Close Call

Chapter 20

‘I need a drink,’ said Miles as he parked the dusty SUV in the car park underneath the US Embassy. ‘Come on up. I’ve got a bottle of Scotch in my cupboard.’

As he was getting the bottle and glasses out, Miles’s eye fell on a piece of paper propped up on his desk. He read its message out loud: The Ambassador would like to see you in his office as soon as you get back.

Looking at Bruno he said, ‘Something must have happened. I have a regular meeting with him on Monday mornings and he never asks to see me otherwise.’

‘Surely he won’t still be in his office at this hour,’ said Bruno. ‘Sit down and drink up. You’ve deserved it.’

But Ambassador Thomas B. Rodgers III, not a man to leave his post when there was still business to do, was at his desk.

‘Come in, young man,’ he called out as Miles appeared in his outer office. ‘I’ve had a complaint about you.’

Ambassador Rodgers was a State Department professional. Sana’a was a tough posting, potentially dangerous, requiring diplomatic skills; not the sort of plum Embassy that presidents gave as a reward to their business friends and supporters. Thomas B. Rodgers had been round the block a few times, served in more junior posts in some tough places, and now in his mid-fifties had made it to Ambassador. He was used to dealing with the CIA.

‘I’m sorry to hear that, sir.’ Miles’s voice was calm but his heart lurched. He hadn’t yet made up his mind what, if anything, he was going to say about the events of this evening. He knew for certain that if the Ambassador found out that not only had he nearly got himself kidnapped or killed, but that he had led a British colleague into the same danger, there’d be a request to Langley for his withdrawal. Yet surely the news couldn’t have got back to the Embassy so quickly.

‘It concerns Minister Baakrime. You told me that you were hoping to use him as a source of information on arms supplies. Well, you should know that your contact with him has been noticed by the Yemenis, and I’ve been warned that we should steer clear of him. Other members of the government don’t trust him. He’s been making too much money on the side.’ He waved an exasperated hand. ‘I know, I know, most of them are at it in one way or another, but he’s been making more than other people.’

‘I see,’ said Miles, wondering what else the Ambassador had been told.

‘I don’t know how much you know about him, but apparently he’s working with the Russians.’

‘With the Russians?’ Miles was taken off guard and his surprise showed. ‘No. I didn’t know that. What’s he doing for them?’

‘I wasn’t told. But probably much the same as you were hoping he’d do for you. Whatever it is, he’s visited the Caucasus twice in the past year. Dagestan apparently. God knows what for, but whatever it is it seems to be making Minister Baakrime a lot of money. I’d be grateful if you’d steer clear of him from now on. I think he may shortly find himself in prison.’

If he’s not already dead, thought Miles, remembering the hideous sight of the Minister’s son, dangling in the entrance to the farm.