Liz Carlyle - 06 - Rip Tide (24 page)

‘So?’ said Falana wearily.

‘
So
. . .’ said Anastasia mockingly ‘. . . the woman my friend saw him with was European.
She had blonde hair
.’

And Berger plugged the kettle back into the wall, happy now for the girls in the adjoining room to know that he was there.

But he was astonished by what he’d just heard. Years of being paid to know what was going on had prepared him for surprises – people were erratic, unpredictable, and sometimes fantastically secretive, which meant that however close you kept your ear to the ground, however canny a student of human nature you became, there was always room for the discovery that rocked you on your heels.

She had blonde hair
. Well, that narrowed things down – zeroed them in, actually. Berger would have been prepared to believe a lot of things about the unpleasant Claude Rameau, but clandestine trysts with Mo Miandad in a flea bag hotel would not have been one of them.

Chapter 34

To: Liz Carlyle

From: Peggy Kinsolving

Re: The
Aristides

Ref: TH/CTE-cna342

The
Aristides
is a container ship leased by UCSO from Xenides Shipping. UCSO has an Athens office because Greece remains an important hub of commercial shipping, and it allows easy shipment of aid to either the continent of Africa, or via the Indian Ocean, Asia and the Far East. Though most ships, including the
Aristides
, fly flags of convenience for tax purposes (Liberia and Panama remain most popular), the Greek-owned maritime fleet is the largest in the word, accounting for 16% of global cargo tonnage.

The
Aristides
is a relatively small container ship, with a capacity of 2,500 TFO – TFO stands for Twenty Foot Equivalent Unit, which is the length of each container. A big cargo ship is anything over 7,000 TFOs and the largest can top 15,000. The advantage of the
Aristides’
s comparative smallness is that it does not have to use only those ports with crane facilities – it has its own small crane on board. This allows the vessel flexibility in its choice of harbours, though it most commonly unloads in Mombasa, Kenya, which remains the major distribution point for its African shipments – and Africa in turn is the largest recipient of UCSO aid.

Despite their size, container ships have small crews – as few as 15 or 20 on board. The
Aristides
sails with a larger contingent of about 30, because of the team required to maintain and operate the crane. All passengers and crew live in the accommodation block at the stern of the ship, near the engine room.

On the voyage when the most recent hijack attempt was made, the
Aristides
was sailing with 31 crew members, of whom 25 were seamen. These sailors were recruited by Xenides Shipping, and were a mixture of nationalities. The captain (Erich Steffer, to whom I spoke on the phone) was Belgian, as was his second in command; two other officers were Danes (brothers), one was Italian, and one Greek. The crewmen were from Asia and the Far East: 10 South Koreans, 2 Indonesians, 5 Filipinos, 2 Vietnamese, and 6 Pakistanis.

It is the last category who are interesting. Crew members have to show proof of identity in the form of passports, and they require temporary working papers from the Greek government. They are usually hired by Xenides through a local Athens employment agency which has strong ties to sources of labour – the Philippines, Indonesia, etc. In the past year, however, Xenides has used a new employment agency which is Pakistani-owned, so unsurprisingly more crewmen have started to come from Pakistan.

On this occasion, after the unsuccessful hijacking and a delay of half a day, the
Aristides
continued on down the east coast of Africa to Kenya, where it offloaded its cargo in Mombasa. Its crew were then granted shore leave of two days, but 6 of them did not return when the ship was due to sail. Occasionally crewmen jump ship during a voyage, usually when the ship stops at a port offering temptations – Marseilles and Beirut most famously. Mombasa is not known for its onshore attractions. But despite the Captain’s delaying departure by 12 hours, none of the missing men reboarded, and Captain Steffer finally sailed without them.

The missing 6 were the Pakistani contingent. Steffer told me he had already formed suspicions about them because they spoke to each other in English rather than in Urdu. Greek liaison has sent copies of their employment papers and photocopies of their passports. There are many obvious irregularities: one passport gave the date of birth for a very young-looking man as 1960.

It is unlikely that any of the 6 Pakistani crewmen were who they claimed to be. It is highly probable that assumed identities backed up by forged or stolen documents were used to establish the credentials that allowed them to be employed on board the
Aristides
.

The questions that remain are who these people really were/are, why they enlisted on the
Aristides
, why they disappeared and where they are now.

PK

Chapter 35

Peggy was sitting at her desk, just beginning to think about what she and Tim would have for supper. Around her, a few colleagues were packing up for the day. The phone on her desk rang; she picked up the receiver. As she listened, the blood drained from her face. She ended the call, picked up a sheaf of papers from the desk and walked quickly out of the office.

Liz was putting papers in her security cupboard for the night when Peggy appeared in the doorway. Liz knew immediately from her expression that neither of them would be going home soon. She sat down heavily at the desk and waved Peggy to a chair.

‘What’s up?’

‘It’s from the internet café at the mosque. You know we’ve managed to work out from Boatman’s identifications that it’s being used by several of Bakri’s followers? They’re in touch with all sorts of radical Islamic groups, in London and Pakistan. Up to now it’s been general extremist chatter. But I’ve just heard that they’re talking about “silencing” someone.’

‘Oh, God. Who do they want to silence?’ said Liz, putting her head in her hands.

‘No names. But it’s someone at the New Springfield Mosque. That’s got to be Boatman.’

‘Yes, you’re right. He’s blown. At least, we’ve got to assume he is. We’re going to have to pull him out right away. Where’s Kanaan?’

‘He’s on holiday . . . back in the morning. He was going to see Boatman tomorrow evening.’

‘We can’t wait. I’ll get hold of Dave Armstrong – we need to move on this right away. You’d better brief Lamb Lincoln – tell him it’s urgent, top priority. We’ll need total A4 coverage. If there’s any problem, let me know and I’ll ring DG.’

Chapter 36

Salim had tried to see Malik again, but the other man had proved elusive. He had not been at prayers at the New Springfield Mosque and he hadn’t attended the latest session of the imam’s study group.

As Salim had left Friday prayers, he’d spotted Malik in front of the mosque, talking to a Yemeni man who had arrived only the month before. Salim had decided to wait on the front steps until Malik was free. But there had been a distraction – some white boys had passed by and shouted obscenities at the robed worshippers, and by the time they’d been driven off by a group of angry Muslims, Malik had disappeared.

Today, Salim left work slightly late, delayed by a lingering customer in his uncle’s hardware shop – an Asian man, young and bearded, who’d walked slowly up and down all the aisles. When Salim had asked if he wanted help, the man had brusquely said no. Then, a minute later, he’d left empty-handed.

Out on the High Street, seeing the bus approach, Salim ran to the stop. The effort made him pant and he realised how tired he was; he worked long hours for his uncle – 6.30 to 7 on weekdays; 8 to 6 on Saturdays; only on Sundays did they close a little early. As a single man he hadn’t minded; now he was married he found himself watching the clock, eager to get home to Jamila, his bride.

He smiled to himself at the thought of her. Four months ago he had not even seen her face; now its beauty lingered with him like a perfume. She was a good wife as well as a beautiful one; she had learned quickly how to run the household, even though she had only been in England for a few months. She was very bright – not much formal education, but full of a curiosity that Salim found exhilarating. The likes of Abdi Bakri would not approve, but Salim thought she should go to college.

Malik had been right about Jamila’s beauty, but he was wrong about many other things – so badly wrong that Salim had no compunction about spying on him, and on the others at the mosque who thought the same way. To Salim, violence was not only futile, it was also wrong – and utterly alien to the true spirit of Islam. He’d been taught this as a little boy, by his parents and by his grandmother, whose brother had been one of Pakistan’s most distinguished clerics, revered for his interpretations of the Koran. So how dare these others claim that Allah condoned what they wanted to do? Islam, in Salim’s view, would only conquer the world through its beauty and its truth, not through force.

The bus was crowded and he went upstairs, where he managed to find an empty seat halfway down the bus. He sat next to an older white woman with a nose the colour of beetroot; when he smiled at her she shuddered and looked out of the window. Ignoring her, Salim was soon lost in his own thoughts.

He had been trying to see Malik for days because he wanted to find out more – about the strange Westerner in London and about where Malik would be going after Pakistan. And he wanted to find out about the young man in the photograph he’d been shown – the man called Amir Khan. He could tell that K had been particularly interested in him. The face had certainly been familiar, though Salim hadn’t known he was called Amir Khan. But he did know the young man wasn’t around any more; he was one of those who had just disappeared from the mosque. If he could find out where he’d gone, K and the lady he’d brought up from London with him, his boss, would be pleased.

But Salim hadn’t been able to talk to Malik, so he’d decided to approach the one person who would surely know the answer to his questions – Abdi Bakri himself. When the meeting of the study group had broken up the previous day, and before prayers started in the large assembly room of the mosque, Salim had lingered in the small classroom with its cracked plastic chairs and cheap Formica-topped table, until only he and the imam were left in the room.