The Watchman

Fifteen

The place got busier with the noon crowd, so we walked, taking the quieter streets. It would have been easier to be somewhere inside, but Vale confessed to being a spook of the old school and liked being in the open.

By the time he got through explaining the background, we’d reached the edge of Central Park and I had a fair measure of what it involved. It was the same with military commanders sending out men into the field: some were good to go, others less so. But there were times when you had to use what you had … or stand back and watch events unfold. For Vale, this was one of those times. He had no direct responsibility or right of veto over the officer involved, but he wanted to give her a little background ‘assist’.

Which was where I came in.

‘Why me?’ I said, as we crossed a wide expanse of grass.

‘You have the right skills.’

‘But you don’t know me.’

‘True. But I know men like you. I’ve been working with them all my life.’ He stopped. ‘Why did you help Nate? You didn’t have to.’

I wasn’t sure how to answer that one.

‘I walked into it. I couldn’t back away.’

‘Balls. I know your type: you never leave a hotel room in a hot zone without checking the corridors first; you never go to bed without having an escape route and you always have access to a spare set of documents, cash or credit to get you out of a jam. Same with walking in the street; you check and double-check. You’ve been doing it ever since I first spotted you. It’s standard operational procedure. In Bogotá you saw what was happening and still you went out and did what you deemed necessary.’

I shrugged. He seemed to have all the answers.

‘You saw a situation,’ he continued, ‘and took decisive action. You weighed up your chances and made it happen.’ He grunted. ‘Years ago, I’d like to think I would have done the same. But I know I wouldn’t — not every time. It’s why I’m still around.’

‘You think I’ve got a death wish?’

‘God, no. Suicide jockeys are no good to me; I need a survivor.’ He resumed walking. ‘You might have a host of inner demons for all I know, but I doubt suicide is one of them. You’re too motivated. What happened — did you lose someone?’

I didn’t want to answer that. But Vale was perceptive. A light was gleaming in his eyes; he’d seen something in my face.

‘I’m right. Who was it — a loved one? A colleague?’

He could ask all day; I wasn’t going to tell him.

‘A principal, then. Somebody you were charged with protecting.’ He pursed his lips and leaned across the table. ‘My advice? Get it out; talk about it. If you don’t, it’ll eat you up from inside. I’ve seen it happen.’

‘Speaking from experience?’ It was rude, but he was pushing too hard. Some things are simply not up for discussion.

It was his turn to shrug. ‘Very well. Let’s leave it.’

‘Why are you,’ I asked, to change the conversation, ‘so against this operation?’

‘Simple. Moresby — the man running it. He’s going blindly into this without questioning exactly why the other side is so keen to make the contact. It can’t be for money — they’re getting plenty of that elsewhere.’

‘But?’

‘They’re up to something and I wish I knew what it was.’

‘All right,’ I said eventually. He still hadn’t told me precisely where this was happening, but I was intrigued. I knew there would come a point where he would be unable to say more, where the information would become too sensitive unless I was all the way in. For now, though, it was enough.

‘You’re in?’

‘Almost. What if I get knocked over by a bus?’

‘You’ll be a statistic.’ His voice was matter of fact. ‘An unidentifiable casualty of poor road conditions. The one thing I won’t do is come to get you.’

‘Fair enough.’

He looked keenly at me and we stopped walking. ‘What does that mean?’

‘I said fair enough. I already work that way; I rely on nobody to pick my face off the floor. Same with exit routes, safe houses and transport.’

‘Supplies?’

‘Weapons, clothes, documents — anything within reason — I get my own. But I will need money.’ It was simpler that way; I didn’t have to rely on official channels or supply lines for equipment, and had greater control over any footprints I left behind. And I trusted most of the suppliers I’d been using more than any faceless government department.

‘As you wish. The money I can get you, fed through an untraceable offshore fund. Draw it as you see fit.’

‘How long do I have before kick-off?’

‘Five days. The project’s got the green light and the two people are getting in place right now. You’ll need to move quickly.’

‘OK. Where does all this happen?’

‘Precisely? We’re not sure yet. But the first jumping-off point we’ve been given is Nairobi. Our people are to arrive there and will be met and taken to the RV. Our analysts believe the best place for any meeting will be on the coast near the Kenya-Somalia border.’

‘Does this operation involve pirates?’

He looked surprised. But it didn’t take rocket science; there was very little in that area of Africa other than Somali pirates and some extremist groups and militias. Oh, and al-Qaeda.

‘Pirates are involved, yes. But there are others with wider interests. You’ve heard of al-Shabaab?’

‘Of course.’ Al Shabaab was an extremist group with links to al-Qaeda, currently said to control large parts of southern Somalia and even into the capital, Mogadishu. They had been pushed back in recent years by the concerted efforts of the Somali Transitional Government assisted by other African forces, but were still a problem, using bombs and bullets to make their point.

‘We believe a splinter group of that organization represents the other side of this meeting. They have a large measure of control over any movements in the area, in spite of recent set-backs, so it stands to reason that any discussions or meetings with foreign elements like ours will have been vetted and cleared by somebody with influence. I’ll give you the coordinates as soon as I get them. If you get into the region beforehand and sit tight, you’ll be in a good position to move in and monitor the situation.’

Somalia. It wasn’t the easiest place for a white man to blend in, let alone be invisible. Stretched along the coast north of Kenya, it was a poor country with little reliable infrastructure, and freedom of movement wouldn’t be easy. But I’d operated in similar situations before and walked out with everything intact. I was about to mention the problem of moving around when he handed me a memory stick.

‘This holds as much detail as I’ve been able to put together, including maps, road networks, such as they are, and the verified locations of local police and army units, including Kenyan Defence Force supply routes. There’s a photograph of the officer who’s going in and one or two of the few known faces on the other side. Our officer will have an escort. He’s a fully trained close protection specialist, but he’s mainly for window dressing.’

‘Why?’

‘The opposition expect it. It’s the one concession Moresby got right. If we sent in a woman by herself, they’d smell a rat.’

‘Poor bastard.’

‘Yes.’

If things went wrong, the bodyguard wouldn’t be able to do much but stand there and pray. No way would the other side allow him in armed, and he’d be outnumbered ten to one at every step. In such situations, it’s the bodyguard who gets taken out first. I hoped they were paying him a big bonus.

‘Also on the stick is a name and phone number — a local personal contact of mine named Piet De Bont. He’s not part of SIS, but he knows the region better than most. He used to be with the South African National Defence Force. He quit to work for animals instead of humans and is now a ranger with the Kenyan Wildlife Service based in Mombasa.’ He stared at me. ‘He’s a good man, but don’t count on him running any rescue operation; he’ll get you in and out again, but that’s all I can ask him to do.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind. So what’s your officer going there for?’

‘There are five hostages being held further inland. We don’t have a fix on the location and they keep moving them. Two of them are UN officials, one Dutch, one British. So far the Somalis don’t know that. They’ve been there for two months now, shuffled from camp to camp, constantly on the move. We suspect they’ve been traded through three separate gangs so far, each time at a profit. There’s a real danger that the next trade will be their last — to an al-Qaeda cell in the north.’

He wasn’t exaggerating the danger; any time al-Qaeda got their hands on a westerner, especially one who was newsworthy, they were quick to make it into a propaganda issue. And that wasn’t usually good for the hostage.

UN personnel would be regarded as prime meat.

‘We have a chance of negotiating their release,’ he continued, ‘but it’s a slim one. Two weeks ago our office in Nairobi was approached by a man calling himself Xasan. We know that’s not his real name — he operates under several aliases. He’s a go-between acting for Somali pirates and other extremists. He claims he can negotiate the release of the hostages, but it has to be done on the exchange of gold and face-to-face with the gang holding them. Their leader insists on it. Xasan says this gang has access to other hostages and can act as intermediaries to gain their release, too.’

‘If you pay enough.’

‘Correct.’

‘How much do you trust this Xasan?’

Vale shrugged. ‘No more than I trust any of them. He’s been around a while and known to have secured the release of several hostages and even a couple of ships. Frankly, we’re ready to take any avenue we’re offered to get the UN officials back. Moresby and those above him are hoping that if we can start getting a trade going, it could lead to more releases. It will cost us, but that’s better than dead bodies floating in the Indian Ocean.’

‘And you really think your officer will get anywhere with these people?’ I didn’t want to burst Vale’s bubble more than I had to, but I wondered if he or Moresby were aware that the Somalis don’t negotiate with women.

His next words dispelled that idea.

‘That’s the puzzle. According to Nairobi, Xasan’s instructions were that the gang leader doesn’t trust male officials. He thinks they all work for the CIA. It’s crazy, I know, but the word is, it’s a woman negotiator or there’s no deal.’