Dark Forces (13 page)

Shepherd understood exactly what Yusuf meant because he’d often looked into the eyes of men who had taken lives, and there was something different about them. ‘The men you’ve been providing passports for, have you helped them leave Turkey?’ he asked.

‘The Daesh fighters?’ He shook his head. ‘No. And that is also suspicious. They clearly have their own transport arrangements. All they need from me is the passports.’

‘And when you’re suspicious, you keep records?’

Yusuf smiled slyly. ‘My insurance policy.’

‘What about the men you met? Did any of them tell you where exactly they were heading?’

‘Those men were not the sort to chat about their plans. But Europe, for sure. America never came up in conversation with any of them. They wanted passage to Europe.’

‘But not specifically to the UK?’

Yusuf shrugged. ‘A couple of them mentioned London. But everyone wants to go to England, don’t they? In England they give refugees money and a house. They all know that. Even when Angela Merkel said they could go to Germany, most of them only wanted to go so they could get a German passport and move to England.’

‘But they said London? Specifically London?’

‘Yes. Several of them.’

‘Why? How did it come up?’

‘One said he had family there. Another said he had a friend who would give him somewhere to stay. Some of them were open about it. Others were more circumspect.’

‘You have their pictures?’

Yusuf rested his hands on his stomach. ‘Of course. And copies of their new passports. I have copies of all the passports. All forty-eight.’

‘Because you suspected they were not genuine refugees?’

Yusuf laughed. ‘I keep copies of all the passports I obtain. For insurance.’

‘But the forty-eight you’re talking about. You’re sure they’re IS?’

‘I wouldn’t be bothering you with suspicions, my friend. I can imagine how upset you would be if you discovered that one of the names I had given you was a genuine refugee.’

‘That would be embarrassing,’ said Shepherd.

‘The intel I have is one thousand per cent genuine,’ said Yusuf, quietly. ‘There is no doubt. I am sure that all forty-eight of the names I have are of Daesh fighters intent on launching terrorist attacks within Europe. Now, it is true I cannot say which of them are heading to the United Kingdom but we both know how Daesh hates your country and is intent on doing it harm. You cannot afford not to have these names.’

‘There’s no need for the hard sell, Yusuf. We’re well aware of the value of your intel.’

Yusuf smiled ingratiatingly. ‘I’m not a greedy man. All I ask is passports for me, my wife and children, and passage to England. And money, of course.’

‘How much money?’ asked Shepherd.

‘How much do you think they will pay?’ asked Yusuf, narrowing his eyes.

‘That’s not my area,’ said Shepherd.

‘Would they pay a million dollars?’

‘I wouldn’t think so.’

‘Half a million?’ asked Yusuf, hopefully.

‘Possibly. It would depend on how good the intel is. If the jihadists are low-level soldiers, then maybe not much. But if they were commanders, or bomb-makers, possibly more.’

‘I will need money,’ said Yusuf. ‘My plan is to buy cars and rent them to Uber drivers. Maybe drive myself. You can earn good money with Uber.’

‘That sounds like a plan.’

‘So who do I talk money with, if not you?’ asked Yusuf.

‘Someone from London will come up with a figure after I’ve given my report,’ said Shepherd. ‘I need to see the intel you have.’

Yusuf shook his head emphatically. ‘If I give it to you, it loses its value,’ he said. ‘At the moment there is no trust between us. You do not know me, I do not know you. Trust has to be earned.’

‘You don’t have to give me anything,’ said Shepherd. ‘But I need to see it. They won’t pay for intel if they’re not sure it exists.’

‘I don’t have it here.’

‘I wouldn’t expect you to carry it around with you.’

‘I can take you to it. I can show it to you. But only you.’

‘That would work. Where?’

‘I have a villa in Urfa. It is where my family stays.’

Urfa was a city about forty kilometres from the camp, the capital of Sanliurfa Province. ‘You can take me there?’ Shepherd asked.

‘You will have to be alone,’ said Yusuf. ‘Only you.’

‘That’s okay.’

‘You are not worried?’

‘About what?’

‘About being alone in a strange country? About being kidnapped?’

‘Should I be?’

Yusuf smiled. ‘Of course not, my friend.’

Shepherd returned the smile. ‘I’ve been kidnapped before,’ he said. ‘And it didn’t end well for the people who did the kidnapping.’

‘Your government intervened? Special Forces? The SAS?’

Shepherd laughed. ‘No, mate. The British aren’t like the Russians or the Israelis. If you fall in the shit they leave you to your own devices. It was the Yanks. The Americans. And they were doing a favour for a friend. A lot of people died, Yusuf. Just so you know.’

‘No one is going to kidnap you, my friend,’ said Yusuf. ‘You have my word.’

‘When can we go?’ asked Shepherd.

Yusuf shrugged carelessly. ‘I can take you now. What is it you say? “Strike while the iron is hot”? I am ready when you are.’

‘I’ll need to make a phone call.’

‘Take all the time you need,’ said Yusuf. ‘But afterwards I must ask you to leave your phone here.’

Shepherd nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said. Yusuf was right to be cautious: phones could be tracked, and with drones able to deal near-instant death from the skies it was only common sense to keep his home a closely guarded secret.

Mohammed al-Hussain was still kneeling down with his head over the toilet when the yacht moored in the marina at Mikrolimano. Saif went below deck to fetch him. ‘Are you all right, brother?’ he asked.

Al-Hussain spat into the toilet bowl. ‘No,’ he said.

‘We have arrived,’ said Saif.

‘
Ashokrulillah
.’ Praise be to Allah.

Saif touched his arm. ‘We need to go now. Your transport is waiting.’

Al-Hussain groaned and grabbed a bottle of water. He rinsed his mouth and got unsteadily to his feet. Saif picked up his backpack and helped him up the steps to the deck where Yasir was waiting.

‘Feeling any better, brother?’ he asked, gripping al-Hussain’s arm.

‘Is the sea always as rough as that?’ asked al-Hussain.

Yasir laughed. ‘Brother, the sea was as smooth as silk.’

Al-Hussain moaned softly. Yasir and Saif helped him off the yacht and onto the wooden pier. Two Asian men were waiting at the far end. They were dark-skinned and beardless, wearing leather jackets and faded jeans.

Saif gave al-Hussain his backpack, then hugged him. When Saif stepped back, Yasir hugged al-Hussain and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘
Allah yusallmak
,’ he said. May God protect you.

Al-Hussain thanked them and walked unsteadily along the pier towards the Asians. They greeted him, then took him along to a waiting SUV.

Yusuf was an erratic driver at best. He rarely had more than one hand on the wheel and seemed to pay little attention to any other traffic on the road. His vehicle was an old Renault, its red paintwork pretty much obliterated by a thick layer of dust. It was an automatic, and Yusuf drove using both feet, his left on the brake and his right on the accelerator. Sometimes when he braked he stamped on both pedals at the same time resulting in the engine roaring as they came to a jerking halt. The passenger seatbelt was broken but he kept the speed down and there wasn’t much traffic on the road.

‘You live in London, my friend?’ asked Yusuf, taking his eyes off the road to look at Shepherd.

‘Yes,’ said Shepherd.

Yusuf continued to study him, one hand on the wheel, the other pulling at his ear lobe. ‘I have heard that Manchester is a better place to live.’

‘It rains a lot,’ said Shepherd.

There was a pick-up truck ahead of them and Yusuf didn’t appear to have noticed it.

‘We have a lot of rain here too,’ he said, ‘though you wouldn’t think so at the moment. But the rain will come. Sometimes snow. Manchester is cheaper than London?’

‘Sure,’ said Shepherd. ‘London is crazy. Everything is expensive.’ The pick-up truck was only fifty feet away and Yusuf was still looking at him. Shepherd was about to say something when Yusuf jerked the wheel and overtook the truck without even glancing at it.

‘I am looking forward to living in England and becoming an Englishman,’ said Yusuf. ‘My children will do so much better at an English school. They are very excited. My wife, too.’

Shepherd didn’t say anything. There wasn’t much he could say until he’d seen the information Yusuf had.

‘You know we have half a million Syrian refugees in our province?’ said Yusuf.

‘I heard that, yes.’

‘One in three people who live here are refugees,’ said Yusuf. ‘The world doesn’t know that, I think. Or doesn’t care.’

‘People care,’ said Shepherd. ‘They just don’t see what can be done.’

‘Many here are protesting, but they have no solution. In a perfect world they’d be sent home, but how can we do that when we know what will happen to them in their own countries? This could bankrupt our country. So far we have spent six billion dollars taking care of refugees. And we lost another two billion that Syrian tourists used to spend here. And the war means we no longer export to Syria. That has cost us another six billion dollars.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know how much longer Turkey can sustain those costs.’

‘It won’t be your problem, though, will it?’ said Shepherd. ‘You’ll be out of here.’

‘Please don’t misunderstand me,’ said Yusuf. ‘I don’t want to leave Turkey any more than the Syrian refugees want to leave their country. But, like them, I have no choice. If I stay here, Daesh will kill me eventually. I am sure of that.’

‘But you’re helping them.’

‘I help them for money, not because I agree with what they are doing. And they think I don’t suspect. They think they are so much smarter than everyone else so I won’t know what they’re up to. But eventually they will realise I am not as stupid as they think I am and at that point they will kill me. So I have no choice. I have to leave. If I do not leave I will die and I am not prepared to allow that to happen.’

‘Have you had a direct threat made against you?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Not to my face, no,’ said Yusuf. ‘But I have heard that one of the IS commanders is not happy with the work I am doing for the refugees. He thinks that by helping the refugees I am working against Daesh.’

‘But you’ve been helping them.’

‘I think there is a power struggle going on within Daesh and it has put me and my family in the firing line. That is why you must help me.’

‘That’s why I’m here, Yusuf. You show me what you have and, if it’s good, it’ll be your ticket to England.’

Yusuf beamed. ‘Just what I wanted to hear, my friend. Just what I wanted to hear.’

It took just under forty-five minutes to reach Yusuf’s villa. It was on the outskirts of Urfa, surrounded by a barbed-wire-topped wall. There was a metal gate that rolled back as he approached and Shepherd saw two men in long robes cradling AK-47s. Yusuf drove up to the villa as the gate rattled shut behind him. It was built of whitewashed stone with a flat roof and ornate metal bars over the windows. CCTV cameras were mounted above the front door. The two men climbed out of the Renault. ‘You have security here but not at the camp?’ asked Shepherd.

‘I would not be allowed armed guards at the camp,’ said Yusuf, waving at one of the men. He put a hand on Shepherd’s back, guided him to the front door and pushed it open. Beyond, a hallway led to a small courtyard with a stone fountain in the centre. There were large spreading plants in terracotta pots and more plants in baskets hanging from metal brackets. Several wicker chairs and sofas stood around an oval glass table. Yusuf waved at one of the sofas. ‘Please sit, my friend. Do you smoke?’

‘Smoke? No.’

‘I am very fond of the pipe,’ said Yusuf. ‘I hope you do not mind.’ He waved at a brass and wood hookah at the side of the table.

‘Go ahead,’ said Shepherd, sitting down.

Yusuf smiled his thanks, then disappeared through a side door. Shepherd looked up at the sky. It was a brilliant blue and cloudless, but the courtyard was cool, and the gushing fountain gave it the feel of a spa. The grey flagstones seemed ancient, worn glass-smooth over the years. On the far side a flight of stone steps led to the upper floor. Yusuf returned with a portly middle-aged woman wearing a black tunic and hijab. She smiled at Shepherd and picked up the pipe. ‘Would you like water?’ asked Yusuf. ‘Tea? Something stronger? I have some excellent malt whisky.’

‘Iced water would be fine,’ said Shepherd.

Yusuf spoke to the woman in Turkish and she disappeared into the kitchen with the pipe. He sat down in a wicker chair with a spreading back that made it look as if he had wings.

‘Is that your wife?’ asked Shepherd.

Yusuf laughed. ‘No. You think …?’ He laughed again and shook his head. ‘She is the maid, my friend. One of the maids. My wife, she is a beautiful woman. My wife and children are not here, my friend. They are in a safe place, with more guards than I have here.’

‘And why aren’t your family here?’ asked Shepherd.

‘It’s not safe.’

‘It looks fairly secure to me.’

‘Looks can be deceiving,’ said Yusuf. ‘We are still close to the border. And there are thousands of Syrian refugees nearby, any one of whom could be loyal to Daesh. I am happy enough to rest my head here at night, but I would not be able to sleep soundly knowing that my children were in the next room. That is why I need to move them to England. Only there will they be safe.’

‘Have you been to England?’

‘No, I have not been lucky enough to make the journey. But I love your country, Mr Whitehill. The English are good people. Fair people. There is no better country in the world.’ He spread his hands. ‘I love Turkey, and I will always be a Turk, but in my heart of hearts I wish I had been born in England. Do you like cricket, Mr Whitehill?’

‘I prefer football.’