The Watchman

Forty-Nine

‘I’ve received disturbing reports from our American friends of unusual activity to the north of Kamboni, picked up with live footage from a CIA drone targeted over the area where the meeting is to take place.’ The dramatic statement came from Colin Moresby forty minutes later. He was standing behind his office chair, addressing Vale and the controllers for Africa and Middle East, Bill Cousins and Peter Wilby, and the duty MOD liaison officer, Colonel Mike Ventura.

They had all been summoned from their beds by messenger and fast car, and Vale from his office, where he’d been mulling over the revelations of what Portman had told him and now Scheider’s camera work.

‘What kind of activity?’ queried Ventura. A slim man with a stern face and a scar down one side of his neck, the result, Vale had heard, of close proximity to an IED in Iraq, he had the directness typical of most military men and none of the fondness for equivocation of the civil service.

‘Explosions and small arms fire.’ Moresby leaned forward and touched a button on his desk console, and a wall monitor behind him sprang into life. There was complete silence as the assembled officers watched, until Moresby switched it off again.

He looked, observed Vale, as if it had shaken him.

‘Any comments?’

‘Could be the Kenyan Defence Force,’ Bill Cousins suggested. ‘Kamboni’s right on their supply route in and out of the area. They might have run into extremists.’

‘We asked them that already. The Kenyans are denying any ongoing operations south of the port of Kismaayo, and no confrontations with extremists in the last twenty-four hours.’

‘Do you believe them?’

‘I have to. They’ve responded by accusing the UN of an unauthorized incursion, and demanding to be told how we know about the explosions. We’re playing dumb, of course, but something’s going on and it’s right on top of where the talks are taking place.’ As he spoke, his eyes settled on Tom Vale for a second before moving on. ‘It’s possible, I suppose — and I don’t discount the view — that a rival extremist group has got into a fight with Musa’s people. But until we get confirmation of that, we’re at a loss.’

And that, thought Vale, hits it right on the button. You don’t know and you didn’t think it out beforehand. He clamped his teeth together to stop himself speaking and keep his face under control. Tempting as it was to tell the assembled company about Portman, his private hit man, and the proposed execution of Pryce and Tober, it would serve no purpose. It was still Moresby’s operation and throwing that kind of grisly news into the air wouldn’t alter anything, short of setting the chickens running round the coop to no avail.

‘How did you hear about it?’ he asked. ‘I thought there were no assets in the area.’

‘Until a very short while ago, there weren’t. As you know, that was a condition of the negotiations — along with the immediate territory around there.’ He smiled thinly and drummed with one hand on the back of his chair. ‘But the Americans put up a drone and were right on target to pick up the action as it happened. They’re analysing the footage as we speak, but they’ve given me a heads up on first impressions.’

Jesus, Vale thought grimly, as Moresby’s eye caught his for a split second. He’s talking as if he’d had it stitched up all along. But I know different.

‘If it’s right where the meeting’s taking place,’ ventured Peter Wilby, ‘that’s not good news for our people, is it?’

It brought a frown to Moresby’s face and he shuffled around to take his seat. ‘No. Indeed. But until we get more information, I don’t think we should jump to conclusions. These talks always carried a small element of risk, but we know Xasan is keen to make a success of them, and getting these UN people out is a major factor in why we went ahead with it.’

‘What are their chances if they’ve been caught in the middle of a factional dispute?’ This came from Bill Cousins. He was referring to Pryce and Tober, not the UN hostages. ‘They’re hardly likely to be flavour of the month, are they? They’ll be shipped north to join the others.’

‘Tober’s a good man,’ Moresby replied sombrely. ‘He saw a lot of action in Sangin Province and he’s got a very cool head. It’s why he was selected for this operation.’

Vale kept his face impassive, although he wanted to jump up and rage at Moresby’s posturing. The man was making it sound as if he had personally selected Tober to ride shotgun on a picnic. The former SBS man was indeed one of the best specialist support operatives they had. But he’d been placed in a hideous situation.

‘What about the Mogadishu office?’ Colonel Ventura suggested. ‘They’ve got a military attaché. Can’t he investigate?’ A new British embassy had just been opened, heralded by the British Foreign Secretary as a testament to the bilateral agreement between the two countries, especially on the issues of sexual violence — and the worsening growth of piracy.

‘It’s not fully functional yet,’ Moresby replied. ‘And our man’s being watched too closely. It’s making travel beyond the capital very difficult without a fleet of government minders watching his every move, and he’s getting little reaction from the Somali government without lots of delays.’

Vale waited for the briefing to end and said nothing, eager to get back to his office. Dramatic gestures or statements right now wouldn’t do a thing to help Portman, Pryce or Tober. It was already going to take a small miracle to get any of them out in one piece, and throwing what he knew into the mix, when it was clear little was going to be done to help them, would not improve matters.

He just hoped and prayed that Portman could deliver … or follow through on his final instructions.