Bonfire (16 page)

‘Shall I head towards the rendezvous point?’ he said.

‘Yes, I’ll call London, speak to Jerry Lombroso and set up the copter lift,’ I said. With the phone in my hand and Jerry’s number on the screen, Mick looked up with an odd expression that made me pause.

‘I’ve done it,’ he said.

‘…done what?’

‘I’ve found a piece of antivirus coding on the internet that’s located the bug and disabled it.’ Mick looked at me and grinned.

‘What does that mean? Cakes asked.

‘It means,’ Mick said, ‘that the tracker software on my phone is working again.’

Claudia Casta-Locke realised her mouth was dry and looked down at her coffee cup. It was empty. ‘Can I have another cup of coffee, please?’ she asked.

‘That’s a good idea,’ the Chief said. ‘Espionage is thirsty work.’ He lifted the crystal cut decanter and splashed a measure of scotch whisky into his empty glass. ‘Jerry, can you fire up the percolator for Claudia. Her mouth is dry.’

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ Jerry said standing up. ‘I’d quite like another cup myself.’ While Jerry made the coffee, Claudia studied the Chief’s face. She watched him take a sip of whisky and was certain his right eye twinkled. The overhead light must have caused a reflection, she thought.

‘You haven’t answered my question,’ the Chief said. Claudia swallowed drily.
Where was that coffee?
The Chief’s phone rang. He lifted it from the table and read the display and then he took the call. ‘Manny, how nice to hear from you,’ he said and then listened intently. ‘Did he, did he really? Well, well… I did tell you he was tenacious and capable.’ The Chief was silent while Manny spoke again. ‘Are you certain he got away?’ the Chief asked. He listened again. ‘Yes, well, that’s as expected. As long as he goes through with it…’ the Chief paused. ‘Yes, I know… I have every faith in you, Manny.’ The Chief listened once more. ‘All right, we’ll talk then.’ The Chief ended the call and replaced his phone on the table. Claudia was watching him expectantly. Jerry returned to his chair carrying full coffee cups balanced on a silver tray. Lifting the cup Claudia blew through pursed lips before taking a delicate sip. Then she took another.

‘What did Manny say?’ Jerry asked.

‘Well, Claudia,’ the Chief said.

‘You seem to have it all worked out,’ Claudia said.

The Chief turned away from Claudia’s Gallic charm and looked at Jerry.

‘Manny called to say that Hayes had unexpectedly appeared. He sat down opposite him at a café and asked what sort of a day he was having.’

‘How did he find him?’

‘Manny doesn’t know.’

‘Uh, uh,’ Jerry said. ‘Does it change anything?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ the Chief said.

‘Why do you call Benjamin Chase “Manny”?’ Claudia asked.

‘Manny is his codename,’ the Chief said. ‘You know that.’

‘…yes, but why Manny?’

‘Oh, well, he had to have a codename and I thought Manny suited him.’

‘Is that the same reason Moha Hassan al-Barouni has the codename “Rossi”… because you thought it suited him?’

‘In the pictures I’ve seen of him he reminds me of that Italian footballer, you know, the one who scored the goals.’

‘No, I don’t know,’ Claudia said and sipped her coffee.

‘Manny said that Hayes told him he was following Rossi, which was how he came to be in the same place at the same time,’ the Chief said.

‘How did he find Rossi?’

‘That’s a good question.’

‘Did Hayes speak to Rossi?’ Jerry asked.

‘No, Manny said that Rossi got away.’ The Chief took a sip of whisky. ‘Manny said that he told Hayes again to go home.’

‘Do you think he will go home?’ Claudia asked. The Chief turned to her.

‘I very much doubt it,’ he said. ‘If my reading of Mr. Hayes is correct he’ll free Magda Jbara and get her safely out of Libya or die trying.’

Jerry Lombroso put his coffee cup back down on its saucer and an inquisitive shadow crossed his face. ‘Earlier you said that Hayes was a mercenary who was only interested in the money.’

‘Yes, that’s right, I did,’ the Chief said. ‘However, Mr. Hayes has only been a mercenary for a few hours. He was a legionnaire for much longer.’

‘What do you mean?’ Claudia asked.

‘When Mr. Hayes left the French Foreign Legion to pursue his new career he held the rank, as you know, of senior sergeant in the elite commando unit of the Legion’s second parachute regiment,’ the Chief said. ‘The Legion may not call it a Special Forces unit, but ask anyone who knows and they’ll tell you that it’s equal to any fighting force anywhere in the world. For an orphan boy from Belfast to achieve such a position he must have learnt well.’ The Chief paused and took another sip of whisky. ‘The Legion instils a particular code of honour and it’s that which makes me confident in my prediction of how Mr. Hayes will behave.’

‘What’s this code of honour?’ Claudia asked.

‘It has seven parts. I believe it is number six that states
your mission is sacred. It is carried out until the end, if need be, at the risk of your own life.
’

‘…but saving Magda Jbara is not his mission,’ Claudia said.

‘Isn’t it?’ the Chief said. Claudia thought she saw his eye twinkle again.

‘Have you told me everything?’

‘Now, why would I tell you everything?’ the Chief said. ‘You’re an intelligent, beautiful young woman. Telling you everything would be the work of a fool.’

‘Is that why I’m here… because you think I’m beautiful?’

‘No, you’re here because I think you’re intelligent.’

‘Why get me to ask him to leave Libya if you really want him to stay?’

‘Our psychological testing of Mr. Hayes provided some interesting results. That he is competitive is not a surprise. However, this trait creates a need to complete something once started. He finds it almost impossible to leave anything unfinished.’

‘If you want him to rescue Magda Jbara why don’t you just tell him?’ Claudia asked.

‘I think it only fair,’ the Chief said, ‘that if a man is going to his almost certain death then he should make that decision for himself.’

‘…his almost certain death,’ Claudia echoed. ‘What haven’t you told me?’

‘I intend to have a successful outcome,’ the Chief said. ‘Operation Bonfire will not fail.’

‘You haven’t answered my question,’ Claudia said. The Chief held her eyes. He resisted the temptation to smile.

‘Perhaps you should call him again—if you’re worried—and insist he goes home.’

‘Is she still alive?’ I asked. My surprise that Mick had somehow managed to find a piece of antivirus coding on the internet that could locate and disable the tracker bug was only surpassed by my need to know the answer to the only question that mattered.

‘Yes, she is,’ Mick said.

‘Save her location coordinates in case we lose the tracker again,’ I said. ‘Where is she?’

‘She’s fifty-two miles away, almost due south,’ Mick said.

‘Fifty-two miles due south,’ I repeated. ‘There isn’t anything fifty-two miles due south. Is she moving?’

‘No, she’s stationary.’ My geographical knowledge of Libya was reasonably strong. Her captors were holding Magda somewhere isolated.

‘The closest big town is Bir al-Ghanam,’ Mick said. ‘It’s this side of the Nafusa Mountains. It wouldn’t take us long to get there.’ His eyes lifted from the screen and settled on Cakes who remained silent.

‘Mick, will London know straightaway that we have the tracker system working again?’ I asked. He shrugged.

‘It depends on whether their system is set to automatically spot it. If not then someone will need to manually look for it.’

‘Read out the coordinates,’ I said. Mick read them out and I keyed them into my phone. After a few seconds delay, the o
verhead satellite imagery appeared. As I had thought, it was an isolated location in the foothills of the Nafusa Mountains. I zoomed in.

‘I’ve sent the antivirus programme to your phones,’ Mick said. ‘Just open it and select “run”. When it’s finished you can restart the tracker software.’ Cakes had still not spoken. I studied the aerial image of the building.

‘Cakes, what do you make of this building?’ I asked and passed him my phone. He studied the image for a moment and then passed it back. He maintained his silence. ‘Magda is in that building. We can be there in an hour.’

‘In an hour she may be dead,’ Cakes said. There was a pause while Mick and I waited. ‘What do we do with Banksy?’ I considered the question before I answered.

‘Returning to the Jbara house will only give them unnecessary hope,’ I said. ‘We’ll take Banksy with us.’

‘The building has an enclosure, which is probably an outer wall,’ Cakes said. ‘And the roof has a walkway that guards probably use as a barricade.’ He was right. I had seen the same features and drawn the same conclusion, which was that the building was a fortress. It meant that a hostage-rescue attempt was high-risk. In fact, without any intelligence, it was most likely impossible.

Mick was studying the satellite imagery on his phone. He looked up with an unhappy expression. ‘The building’s footprint is over two thousand square metres,’ he said. ‘Without knowing the layout or Magda’s location…’

‘…or anything else like how many men there are waiting to shoot at us with assault rifles,’ Cakes said interrupting Mick and summarising what we were each thinking.

‘…it looks like
mission impossible
,’ Mick said.

‘We should still take a look,’ I said. Before either Mick or Cakes could voice an opinion on “take a look”, an incoming call on my phone interrupted us. It was Claudia.

‘They’ve let me leave,’ she said.

‘Who have?’ I asked.

‘…the Chief and Jerry,’ she replied.

‘Where are you?’

‘I’ve just arrived at the cocktail bar at the Ritz,’ she said. ‘Did you know it was a favourite place of the legendary World War II double-agent, Dušan Popov?’

‘No, I didn’t know that. Why are you there?’

‘I needed a drink and a relaxing place from which to call you. I have some information that might help.’ Helpful information was an uplifting prospect. It was not an offer I could afford to refuse despite the faint voice in my head that questioned its authenticity. Could I trust Claudia Casta-Locke? Deciding not to answer that question, I put any doubt aside and prepared expectantly.

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Helpful information is just what we need.’ I wondered if she knew our tracker system was working again. Sharing that information with Claudia was, I decided, not necessary.

‘Benjamin Chase is an MI6 field officer who reports directly to London,’ she said. This was something I had already guessed. The news was hardly revolutionary. ‘His codename is
Manny
.’

‘Claudia, I’m not sure that information makes any difference,’ I said. She ignored me.

‘Moha Hassan al-Barouni is an agent… a spy… he spies for London. Benjamin Chase is his handler. His MI6 codename is
Rossi
. Together, Manny and Rossi have been gathering
primary intelligence on the Islamic extremist group led by Suleiman Al Bousefi.’