Strike Back

ELEVEN

The food tasted surprisingly good. A rack of lamb, with a thick herb crust, some minted new potatoes, the plate heaped with other steamed vegetables. All it needed was a nice bottle of Merlot and a shot of vodka and the meal would be perfect. Even the row of brightly coloured vitamin pills laid out on the table couldn’t spoil Porter’s enjoyment of it.

A condemned man’s last meal, he thought to himself, as he chewed on a lamb bone. They know I haven’t got much chance of coming back dressed in anything other than a wooden overcoat. At least they’re giving me a decent sendoff.

Sir Angus stepped into the room. He sat down opposite Porter, picking up a bread roll and chewing on it absentmindedly. ‘Surprised they haven’t given you any wine with that,’ he said, nodding towards the food.

‘If they could —’

‘Porter’s not drinking right now,’ interrupted Layla. ‘Doctor’s orders.’

‘I’ve drunk enough over the years,’ said Porter. ‘One more isn’t going to hurt me.’

Sir Angus nodded. ‘I’ve seen the medical reports, if they say no juice, then there is no juice,’ he snapped. ‘Two hundred and fifty grand is a hell of a deal, and for that kind of money, I don’t expect you just to be on the payroll, clocking in, keeping your nose clean, and waiting until you can bugger off home.’ He leant in so close, Porter could smell the aftershave on his smoothly shaven skin. ‘I expect to own you. Whatever I want, you do it. That understood?’

Porter nodded. He spooned some more potatoes onto his plate and carried on eating. They were fattening him for something, he knew that, but like a turkey just before Christmas, it wasn’t any reason for not eating the grub. ‘If you want someone else to go and get Katie Dartmouth out, feel free, mate,’ he said, a slow smile spreading over his lips. ‘I won’t be offended or anything. In fact, I’m quite happy just sitting here.’

‘You’re going all right,’ said Sir Angus. ‘Tomorrow morning.’ He spread some papers out on the table. ‘OK, this is the plan,’ he started. ‘Layla, give him the details.’

‘When we’ve finished up here, you get straight to bed,’ said Layla. ‘We don’t really have any idea when you might sleep again, so the more you can get tonight the better. The doctors still want you on antibiotics, so we’ll make sure they give you something for some shut-eye as well. The BA flight for Beirut leaves Heathrow at eight, and takes four hours, forty-five minutes. We need to be out of here at six at the latest. I’ll be taking you to the airport, and the cars are already booked. There’ll be some police vehicles tracking us en route, but nothing high profile. BA have been notified, but we haven’t asked for any special favours, except that they put us in the VIP lounge so we don’t have to queue up at check-in like everyone else. We’ve block-booked three rows of seats near the middle of the A320 that BA uses for that route. All of them will be occupied by our people, but they won’t be making themselves known to you, and you shouldn’t make yourself known to them. It’s just a precaution so that no one can get close to you on the flight. We aren’t expecting any trouble, but in case anything happens, we’ll be prepared.’

Danni came into the room, and cleared away the plate of lamb. She put down a bowl of chocolate mousse, and refilled his water glass. Her hand appeared to brush against the side of his jacket, he felt certain of it, and she hovered beside him clearing away the cutlery for a fraction of a second longer than was necessary. Stop kidding yourself, mate, Porter told himself. She’s not going to be interested in an old bum like you. There’s no harm in looking, never is, but there’s no point in fooling yourself you’re going to get anywhere.

He dipped his spoon into the pudding. Chocolate mousse is the closest you’re getting to any sensory pleasure this or any other night.

‘Hey, vitamins first,’ said Layla sharply. ‘Remember what the doctor said.’

‘I know, I know,’ said Porter, tossing a couple of green pills into the back of his throat and washing them down with some water. ‘Deficient in every major vitamin group except B. The amount I’ve been eating, I must have started fixing that by now.’

‘Once you touch down, you say goodbye to Layla here, and walk through customs as normal,’ said Sir Angus, interrupting the conversation. ‘Ever been to Rafik Hariri airport?’

Porter shook his head. ‘Last time I was in Beirut, I was dropped in by a Puma chopper, and I was carrying an M16 rather than a passport.’

‘This time we’ll try and make it a bit more official,’ said Sir Angus. ‘Our man in the city will be looking out for you. A chap called Ben Stanton. He’s a good man, and he knows the drill so don’t bother looking for him. He’ll find you and have a car waiting. Once he’s got hold of you, just walk casually, and chat to the guy like you’re a couple of old drinking mates meeting up for a jolly. Beirut airport is probably teeming with more spies than any other place in the world, and they are all damned good at what they do. The Lebanese may not seem to be up to much apart from running kebab shops on the Edgware Road, but they do know how to spy, so if you do anything suspicious, anything out of the ordinary, you can be damned sure someone will spot it, and then you really could be in trouble.’

‘You mean more trouble than turning myself over to a bunch of brutal kidnappers …’

A slow smile spread across Sir Angus’s lips. ‘You volunteered for this gig, remember. I don’t want any whinging now.’

‘Once you are in the car, Stanton will be in charge,’ said Layla. ‘We’ve had some contact with Hassad, and this is the drill. Stanton is going to drive you due south to a place called Sidon, on the coast. He’ll drop you at the bus stop. From there you’ll get a local bus that will take you the thirty miles or so towards a place called Jezzoine. Next, you’ll get on another bus towards Anjar. It’s a little place, close to where the borders of Lebanon, Syria and Israel all meet. When you get there, you walk across to the bar directly opposite the bus station. Go in, order yourself a coffee, and then sit down. Don’t talk to anyone if you can help it. And don’t draw too much attention to yourself. We’ll give you some Lebanese money. They use pounds, funnily enough, but there are three of theirs to every one of ours, and we’ll make sure you have plenty.’

‘I’ll get receipts if you want,’ said Porter.

‘Make sure you do,’ snapped Sir Angus. ‘This mission is costing us a fortune already.’

For a moment, Porter could see the fear and sweat on the older man’s face. It’s my life on the line here, he thought. But it’s Sir Angus’s balls. If this mission goes pear-shaped, and it almost certainly will, then his career is finished. And unlike me, he has a lot to lose. He might act tough, but that’s just a show: underneath, I reckon he is a lot more frightened than I am.

‘Wait in the bar for as long as you need to,’ continued Sir Angus. ‘Don’t talk to anyone, but don’t avoid people either. Speak if you are spoken to. We’ll get you some guidebooks, so you can pretend to be a tourist if anyone asks. At a certain point, one of Hassad’s men will come up to you. He’ll be looking for a guy with a couple of fingers missing, but it won’t be Hassad himself, so make sure you keep your left hand on the table so they can get a good look. They’ll use the word “Mahmudiyya”, so that’s how you know it is them.’

‘It’s the town in Egypt where Hasan al-Banna, the founder of the Society of Muslim Brothers, was born,’ said Layla. ‘So I guess that’s why they chose it.’

‘So long as they use the right password, go with them,’ said Sir Angus. ‘They’ll have transport, and they’ll take you to wherever it is they have taken Katie Dartmouth.’

‘What about backup?’ said Porter.

Sir Angus paused. His fingers were tapping on the tabletop. ‘There isn’t any,’ he said. ‘Hassad was very clear about that in his messages. The only terms on which he is prepared to receive you is that you come by yourself.’

‘Someone could be watching out for me,’ said Porter, his tone hardening. ‘At a safe distance —’

‘Not possible,’ snapped Sir Angus. ‘Hassad is allowing you to come, but you must be unarmed, and alone. We have virtually no capability in the Lebanon. They’re so hostile to us, we can’t build a network, and the people who want bribes take the Israeli money because they pay better. The only people with agents on the ground are Mossad, and we can’t ask them because they need all their assets for themselves. If we give you any backup, the chances are that Hezbollah will know about it. This is their home turf after all. Hassad has made it very clear that if you are followed in any way, then he’ll execute Katie Dartmouth on the spot, and make sure every TV station in the world has a live feed of the beheading. And when he’s holding her freshly severed head in his hand, he’ll blame the whole thing on our treachery.’ Sir Angus wiped a bead of sweat away from his forehead. ‘We can take crap if we need to, it’s what we’re paid for,’ he said sourly. ‘But even this organisation doesn’t want to have to deal with that.’

‘If that’s the case, make sure his instructions are obeyed.’

Sir Angus hesitated. ‘Of course,’ he said.

‘So what do I do when I get there?’ said Porter.

‘Your job is to get Katie Dartmouth out, alive, simple as that,’ said Sir Angus. ‘That’s what we’re paying you for, and I expect results.’

His fingers were still tapping nervously on the table. ‘This is the plan of action,’ he continued. ‘First, find out exactly what it is the buggers want. They say they want our boys out of Iraq, but that’s probably a front. There’ll be something else they will settle for. The PM has authorised us to offer them what he called “a fresh roadmap to peace in the Middle East”, whatever the hell that might mean. Frankly I think the only person who believes it is worth anyone pissing away time on peace talks is our beloved leader, but you never know, they might fall for it. Talk to them about that first. But if you aren’t getting anywhere, and I suspect you won’t, then I’m authorising you to offer them money. We’ll do what the French do, which is buy her release. Offer them ten million dollars for starters, but hint that we’d be prepared to go higher if it would help. Tell them they can negotiate directly with me via email. Or, if they prefer, they can talk to Jacques Papiasse. He’s a private banker in Luxembourg who the French use to pay ransoms for their hostages, and Hezbollah know him and trust him. He’s agreed to act for us, for the usual outrageous fee I might add, and if they want to, they can negotiate with him directly.’

‘Like I said earlier, it sounds like I’ll need a plan B,’ said Porter. ‘Because I can’t see them going for any of that bollocks. They’ve had more peace plans than I’ve bottles of vodka, and if they wanted money, they would have asked for it by now.’

‘Then this is where you go next,’ said Sir Angus. ‘There’s a man in Guantànamo Bay, a Hezbollah leader called Fouad Karem. He’s been there for a year. We’ve spoken to Washington, and they’ve agreed that they’ll let us swap him for Katie. Offer them that, and if they bite, then we can sort out the details of the exchange.’

‘And what happens when it’s Saturday morning?’ said Porter. ‘Three days’ time, and Katie’s execution is just hours away. None of these suggestions are working. They won’t negotiate, and they won’t delay, and they don’t give a toss about either of us. What the hell do I do then?’

Sir Angus leant forward, straight into Porter’s face. ‘I’ve sent a lot of men into the field since I started working for this outfit, and I’ve always given them one piece of advice,’ he said. ‘Don’t play the bloody hero. It isn’t worth it. You’ll probably end up dead, and get us all in the shit. But you know what, Mr Porter. This time round I might just suspend that. If it comes to Saturday morning, and nothing else is working, then play the hero. It’s a last resort, remember that, but if everything else fails, use your Regiment training to try and take the buggers out and get the girl out of there.’

‘And if I die trying?’

‘Then at least you’ll have been well paid.’

‘Someone tried to kill me,’ said Porter, as Sir Angus got up to leave.

‘Just wait until you get out to the bloody Lebanon, man,’ said Sir Angus. ‘Everyone will want to kill you out there.’

‘I’m not joking,’ snapped Porter. ‘A guy tried to run me over.’

‘We’re investigating,’ said Layla.

‘And what have you found out?’

Layla hesitated. There was a flicker of indecision in her expression, and for a moment Porter suspected she was holding something back from him.

‘So far, not much,’ she said, tossing a lock of hair away from her face.

‘There’s a mole,’ said Porter. ‘Someone in this organisation knows what I’m doing and wants to stop it.’

‘A Hezbollah spy within the Firm?’ said Sir Angus. ‘Don’t be bloody ridiculous, man.’

Porter got up. ‘I’m telling you, it’s true,’ he growled.

Sir Angus turned and started walking from the room. ‘You just concentrate on doing your job,’ he said. ‘There are no spies in this organisation.’