‘It was an IED that took out their vehicle. Don’t blame me for that.’
‘Get your finger out of my face or I’ll break it,’ said Armstrong.
‘Billy, come on,’ said Shepherd.
Armstrong stood up, his hands loose at his side, fingers curled. It wasn’t an overly aggressive stance, but Shepherd knew he was a heartbeat away from laying into the American.
‘We’re all tense,’ said Shepherd. ‘Let’s not start taking it out on each other.’
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ said Muller, slowly and deliberately.
‘Billy, why don’t you go up and relieve Martin?’ said Shepherd. ‘He probably wants to eat by now.’
They heard footsteps from the kitchen and the Major walked in with a mug of coffee. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ said Armstrong, lighting another cigarette.
‘Just a discussion about strategy,’ said Muller. ‘No big deal.’ He turned and went back to the piano.
‘Everything okay?’ the Major asked Shepherd.
‘Sure. Billy was just going up to relieve Martin.’
‘Good idea,’ said the Major. ‘He gets cranky if he doesn’t get a snack at this time of the day.’ Armstrong headed for the servants’ quarters. ‘There’s coffee in the kitchen if you want it,’ the Major said to Shepherd.
‘I’m okay,’ said Shepherd.
‘Nothing on the website?’
Shepherd shook his head. ‘They’ve got to be monitoring all the usual channels to see what reaction their kidnapping is having, so they must know by now that we’ve got him.’
Muller walked over to a large gilt sideboard on which more than a dozen framed photographs were lined up like soldiers on parade, larger than the ones on the piano.
‘What if we don’t hear from them?’ asked Shepherd.
‘We’re screwed,’ said the Major. ‘But let’s not assume the worst. There’s still time.’
‘There’s time today and tomorrow. But what if two days pass and we hear nothing? Do we have a Plan B?’
O’Brien came in from the kitchen. ‘What’s that about a Plan B?’ he said.
‘We don’t have one,’ said Shepherd. ‘That’s the point.’
‘Nothing from the bad guys?’ said O’Brien.
‘It could be that Wafeeq would be happy to see his brother dead,’ said Shepherd. ‘Or it might make him so angry that he kills Geordie on the spot.’
‘Let’s stick with Plan A for a bit longer,’ said the Major.
‘Yeah, but we don’t have a Plan B, do we?’
‘Maybe we do,’ said Muller. He picked up one of the framed photographs and took it to the Major. It was a wedding photograph: Fariq and his wife, with an elderly couple standing to Fariq’s left and another couple, slightly younger, to his wife’s right. ‘I’m guessing that’s the parents. His and hers.’
The Major took the photograph from him. ‘You recognise someone?’
‘The guy standing by Fariq’s wife is a top Sunni politician, one of the survivors of Saddam’s regime. The Americans helped groom him for government because they need someone speaking for the Sunni minority.’
‘So she’d be his daughter, presumably?’ said Shepherd.
‘Let me Google it,’ said Muller.
‘Try the computer in his study,’ said Shepherd.
Muller took back the photograph and headed for the study.
‘If he’s right, we might have that Plan B,’ said the Major.
‘The wife?’ said Shepherd.
‘A guy like him would probably have a direct line to the Sunni insurrectionists. Put pressure on him and he can put pressure on them.’
‘By pressure you mean put her in the orange jumpsuit?’
‘Have you got a problem with that?’
Shepherd slotted the magazine into the butt of the Glock. ‘I guess not,’ he said.
‘It’s no different from what we’ve done so far,’ said the Major. ‘We just make another video.’
Shepherd’s mobile rang. Jimmy Sharpe. ‘Razor, what’s up?’ he asked.
‘You’re the man, Spider. You’re the bloody man.’
‘I’m busy with something, Razor. Can we keep this short?’
‘I don’t know what you said to the shrink but the pressure’s off.’
‘Stockmann?’
‘Yeah. She’s had a change of heart and that’s got to be down to you.’
‘I’m glad it worked out. But we’ve got to have a chat when I get back.’
‘Where are you?’ asked Sharpe.
‘Working on something,’ said Shepherd. ‘Personal. I’ll be back in a day or two. And we have to talk, Razor, your language has got to change.’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’
‘I’m serious. That was the deal I reached with Stockmann. She revises her report, but you have to watch what you say.’
‘No more Pakis?’
‘Razor…’
‘I was joking. Yeah, we’ll have a chat when you get back. You can teach me how to be more politically correct.’
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ said Shepherd. He cut the connection.
‘Problem?’ asked the Major.
‘Just house-training a dinosaur,’ said Shepherd.
Dean Hepburn opened the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He waved it at Richard Yokely. ‘A quick one?’ he said.
‘Why not?’
Hepburn pulled two glasses from the drawer and poured two hefty slugs into them. He handed one to Yokely and they clinked. ‘To the bad old days,’ he said.
‘Ah, yes,’ said Yokely. ‘I remember them well.’ He sipped his Jack Daniel’s. ‘The new technology’s all well and good, but it takes a lot of the fun out of it.’
Hepburn swung his feet on to his desk and balanced the glass on his expanding waistline. ‘I hate it here,’ he said. ‘They don’t let me drink in the office.’
‘Bastards,’ said Yokely.
‘If it wasn’t for the pension, I’d go freelance. But I’ve got three kids in college and a wife who wants a holiday home in Florida.’
‘The NSA’s not so bad, Dean,’ said Yokely. ‘At least you don’t spend half your life at thirty thousand feet.’
‘And what brings you to Crypto City?’
Crypto City was what the forty thousand or so employees of the National Security Agency called their huge headquarters in Forte Meade, Maryland, half-way between Baltimore and Washington. More than fifty buildings, hidden from prying eyes with acres of carefully planted trees. Some of the best brains from the country’s top universities worked in the NSA’s offices and laboratories. However, Hepburn was not a graduate of one of America’s leading educational establishments: like Yokely, his training ground had been Nicaragua, Colombia, Panama and Afghanistan.
‘A little off-the-record help,’ said Yokely. ‘I’m looking for any traffic regarding an Iraqi by the name of Wafeeq bin Said al-Hadi, and his brother Fariq.’
Hepburn scribbled down the two names.
‘Location?’
‘Wafeeq is in Iraq. Fariq is in Dubai. You’ll see traffic saying he’s been kidnapped in Baghdad but my intel is that he’s in Dubai.’
‘And what are you expecting?’
