Deception Game (34 page)

The distinctive wail of a police siren caused them both to tense up. Glancing ahead, Drake was just able to make out the distinctive flash of blue lights as a police cruiser roared along the main road towards them, traffic parting like water before it.

‘Shit,’ he said under his breath.

The most obvious course of action was to simply act normal and hope to tough it out. Undoubtedly the police were responding to the crashed truck just a couple of blocks away, and perhaps they’d even been advised about the bound man in the back, but it was unlikely they would be switched-on enough to start searching for the two fugitives. There was a good chance they would just drive right by.

But what if they didn’t? What if the sight of two Westerners was enough to pique their interest, causing them to stop and question them? With no ID and no good reason for being here, they would be hard pressed to bluff their way out of such a situation.

The other option was to run. Both still had their silenced weapons, though they were careful to keep them hidden from sight. They could use them as a last resort, but he was far from optimistic about their chances of fighting their way out of a situation like this.

It was at this moment that McKnight took the initiative, pulling him towards a shop front that faced directly out onto the street. As far as he could tell, it seemed to sell everything from cell phones, to food and drink, to rotating displays of cheap sunglasses that could be found on just about any street anywhere in the world.

‘Oh, honey!’ she gushed, adopting her best gee-whiz tone as she selected a pair of shades and tried them on. ‘Would you buy me these? I left mine back at the hotel, and this sun’s killing my eyes. Please?’

Drake forced an indulgent smile, keeping his back to the road as the police cruiser sped past, completely ignoring them. ‘How could I refuse you?’

‘We both know you never could.’ Beaming with happiness, she pulled him close and hugged him. The simple gesture of a loving wife towards her husband. But as she held him, she whispered a warning in his ear, ‘We might have company.’

That was enough to undo his short-lived sense of relief. Drake was on alert already after their narrow escape from the scene of the crash, his situation awareness about as good as it could be, but even he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head.

‘Where?’

‘On your six, other side of the street,’ she explained. ‘One male, early fifties, greying beard. Big guy with a tribal cloak. He’s looking away right now, but he had eyes-on.’

‘Government?’

‘Don’t think so. It’s hard to tell, but he looks Caucasian.’

‘One of Faulkner’s men?’ If so, they were in real trouble.

Maybe,’ she allowed. ‘Could just be a curious civilian. He’s turning away now.’

Letting go of her, Drake glanced around to survey the street, feigning a look of casual disinterest as he scanned the thronging pedestrians. Men with greying beards weren’t exactly in short supply in this neck of the woods, but sure enough he caught a brief glimpse of a big man walking away from them, his large frame hidden beneath a sandy-coloured cloak, before his view was obscured by slow-moving traffic.

It was hard to tell much about him from such a brief encounter, and certainly impossible to discern his intentions. With luck, McKnight’s relative lack of experience of situations like this was making her overcautious, mistaking curiosity for something more sinister. At least, he hoped so.

In either case, their next course of action was the same. ‘Let’s get you these sunglasses,’ he said, raising his voice to normal volume as he led her into the shop.

Their mysterious observer would have to wait.

In the end, they came away with a pair of shades each, plus some bottled water and a couple of energy bars whose brand Drake didn’t recognize. Neither of them was in the mood for eating, but they knew they needed to keep their energy up. And after driving all morning in the scorching heat, not to mention their sprint through the back alleys of Nalut, they were certainly ready for the water.

Emerging from the shop with his eyes obscured behind the cheap polarized lenses, Drake scanned the far side of the street for their new friend. As far as he could see, there was nobody amongst the mass of pedestrians that fitted the bill.

‘Any sign of him?’ he asked, leading her down the street once more. She’d gotten a better look at the man than he had – maybe he’d missed something.

‘He’s gone,’ she said, glancing around while feigning only casual interest. Despite her act, there was a tension in her shoulders that she couldn’t hide. ‘I guess it was nothing.’

Both operatives remained wary as they made their way northward, away from the distant wail of police sirens attending the accident. For now, at least, all they could do was wait and see whether Sowan made good on their agreement.

Nalut Hospital, Tripoli

A relatively new facility, the 300-bed Nalut Hospital served not only the town that gave it its name, but the entire western district of over 100,000 people. It was here that the injured passenger of the crashed pickup truck was brought after being discovered by the startled traffic police. It was here that he was interviewed by law-enforcement officials, where his identity was confirmed and his incredible story began to emerge.

And it was here, a couple of hours after his discovery, that Bishr Kubar stormed in after a high-speed drive from Tripoli, flanked by a pair of Mukhabarat field operatives.

He was oblivious to the hostile looks of some of the patients, and even the doctors. The Nalut district was well known for the anti-government sentiments amongst its predominantly Berber population, and there had been a simmering undercurrent of unrest here for some time. This very hospital had been built by the Gaddafi regime as part of efforts to appease the disgruntled populace.

So far, at least, the gesture seemed to have failed.

‘He was battered and bruised and suffering from a gunshot wound to the leg when they picked him up,’ his colleague Adnan Mousa said, struggling to keep up with Kubar’s energetic stride as they made their way to the room where Sowan was being treated. ‘Looks like his captors did some basic surgery to patch him up.’

That tied in with the testimony of the farmer he’d spoken with earlier, Kubar thought. ‘Any sign of them?’

‘None so far. According to the report, they panicked when they were caught in traffic and a local traffic cop spotted them. They tried to make a run for it, then bailed out after they ran the pickup into a telegraph pole.’

‘What were they doing in Nalut in the first place?’ Kubar asked without breaking stride. It didn’t make sense. Why head for such a densely populated settlement and risk discovery when their vehicle was capable of handling off-road terrain?

‘Police reported the truck was almost out of petrol,’ Mousa explained. ‘I’d guess they were planning to refuel before crossing the border.’

Kubar clenched his jaw, unhappy at the news. Something about this wasn’t right. What Mousa was describing were the actions of desperate amateurs, not the driven and committed group of professionals who had snatched Sowan from his home in the middle of the night.

‘By the way, your search on the name Faulkner turned up something,’ Mousa went on. ‘Apparently there is a David Faulkner on our files.’

‘Who is he?’

‘A British intelligence-liaison officer, working with us and the Americans as part of a joint operation against Islamic terrorist networks.’

That was enough to make him break stride. Coming to a halt, he turned to face his partner. ‘And where is this Faulkner now?’

‘We don’t know,’ Mousa admitted. ‘We tried contacting his office in London, but they say he’s on compassionate leave at the moment. Death of a close friend, apparently.’

Kubar wasn’t buying that for a moment. In fact, he was beginning to wonder what exactly they had stumbled upon. If the Brits really were behind this operation to snatch one of their top officers, it could destroy the uneasy alliance that had prevailed between their intelligence agencies for the past several years. The newfound spirit of cooperation between Libya and the West could unravel within a matter of weeks, and what then? Were they to become the next Iraq or Afghanistan?

But if the British were involved, what were they hoping to achieve by such an action? And was it really as simple as a snatch-and-grab operation? He found it hard to believe that British intelligence would be so sloppy as to leave a trail of clues pointing to their involvement all across Libya, not to mention allowing their target to fall back into enemy hands.

One way or another, he needed to get some answers on this, and there was only one man who could give him what he needed.

Sowan himself was being treated in a private room away from the main wards. Without bothering to knock, Kubar threw open the door and strode in, startling the young Korean doctor who had been examining the patient. Due to a lack of trained doctors in the region, many of the staff here came from overseas – Indians, Pakistanis, even Filipinos.

‘May I speak with the patient?’ he asked, feigning politeness. He’d always had an inherent dislike of medical professionals, and found it hard to hide his discomfort now.

The doctor, a short and wiry man with a mane of jet black hair, adjusted his glasses before glancing at Sowan. ‘I was just finishing up my examination,’ he said in halting Arabic.

‘Finish it later,’ Kubar advised him in a tone that made it plain the matter wasn’t open for debate.

Hesitating a moment, the doctor considered the merits of further protest, then reluctantly nodded acceptance. Snatching up his clipboard of notes, he turned and scurried out of the room.

‘I see you haven’t lost your bedside manner, Bishr,’ Sowan remarked with dry humour as the door closed. Though hardly close friends, the two men had worked together long enough in the same agency to have had dealings in the past. Sowan was well aware of the stories about Kubar’s taciturn and abrasive personality.

Kubar surveyed the patient candidly. Though battered and bruised by his ordeal, he was sitting upright in bed without assistance, dressed in a clean surgical gown and with his injuries tended to.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, more because it was expected than because he was concerned for the man’s wellbeing.

‘You mean, apart from being kidnapped in the middle of the night, shot and driven into a telephone pole? Just fine, thank you.’ Sowan remarked. ‘But that’s not what concerns me right now. What about my wife? Where is Laila?’

Kubar sighed and shook his head. ‘We’re working on it. We’ll do everything we can. That much I promise you.’

The injured man said nothing to this, merely clenched his fists and closed his eyes for a moment to keep his composure. Perhaps he’d expected as much.

‘About the kidnapping,’ Kubar began, pulling a chair over beside the bed. It squeaked on the brand new linoleum floor. ‘We’ve been trying to piece together what happened, who did this to you and why.’

‘Any luck?’

‘I was hoping you could help with that,’ Kubar admitted. ‘Can you tell us anything about the group who took you? Nationality, names, anything?’

Sowan was silent for a time, perhaps trying to make sense of the jumbled thoughts in his mind. ‘They spoke English. Beyond that, I know nothing of where they came from.’

‘Did they give any indication of what they wanted? Question you on anything?’

He shook his head. ‘They seemed interested only in getting me out of the country.’

Kubar frowned. ‘And the bullet wound? Can you tell me what happened at the airfield?’

Sowan’s gaze darkened. ‘I can’t say for sure. Laila and I were being held in the car. I heard a plane coming in to land, then it crashed nearby and all of a sudden there was gunfire everywhere. The group retreated to the car and drove away. That’s when I was hit.’

Which told Kubar absolutely nothing he didn’t know already. ‘Do you have any idea who ambushed them?’

Again Sowan shook his head. ‘I was blindfolded. I saw nothing.’

‘So they took you to a nearby farm to treat your wound,’ Kubar went on, an edge of impatience and frustration in his voice now. ‘The owner says there was a lot of shouting. Can you tell me anything of what was said?’

‘I’m ashamed to say I blacked out from pain and blood-loss,’ his comrade admitted. ‘By the time I awoke, we were on our way again.’

‘And Laila was still with you at this point?’

‘I think so. I could feel her on the floor beside me.’

‘So when did you last see her?’

Sowan’s brows were knitted together in a frown. ‘It must have been a couple of hours before the crash. We stopped, they took her out. Then it was just me. I...don’t know what happened to her after that.’

It didn’t take a genius to see where his dark thoughts were heading. Nonetheless, Kubar was far from impressed by his story. If his testimony was to be believed, Sowan had seen, heard and learned nothing of value during his captivity. Either his captors had proven more diligent and careful than their hasty abandonment in Nalut would suggest, or something else was going on.

‘I understand.’ Kubar leaned a little closer, speaking quietly so that only the two of them could hear his words. ‘Is there...anything else I should know? If there’s something about your kidnapping you were afraid to tell anyone, anything at all, you know you can trust me with it. I can help you, but I must have the truth. Give me that, and I will do the rest.’

Sowan was staring right into his eyes now, and for the next few seconds, neither man said a word. For a moment, Kubar could have sworn he was about to say something. He sensed him teetering on the brink, his mind poised perfectly between two opposing desires.

Just a moment, and then it passed.

‘I have told you all I can,’ Sowan said.

‘Of course. Thank you.’ Realizing he would get little more from the man, Kubar made to stand up, only to think better of it. ‘Oh, just one other thing. Does the name Faulkner mean anything to you?’

That was when he saw it. That flicker of recognition in his eyes, the momentary glimmer of panic and surprise before his mask of composure reasserted itself. The tell of a poker player caught bluffing.

‘Faulkner?’ he said, repeating the word as if it were unfamiliar. ‘No. No, I don’t think so. Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, just something that came up in our investigation,’ Kubar said, rising from his chair. ‘Probably nothing. Try to get some rest, Tarek. We’ll talk more later.’

Leaving the patient, he returned to the corridor outside, where Mousa was waiting for him. ‘Well?’ the younger man asked expectantly.

Kubar reached for the packet of cigarettes in his pocket, then thought better of it when he spotted the angry red No Smoking signs overhead.

‘Get some transport organized,’ he said. ‘I want him back in Tripoli before sunset.’

Sowan was hiding something; of that he was certain. And once he got the man back to Mukhabarat headquarters in Tripoli, he would find out exactly what he was keeping from them.