The Watchman

Forty-Eight

‘You need to see this.’ Dale Wishaw hurried into Scheider’s office as the deputy station chief was finishing a call. They had both pulled a late-nighter, monitoring three ongoing operations across Europe and liaising closely with other CIA stations and the headquarters at Langley. Wishaw fought off a yawn as he walked over to a high-definition monitor on one wall and switched it on. Instantly the screen was flooded with a sequence of rapidly changing images bearing the unearthly glow of thermal imaging camera footage.

Scheider stood up and joined his assistant. The scene reminded Scheider of a Hamburg nightclub where one of his more lurid informants had arranged a meeting a couple of years ago. What little light there had been was of a nightmarish quality, not helped by the pounding bass and what passed for music. He’d got out of there darned quick but with a blinding headache.

This was no nightclub, however, and whatever was taking place was clearly far more deadly than a few strobing lights and loud music.

‘Sorry,’ Wishaw murmured, and fiddled with the remote control. ‘I’ll start again. This is footage taken by a drone camera coming in on a south-westerly heading over the Somali coast north of Kamboni.’

There was a scrolling pattern of dark and light, showing little in the way of ground detail at first. Then Scheider began to pick out the regular pattern of open water, quickly changing as the camera passed over land. Instantly, as if timed to perfection, the scene lit up with dazzling flares of light that bounced around the screen.

‘What the hell is that?’ said Scheider, although he was pretty sure he knew. See enough explosions at night and you only had a couple of choices to make: were they big bangs or small?

‘This is the area around the villa where the SIS people are meeting with Musa,’ said Wishaw. ‘The larger flares are explosions; my guess is C-4 or similar — the pattern is too spread out for landmines or grenades.’ He stopped the film and re-ran it, then pointed to an area at the top of the screen. ‘That blank area is open water — the ocean.’ Moving the film forward, he shifted his hand lower down, where two indistinct objects like cigars showed up briefly on either side of a flash of light like a giant flower opening out. ‘That’s the beach. We think two, possibly three fishermen’s boats have been destroyed or torched.’

‘Fishermen?’ Scheider looked sceptical, and Wishaw shrugged.

‘Make that pirates. From a mapping run earlier, they were beached close to the villa.’ The images shifted and he pointed to a number of white shapes moving around the top of the beach, near what was clearly a building. ‘Armed men, some spilling out of the building.’ A series of small flashes occurred near each of the dots. ‘We can’t tell what they’re shooting at until we have a full analysis later today, but it looks like somebody engaged them by setting off explosives, then opening fire from higher ground inland as they came out.’

‘Do we know where?’

‘We do.’ Wishaw pointed at the screen again, this time further inland. ‘This is the guy right here.’

Scheider stared hard at the image, his heart beating faster. The shooter showed up as a white shape, partially concealed by ground cover.

Portman, he thought. It had to be.

He made an estimate at the distance between the shooter and the sharp dots of muzzle flashes coming from the other men. ‘But that’s what — about hundred, hundred and fifty metres? He’s almost down their throats!’

‘He’s a lot closer than I’d want to be.’ Wishaw pointed at two static white shapes close to the building. ‘See here, two men down. He’s got them running around like chickens and picking them off one by one. He knows what he’s doing.’

Scheider nodded. ‘I hope he can keep it up.’ He didn’t need to see any more and stepped over to his desk. But why had Portman gone on the offensive right now? What had set him off? Had he been discovered or was something else forcing his hand? And where the hell had he obtained the explosives?

‘Me, too. There are a lot more men in Kamboni, likely to be affiliated to Musa’s group, and they’re only a short drive away. If he doesn’t move fast he’s going to have them pouring in on top of him inside fifteen minutes.’

Scheider felt his gut go tight. If Portman was planning on breaking the two Brits out of the villa, he was cutting it very fine. And any injuries would slow them all down. And where would they run to?

Unless he had other orders.

Jesus, surely …?

He turned to Wishaw to blank out the unthinkable idea. ‘Make sure Moresby has this footage right away, will you? And copy Vale. I’m going to call him now.’

He went over to his desk and dialled Vale’s number.

The SIS man answered immediately.

‘Don’t you ever sleep?’ said Scheider.

‘Sleep? What’s that?’ Vale sounded rough, and cleared his throat. ‘Sorry. Too much coffee and not enough fresh air. What’s up?’

‘Your man’s gone on the offensive. He’s blowing up boats and shooting people as we speak. He’s turned the place into a war zone. I’m sending you and Moresby the latest footage just in. I suppose you wouldn’t care to share, would you?’

‘Um, yes.’ Vale’s voice was flat, but he didn’t sound surprised. ‘Portman found evidence that these talks are a scam. There was never any intention of releasing hostages; the negotiations were a ploy to draw in our people.’

‘Why?’ Scheider could think of only one reason. Targeted kidnaps. The idea chilled him. It put anybody with official status or standing who went through the region in dire peril. But was it likely? ‘They can hardly need more hostages.’

‘It’s worse than that. Musa’s got the one he needs.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Angela Pryce. He’s going to execute her at dawn, along with Tober. Adrabu fawq al-’ana. You know what that is?’ Vale sounded tired. He’d been right all along about the mission and Scheider felt for him.

‘Yes. I know.’ As tough as he was, as accustomed to death and the deadly game played out by extremists, he felt himself shrink from the imagery Vale had placed in his mind. ‘Jesus, why?’

‘Propaganda, making a point — choose any reason you like. They’re extremists; what they do doesn’t have to make sense.’

‘I get that. But how do you know this?’

‘Portman got to somebody inside the villa. They’ve set up a camera ready to burn to DVDs. By tomorrow evening it’ll be beamed around the world to every website prepared to take it. Another twenty-four hours and it will be on sale in every radical mosque, shop and bazaar in the region. This wasn’t an impulse decision to change the game — this was planned.’

Scheider didn’t know what to say. ‘What’s Portman going to do?’

‘He’s going to stop it happening.’ A phone rang in the background at Vale’s end, and he sounded relieved. ‘I’m sorry — I think that’s me being called to a meeting. It’s probably about your footage. Thank you for that, by the way. It’s good of you. I appreciate it.’

‘Wait.’ Scheider was stunned by this turn of events and by Vale’s calmness. There was something the Englishman wasn’t telling him. Men with Vale’s experience didn’t give up that easily. ‘You’ve given Portman fresh instructions, haven’t you? What did you tell him to do?’

There was a long pause. ‘I told him not to let them suffer.’

Scheider’s breathing became choked. He thought he’d come across every scenario possible in his time, but not this one. It was nothing short of a suicide mission. There was no way any man could pull this off. ‘And he agreed?’

‘He gave me his word … and I believe him.’

The line went dead.