As they headed into Ramallah it showed all the signs of a town that had endured a major conflict of conventional war proportions. Many buildings had been turned into rubble, the roads and pavements were chewed up by tank-tracks and there were a number of cars flattened where they were parked. On one street corner the locals had created a bizarre sculpture out of a dozen cars flattened by tanks, placed neatly on top of one another and painted white. Few houses had electricity and there was little sign of life this late at night. Some roads were blocked, either by locals trying to screw with the Israeli patrols, or the Israelis screwing with the locals. There was no road discipline for cars and if there was a clear route, no matter what side of the road, even against oncoming traffic, it was taken.
Near the centre of the town, Morgan pulled over to the kerb and turned off the lights and engine.
‘The main square is just down there,’ he said, indicating straight ahead.‘There’s a small roundabout with four lions pointing outwards.Your man will be near the one on the right and closest to you as you approach.’
‘The lion with the wristwatch.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Do you know who I’m meeting?’ Stratton asked.
‘All I know is he’s Jihad or Al Qaeda and works for us. Sumners said it was a real coup to get this bloke but if you ask me I think it’s a bit dodgy.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘You don’t work for Al Qaeda unless you’re real committed, do you? Know what I mean? They fuckin’ ’ate us. Enough to top ’emselves. So why does one of ’em suddenly want to work for us?’
‘Money?’
‘They ain’t into that. My point is they totally ’ate us. We represent everything that goes against what they believe in. They ’ate the Jews and they say the Jews own America and so they ’ate America. You know what this lot believe around ’ere? They believe the nine-eleven attack was planned and carried out by the Israelis and CIA. I ’eard that from the mouth of the president of a university in Gaza. If someone as intelligent as him believes that, then what do the thousands of ’is students believe? Na, I’d watch me back, mate. I mean, you obviously know what you want ’im for, but just watch your back, that’s all.’
Stratton wanted to say he wished he did know what this guy was about. It was obviously something to do with Zhilev the Russian but the connection was eluding him thus far. Sumners’ boss never said anything because he was protecting his source in case the meeting didn’t happen. That was fair enough. It’s one thing that operatives know there’s a tout within Al Qaeda working for MI6. If it got out what his connection was, it would provide a clue to who he was.They were giving the terrorist to Stratton because this operation was big, but if it fell through, if Stratton could not meet him, then the spy was still protected.
‘He won’t be there before first light,’ Morgan said. ‘If you wanna get your head down for a bit I’ll stay on watch.’
That wasn’t a bad idea, Stratton thought. He felt more tired than he should have, and in this game you took your sleep when you could. ‘Maybe I will,’ he said, reclining his seat fully and closing his eyes. ‘It’s been a long day.’ And a new day was coming, he thought, and no doubt one full of surprises.The most frustrating thing about the assignment was he had no idea what his next move was going to be. He couldn’t imagine how a member of Al Qaeda would be any help and made an effort to clear his head of thoughts so he could rest for a while. He did not expect to get any real sleep but a long rest, thinking of nothing, was almost as good.
Stratton quickly drifted off, and what seemed to be only minutes later he felt a nudge in his side, but for some reason he could not respond as if he was confused about its origin. It came again, this time stronger and he fought to find himself and take control of his limbs and pull himself together. He opened his eyes and light streamed into them, and for a couple of seconds he did not know where he was. Then it came rushing back like a freight train.
‘Stratton,’ he heard a voice say, recognising it was Morgan’s.
It was daylight. He sat up and checked his watch. Nearly 7 a.m.
‘You were gone, mate,’ Morgan said.
Stratton rubbed his face to push the sleep away.
‘Time you checked on your man.’
Stratton moved the seat back into the upright position.
‘’Ere you are, mate,’ Morgan said, holding a bottle of water for him.
‘Thanks,’ Stratton said as he took it, poured some into his mouth and splashed his face. He handed the bottle back to Morgan and rubbed the water around his neck. Consciousness had almost fully returned and he focused on the street ahead that was already looking busy.
At the end of it, a couple of hundred yards away, he could make out what appeared to be some life-sized stone lions but they were too far away and it was too crowded to pick out any particular individuals.
‘You carrying?’ Stratton asked.
‘Na. Ain’t worth the risk. The Israelis’d slap you in jail in a ’eartbeat if they found it. Maybe worse if they caught you at night and there were no witnesses.’
Stratton did not particularly care about those risks at the moment. He was beginning to feel more and more naked without a weapon the deeper he got into this operation. The no weapons policy of the MOD was political and getting worse each year. As usual, it would continue its trend until operatives started dying before the powers that be reviewed a change, and even then that was no guarantee. That didn’t help him right at that moment. He just hoped he would not be the operative who inspired the policy change.
Stratton glanced at Morgan to nod farewell and paused to study his face, seeing him for the first time in any proper light since meeting him the night before.
‘What?’ Morgan asked, wondering why Stratton was staring at him.
‘You’ve been putting in a lot of hours since you got here, haven’t you?’
‘Yeah . . . Why?’
‘Your nose and ear hairs stick out like rose bushes. You normally pluck ’em bald when you’ve got nothing to do.’
Morgan adjusted the rear-view mirror to have a look for himself, examining both ears and deep into his large nostrils. ‘Bloody ’ell. You’re right. Give me som’ing to do while I’m waiting for you.’
Stratton opened the door. ‘See you later,’ he said as he climbed out. Morgan didn’t reply, already busy gripping a large clump of hair sticking out of his nose which he ripped out with a small yelp.
‘Been a while,’ he said, his eyes watering.
Stratton closed the door and headed for the centre of Ramallah.
It was market day in the town. Barrows lined each side of the street stacked with all kinds of produce and sundry items. The smell of fresh bread filled the air and the traffic was increasing by the minute as vans arrived from both ends of the street to unload their goods. Stratton gave up trying to walk down the pavements strewn with crates and boxes and moved out on to the road.
As he reached the circle, he focused on the nearest lion on the right. Sure enough, it had a wristwatch carved on to its front leg. People and vehicles milled around the circle, moving in and out of the five roads that led from it like spokes on a wheel, but no one was waiting beside the lion with the wristwatch.
Stratton looked for any faces among the sellers and buyers that might be watching him but nothing was obvious. He was the only white man in the area and there were the inevitable curious looks from passers by. Nearby vendors offered him their wares but they were not pushy. A news crew appeared from a side street, three Westerners, and set up a camera to film the market, their presence making him feel less conspicuous.
Stratton’s gaze moved back to the lion, still sat by itself, and just as he was about to cross the road to stand beside it a man in jeans and a black leather jacket walked around the roundabout and paused by the great stone cat. He was in his twenties, dark skinned, handsome, with long jet-black hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. He raised a foot, planted it on the base of the lion, and proceeded to retie his shoelace. When he put his foot down, he stood up straight, put his hands in his pockets and looked directly at Stratton for a moment, his eyes intelligent and piercing.
Abed had not been given a description of the man he was to meet other than he would be white, and apart from the media crew this was the only white man around, and, what’s more, he was at the circle at the right time and without a doubt looking for someone. Abed stared at him long enough to make it obvious he was the one and then walked away. If it were not the right white man then he would not follow.
