al-Haznawi rubbed his right earlobe thoughtfully. ‘Did he say when, exactly?’

  ‘No, just that it would be soon. Maybe
as early as Wednesday.’

  ‘He said that? Wednesday?’

  Salma nodded. ‘Yes. He said he might be back on Wednesday.’

  ‘So he thinks the SSG might be ready to mount a rescue the day after tomorrow?’

  ‘That’s what he said.’

  The waiter returned with her tea and a glass full of ice cubes. He put the tea down in front of Salma and used a pair of brass tongs to add ice to Al-Haznawi’s glass of fruit juice. ‘Would you care for something sweet?’ the waiter asked Salma. ‘We have a delicious semolina cake, and some freshly baked coconut cupcakes.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Salma.

  The waiter smiled and walked away slowly. His left hand was shaking as if it had a mind of its own.

  ‘Did he say where he believed the SAS man was being held?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Or how they know where he is?’

  ‘No. I couldn’t ask, it would have made him suspicious.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. I wasn’t being critical, you have been superb right from the start. If it hadn’t been for you, it would all have ended in Parachinar. I just want to make sure that I have the facts straight.’

  Salma sipped her tea. ‘What will you do?’ she said.

  ‘I will have to warn them, obviously.’

  ‘I can call him again,’ she said. ‘See if he has any more information.’

  ‘You must be careful not to chase him,’ he said.

  She smiled. ‘He likes to be chased,’ she said. Her phone beeped to tell her that she had received a text message. She took her phone from her bag, looked at the screen and smiled. She held out the phone so that Al-Haznawi could read the message. ‘MISS YOU BABY. ALL THE TIME. XXX’.

  Al-Haznawi smiled and nodded. Salma put the phone back into her bag. ‘You have done well, my dear,’ said Al-Haznawi. ‘Better than anyone could have expected.’

  ‘Are you seeing the drone feed, Charlotte?’ asked Yokely in Button’s headset.

  ‘The picture is perfect,’ said Button. ‘The level of detail is amazing.’ The view on the main screen was of the car park where Salma had left her Honda.

  ‘It’s because the drone can fly so low, it’s virtually invisible to radar and is so small it’s almost impossible to spot visually,’ said Yokely. ‘The perfect eye in the sky. You see that white SUV? That’s Al-Haznawi’s vehicle. I have a team in the car park.’

  ‘Can you get a tracker on his vehicle?’

  ‘Negative. He has a driver and the driver is staying with the car.’

  ‘What about getting your people inside the café?’

  ‘I didn’t want to push it. Any stranger in there could spook them. Now the way I see this, it will go one of two ways. Following the meeting, Al-Haznawi will phone Al-Farouq to warn him. We’re monitoring Al-Haznawi’s phone and will be watching for any other calls made from the vicinity of the café. If he phones Al-Farouq, we’ll know and we’ll get a fix on it.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Button.

  ‘The Hercules took off half an hour ago and they are already close to the border. Once we get a location they’ll move in for the drop.’

  ‘What if he doesn’t make a call?

  ‘Assuming he buys what Salma tells him, he’ll have to warn Al-Farouq, so if he doesn’t call he’ll go to see him. The flight can stay in the air until we know for sure. The drone can follow him anywhere. I’m going to be pulling the surveillance teams well back once he leaves the café. He’ll be ultra-cautious.’

  ‘It’ll be dark in, what, two hours?’

  ‘Just before 1900 hours, yes. But the drone is as good in the dark as it is in daylight. Best infrared going.’

  ‘What about the SEALs? Are they good to drop at night?’

  ‘They’re big boys, Charlotte. They’re not scared of the dark.’ He laughed. ‘They train for this, day or night, it’s the same for these guys. Relax. Just sit back and enjoy the show.’

  ‘I know we’re in good hands, Richard,’ said Button. ‘I’ll let you get on with it.’ She cut the connection and took off her headset. Bashir’s mobile buzzed and she picked it up. It was a text from Salma. ‘MISS YOU TOO HONEY. CAN’T WAIT UNTIL YOU COME BACK. XXX’.

  Raj was crying. He was sitting with his arms folded and his head down and tears were falling from his cheeks and plopping on to the concrete floor. Al-Farouq was watching him with undisguised contempt. ‘What I don’t understand is why your bosses sent you back to Pakistan,’ he said. ‘Did they think you wouldn’t be recognised? Did they think that a beard and some plastic surgery would fool us?’

  ‘How did you recognise him?’ asked Shepherd. The two guards were still standing either side of the door, their arms folded, their faces impassive. The bearded man with the AK-47 was staring at Shepherd as if he wanted nothing more than to empty his magazine into Shepherd’s chest.

  Al-Farouq looked over at Shepherd and tilted his head on one side as he narrowed his eyes.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe you have been misinformed.’

  ‘You think that, do you? You think I have been misinformed?’

  ‘The Americans killed Bin Laden. Everybody knows that.’

  Al-Farouq’s eyes hardened. ‘They do, yes. But not everyone knows that the Americans were acting on information supplied by Manraj and his friend. They were in Pakistan in 2012 and they met the Sheikh in Abbottabad. They met him and then they betrayed him.’

  Raj shook his head. ‘That’s not true,’ he said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands.

  ‘Oh, it is true, Manraj,’ said Al-Farouq, his eyes still on Shepherd. ‘But what I am now wondering is whether or not your friend here knew that.’ He smiled at Shepherd without warmth. ‘That is the question I want answering, Mr Shepherd. Did you know? Were you involved in the betrayal of Osama Bin Laden?’

  Shepherd tried not to show any reaction but his mind was racing. How did Al-Farouq know his name? And what else did he know?

  Salma walked out of the café, climbed into her Honda Civic, and drove back to Islamabad. Saeed Al-Haznawi watched her drive away as he sipped the last of his fruit juice. The waiter returned with his change but Al-Haznawi waved him away. A thought struck him and he called the waiter back and ordered a semolina cake and six coconut cupcakes to go. A gift of cakes might go some way to softening the bad news that he was taking to Al-Farouq. He waited by the door until the waiter came over with his order, then went outside and climbed into the front passenger seat of the SUV. He looked at his watch. If he made good time he would reach Peshawar within two hours. He nodded at the driver and the man started the engine and headed west. Some fifteen thousand metres overhead, the stealth drone followed them.

  ‘Cat got your tongue, Mr Shepherd?’ said Al-Farouq. He grinned triumphantly. ‘Yes, I know who you are. And I know who you work for. I know you once served with the British SAS and that you now work for the Security Service, MI5. See, Mr Shepherd. I know everything.’

  Shepherd kept his face blank. It was important that Al-Farouq didn’t know what he was thinking. He maintained eye contact and tried not to swallow. Had Raj told Al-Farouq who Shepherd was? That didn’t seem likely, despite everything that Raj had been through. There had to be something else going on. Raj didn’t know that the SSG were going to try to rescue him, or that Shepherd would be part of the rescue team. There was nothing Raj knew that could have compromised the SSG rescue attempt. That information must have come from someone inside the Pakistan military or from their intelligence services. A traitor. Had that same traitor betrayed Shepherd to Al-Farouq?

  Al-Farouq’s grin widened. ‘Do you know who I am, Mr Shepherd?’

  ‘You said your name was Mahmud.’ He tried to keep his voice flat and emotionless.

  ‘That’s right. Do you believe me?’

  Shepherd feigned confusion, as if he didn’t understand what was happening.

  Al-Farouq knew who Raj was. And Shepherd. Shepherd wasn’t sure how Al-Faro
uq knew. Not that it mattered how he had come by the information. What mattered now was what Al-Farouq was going to do.

  ‘Who am I, Mr Shepherd?’

  Shepherd frowned. ‘Mahmud.’

  Al-Farouq walked over to Shepherd and stood looking down at him. ‘Why did you come to Pakistan?’

  ‘To help with the rescue of a British citizen.’

  ‘And how did you know where he was being held? How did you know about the fort at Parachinar?’

  ‘The Pakistani military knew where the fort was.’

  Al-Farouq nodded slowly. ‘And who briefed you on the mission? Before the attack?’

  His face was so close to Shepherd’s that Shepherd could smell the garlic on his breath.

  ‘It was a brigadier,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘I can’t remember,’ lied Shepherd.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ said Al-Farouq.

  ‘It’s true. Some Pakistani name, obviously. But I don’t remember.’

  ‘Let’s see if some physical pain will help you remember.’

  ‘It won’t,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘You don’t know what I’ve got in mind,’ said Al-Farouq. He straightened up and said something to the men guarding the door before turning back to Shepherd. ‘I know you can stand pain, Mr Shepherd. You have an astonishingly high threshold, even if you do scream a lot. But I wonder how high your threshold is when it comes to your friend.’ He gestured at Raj.

  Shepherd could feel a growing sense of panic threaten to overwhelm him but he fought to keep his voice steady. ‘He’s not my friend.’

  ‘We shall see,’ said Al-Farouq. He left the room with the two guards, leaving the man with the AK-47 watching them. He had his finger on the trigger and the selector switch was set to fully automatic. Considering they were in a confined space it was an incredibly dangerous way of holding the gun; he just hoped the man knew what he was doing.

  Raj looked over at Shepherd. ‘What’s going to happen?’ he asked fearfully.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Shepherd, though he knew the situation was far from being OK.