Bonfire (29 page)

‘I see you,’ said Muntasser through the CDL.

‘Get to the agreed holding place,’ I said. ‘Keep out of sight and wait.’

‘Yes, we will go there and wait.’

Keeping low, I ran to the far side. The other two guards were dead. Aksil had shot one in the head and the other in the chest. Both were instant kills.

At the trap door in the corner, Cakes held his shoulder-strapped Minimi balanced in one paw-like hand. Its suppressor jutted purposefully as did his jaw. It was like going into battle with
Desperate Dan
. I grasped the door handle, nodded my intention and then carefully lifted. Below we saw a narrow set of wooden steps. Cautiously, Cakes lowered his head. Then I did the same. It was an empty corridor with a closed door at the end. Cakes went down the steps and then I followed pulling shut the trap door above my head. It blocked out the daylight, and in the gloom, I felt the warm rush of adrenalin that came from danger and the anticipation of lethal close quarters combat.

Watching on the big display and seated beside Jerry and the Chief, Claudia saw the trap door on the roof close shut behind Hayes and her sense of dread forced her head lower with the burden of prophetic love. ‘They’ve gone inside,’ she said.

‘Yes, they have,’ the Chief agreed. He glanced at Jerry without Claudia noticing and the two men exchanged a silent expression of empathy. Claudia lifted her head and looked at the Chief expectantly. ‘Are you familiar with the story of the princess and the dragon?’ the Chief asked. Claudia widened her eyes. ‘The princess is saved from the dragon by a virtuous hero,’ the Chief continued.

‘This is not a fairy tale,’ Claudia said. ‘Hayes and Kipling are going to die in there.’

‘Not necessarily,’ the Chief said. ‘They may slay the dragon and rescue the princess.’

‘Didn’t the virtuous hero, the brave dragon-slayer, marry the princess,’ Jerry said. The Chief glared for a second at Jerry’s unhelpful recollection.

‘As Claudia says, Jerry, this is not a fairy tale.’

‘No, of course not,’ Jerry said.

‘You gave me your word,’ Claudia said.

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Then why have you let him go in there?’

‘Unfortunately, the exact timeframe of events is not fully within my control. I had envisaged a different timeline.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Before Mr. Hayes placed himself any further into unfathomable danger I had expected a conclusion to the operation,’ the Chief said.

‘A conclusion,’ Claudia echoed. ‘What conclusion?’

‘A closing event,’ the Chief said. ‘A happening that would render any continued exertion on Mr. Hayes’ part null and void.’

‘Null and void,’ Claudia repeated with more than a suggestion of exasperation in his voice. ‘What closing event?’

The electronic ringing was distinctive and loud. It produced a reaction from each of them. ‘Excuse me,’ the Chief said. ‘I must take this call.’ It was Captain Harding.

‘I’m in the operations room with the officer in charge looking at the screen,’ Harding said. ‘The aircraft has reached the target location and is in position.’

‘Good. Can you maintain a holding position for a few minutes while I conclude an important matter this end?’ The Chief heard Harding give orders to proceed with a holding pattern.

‘Are those three dead bodies?’ Harding asked.

‘Yes, they are,’ the Chief replied. ‘I’m going to put you on speakerphone so that my two colleagues can join in.’

‘Is that wise?’

‘We’re inside a secure room inside VX [
VX: Vauxhall Cross
] and my two colleagues are Jerry Lombroso, who holds the North African desk, and Claudia Casta-Locke, a young intelligence officer whom I hold in the highest regard. There is no need to worry about security.’ The Chief adjusted his phone and then placed it on the desk. ‘Claudia, this is Captain Harding. He commands a Royal Navy attack vessel currently stationed in the Mediterranean Sea off the coast of Libya.’

‘Claudia, good afternoon,’ Harding said.

‘Captain Harding, hello,’ Claudia replied.

‘From on board his ship, Captain Harding controls a drone aircraft that is currently circling the two buildings in the Nafusa Mountain region of Libya in which we have an interest.’ The penetratingly alert expression was one the Chief had seen Claudia make before. The snap of realisation had the same whip-crack speed of a lion tamer.

‘Is this drone aircraft armed with missiles?’ she said.

‘Yes, Brimstone missiles,’ Harding said.

‘Oh, Christ,’ Claudia said with undisguised emotion.

‘What’s wrong?’ Harding asked.

‘We have two men currently inside the larger building,’ the Chief explained.

‘Oh, I see,’ Harding said. ‘Can you get them out?’

‘Claudia,’ the Chief said, ‘can we get them out?’ Claudia’s Medusa-like manifestation failed to turn the Chief to stone, but looking into her eyes made the intelligence chief feel decidedly pebbly. ‘Call him,’ the Chief said. Claudia was already working her phone.

Cakes cracked open the door and a thin strip of light showed across his rifle barrel and over his covered face. The air under the roof was dry and hot. Only marginally fresher air fanned my eyes as I peered through the crack. An empty corridor with one closed door and one open waited with harmless simplicity. I went out first. Passing the closed door on soft feet, I stopped with my back against the wall and listened. Eavesdropping on the Arabic conversation, I heard the voices of three men. It was not a great start. I had hoped that Abu’s claim as to the number of guards inside the building was at best a lie or at worst an exaggeration. Stealing a risky glance, I saw two of the men seated at a table. It was possible these men were shift replacements for roof-guard duty. Using hand signals, I silently communicated the information to Cakes. He moved soundlessly to my side. Fully committed, experienced, highly trained killers, we burst shoulder to shoulder into the room. The three men died without time for anything other than a moment to consider their fate or their lives. Leaving the Minimis through cosseted barrels the hushed bullets found easy targets and soft flesh. The noise made by the falling bodies and a broken tea mug gave us concern. Cakes hurried back to the closed door in the corridor. Remaining in the room, I covered the door in the opposite wall. Cakes returned.

‘An empty toilet,’ he said softly.

Moving up to the door, I placed an inquisitive ear and listened. Silence was all I heard. Opening carefully and slowly I peered through and saw another door to the side and directly ahead, an arched opening of carved sandstone. Moving forward I signalled Cakes to stay back and stepped swiftly across. The door opened without any warning. All I could do was turn my back and rely on my borrowed disguise. It was enough. The man was correspondingly dressed and my presence did not cause him alarm. Speaking in Arabic, he walked up behind me and Cakes walked up behind him. The frugal dispatch of a single bullet at close range sprayed the arm and shoulder of my black costume with decorative warm blood. The man dropped and instantly, Cakes moved to check the doorway.

‘He’s alone,’ he said.

Turning back, I moved to the archway’s rough edge and beyond saw a galleried walkway and below a room of whitewashed walls, colourful rugs and trestle tables. The gentle low sound from a social gathering of women and young children floated to my ears. They were seated on the rugs and standing by the tables enjoying a meal in a muted jamboree of colour and an atmosphere of celebration. I signalled to Cakes to come over so that he could see. He gazed at the scene like a casino owner watching the blackjack tables. The hand on my forearm was unexpected. Cakes motioned with his head and spoke gently and fast.

‘The woman seated on the middle rug at the far end and turned thirty degrees away from us.’ I searched. My eyes found the woman. Despite the dress and the patterned material that covered her head, the part of her face I could see was unmistakable. It was Magda. The word
lucky
came immediately to mind. It was in my head when vibration from inside my pocket told me I had a call. The display showed it was Claudia. For a moment, I deliberated whether to answer.

‘It’s Claudia. I’m going to take it,’ I whispered to Cakes and moved so that my back was in the corner. ‘Cover me.’ Cakes stepped across to give himself a sight line to the three entry points. ‘I can’t talk now,’ I said barely sounding the words over my breath.

‘Hayes, listen to me,’ Claudia said. The urgency and unease that laced her normally upbeat voice grabbed my attention like a snarling Rottweiler about to test the limit of its chain. ‘A Royal Navy drone is circling above you and it’s ready to fire Brimstone missiles and blow the building and everything inside to smithereens. You have to get out now!’

I had had better news. Perhaps it was the adrenalin or the euphoria of finding Magda so quickly that led to my composure following Claudia’s revelation of imminent destruction. Taking time to consider the machinations that Jerry and the Chief had orchestrated to arrive at such a point was not something on which I squandered time other than to acknowledge their determined ruthlessness and scheming. The one thing that did jump into my head was that London had used Magda to find Al Bousefi and that they were prepared to kill her in the process. Such behaviour may be acceptable in the intelligence community, but it did not sit well with someone who, up until recently, had been a senior sergeant in the elite commando unit of the French Foreign Legion’s second parachute regiment.

‘Claudia, the building is holding a wedding. The reason Al Bousefi took Magda was to force her into marriage. There are at least fifty women and children here. If Jerry and the Chief fire those missiles, they might kill Al Bousefi and all his senior men, but they will also kill their families. It will make recruitment easier and provide a reason for new extremists to seek revenge and continue the fight for power.’ Speaking softly and quickly I kept my voice free from resentment and presented a reasoned viewpoint. ‘Claudia, Cakes and I have already located Magda and we can have her out in minutes. You have to stop the Chief from firing those missiles.’

‘I didn’t know it was a wedding,’ she said. ‘Hold on while I speak to the Chief and Jerry. They are here with me.’

‘There’s a Royal Navy drone circling above armed with missiles,’ I said quietly to Cakes. He glanced at me over his shoulder. His reaction told me that my news did not surprise him.

‘British Intelligence must want this Al Bousefi badly,’ he said. ‘That’s why they didn’t want us to find Magda. They were using her as bait. They had the missile strike planned all along.’

‘Did you know it was a wedding with fifty women and children there?’ Claudia said aghast and with her eyes strained by the prospect of such a ruthless act.

‘Yes, I did,’ the Chief said with composure.

‘You can’t fire those missiles,’ Claudia said.

‘How else do you propose we kill Al Bousefi? Claudia, you know as well as I that the work of the intelligence service is sometimes callous.’

‘It’s not just Al Bousefi. You’ll kill those women and children, other men, Magda, Rossi, and Hayes and Kipling.’

‘If you recall we did ask Hayes to desist and leave Libya more than once.’

‘What about the others?’

‘It is only with profound regret and after careful consideration of the benefits for the whole of Libya that I have taken this troubling and difficult decision,’ the Chief said.

‘Hayes says that he has located Magda and can have her out of the building in minutes,’ Claudia said. ‘At least give him a chance.’ The Chief held Claudia’s persuasive eyes with a sympathetic, yet unyielding face. ‘Jerry, help me convince him. Surely, you would not deny Hayes, Kipling and Magda the chance to get out. A few minutes are all I ask.’