now!’
The guards looked at each other. The taller bowed slightly. ‘I apologise for not recognising you, Sir.’
‘So you’re not the escort. What a shambles. Move those trucks. Let us through. Do it NOW!’
Back in the car, Dima laughed as he watched the guards recede in the mirror.
‘How did I do?’
Vladimir, at the wheel, shrugged.
‘You could have waved your arms a bit more.’
‘Your turn next time.’
‘Where the fuck is Kharvanah?’
‘Fucked if I know.’
The main street of Meliksah was rutted and dusty with no sign of any damage from the quake, but the whole place looked neglected. There were no people in sight except for a couple of old men sitting on a bench under a cypress tree, who stared as they stepped out of the cars.
All of the shops were boarded up and the windows shuttered. Definitely too quiet. Gregorin volunteered to keep watch on the cars. Kroll carried a radio so they could stay in touch. The tea shop was up a narrow flight of stairs. Inside there was some life, several men at tables drinking tea. As Dima entered all of them stopped talking and stared. Zirak nodded and spoke first. Once they heard his accent and mention of Darwish’s name they seemed to lose interest and went back to their conversations.
A rotund man in an apron came huffing up the stairs and greeted them as if they were his long-lost brothers. Then Darwish entered the room.
‘Dear Zima,’ said Darwish, embracing him and reminding him of his old cover name. ‘Come, I have reserved a room.’
They followed him down a passage to a small low-ceilinged room with peeling walls. In it were a couple of benches, an antique spinning wheel and some hens strutting about, pecking at the sawdust strewn on the floor.
The cafe owner brought in a tray of tea in small glasses and a plate of flatbread, local white cheese, jam, pomegranates and figs. Zirak could hardly hold himself back.
‘Please accept my apologies for the condition of this room,’ said the cafe owner.
‘No, no, it’s perfect. Your hospitality is too generous.’
Darwish waited for him to go, then shut the door behind him and locked it. All trace of bonhomie vanished. He raised his hands in the air as if appealing to Allah.
‘This is big, big trouble.’
‘You can say that again,’ said Dima.
Darwish clutched his brow and shook his head. ‘There’s already an alert out for you. No descriptions — just a group of foreigners, all armed. But shoot on sight. Big reward for information about you, even bigger one for your bodies. I sincerely advise you to cross the border as soon as possible. The PLR are using the aftermath of the earthquake to tighten their grip on the whole country.’
‘You said “foreigners”. Why not Russians? They must know our nationality.’
He shook his head vigorously. ‘No no. Much more cunning. They are claiming you are American-backed insurgents. It plays much better with the people, and strengthens support for the PLR.’
He shook his head in disgust and looked at them regretfully. ‘So far you are playing into Al Bashir’s hands. What you have done —.’ He pointed in the direction of the compound. ‘That only supports his claims about foreign incursion, which he uses to tighten his grip on us. Why did you let that happen?’
He clutched his forehead and closed his eyes.
Dima put an arm round him. ‘First of all, thank you for risking your life to see us. We won’t forget. But we’re not going home yet. What do you know about Amir Kaffarov?’
Darwish’s eyes narrowed. ‘Before Kaffarov, people like me, progressive, who wanted change, we were sympathetic to Al Bashir who we believed wanted change also. Peaceful change. But now Al Bashir has lost interest in building a coalition of support and it’s becoming clear he wants all the power for himself and his clique. Now it’s all about demonstrating the power, a show of strength. Some put that down to Kaffarov. Kaffarov comes along with his wares and he’s got Al Bashir addicted. Any trouble in our area he will come back and—.’ He made a flattening motion with his hand. ‘So Zima, we are very much trying to avoid trouble. So you must go.’
Dima held his gaze. ‘Not just yet.’
Darwish started to protest, but Dima put a finger to his lips. He explained Kaffarov’s deadly luggage and the aborted meeting with Al Bashir. ‘Time is not on our side. We need to get to someone right at the heart of the PLR High Command. We need information from that level. Someone we can pressure.’
He turned Darwish’s face towards his.
‘You are an influential man. You know people. You can help.’
Darwish shook his head. He reached for the glass in front of him and downed the contents in one, as if it was his last drink on earth.
‘One more favour, for old time’s sake.’
‘Zima, you are like a brother to me. You know I would die for you but. .’
‘We’re all going to die if we don’t find that bomb.’
Darwish’s hands rose and fell. ‘Loyalty to Al Bashir is driven by fear. All this time he was the popular leader, the great hope for our nation. Now. .’ He shook his head in despair. ‘Many of his oldest allies have been purged. The people round him now — foreign—.’
‘Yes I know. Foreign influences. What sort?’
‘You know Tehran, all the time rumours. Some say a secret son he fathered abroad.’
This wasn’t going anywhere. Humour him. Dima smiled. ‘Darwish, you are the man who knows everyone, you have many influential relatives. . Maybe one of them?’
The charm wasn’t working. Darwish was sweating, shaking. Showing all the signs of a man who had got himself into something he wished he hadn’t.
‘You ask I take photos. For old time’s sake. Fine. It’s dangerous but I do it. Next thing you crash helicopters, kill a lot of people. Now you ask me to betray. .’
Dima butted in, still with the charm. ‘You are an operator, Darwish, very well connected. You have played the game well all this time. Very few of us know your true loyalties. The fact that you are able to meet us in the open in a time of national emergency tells me that even now you believe you have nothing to fear from the PLR. No one need know your role. This isn’t just for me; it’s for your country. Think about it.’
Darwish was thinking all right, but not in the way Dima wanted him to. Not yet. He pressed on, colder now.
‘We don’t have time to do the research, checking people out, surveillance, finding their weaknesses, compromising them. Instead of weeks, months, we have days, or maybe only hours, to find Kaffarov and his bombs. Brother, don’t make me push you any harder.’
Darwish pulled away, a last burst of indignation. ‘You’re blackmailing me. After all I’ve. .’
Dima fixed him with a cold stare. Their relationship had always been an unequal one. While posing as a Russian Special Forces instructor to the Revolutionary Guard, Dima had acted as Darwish’s handler, running him as a high-value source deep inside the government. The intelligence had been invaluable and Darwish had been handsomely rewarded. Darwish’s cover was never blown, but he always knew that he would be in Dima’s debt.
Dima piled on the pressure. ‘Someone close enough to Al Bashir to know about Kaffarov. We know there’s a relationship there because they were scheduled to meet in person last night. And if Al Bashir was prepared to travel up here to meet him that means he regards Kaffarov as valuable. Very valuable. Come on Darwish, think about the old days. “Anything is possible,” that was your mantra. “Anything you need Zima, you got.” Remember?’
Defeated, Darwish let his head drop into his hands. Then after a few seconds he got to his feet. ‘Five minutes, please.’
After Darwish left, Vladimir was the first to speak. ‘Nice show, Dima. If you don’t mind me asking, what’s this going to do for us?’
Dima folded his arms. ‘You’ll see.’
Then it was Kroll’s turn. ‘Since we’re this short of time wouldn’t it be quicker to break his legs?’
