The Watchman

Twenty-Three

Inside the citadel that was the US Embassy in London’s Grosvenor Square, James Scheider listened carefully to the call from Tom Vale, then said goodbye and cut the connection. The deputy station chief for the CIA looked across his desk at his new assistant, Dale Wishaw, who had just entered.

‘Tom Vale, MI6,’ he explained. ‘The British are running an operation in Somalia, near Kamboni. We were given an eyes-on out of courtesy because of two UN people caught up in the hostage situation out there. The Brits have been made an offer to negotiate for their release, and they’ve sent out two reps to see if they can work out a deal.’

‘UN? That’s not good.’

‘No. But with no US citizens involved, we get to stand back and watch. The UN people probably work out of the New York headquarters, but can’t be seen to interfere unless they make a formal request for us to do so. And frankly, I don’t trust anybody in State or the UN to stay quiet on this issue long enough to resolve it. If it got out that talks were being held with pirates, I think the media coverage would sink it dead.’

‘But we’re talking to the Taliban. What’s the difference?’

‘The Taliban as a whole have shown willing. This bunch of pirates isn’t the same. They could easily get frightened off if the media shows up.’

Wishaw eyed him carefully. ‘But you’ve promised to help?’

‘I did, God help me. Limited to over-flight capabilities and supplying whatever intel we can get, using drones for real-time footage of anything that moves.’

‘NSA?’ Wishaw himself had transferred across from the National Security Agency, the equivalent but far bigger cousin to Britain’s GCHQ. With vaster resources and capabilities and, some cynics were fond of saying, fewer official scruples about privacy rules when it came to intelligence gathering, it spent its life and budget trawling the incessant and growing amount of phone traffic, message boards, chat rooms, forums, blogs and websites used by terrorist and other extreme organizations.

‘I promised I’d copy Tom separately on all material.’

‘How come? Doesn’t he already get it?’

Scheider chose his words with care. If any of this ever got out, he would be shipped back home to a senate committee hearing accused of engaging in back-door operations counter to official policy. It was a surefire career killer and one he wished to avoid.

‘You would think so, right? I get the feeling Vale’s no longer part of the inner circle. This is Moresby’s operation and he’s new school. Vale is old school and not far off retirement.’

‘Problem?’

‘Yeah. He has bad feelings about this whole negotiation thing. To be honest, I don’t blame him. It smells bad. Why should the Somalis offer to negotiate for any group after months of silence? They don’t know that two of their hostages are UN, so why make an exception right now?’

‘What does the chatter say?’ Wishaw was referring to the buzz and rumour that inevitably peppered the airwaves when something big was in the wind.

‘That’s the problem: there is none.’

Wishaw blinked. ‘What, at all?’

‘Not a peep. Whoever’s controlling it — this guy Musa, whoever he is — he knows how to keep things under wraps.’

‘If Vale doesn’t like the plan, why doesn’t he say so?’

‘He tried. Nobody’s listening.’ Scheider shifted in his seat. ‘I owe him for past favours so I said I’d do what I could.’

‘So why look so worried?’

Scheider squinted at him. ‘You’ve never heard of this Kamboni before?’

The younger man looked uncomfortable. ‘Actually, I have, but I can’t recall where.’

‘It’s been on the watch list of terrorist training areas for several years, since the Nairobi embassy bombing in ’98 and Mombasa four years later. Nothing was proved, but local intel has it as a jumping-off point for border crossings into Kenya and beyond.’

‘I’ll read up on it,’ Wishaw promised.

‘You do that.’

‘But if it’s that hot, why have the Brits agreed to send people in there?’

‘Because some hotshot thought it was a good idea.’

‘Not Vale, I take it.’

‘No. But that’s where we come in. He’s got a plan running on the side, without Moresby or anyone else knowing. He’s sending in a shadow to watch their backs.’

‘A shad— you’re kidding. Is he serious?’

‘Absolutely. It’ll be off the books and completely deniable, but he’s going for it.’

‘How does it affect us?’

‘I agreed to run any intel or personnel checks he wanted to make. He came across a name he wanted to use, so I ran it through the database to see what we knew. It came up warm.’

‘Anybody we know?’

‘Portman.’

Wishaw lifted an eyebrow. ‘Now that name I do know. Isn’t he one of ours?’

‘Not strictly. He’s freelance. His background is military. He’s very good.’

‘It sounds risky.’

‘He’s done work for a number of approved US contractors and people are happy with that. We’ve used him, as have other agencies, but strictly on a contract basis.’

‘We. You mean Langley?’ Wishaw sounded almost shocked.

‘Who else would I mean — the Vatican?’ Scheider was beginning to wonder how Wishaw had got this far. The younger officer seemed to have a desire to dot all the tees. While not running foul of the appropriate oversight committees was one thing, in this business there were limits. Sometimes sailing close to the line was the only way to move forward. Wishaw, on the other hand, was showing signs of coming down on the wrong side of the fence — the side where the rule-book sticklers and time-servers lived their narrow lives. He was going to have to watch him.

‘Of course. I take it that was in Iraq and Afghanistan?’

‘Yes, but you wouldn’t know it. He’s a deep cover specialist; works in the background, makes his own moves, stays loose and off the records. Nobody knows for sure where he got his training — the data doesn’t go deep enough. There are rumours he did time with the French Foreign Legion’s Second Parachute Regiment, but you know what rumours are like.’

‘Can’t we ask the French?’

Scheider pulled a lopsided face. ‘I tried. They don’t talk about their people past or serving. In any case, Portman’s proved himself sufficiently over the years, and it’s Vale’s call, so that’s good enough for me. What’s up?’ he added. Wishaw was frowning.

‘I just wondered how come, that’s all.’

‘How come what?’

‘How come we use someone we know so little about.’

Scheider stared at him. ‘We use people like Portman all the time, you know that. They’re easier to find, require less training and are cheaper to stand down when we don’t need them. If it wasn’t for the Portmans of this world we’d be in a heap of trouble.’ He shook his head in mild exasperation, reminding himself that Wishaw’s background in the NSA would have been very different to what he was now experiencing. ‘If you have any different ideas, let me know — I could use the input.’

‘Sure. And this Portman’s gone along with it?’

‘Yes. He’ll be close enough to touch them. Not that they’ll ever know it.’ He shook his head in admiration. ‘Sooner him than me.’

‘What does Vale want from us?’

‘Whatever we can supply, like real-time photos and any intel chatter we pick up. But what he really wants, we can’t give.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Boots on the ground. Portman’s by himself, God help him.’