talk quickly.
‘He says he isn’t the man in the photograph and that he has never met anyone called Wafeeq,’ said Shortt.
Yokely went to stand in front of the man with the withered arm. He studied one of the sheets of paper, then grinned up at him. ‘Your name is Yuusof Abd al-Nuuh. You have three children and seven grandchildren. Last year you spoke to Wafeeq bin Said al-Hadi. Just chit-chat. Or code. We’re not sure which. But we know you spoke to him.’
Shortt translated. The old man closed his eyes and began to mutter to himself. The man on the middle stool was the biggest of the four, with bulging forearms and a thick neck. He was staring straight ahead, eyes blank, mouth wide open. ‘This guy, I don’t know who he is,’ said Yokely, walking over to stand in front of him. He kicked the stool away and the man fell. The rope snapped round his neck and cut deep into the flesh. The man’s legs kicked and his body shuddered but the noose was so tight that not a sound escaped from his mouth.
‘What the fuck?’ shouted O’Brien.
The man stopped kicking and his body swung gently from the beam. A damp patch spread round the groin and drops of urine trickled down his left leg on to the tiled floor.
‘Then there were three,’ said Yokely. He walked to the man with the withered arm and stared up at him. ‘So, Yuusof Abd al-Nuuh, what do you think? Can you bring yourself to tell me where I’ll find Wafeeq?’ Yokely consulted his watch. ‘You see, time’s running out, and the fact that Wafeeq found the transmitter means he’s probably going to do something pretty terrible to a friend of ours.’ Yokely put his right foot against the stool and gave it a push. The man wobbled and started to hyperventilate.
‘Stop!’ shouted the man at the far right of the group – the man with the shaved head and the dishdasha. ‘Leave him alone.’
Yokely smiled and took his foot off the stool. He walked over to the man who had spoken and leafed through the printouts. ‘Ah, yes, of course,’ he said. ‘You’re one of Yuusof’s sons, aren’t you? And you can speak English. Excellent.’ He read through the information on the sheet he was holding. ‘According to this, you’ve never met Wafeeq and there’s no record of you phoning him.’ He smiled sympathetically. ‘So you’re not much use to me, really, are you?’ He rested his foot on the side of the stool and turned to the father. ‘Jimbo, explain to the old man that I’m going to kill his boy unless he tells me where I can find Wafeeq.’
Jimbo translated. The father sagged and the rope tightened round his neck. Then he whispered something in Arabic.
‘What did he say, Jimbo?’
‘He said okay, he’ll talk.’
Yokely grinned triumphantly. He pushed the stool, which shuddered. The man yelped and struggled to keep his balance. ‘Tell him to be quick about it, Jimbo.’
Wafeeq parked the van and walked quickly to the house. Rahman jogged to keep up with him. Wafeeq always had Rahman with him when he left the house. He had served with Saddam Hussein’s Republican Guard and Wafeeq had once seen him kill a man with his bare hands. Azeem was standing at one of the bedroom windows and waved. Wafeeq waved back. Sulaymaan opened the front door as he reached it. ‘Where is the hostage?’ he asked.
Wafeeq ignored him. He strode along the hallway and into the main room. Kamil was on his hands and knees on a prayer mat, his forehead on the ground.
‘We have to move,’ said Wafeeq. ‘Abdul-Nasir is downstairs?’
‘Of course.’ Kamil straightened and frowned at him. ‘What has happened?’ he asked.
‘The man they caught worked for the same company as Mitchell. He had a transmitting device. They are hunting us, my friend.’
Kamil stood and rolled up the prayer mat. ‘But we knew that. We knew they would look for him. No one will find him here. Inshallah.’
‘This is different,’ said Wafeeq. ‘The man was different. We kill the infidel and we leave. Now.’
‘But then everything will have been for nothing.’
‘No, we just bring forward the deadline. We say that the intransigence of the British government has brought about the death of their subject. We film his death and then we leave.’
The Major and O’Brien pushed the two Arabs into the back of the Land Cruiser, their hands tied behind their backs. Shortt climbed into the driving seat and O’Brien got in beside him. ‘We’ll be right behind you, Jimbo,’ said the Major.
‘Right, boss,’ said Shortt. He put the 464 into gear and drove off down the road.
The Major went over to Yokely and Shepherd, who were waiting by the second Land Cruiser. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.
‘Why don’t we call in a chopper?’ asked Shepherd.
‘We can drive in twenty minutes,’ said Yokely, ‘and I don’t want Wafeeq any more spooked than he already is. If he hears choppers, he’ll run. We need to get in place first. I’ve already called in troops, so we’ll have the perimeter secured.’
‘That doesn’t help Geordie,’ said Shepherd.
‘We’ve got time, trust me,’ said Yokely.
‘This isn’t just about capturing Wafeeq, is it?’ said Shepherd.
Yokely put a hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s about getting Geordie out of harm’s way,’ he said. ‘Wafeeq is the icing on the cake.’
‘That had better be true,’ said Shepherd.
Muller walked up with an Uzi. ‘I’m coming with you,’ he said.
‘John, this is now becoming a military operation. Like I said before, you’re a civilian.’
‘Yeah? Well, I’m the civilian who has the keys to that vehicle, so without me you’re going nowhere.’ Muller held up the keys to the Land Cruiser and jingled them.
‘We don’t have time to argue,’ said Yokely.
‘Exactly,’ said Muller. He pulled open the driver’s door and climbed in. ‘So shut the fuck up and get in.’
Yokely opened his mouth to argue but the Major spoke first. ‘John’s okay,’ he said.
‘It’s on your head, then,’ said Yokely. He got into the front passenger seat and took out his mobile. The Major and Shepherd got into the back. As Muller started the engine and drove away from the house, Yokely phoned Simon Nichols. ‘Simon, do you have visual on us?’ he asked.
‘We have you,’ said Nichols.
‘Follow us and let us know if there are any roadblocks ahead.’
‘I’ll give you plenty of warning,’ said Nichols. ‘How’s Shepherd?’
‘All very James Bond,’ said Yokely. ‘Stirred but not shaken.’
‘Does he know how lucky he is?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Yokely. ‘He knows.’
‘Couldn’t help but notice that you put two of the Iraqis in the first Land Cruiser,’ said Nichols. ‘What’s that about?’
Yokely grinned. ‘Watch and learn,’ he said.
The Sniper watched with a growing sense of amazement. What he was seeing made no sense at all. He was lying on an inflatable bed, covered with a piece of sacking. He had chosen the vantage-point carefully. The building below him was six storeys tall and he could see for miles. There were two main roads each within six hundred metres of the building, both used regularly by American troops. There was a fire escape at the rear, which offered a quick way down to a labyrinth of alleyways. He had used the rooftop four months earlier when he had killed an officer leading a foot patrol – shot him in the small of the back as he bent down to tie a shoelace, shattering the spine just below the body armour.
Two patrols had driven along the nearest main road but they had been moving too quickly. The Sniper didn’t waste bullets: he only shot when he was sure he would make a kill, and he had the patience to wait as long as it took. He had two bottles of water in the shade of a chimney-stack, and a plastic bag in case he needed to defecate. The Spotter was lying next to him on a rush mat. Like the Sniper, he was staring at the house some three hundred metres away, wondering what was going on.
They had watched the two Land Cruisers drive up together and park round the corner from the house. Ten minutes after they had arrived, an army Humvee joined them. A soldier climbed out of a Land Cruiser and went to
