Battleline (2007) (30 page)

"And you're having 'em delivered here?" Sikes asked.

"Right 'ere where we are this very minute," Turpin said. "You lads are gonna take part in a big push. A bluddy invasion, that's wot it's gonna be."

Sikes and Farouk looked at each other, then back to Turpin. Farouk shook his head. "I am not understanding what you say to us, Harry. We have just pulled back from the Afghanistan border. Where on Allah's earth will we be going?"

Turpin laughed loudly. "Right back to where you come from, mate. You and this lot are gonna be storming across the international line straight into Afghanistan. Not only are more Iranians coming 'ere, but Shiites too."

Sikes was so astounded that he stood up. "But Iran has just made an agreement with the Yanks to stay away from Afghanistan."

"Well, Archie me lad, then it looks like the Yanks are in for a great big fucking surprise, ain't they?

.

MANCHESTER, ENGLAND

9 SEPTEMBER 1930 HOURS

CHARLIE and Nancy Sikes sat in their small parlor, watching TV. Neither one was paying much attention to the program, which was a sitcom involving a dysfunctional family feuding with their neighbors, who were another dysfunctional clan unable to cope with life's little problems.

Charlie and Nancy had real-life worries and saw no humor in the comic performances of the actors in the program. Their son Archibald, a soldier in the British Army, had deserted his unit in Iraq and had not been heard from for many long months.

They didn't know if he was dead or alive.

The doorbell rang, and Mrs. Sikes walked out to the hall and down to the entrance to the house. She opened door and saw two bobbies in full uniform and helmets at the simple portal. "Good evening, madam," one of the policemen said. "Is Mr. Charles Sikes at home?"

Mrs. Sikes didn't answer. She turned and hollered. "Charlie! There's a couple o' coppers asking after you."

Mr. Sikes appeared in the hall from the parlor with a puzzled expression on his face. "Wot can I do for you?"

"We'd like you to come down to the station, if you please, Mr. Sikes," the spokesman said.

"Wot for?"

"A routine inquiry, sir. We must ask you to come straightaway, please."

"I'll get me coat." He reached over to the hooks on the wall and pulled off his jacket and an American baseball-style cap, then stepped past his wife. "I'll be back soon. Maybe we'll learn something about Archie."

"Alright, Charlie."

The two policemen took him down to their car and opened the back door. Mr. Sikes settled in for the ride, with heavy suspicions that this unexpected happening would indeed have something to do with Archie. This wasn't the first time some official had come around to make inquiries. But it was the first time he had ever been taken anywhere.

When they reached the station, they went around to the back and parked. Once more Mr. Sikes was under close escort as they took him inside, going straight to a room with a small table that had one chair on one side and two on the other. The policemen took him to the single seat.

"Sit down, Mr. Sikes. Someone will be with you quite soon."

"Right. Thanks."

Five minutes later, two men entered. Mr. Sikes knew one of them. He had been out to the house on at least three occasions. The man's name was Falkes, and Sikes figured him for a military policeman. In actuality, he was MI-5, and the man with him was from a special unit of Scotland Yard that worked the terrorist detail.

Falkes nodded a greeting as he and the other man sat down. "How are you, Mr. Sikes?"

"Fine, thanks," he said, glancing at the other man. "Who's he then?"

"This is Inspector Jenkins from Scotland Yard."

"Are we gonna be talking about me son Archie?"

"In a roundabout way," Jenkins interjected. He reached in his suit pocket and pulled out a pair of four-by-five photographs. "Do you know these two men?"

Sikes studied the portraits. "Yeah. This one here is Hasim and the other is Afsar. I don't know their last names. That is, I don't remember 'em. Them kind o' names are hard to recollect."

"Where do you know them from?"

"They work at the same warehouse where I do," Sikes replied. "They're stock boys."

Falkes asked, "Do you see them at places other than work?"

Sikes shook his head.

"What about the pub? Have you ever gone out and had a pint or two with them?"

"They ain't the type I'd choose for friends," Sikes said. "I don't like Pakos or Arabs or none o' them Wog blokes. And I don't think their religion lets 'em drink beer or whiskey anyway. I wish to hell they'd all go back where they come from, that's wot I bluddy wish. Let England be England, by Gawd!"

"They're from Iraq," Jenkins said. "The same country where your son deserted from the Army."

"All that trouble started when them swells in that Dragoon regiment wouldn't give Archie a commission," Sikes said defiantly. "He was good enough to be a sergeant, by God, and he was good enough to attend officers' training school and go to another regiment, but they said he wasn't acceptable in their precious mess, hey? Archie ain't the type to take being snubbed quiet. One thing led to another and it ended up with him taking French leave."

"He did more than that," Falkes said. "He didn't just go off without permission, he left without the intention of returning."

"Wot's that got to do with the price o' tea in China?"

Falks leaned toward him, resenting the flippant remark. "I'll tell you what it's got to do with, Sikes. It's got to do with you and your son. We now know an Iraqi was instrumental in getting your son away from the military. And Archibald Sikes has been actively working with the terrorists in Afghanistan."

"Now, I don't believe that for an instant," Sikes said.

"And those two Iraqi lads are now in custody for taking part in a bombing in Leeds," Jenkins said. "And we know they have a contact here in the United Kingdom.

And we know he's an Englishman."

"Well, I ain't working with no bombers!"

"We got a few questions to put to you, Sikes," Falkes said coldly. "And we advise you to cooperate. It'll be for your own good."

"Bluddy shit!" Sikes exclaimed. "I want me solicitor!"

"You've been brought in under the Antiterrorist Act, Sikes," Jenkins said. "And if you want some advice, here's some. You better cough up the truth when it comes to answering our questions. One slip! One rotten lie, and you're for it. Understand?"

"Oh, bluddy shit!"

"Get ready, Sikes," Falkes said. "It's going to be a long night."

.

10 SEPTEMBER 1000 HOURS

MRS. Nancy Sikes didn't know whether to worry or not. Her husband, Charlie, had gone off the night before with two policemen and still wasn't home. Surely there hadn't been an accident or anything. She would have been informed. Maybe they had some news about Archie. She left the kitchen and went to the front window for the tenth time that morning. On this occasion she was rewarded with the sight of a police car pulling up to the curb. Charlie got out of the back and walked toward the house. It was easy to see he was dead tired.

She ran to the door and jerked it open. "Charlie! Wot's been going on then?"

He came in and hung up his cap and jacket. When he turned toward her, she could see his bloodshot eyes and the paleness of his face. He shook his head slowly. "Oh, Nancy! Them coppers been giving me bluddy hell all night. Two of them Wog lads at the warehouse was arrested for a bomb plot. They figured I was in on it because o' Archie. I had a god-awful time convincing 'em I didn't know nothing about it."

"Oh, poor Charlie," Nancy said. "Come out to the kitchen, love. I'll make you a nice cup o' tea."

He followed her, saying, "I thought they might have some news about the lad, but all they told me was that he was a terrorist or something."

Mrs. Sikes went to the stove to put on a pot as Mr. Sikes sat down. He sighed audibly. "I better call work and tell 'em why I ain't in yet."

"Well, you tell 'em why," Mrs. Sikes said. "It wasn't your fault, Charlie."

"They know about Archie deserting, Nancy, and some o' the blokes has been making remarks about it. This is probably the excuse they've been looking for to give me the bluddy sack."

"The union won't let 'em do that, Charlie."

"The union ain't exactly sympathetic toward me," Mr. Sikes said. He suddenly slammed his hand down hard on the table. "Goddamn it! That boy of ours has got us into some deep shit!"

Mrs. Sikes stifled a sob, then recovered and wiped her eyes. "The tea will be ready in a minute, love."

CHAPTER
20

CUSTIS FARM, VIRGINIA

THE facility, made up of three hundred acres of U. S. government property, was not a working agricultural site, although the people who used it referred to it as "the Farm." It was far off the beaten track, surrounded by deep sections of forest and bog, and kept under rigid security. A narrow dirt lane that wound ten miles off the main county road was the only way to reach it overland. The likelihood of some wandering stranger blundering onto the property was not probable but possible. Therefore, to discourage any exploration by the curious, the two creeks on the acreage were not bridged. Although the water was no more than a couple of feet deep, it was enough to keep anyone from wanting to venture farther in their automobile or truck. And just in case some weekend adventurer with his off-road vehicle showed up, roving teams of guards who appeared to be rather tough-looking farmers provided further dissuasion. These individuals were part of a large staff that performed security and service functions for the Farm. They were rotated every two weeks from the isolated assignment.

Persons who used it for official functions preferred to come by air, utilizing either the helicopter pad or a short airstrip in the center of the bucolic estate. The Farm's main building was a one-story, split-level rambling ranch house that seemed completely out of place. It appeared as if belonged more in a California suburb than the environment of rural Virginia.

Undersecretary of State Carl Joplin, PhD, was the only government official who maintained a permanent office in the place. His boss, Secretary of State Benjamin Bellingham, had not been assigned any space within the large house, nor had he ever been to the Farm, though he was aware of its existence. Like all other people who held his office, Bellingham's tenure in the nation's capital was not a permanent arrangement. He worked for a specific president and would be around only as long as his sponsor was in office. Joplin, on the other hand, had nothing to do with political appointments, and he had visited Custis Farm dozens of times during his career. He used it for meetings and discussions with unique persons who, for the most part, enjoyed extremely friendly and intimate working relationships with the U. S. government. A good number of defectors had enjoyed sanctuary on the Farm as they were debriefed and interviewed. When those processes were taken care of, the majority were given new identities and provided with official federal law enforcement protection.

On the other hand, there had also been a few special antagonists whose conduct or activities made it necessary that they be dealt in the most clandestine ways. Several of the latter ilk had never been seen again. They were the ones who were taken care of by those "farmhands" who had a sinister, sleepy-eyed look about them.

.

10 SEPTEMBER

CARL Joplin and his guest, Avigdor Peled, from the Israeli Embassy, had arrived at Custis Farm in an unmarked government helicopter. Circumstances made it impossible for them to use the
Bonhomme Richard
Club. The business to be conducted by the two men was much too complicated for a quick meeting.

Their flight to the Farm had begun in the late evening, at a small airport in the vicinity of Coleburg, Maryland. After landing and quickly settling in, the two went to the dining facility to enjoy a quiet pancake supper. After the meal, they retired to the main salon for coffee. Peled could not discuss any business with Joplin until he received confirmation by phone from his ambassador that he was cleared to do so.

When the call came, Peled was given the phone by one of the staff, who plugged it into the wall next to his chair. After identifying himself, the Israeli listened to a fifteen-second message. Then he hung up, looking over at Joplin.

"I am not cleared to speak with you until zero-six-forty-five tomorrow.