Dreams to Die For (55 page)

“We have concluded our initial assessment of the suspect's state of mind. We find her calm and rational. She is lucid. We rule out any drug dependency, though this may become apparent later. The absence of any demand may simply be an oversight, though unlikely as the suspect would have received intense training and exposure to conditioning techniques, including that of hostage negotiation. It would appear therefore, that at this stage the captor has no demand to make. The giving of her real name is highly unusual. The first aspect of the terror camp training is to disassociate the subject from their past, and therefore they are told they are no longer the same person. In other words they receive a new name and a new identity. Her original name will never have been referred to again, and she would have undergone extreme interrogation as part of her training to ensure that she was able to withhold revealing her original name even under duress. The importance of why she did so, willingly and voluntarily, cannot be overstated. It is remarkable. We recommend the negotiators continue to use it, unless it upsets the subject, as it is possible that for some reason she is losing her commitment to the cause in which she once believed. There may be other explanations, but we rule out memory loss or psychological problems as being causative. She would have lost all contact with her parents and relatives as part of her indoctrination and if she now feels her situation is hopeless it is possible she gave her real name so that her family will become aware of her sacrifice.”

“She is also polite – you will recall she used the word ‘please' at one point. That is also a very positive development. We assess the subject as educated who quite probably has been brought up in a civilized household. The hostage seems to be withstanding his ordeal reasonably well and at this stage we have no concerns regarding his mental stability, though his voice indicates he is understandably nervous. We are of the view that a reasonable relationship already exists between captor and captive. He quickly returned the telephone to Yasmin Hasan, but we do not think that was as a consequence of being forced to do so – in fact almost the reverse. We believe he wanted to say nothing more and was simply endeavouring to maintain relations with her.”

Maythorp thanked the doctor and relayed the information to Bronze. As soon as he had finished he received a flash note on his screen saying the detailed drawings of the Cessna were now being examined by the SAS in Hereford who were considering the options for storming the plane, if so ordered, and by Bronze who was arranging for the camera to be installed if circumstances permitted. It was just under an hour later when Silver received a message that a small contingent of the SAS had landed at the scene, having received their final operational briefing on the journey in their unmarked helicopter. They would be given the exclusive use of a TSG van and remain isolated from all other units until needed. Maythorp instructed Bronze that there was to be no action taken at the scene unless Assiter was killed. Then the plane would be stormed, under SAS direction with the assistance of the TSG.

The time had passed in silence within the plane. Fadyar had been continuing her reflections as the events of the day continually churned in her mind. For no particular reason, she found herself thinking of Paulette Assiter.

“Your wife said you were a good person.”

She had broken the silence and a startled Assiter replied, “She did? When?” He asked anxiously.

“Today,” she nonchalantly replied

“You spoke to Paulette today? Is she safe? She's not been hurt, has she?” A note of alarm entered his voice and his concern brought the command centres back to full attention as his words were transmitted into their respective rooms.

“Of course, you don't know, do you? Yes, I spoke to her this morning, and Mrs Crossland. They can tell you all about it, but they were being held captive by a truly evil man who was doing disgusting things, hurting them.”

“
What?
Who did this? Was it one of your people? Is she, are they, all right?” Assiter's questions blurted out, panic stricken by what Fadyar had told him.

“Please calm down, Mr Assiter. No one in my team would do such things and I certainly would not tolerate it. Actually, the man used to be a soldier in the British Army but I rescued them, and if they were here they would tell you all about it as they are alive, safe and well. But that is not the point I wanted to make.”

Assiter knew there was no reason for Fadyar to lie as her story could all too easily be verified when his ordeal was over and anyway, if his captor was correct about the microphones, the police would be hearing this conversation as they were speaking and no doubt someone would be quickly checking it out.

“If you rescued them I am obviously grateful. Who was this man?”

“I am not sure of his name, but it's possible Mrs Crossland does. I think she called him Donaldson or something similar. Anyway, I was thinking of what you said earlier about my colleagues and we spoke of them as good people. It was a similar phrase to that used by your wife today, about you.”

“Paulette said that? That's typical of her. I suppose we all try to be good people or think we are,” Assiter said.

“Well, there's half an army of people out there that probably think I am evil. A wicked, heartless terrorist, but they would be wrong in one important respect. I am not intrinsically an unkind person, nor heinous. It is true that I have planned your kidnap, meticulously I thought. I put so much effort into it day after day, night after night I went to sleep dreaming of nothing else. The man who attacked your wife and Mrs Crossland also planned things. He also defiled and then killed three little girls in Iraq and I suspect a number of others. In my view he is evil, totally evil. He does what he does to satisfy only his own perverted desires. He has no cause, no beliefs, no morals. He is totally selfish and utterly ruthless. I believe we are both better than that.” Fadyar angrily spat out her words.

Assiter was stunned and worried, “… did he hurt Paulette or Cindy?”

“Not seriously, they are ok. I give you my word.”

“Thank you” said Assiter, still concerned.

“I should like to ask you something though, if you can tell me? Fadyar enquired.

“Anything, go ahead. If I know the answer I will tell it to you truthfully,” Assiter wanted to ensure he maintained his captor's confidence.

“How did Mrs Crossland meet Mr Truscott?”

“Oh, that's easy. Cindy was injured in the terror attack when the London Underground got bombed. She happened to be on the same train as Gordon and he looked after her until they were rescued. They stayed in touch and she eventually left her husband to live with him here. In fact it was when they were both here last Christmas that we arranged this holiday of mine.”

“Thank you,” Fadyar said slowly. She now knew for certain that Cindy Crossland could not be part of any plot and that her presence at Mealag was, after all, just coincidence.

Several minutes again passed in silence before Assiter spoke. “Your plan was obviously a good one, otherwise I wouldn't be here, but why did you think you could get away in a plane? It would be detected on radar, and the military would shoot it down.”

Fadyar thought carefully about whether to reply, knowing that she would be overheard by those listening-in.

“I don't think we would have been shot down. The British would certainly not take responsibility for your death, and so would not act on their own, though their jets would shadow us. Your own government would have to make that decision. The political pressure on your President would be such that he would wait. Your kidnap is embarrassing enough – he would not want to explain why he killed you, when he could have waited. He would have hoped to negotiate your release, but at that time we would have landed in a country friendly to our cause and from there I was to hand you over to others. You would still be alive and, whilst you remained so, we would all be safe.”

“That's a hell of a gamble,” said Assiter, not knowing quite what else to say, then added, “where were we headed?”

“I will not say that, but the plane can cruise at about 250 knots and has a range of more than 1700 miles. I don't think using a plane was any more of a risk than certain other aspects of your kidnap. It
was
a good plan but others…. ”

Fadyar was interrupted as a noisy helicopter hovered overhead and shone an intensely bright light into the cabin. Fadyar went to the window but was blinded by the dazzling brightness. She picked up the phone and dialled. Almost instantly, it was answered.

“Hello Yasmin. This is Christine. How can I help you?” spoken very softly and in the same languid but assured voice.

“Get the helicopter away now! Stop putting in your bugging devices unless you want to this to end in thirty seconds.” Fadyar threatened menacingly.

Bronze, overhearing the conversation, immediately ordered the helicopter to withdraw.

“That's better. Thank you,” said Fadyar politely as the noise of the rotors rapidly receded.

She turned to Assiter, “Why did they do that? Why try and deliberately upset me? They must be able to listen to us. They know you are unharmed and that I haven't made any demands. Fools. All they are likely to do is make me angry.” She found herself explaining the obvious to her captive, but her words were also deliberately meant for the ears of her pursuers.

“I cannot answer you, Fadyar, or if you prefer, Yasmin. They work to orders, procedures, rulebooks, but sometimes all that does is stifle initiative and common sense. We call it the tick box mentality and it pervades all aspects of commercial, political and law enforcement agencies.”

Fadyar did not reply, still deeply troubled and absorbed by her own thoughts.

Several minutes elapsed in total quiet before a hesitant Assiter spoke again. “I'm sorry to ask but what is going to happen to me, now your kidnapping mission is over?”

Again Fadyar did not reply directly, “We were talking about evil, weren't we? Before the helicopter flew over.”

“Yes, that man” said Assiter.

“Not just him, there are others; those who remain faceless and who commit their evil on a grand scale from plush office chairs.” Fadyar corrected her still handcuffed captive. “I look around this mountain area in Scotland and in a strange way it reminds me of what my homeland used to be like. Not the terrain nor the weather of course, but peaceful, beautiful. Nature is in harmony with itself and without the horrid, foul footprints of an evil mankind all over it. Iraq was like that when I was a child, but now there is blood everywhere. Buildings are destroyed daily, people that were once neighbours are fighting each other whilst foreign troops… ” she paused and raised her voice, “… seek to impose their will, their beliefs, their politics on everyone. And here, today, in this lovely location facing the islands and the sea in front of us and the big mountains behind us, brave men, good men, yours and mine have died, their flesh torn to ribbons by red hot bullets. A few miles away, a depraved man seeks to violate innocent women. That sort of thing does not belong here – and neither does it belong in my homeland, Mr Assiter, where you and your President send your soldiers whilst you sit in those big chairs.”

Assiter was lost for words. He had spent his life serving his country, helping to formulate its most important policies and implementing its global, sometimes, stellar strategies. He believed in them, and truly loved his nation and the supremacy of its doctrines and political systems. The woman sitting across from him was not actually questioning those, yet what she said was troublesome to him as for some considerable time he had found himself increasingly sceptical of the morality of it all. In a few simple words, she had articulated for him how he felt, expressing feelings and emotions he had never before fully analysed.

“You are a remarkably brave and intelligent young woman, Yasmin. And you are also very perceptive. I am glad we met, though it would perhaps have been better in other circumstances.” He spoke seriously, but both smiled.

“I need to trust you, Mr Assiter.” she replied.

“Trust
me
? How, with what? What can I do?”

“Yasmin Hasan or Fadyar Masri will not be remembered, at least not for long. I will be attacked and vilified by your press and government. What I and my brave comrades have done today will not influence events let alone alter policy. But you, Mr Secretary of State, are in a position where you can change things. Your wife said you are a good person. I believe her. Listen to her, and do what you can to stop this desecration of our beautiful lands and bring to justice those that dishonour them.”

Fadyar cut his handcuffs and, looking at him directly, carefully repeated the words “I trust you.”

Before Assiter could stop her Fadyar placed her gun to her head and pulled the trigger.

“This is Bronze. All units, stay where you are!” Curry's voice rang out and into a hundred radio receivers. No one moved. Several nervous minutes later, Curry asked the hostage negotiator to make a fresh approach to the plane, but as she stepped forward the boarding steps began to lower and a dazed looking Assiter appeared at its door.

“She's dead. There are no explosives.” His words were being instantly relayed by the microphone on Officer Fellowes tunic.

“Stay there, Sir. Please. Are you hurt at all?” the negotiator asked.

“No. I'm fine but I shall be glad to be off this goddam plane.”

“I understand Sir, but I must ask you to wait a short while longer.”

Curry was taking no chances. Assiter might be under all sorts of pressure to walk down the steps and he might be wired with explosives ready to be detonated by the terrorist. He sent two fully protected officers to the plane and withdrew all other personnel.

“Please come slowly down the steps and then turn completely around, very slowly”, instructed an officer.

Assiter obeyed and as the officer approached him impatiently explained “It's OK, I tell you. She's dead, killed herself.”

“If you don't mind Sir, I have to check you. I'm sure you understand.”

He gave Assiter a thorough body search and, satisfied there were no hidden weapons or explosives, spoke into his radio to Curry who immediately ordered four more officers to meet Assiter at the foot of the steps. Paulette Assiter was watching intently. Alongside a few officers, she, Gordon, Cindy and Sandy had taken up position close to a temporarily erected ‘DO NOT CROSS' tape that stretched across the landing strip well to the rear of the plane, but she was able to see her husband.

“Thank God, there's Dean,” she cried out, relieved to see her husband. “He's alive!” she yelled, hugging Gordon and then Cindy.

The officers arrived and, taking hold of Assiter, started to quickly walk away from the aircraft. Paulette could contain her joy no longer and ran through the tape shouting and waving to her husband.

“Dean. Dean. I'm here.”

Her dash across the field had taken everyone by surprise and it took Gordon and several officers a few brief moments to react before they, too, ran after her.

“No, Paulette. Stay here.” Gordon shouted as he caught and grabbed her. “Come on Paulette, they need to check Dean first. He will be here soon,” and he turned and started to lead her back to the tape.

The injured Mattar had been lying motionless, his body almost totally concealed amidst the pile of abandoned luggage, now some considerable distance from the aircraft which was occupying everyone's attention at the far end of the runway. He was still losing blood from the wound in his side but he had the strength to slowly move his hand over his Golatz. The sound of the commotion caused by Paulette's rush towards her husband enabled him to accurately assess the woman's precise whereabouts on the field. Making a supreme effort to overcome the pain, Mattar rolled on his back and squeezed the trigger. Bullets sprayed in a lethal arc of ninety degrees, bouncing off rocks and the runway before the police were able to silence him firing. Four bodies lay on the grass strip. Two were officers, one badly injured, the other dying. The two others were that of Paulette and Gordon whose arm protectively pinned her slim body to the ground. As the shooting ended and more police ran to them, Paulette tried to raise herself up but screamed, “Oh Gordon…
No… No!
”

Her cries were heard by Cindy as she and others rushed to Paulette and the injured officers. Gordon was moaning, quietly, and a large wound was evident in his back. Cindy cradled him in her arms.

“Gordon, it's me Cindy. Please be alright. Please.”

He did not move. Cindy, oblivious of what was happening around her, kept talking to Gordon. The officers and paramedics that had run to her were now pulling her reluctantly away.

“We have to ma'am. It's for the best,” a man in a yellow jacket spoke into her ear as a couple of ambulances screamed onto the airstrip.

“Let us take over. He needs to get hospital quickly.”

Cindy was hysterical. Paulette and Assiter were reunited but only briefly as they insisted that they wanted to comfort Cindy. The next few minutes passed as a blur for Cindy. Gordon received two injections and was laid carefully on a stretcher. A hastily erected drip was inserted into his wrist, an ambulance man holding up the bag of saline solution. His mouth and nose were covered by a white, plastic mask from which a narrow tube led to a small canister. Four burly paramedics then carried the stretcher to an ambulance, and Cindy, Paulette and Dean clambered into the other. Both then made a short journey out of the airfield entrance and along the tarmac road to a waiting Mountain Rescue helicopter, already starting up.

“Where are they taking him?” Cindy cried. “I must go with him. Please let me go with him.” She struggled free of Paulette's comforting embrace and ran towards the helicopter.

“I must come with him,” she pleaded to a crewman who didn't argue and helped her up into the belly of the chopper.

Almost immediately, the rotors increased speed and it lifted off.

“Mr Assiter. You should also be given a medical check. Can you come with us please?” an ambulance woman asked.

“Do you know where they are taking Gordon?” he asked.

“Inverness Hospital. He will be there in only a few minutes flying.”

“Then if you want me to have a check-up, that's where I'll be, with my wife”

“I will have to get clearance on that, Sir.”

She contacted her superior, who in turn contacted Curry.

“Where is he going?” Curry asked impatiently. He had enough things on his mind to do with sorting out the scene and getting the various forensic teams organised but as Bronze Commander it was another decision for him to make.

“Inverness Hospital. If you are agreeable, Sir.”

“OK. He will be accompanied at all times, and I mean all times, by an armed guard of eight officers. Two must travel with him in the ambulance, two will be in a leading police vehicle and four others will follow in a Cat 1 specially equipped vehicle. Both he and his wife will be required to give statements as soon as they are fit to do so,” he issued the orders.

Three minutes after he spoke, a white van that had been parked in the midst of others along the perimeter wall of the small airfield drove carefully out onto the narrow tarmac road, later making a rendezvous with a Merlin helicopter at Broadford airport, Isle of Skye. The discreet SAS contingent was on its way back to their Herefordshire base, their expert services not used.

Once Curry was satisfied that the scene was totally secure, the hostage safe and the injured evacuated, he contacted Bill Ritson, manning the room at the Eagles Rest Hotel.

“All secure here, Bill. I'll leave the lads to stay around. Everyone is now off the scene pending forensics and the usual clean up.”

“Great, John. Thanks. Excellent job. At least the hostage is safe but the aftermath will be interesting. See you in a while. Would you like me to contact Silver and Gold?”

“Yes please” said Curry.

After a few moments Bill Ritson formally reported that the incident was over and requested Silver and Gold to stand down. They both congratulated Ritson and Curry on a successful outcome. An hour later, the Home Secretary added his own thanks and those of the Prime Minister to all the personnel who had served in Gold, Silver and Bronze commands. When Curry returned, he joined Ritson who had already begun winding down the Bronze command room.

“Time to call everyone in” he said to Ritson, who nodded.

Curry switched on the radio and spoke to all the units involved in the rescue.

“Debrief at the hotel in one hour.”