Tracers

FIFTY-THREE

Rafa’i was early again. This time he approached the park from the Mall, skittering along the pavement as if his feet were on fire. It was just gone nine thirty. He looked uneasy, huddled in the same long, dark coat Harry and Rik had seen him with on the airport cameras.

After a fitful few hours’ sleep in a backstreet hotel near Marylebone following their discovery of Jennings’ body, they had breakfasted in a coffee shop and discussed tactics. If Rafa’i failed to show, they were back to square one, in which case they might as well contact Ballatyne and wait to see what happened next. On the positive side, if the cleric did show, everything that followed would depend on his reaction to their presence. Without Joanne, they might have a problem talking him round. It would depend on how highly he rated his chances of surviving alone without help.

Before driving here, Harry had gone to the boot of his car and forced open the hot box. He’d taken out two semi-automatics and handed one to Rik.

‘This is strictly last-resort use,’ he said sombrely. ‘If you take this out, it’s because you intend to use it. You intend to kill. Right?’

‘Right.’ Rik had nodded, any argument about the box and its contents forgotten. He’d checked the gun and put it away under his jacket, apparently calm. But Harry could tell he was nervous. Nerves were OK, though; nerves would get him through this and make sure he reacted with caution rather than haste.

Then they had set off for the park.

They were in luck. Joanne was standing by the railings around the lake.

Rik was unimpressed. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘Take it easy,’ said Harry calmly, and walked across to her. He was careful not to spook her, and made a show of being relaxed, unthreatening. She watched them approach, her face tight, but no longer with the haunted look they’d seen before. She had one strap of her rucksack slung over her shoulder, but was clutching the bulk of it to her front. One hand was visible, Harry noted, resting on the railing. The other was tucked inside the rucksack.

He stopped alongside her and turned to watch the area by the Mall. Rik moved away without acknowledging her, heading towards the path to watch their flanks.

‘What happened to you?’ Harry asked quietly.

‘I needed space,’ she replied. ‘It all got too much, especially seeing Marshall and talking about what happened.’

‘No problem. You OK now?’

‘I don’t know.’ She turned away, chin dropping. ‘We’ll see, won’t we?’

Harry saw Rafa’i emerge from under the trees. He stood looking shakily around him, his nervousness obvious and out of place, like a crack head in a tea room. Rik was thirty feet away, being tapped for money by an old woman in a scruffy coat, but still alert. He looked up and nodded, signalling that he’d seen the Iraqi, too. His gaze dwelt for a long while on Joanne, and he shook his head.

Harry ignored him. He was waiting to see what Rafa’i would do. If they approached him, he might run for good. Better to let him come to them once he felt safe. He rechecked the area. If Dog was going to make his move, he would do it any time now. Then he’d make his getaway. This was the window of maximum danger.

‘It seems,’ Harry said casually, ‘that there are some question marks against your Mr Rafa’i.’

‘You’ve just discovered that?’ Her reply was acid, resentful, the words as sharp as carpet tacks.

He glanced at her, surprised by the venom in her voice. She was shaking her head as if Rafa’i being questionable was a given. It was in odd contrast to the way she had talked about him before, when she had expressed almost a closeness in their working relationship.

‘Come again?’

‘I used to think he was the whole shilling,’ she explained flatly. ‘But there were things he said. . people he met that made me wonder. He said a couple of times that he wanted Iraq free of the outside world. I took that to be the Coalition, especially the Americans.’

‘Well, nobody could argue with that. We’re hardly welcome guests, are we?’

‘He meant everyone: advisors, aid workers, army, engineers, contractors, the lot. All out. Even people like me. Especially people like me.’

‘Well, there’s no pleasing some people.’

The attempt at humour didn’t carry. Joanne said angrily, ‘It was like he wanted to build a wall around the country and turn it in on itself. And after everything we’d done to help. Oh, I know the arguments. . that we shouldn’t have been there, anyway. But still.’ She stopped, breathing heavily.

Harry said, ‘Why are you so angry?’

It was as if she hadn’t heard him. ‘Then he spun the whole thing and said he was just describing an old Iraqi dream. But it wasn’t his dream, he said. It was the people’s dream. And the people had a right to have what was theirs. He only wanted a peaceful country again.’

Harry wondered where this was going. Where the change in tune was coming from. She seemed to be rambling, as if seeing Rafa’i once more had revived an old discussion, ripped open old sores. But which ones?

‘Everybody wants peace out there,’ he said coolly, trying to figure her out. ‘But if Dog gets his way, Rafa’i won’t live to see it.’

She made a noise but said nothing.

‘Still, at least,’ Harry continued, ‘we know what he looks like. . unlike his two mates.’

Her eyes flickered. ‘What?’

‘He’s got help. Two men. Word is, they’re on their way here. Unfortunately, we don’t know what they look like.’ He was about to add that she, on the other hand, might do, having been on the same training course, but decided against it. It wasn’t the time or the place.

‘You don’t know much of anything, do you?’

‘Sorry?’ It was a coldly dismissive comment, uttered in a dull, flat tone. But she shook her head and chose not to elaborate, so he let it go.

All the same, he felt a stir of unease.