far side were about ten furnaces gouged out of the bedrock. Each one had an opening about the size of a door and a little above this was a hole which let out viscous smoke and muddied light. Herrick climbed out of the car saying she’d pay Bashkin another hundred dollars to wait. She also told him to direct a tall Englishman who was about to arrive down into the valley.
She started down the slope, picking her way through the scrub, all the while glancing ahead of her and up to the road above. As she drew near to the point where the bushes had been cleared, she saw dozens of young men and small, emaciated boys scurrying between the furnaces and heaps of rubber tyres that were responsible for the poisonous air. Their skin and clothes were blackened and the sweat on their bodies gleamed in the light. She crouched down and watched for a few minutes, almost hypnotised by the sight of them rolling tyres up the incline, then heaving them into the furnaces. Occasionally, downdrafts from the mountains caused the fires to blow back without warning and those nearest the furnace doors had to jump for cover. She saw one of these tar-black creatures, no more than four foot six tall, use a long metal poker to vault out of the way with great agility. When he landed he performed a jig like a monkey-demon cavorting in the flames of hell.
Maybe it was the roar of the underground fires, or the idea that she was witnessing a spectacle brought to life from Hieronymous Bosch, that dulled her attention. Either way, she was utterly caught off guard when they seized her from behind, lifted her bodily onto the clear ground in front and began to frisk her. She managed a little yelp but otherwise put up no resistance.
There were three of them, all armed. She recognised one from the SHISK headquarters. He gestured to the other two to bring her a little way down the hill and they walked to a pile of wood. The two men holding her relaxed their grip, and one – covertly it seemed to her – slipped his hand down to feel her bottom. What did this mean? Did it presage gang rape, or was this man’s interest something she could use? Could she snatch a gun and run for it?
‘You do know I’m a British diplomat?’ she said in a voice that sounded all too thin and powerless.
The SHISK guard laughed without turning towards her. He was searching the track below them, shielding his face from the heat of the fires. ‘No Ingleesh diplomat,’ he said, wagging his finger without looking at her. ‘You Ingleesh spy. Missease Jeemes Bond.’ All three laughed. At this point, the little man she had seen leaping from the flames came over with a seesaw walk, holding the metal pole over his shoulder like a javelin. He had a round, hairless face with elfin ears and eyes that were too close together. They knew his name – Ylli – and beckoned to him, although his strange looks clearly made them feel uncomfortable. Ylli put out a hand and was given a cigarette and some notes which he stuffed into his back pocket. Then he strutted around Herrick, making observations about her in the high, unbroken voice of a boy. Twice he tried to touch her but was shooed away by the guards. Then he withdrew and let himself down onto a pile of four tyres where he smoked with quick, childish puffs and made gestures that suggested he was sitting in the finest armchair ever made.
The little man heard the cars first, and scrambled up to balance on the tyres with prehensile bare feet and waved excitedly with the pole. The two Landcruisers, now joined by a Jeep and BMW sped up the remainder of the hill and tore past them about fifty yards away. Herrick strained forward but couldn’t make out any of the passengers because they were thrown into silhouette by the light of the fires and a lot of dust had been kicked up by the lead vehicle. They reached the top of the bowl and stopped just beyond a layer of black fog, at which Ylli jumped down and scampered over to them. Several men got out and started making for the higher ground above the furnaces. They were dragging someone with them, the man in the blue T-shirt, who evidently had his hands tied behind his back and was offering no resistance whatsoever. Behind them came The Doctor, who struggled up the slope with Ylli bringing up the rear. Something passed between this group: it almost seemed as if they were trying to reason with the prisoner. But at length all but two stepped away. The man was marched forward and without further hesitation pushed into the flue opening. Ylli rushed up to the hole and could be seen thrusting and jabbing at the body with his pole. Then a couple of car tyres were thrown in. These instantly caught light and belched a column of smoke and sparks into the night. Without a second look, the party descended to the cars, drove back down towards them and pulled up. A man she hadn’t seen before got out. He was in his late forties, dapperly dressed for the evening in a light sports jacket, a thin polo shirt and well-cut trousers. He took off the jacket, hung it round his shoulders and dusted off his hands with a quick slapping motion.
‘It was your choice to be here tonight,’ said the man. His English was perfect; the manner reminiscent of the polo ground. ‘You were spying, and unpleasant things sometimes happen to spies, as you are no doubt aware.’
Herrick was almost too shocked to speak. ‘Why did you kill him?’ she said. ‘And like that?’
‘We have no use for a filthy terrorist. He would not answer our questions. We gave him his chance as you saw this afternoon. How many people have been burnt and mutilated by the actions of men like Khan? You ask yourself that before you judge us. We believe in decisive solutions here in Albania.’
‘Burning people alive,’ she said quietly, ‘is not an option in any war.’
‘You have a phrase in English, do you not, Miss Herrick? If you can’t stand the heat of the fire… well, I’m sure you know it.’ He gave a little chuckle, took a small notebook from his pocket and held it up to the headlights of the leading car. ‘Your address in London and your telephone number are written here, and that belonging to your father, an old war hero, I believe. He lives in Scotland in a place called Hopelaw – a pretty name – and he has a servant there named Mrs Mackenzie. You see, you are no mystery to me, Isis Herrick.’
She shook her head. ‘Who are you?’
‘I am Marenglen.’ He paused and took a folded handkerchief from his trouser pocket and held it under his nose. ‘You see, we Albanians have been locked up in this land for many years, so when the communists fell we acquired a taste for travel. Many Albanians have left and set up enterprises all over the world. In some cases, regrettably, these did not meet with the approval of the authorities. However, in London my countrymen encountered little opposition to their activities and they were able to establish themselves in many different fields of endeavour. You will be familiar, perhaps, with the way they have taken over certain businesses in Soho, but they also have many other tricks up their sleeves. One is contract killing.’
He returned the handkerchief to his pocket and snapped his fingers. The guard who had first apprehended her handed him a cigarette and lit it. ‘So,’ he let out smoke from the side of his mouth, ‘allow Marenglen to tell you now that if you place so much as a word of what you have seen in your report to London, I will have you and your father and his loyal servant killed. Naturally, these contracts will be issued in the order that causes maximum pain. If, however, you feel you cannot guarantee your silence to me now, then I don’t see why we shouldn’t advance things a little. You have met Ylli. I believe Ylli is a virgin, at least with humans, although the same cannot be said for sheep and goats. We can leave you with Ylli, he can take his pleasure with you and then, well, you will disappear. I think you can imagine that this would not be a happy end.’
She nodded.
‘So why don’t you go back to the Byron and prepare to leave Albanian soil within, say, thirty-six hours. That should give you time to send a convincing report saying you were given access to the prisoner Khan and that he was in every respect unforthcoming and uncooperative. Oh yes, there is one other thing. Take Robert Harland with you. I don’t see that there is any point in his staying on after you’ve left.’ He smiled, not very pleasantly, and walked the few paces to the car.
The men holding her let go and jogged over to the cars. When one of the doors was opened she was sure she caught a glimpse of Gibbons. A few seconds later the convoy bumped off down the hill. She turned and made her way to Bashkin’s Mercedes, sickened and choking on the smell of the Valleys of Fire.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
One question stayed in Herrick’s mind on the ride back to the hotel, and when she was sitting on the balcony of her room with a packet of crisps from the minibar she said it out loud. Why would the CIA and SHISK go to such lengths to question Khan about a planned terrorist attack, then kill him without getting an answer? Even if Khan had talked in the few hours between her leaving the headquarters and seeing him taken off, that would be no reason to kill him. Surely it would be the moment for the Americans to produce him to the world’s media as evidence of another thwarted terrorist plot, a triumph of vigilance and interception to be shared with their Albanian friends. There was only one solution. Khan had not been killed.
She phoned Harland’s room and then his mobile. There was no answer on either. She waited for half an hour,
