The Watchman

Fifty-Five

‘You what?’

Vale thought Moresby was going to explode. He’d just informed the operations director of Angela Pryce’s escape from Somalia. As soon as he’d received confirmation of her arrival with Piet in Mombasa, he’d made arrangements for her onward journey to Nairobi accompanied by two embassy security officials. Then he had made his way upstairs.

He had no clear plan on how he was going to handle the revelation, but given the circumstances the direct approach seemed best. With an SIS officer coming in out of the field under close escort, and reports of the mysterious explosions on the coast already out there, news would soon filter out among embassy staff. The wires to London would be buzzing as the dots were joined up and speculation increased.

‘She was lifted out of the area near Kamboni by light aircraft at daybreak and is now on her way back to the UK,’ he explained ‘What could have been an unmitigated disaster has been averted — at least in part.’ He sat down without being invited and waited for the storm to sweep over him.

It wasn’t long in coming.

‘This is outrageous!’ Moresby’s face was swollen with rage. He jumped up from his desk and kneed a drawer closed with a bang, sending a bundle of Top Secret papers sliding to the floor. ‘What the hell have you done, Vale? If you’ve compromised these talks I’ll have you charged with violation of protocol and abuse of office. You’ll be lucky to walk the streets when I’m finished with you!’

‘Sit down, Colin.’ Vale’s voice was as sharp as a whip, and stopped Moresby in his tracks. ‘Listen to me and I might manage to save your career. As it is, there’s no guarantee that you haven’t already lost a fine support specialist with this idiotic plan of yours. I’d stay away from the Basement for a while until it blows over; they might tie weights to your ankles and drop you in the river.’

Moresby sat down, his mouth slack. ‘What do you mean? I don’t understand. How did you—’

‘I ran a black op. Off the books.’ There. It was out in the open. The shocked expression on Moresby’s face told its own picture. There was no going back now; it was full disclosure and wait for the fall-out. But he wasn’t going to wait for Moresby to pick up the phone and call the dogs on him. ‘I had no confidence in your plan from the start, not once I heard you’d provided no backup for the two officers going in, nor any workable exit strategy. As soon as I heard who was involved at the other end, I had a feeling it would end badly. So I took steps to protect our personnel.’ He brushed a speck of lint from his knee. ‘Would you like to hear how before you turn me in?’

Moresby’s eyes were like flint. ‘This had better be good, Vale. Not that it makes any difference. You’re still finished.’ He reached out a hand and tapped a button on his desk console, a sign that he intended recording every detail.

‘Because I had no faith in the safe conclusion of your plan,’ Vale continued, ignoring the threat, ‘I hired a specialist of my own. One man to keep tabs on Pryce and Tober and monitor their progress. He remained in the background and reported back to me. He had orders to step in if things went bad … which didn’t take long, as it happened, thanks to your misplaced confidence in Xasan and Musa.’

‘What man? One of ours?’

‘His name doesn’t matter and no, he’s not from the Basement.’

‘Who is he? He’ll be arrested for conspiracy.’

‘His name doesn’t matter and you’ll never find out who he is from me, so don’t bother asking. Off the books means just that. He put himself in extreme danger to protect two of our officers, one of whom I tried to warn you was not yet ready for this kind of assignment. As it turned out, I was wrong about Pryce; she came through it remarkably well — but no thanks to you.’

He stood up and crossed to the window, glad to be on the move. He wasn’t concerned about his voice being lost on the recording; the machines in these offices were state-of-the-art and capable of picking up a whisper. ‘Xasan was lying all along. There was no intention of negotiating for the release of UN or any other hostages.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Really? Think about it. Why should they negotiate when they can play the long game? And did you never wonder why Musa insisted on a woman officer being sent out to negotiate? It’s a little odd, don’t you think, in a part of the world where talking to women is unheard of?’

‘So what?’

Vale turned and faced Moresby. ‘Do you know what the term adrabu fawq al-’anaq means?’

Moresby’s brow wrinkled with distaste. ‘Of course. What of it?’

‘It’s what Musa was planning for Pryce and Tober — complete with cameras.’

He watched Moresby’s face go through the process of translation and imagery. When it finally hit home, Moresby looked horrified. ‘No.’ His voice sounded choked.

‘An execution, no less.’ Vale continued brutally. ‘A double beheading — and all for propaganda. Think how that would have played out in the media: two SIS personnel, one a woman, beheaded in Somalia because we sent them into certain danger with no backup and no guarantees. The press would have had a field day.’

‘I don’t believe it. Where did you get such a ridiculous notion? Musa was ready to talk about the release of hostages, including unbeknown to him, two key UN personnel. If we hadn’t followed that offer, we could have seen them fall into the hands of al-Qaeda. Would you have preferred that? OK, so it was for money. But don’t be so bloody naïve, Vale, thinking we can’t use money if that’s what it takes to get people free. That was my decision and I stand by it.’

‘Good for you. But if Musa was offering to sell hostages, why did he arrive at the villa with a boat of armed men and a heavy supply of explosives? And why did he meet up with more armed men in the town of Kamboni if all he was planning was a talk? What he was planning, quite apart from the cold-blooded execution of two SIS officers, was to supply his men with the means to attach remotely detonated bombs to the hulls of ships as they sailed into the Gulf. You’ve studied military history; you’ll know all about the ST Grenade, or sticky bomb.’

‘Yes. So what?’

‘Well, it seems Musa must have read some military history, too. He got hold of a supply of C-4 and some very sophisticated detonators with remote triggers. He was planning to house them in waterproof pouches covered in a powerful adhesive and attach them to ships — most likely tankers — close to the waterline. You can probably work out the rest. The threat of detonation alone would have been sufficient to get him what he wanted, which would have been considerably more than any hostages would have brought him.’ He took a breath, then ploughed on. ‘They’re adapting their tactics, can’t you see? And each time they do their methods become more extreme, more dangerous and infinitely more threatening on a global scale.’

He took a slip of paper from his pocket. It held the code numbers Portman had taken from the detonators and triggers. ‘These are the manufacturers’ codes. Somebody somewhere, had been selling the latest equipment to terrorists and pirates. You might care to look into it.’

Moresby was beginning to look sick, Vale noted. He stared at the code numbers and gave a deep sigh. When he spoke, his voice sounded dulled by shock. ‘How do you know all this?’

Vale decided to pile on the pressure. His career was shot now, anyway, so he might as well go down all guns blazing. ‘The explosions picked up on the drone footage Scheider sent you were the result of Musa’s bombs being destroyed.’

‘How?’

‘The man I sent out there saw the explosives being off-loaded; he checked the boxes and made the connections; he saw Musa and Xasan, he saw the armed men. He witnessed Pryce and Tober being taken in as prisoners and managed to speak to one of the people in the villa. They told him what was to happen. He took the only course of action open to him: he neutralized the threat and broke Pryce and Tober out of the cellar where they were being held prisoner. This was at great personal risk to himself, I might add.’

He stopped, wary of over-dramatizing. He had said his piece; now he had to stand back and wait to see what happened.

He left Moresby looking stunned and made his way downstairs. He needed some fresh air and exercise. He knew of one route from the front entrance and back that would take twenty-three minutes, another that would take forty-five. He decided to take the longer route and stop for coffee along the way.