Read Three Great Novels Online
Authors: Henry Porter
Tags: #Thrillers, #Action & Adventure, #Fiction
Three Great Novels (29 page)
She thought for a moment. ‘But would they do this - sully the holiest pilgrimage of the year with a terrorist plot?’
‘Of course they would. Anyway, I think it happened as they were leaving, after the visit to the holy sights was done and dusted.’
‘You deserve the hat,’ she said. ‘But what would be the point of the second ID switch at Heathrow? If they’d already established a very efficient way of doing it on Arab soil why the hell would they risk everything by repeating the operation at Heathrow?’
‘Aye, there’s the rub,’ said Dolph.
‘So what’s happening about this?’
Dolph looked pained. ‘They put it on the back burner. They were interested, but the focus is on these nine men. We’re going to hunt down the others at some later point.’
‘Still, it was very smart of you.’
‘That’s what I keep saying,’ Dolph exclaimed.
‘I can vouch for that,’ said Lyne.
Five minutes later, Herrick asked, ‘You remember when the Stuttgart suspect killed himself and Walter Vigo ordered an intensive surveillance of calls from the Stuttgart helpers? He thought they would make contact with the leadership. Was a call traced?’
Before she had finished Dolph’s eyes were revolving.
‘Yep,’ said Lyne absently, ‘there was a trace to a satellite phone in the Middle East, but that’s all I know. It’s Umbra.’
‘Umbra is NSA-speak for very restricted knowledge,’ said Dolph.
‘Right, so shut the fuck up,’ said Lyne without smiling.
‘Why’s that so sensitive?’ she asked. ‘Anyway, where in the Middle East?’
‘Search me,’ said Dolph.
Lyne got up and made for the water machine shaking his head.
Herrick spent the next few hours doing what the Chief had instructed, roaming the system and reading anything that caught her eye. ‘Go into the garden and pick what flowers you like,’ he had said. ‘Then come back to me.’ She concentrated on the connections between the Lebanese-based terrorist group Hizbollah and the suspects who had visited the tri-border region in South America. It was a random thread, but she followed it because of Sammi Loz’s background and her particular interest in Beirut.
When Lyne asked what she was doing, she told him she was familiarising herself with the new material and then added, ‘You know, the suspects still seem like they’re all half-asleep. Why haven’t they been arrested?’
‘Maybe they will be,’ said Lyne wearily.
‘When?’ she demanded. ‘When are they going to take these people into custody?’
Lyne revolved his chair and used his feet to wheel it round to her. ‘You’ve been back precisely ten hours, Isis, and you already want access to the policy decisions. You understand the deal here. We gather the intelligence, okay? And the guys living up in the beautiful English summer get to make the policy, right? I don’t see why you need to raise this again. If you want to decide policy, go see your Prime Minister. He and the President will decide when to take the suspects off the street. Not you, Isis. Not me.’
‘But what kind of advice are they getting?’
‘Twice daily assessments. The President and the Prime Minister value the information we’re getting here. That’s what we’re told, and I believe it.’
‘Nathan, I accept it’s good material - really impressive in a way - but doesn’t it strike you as odd that there’s no movement, no sign of what they’re planning, no hint of a target or of a battle formation? They’re inert. ’
‘But this is exactly what they do. The key men always lie doggo before an attack, right up until the moment they’re needed. In the files you’ve just read there are cross-references to the capture of a Spanish cell and their plans to drive a truck full of explosives and cyanide into the US Embassy in Paris. None of the principals cased the joint, none went anywhere near the target. That’s the way they operate.’
‘So if we already know their MO, why the hell are we studying it further?’
‘You know, you’re a very smart, very beautiful woman Isis. But you can’t run the whole goddam programme.’
‘You’re beginning to sound like an old-fashioned male supremacist, Nathan.’
‘That’s not true. But you
are
becoming a royal pain in the ass.’
are
becoming a royal pain in the ass.’
‘Aha, the same phrase used to me by a member of the CIA in Tirana after a briefing from your Jim Collins. Were you in on that conversation, Nathan?’
‘No, but I did overhear a little of what they said. Collins and Vigo were talking on the phone to Milos Franc. I heard that - yes.’
‘Right. During that conversation, information about me - my address and my father’s address - was released so that the Albanian Intelligence Service could threaten me.’
‘I wasn’t party to that,’ said Lyne, looking her straight in the eye.
So Vigo was responsible, she thought. That was hardly surprising, but she was puzzled by his motive. ‘Why do you think he would do that? It’s not as though Karim Khan was remotely important to RAPTOR. Why would he go to the trouble of threatening me?’
‘Has it occurred to you that he might just have wanted to scare you a little? Clearly you were causing trouble in Tirana. Maybe it’s Vigo’s way of warning you to toe the line.’
‘By releasing my father’s address, which is still classified information? That’s a serious breach of security. Vigo is breaking the Official Secrets Act.’
‘Look, Isis, my patience is kind of running out here. I saved your ass when you were in trouble with Vigo and Spelling over the break-in. Will you just give me a break and shut the fuck up? Okay, so you were threatened a little. So what? You’re back here and now you’re expected to work for a living.’
‘You know I’m right, Nathan.’
‘Right about what?’
‘About RAPTOR. It’s not working.’
‘I’m not going to discuss it any longer. We both have work to do.’ He pushed himself back to his screen.
Dolph had been watching the exchange. He got up and came over. ‘Permission to give Herrick a jolly good spanking, sah.’
Lyne didn’t smile.
‘Failing that, perhaps we could go for a smoke up top?’
‘Fine, I’ll see you back here in half an hour.’
Herrick checked her watch. It was 4.20 a.m. Beirut was two hours ahead and she could just about get away with calling Sally Cawdor. She picked up her bag and followed Dolph to the elevator bank.
A minute or two later they walked out of the modest brick building which capped the Bunker and strolled a little way to the airfield, surrounded by the scent of mown grass mingled with dew. Dolph took out a pack of Marlboro and offered her one. She looked up with the first drag. ‘No stars,’ she said.
‘Did you make the call to Beirut?’ he said, flicking the match away.
‘No, I will in a few minutes.’
‘What are you up to, Isis?’
‘Following my nose.’
‘And what a nose. Tell me.’
‘Not for the moment.’
‘It’s got something to do with you breaking into the bookshop? ’
She shook her head.
‘Why don’t you just tell Dolph about it?’
‘Because I can’t,’ she said.
‘You think I’ll tell Vigo?’
‘You did work for him once.’
‘That doesn’t mean I’d grass you up, Isis.’ He looked at her. ‘You know, there’s a really fascinating intelligence problem here. These guys are a mystery. They are not following any of the usual patterns. They’re not making the connections with al-Qaeda, the Armed Islamic Group or any of the other groups - Salafist group for Call and Combat, for example. They’re like a parallel group. There is no communication between the individual members. They’re—’
‘What about the money transfers from the Gulf, the network of helpers, the training in Afghanistan and the tri-border region? It looks pretty standard to me.’
‘Yeah, but it’s not. There’s something else, isn’t there?’
‘That’s what I’ve been saying. You’re trying to draw me out by repeating my arguments to me. It’s the oldest trick in the book, Dolph.’
A look of theatrical hurt passed across his face. ‘Captious, that’s the word for you. Even when someone agrees with you, you find a reason to doubt them.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said distractedly. ‘What about the foreign intelligence services? They must have got wind of RAPTOR by now.’
‘Yeah, they have. In Hungary the local plods are showing interest in suspect Eight, the Yemeni, and the French are definitely on to the Saudi in Bosnia, though we don’t believe they’ve sussed the operations in Toulouse and Paris. It’s a matter of time though. In Germany the BND are showing interest in the late Mohammed bin Khidir, in particular his fake passport.’
‘Time,’ said Isis, screwing the butt of the cigarette into the ground with her toe. ‘The whole thing is based on the assumption that we have time. Somewhere there’s a clock ticking. We seem to have forgotten that.’
‘Nathan hasn’t. He wants to know when, where and how. He’s just working within the system. He’s a genuinely good guy.’
She nodded. ‘Yeah, I know. Hang around, will you? I want to ask you about Lapping but I do need to make this call first.’
She walked off into the dark and dialled the Beirut number. A bleary male voice answered after half a dozen rings and she asked to speak to Sally Cawdor. Sally came on, also a little sleepy.
‘It’s me - Isis. I’m sorry to call so early but—’
‘You picked your moment,’ said Sally. ‘We were up half the night trying to get me pregnant.’ She paused and giggled. ‘That’s on a need to know basis.’ In the background there was the sound of male complaint.
Isis smiled. Sally had been in the Service for four years before marrying a Lebanese businessman. Herrick had known her at Oxford but they were recruited independently. Sally was already in SIS when Isis joined.
‘You know that problem I had…?’ started Isis.
‘Yes.’
‘Did you manage to do anything about it?’
‘I emailed you and sent a message through Dolph to call me.’
‘Sorry, I was out of the country.’
‘I gained access - for which you owe me lunch - and managed to get a sample which I’ve sent to your home address.’
‘You didn’t! That’s terrific. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.’
‘I know it’s there because it was delivered by one of Rafi’s couriers.’
‘How the hell did you pull that off?’
‘Rafi disapproves so I’ll explain when I see you. I pray I got enough of what you want.’
Herrick thanked her profusely and said she’d let her know how things turned out.
‘What was that about?’ asked Dolph.
‘Did Lapping find out anything in Sarajevo yesterday?’ she asked.
‘Not much, but I know he will.’ Dolph had taken off the hat and was brushing his hair back.
He caught her look of appraisal. ‘What’re you thinking?’
‘I was blank - sorry.’
‘Well,’ he said, replacing the hat so it was tipped forward over his brow. ‘I did find something for you. There was a woman I knew, Hélène Guignal, a terrific looker. She spent most of the period from 1993 to 1995 in Sarajevo filing for Agence France Presse. For part of that period she had an affair with a man who was one of the defenders of Sarajevo. He was important, a kind of liaison between the Bosniaks and the foreign Muslims.’
‘Has she got a photograph of him?’
‘I didn’t ask because she had no time to talk. I have tried to reach her but she’s proving remarkably elusive.’
‘Where does she live?’
‘Brussels.’
She thanked him and gave him a peck on the cheek. Dawn was breaking and a thin layer of mist had settled over parts of the airfield.
‘We need to get Joe Lapping onto this.’
‘Yeah well, it’s difficult because we’ve all got our hands full. I mean Lyne and the other guys never let up. We don’t seem to be able to flit about the place like you, Isis.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Three hours later a cab dropped her at the end of the one-way system on Gabriel Road, which was now decked out in the full municipal splendour of almond and cherry blossom. With her bag over her shoulder, she walked the remaining hundred yards to her house, telling herself that once she’d showered and had breakfast at the café round the corner she wouldn’t feel so tired.
She reached her front door and lowered the bag to the ground to search for her house keys. As her hands moved from pocket to pocket, her eyes ran over the house and came to rest on an upstairs window where the curtains were drawn. She was sure they hadn’t been left that way because when she was leaving for Tirana she had stood at the window watching for the cab. She put the key in one of the two locks and found it had already been turned; only the Yale lock was keeping the door shut. She placed her ear to the letter-box. The cool air from inside the house brushed her cheek like a breath. There was something wrong - a smell of someone, a sense of occupation.
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