Dark Forces (14 page)

Yusuf patted his chest. ‘I have always loved cricket. I love to watch the game. How can that be, Mr Whitehill? Why, as a child, was I so drawn to cricket, the game that the English invented? I sometimes think that in a previous life I was an Englishman.’

‘That might explain it,’ said Shepherd.

The maid returned with the pipe. She had prepared it with hot charcoal and tobacco and placed it next to Yusuf. He reached for the hose and sucked on it, then blew smoke at the sky. He sighed and nodded his approval at her. She hurried off.

The smell of the tobacco wafted over to Shepherd. It was sweet with a hint of apple. ‘Yusuf, I don’t want to rush you but I’m going to need to see the intel you have.’

‘Of course, my friend. Just let me enjoy my pipe for a minute or two.’

For the first time Shepherd began to worry. It was as if the Turk was playing for time. The maid returned holding a brass tray on which were a glass of iced water along with two ceramic bowls, one containing shelled peanuts, the other cubes of what looked like sugar-dusted Turkish delight. She set the tray on the table in front of Shepherd.

‘Please, help yourself, my friend,’ said Yusuf.

Shepherd picked up the iced water. He was thirsty and drank almost half of it in one go. Yusuf took another contented pull on his pipe, then put down the hose. He pushed himself up out of the chair. ‘I will get the information,’ he said.

‘Excellent,’ said Shepherd.

Yusuf rubbed his hands together. ‘How many will you need? To prove that my information is good?’

‘I need to see everything,’ said Shepherd.

‘Everything? You expect me to give you all that I have?’

‘Not give, Yusuf. Just show it to me. I won’t take notes or photograph anything. Just bring it to me, show me that it exists, then you take it away. I’m not going to try to steal anything.’ He gestured at the doorway. ‘You have men with guns out there. It’s not as if I could run away with anything, is it?’

‘I just worry, my friend. That information is my ticket to England and I don’t want to lose it.’

‘I understand,’ said Shepherd. ‘But you have to see it from my boss’s point of view. You’re asking for a lot and we would be remiss if we didn’t confirm that you’re in a position to deliver on your promises.’

‘That is fair,’ agreed Yusuf. He disappeared up the stairs.

The maid returned with a jug of iced water. She refilled Shepherd’s glass, then placed the jug on the table, picked up the bowl of Turkish delight and offered it to him. He smiled and shook his head but she continued to prod the bowl at him until he took a piece and nibbled it. As she headed out of the courtyard, Yusuf came down the stairs holding a sheaf of papers. They had been folded twice as if he had been keeping them in an envelope.

He sat down next to Shepherd. Shepherd reached for them and Yusuf gave them to him, albeit with reluctance. He bit his lower lip and rubbed his hands together as he watched Shepherd flick through the sheets.

There were forty-eight, each a photocopy of a Syrian passport. All the passports had been issued in Ankara to Asian men. The youngest was eighteen, the oldest thirty-seven. Shepherd passed his eyes over each one. He didn’t have to try to remember the details: providing he looked at it, the information would be in his memory for ever. ‘The dates of birth, are they genuine?’ he asked.

Yusuf wrinkled his nose. ‘I don’t know. But I was given them. And the names. The place of birth was put in by my man in the embassy.’

Shepherd continued to examine the sheets. ‘And these are real passports, not fakes?’

‘They are genuine. The real thing. The details are in the system. And they can be renewed.’

Shepherd gathered together the papers, and handed them back to Yusuf, who grabbed them and folded them in half. ‘So it’s good?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s good.’

Yusuf grinned like a schoolboy who had just been told he’d passed an exam. ‘So I can come to England?’

‘That’s what I’ll be recommending to my boss,’ said Shepherd.

Yusuf beamed. ‘That is just what I wanted to hear.’ He held up the sheets. ‘Let me put these away.’

‘Go ahead,’ said Shepherd. He leaned over the table, poured himself more iced water and glanced at his watch. It was just before four o’clock. He wanted to be back at the camp before dusk. Parker had told him a supply flight would head back to Istanbul that evening. He sipped his water. The maid reappeared and spoke to him in Turkish. Her eyes were almost black and when she smiled he could see that several of her back teeth were missing. He figured she was asking him if he wanted anything and he shook his head. ‘
Teʂekkür ederim
,’ he said. Thank you. That was just about all the Turkish he knew.

She picked up the dish of Turkish delight and prodded it at him again until he took another piece and popped it into his mouth. As she left, Yusuf came down the stairs. He’d changed his suit and was wearing a clean shirt. Shepherd assumed they were about to leave so he stood up but Yusuf sat down in his chair and reached for the tube of his hookah. Shepherd looked at his watch pointedly, but Yusuf didn’t seem to take the hint. He sucked at the hose, then blew smoke at the flagstones. ‘So, what do you think of my country, my friend?’ he asked.

‘I haven’t seen much of it,’ said Shepherd. ‘The airport and the camp, and your house, of course.’

‘This isn’t my house,’ said Yusuf. ‘I rent it. I sleep here but it’s not my home.’

‘You don’t mind leaving Turkey?’

Yusuf took a long pull on the pipe and blew a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. ‘I will miss Turkey, of course, but I can always return, knowing that my family are safe.’

‘And what about Turkey?’ asked Shepherd. ‘What will happen here, do you think?’

‘Who knows? Something must happen. Turkey can’t afford to keep paying for all the refugees who are coming, not without help. The cost will bankrupt the country unless Europe pays to deal with the problem. They can’t all stay here, that’s for sure. This province is very conservative. We have Turks, we have Arabs, we have Kurds. Good people. The Syrians …’ He shrugged. ‘You have to understand, they are not the same as us. They are what you might call our country cousins. Their morals are … How would you say? Looser.’

‘Looser?’

‘Underage girls are married off to older men for money. Or they sell themselves on the streets. The men, they’re lazy, they’re aggressive, they can’t be trusted. Don’t get me wrong, they’re refugees and they need our help, but we can’t take them all in, not without destroying what we have.’

Shepherd nodded. ‘So what’s the answer?’

‘Daesh must be fought and defeated,’ he said. ‘And we Turks cannot do that, not on our own. NATO must do it. They must send troops to fight Daesh and do what needs to be done.’

‘You know that’s probably not going to happen?’

‘It will have to happen, eventually,’ said Yusuf. ‘Do you know how many fighters they have?’

‘Estimates vary,’ said Shepherd.

‘Two hundred thousand,’ said Yusuf. ‘With a war chest of billions. You know how many soldiers Italy has?’

‘A hundred thousand, give or take.’

‘Exactly,’ said Yusuf. ‘And Spain, less than that. And Daesh is growing while the West cuts back on its armed forces. So let’s look ahead a few years. If nothing is done, Daesh will continue to grow. What happens when they have half a million fighters and they invade Spain or Italy? Would the Italians be able to hold them back? Would the Spanish? Of course not. NATO would have to act, and that means the Americans. But would the Americans be prepared to send hundreds of thousands of men to fight in Europe?’

‘There’s a long way to go before that’ll be necessary,’ said Shepherd.

‘It will happen,’ he said. ‘Daesh wants to control the world. And unless the world fights back …’

Yusuf drove Shepherd back to Suruç and stopped outside Craig Parker’s Portakabin. The two men climbed out of the car. ‘I will wait to hear from you, my friend.’ Yusuf embraced him. ‘But, please, do not leave it too long. I fear for my family, and the sooner they are in England, the better.’

‘I’m leaving for England tonight. As soon as I’ve spoken to my boss someone will be in touch,’ said Shepherd.

‘But we are good?’ asked Yusuf.

‘Yes,’ said Shepherd.

Yusuf beamed and hugged him again. ‘You are a good man, John. Thank you.’ He got back into the Renault, still grinning, and waved as he drove off.

Shepherd waved back, then headed inside. Laura was at her computer and she beckoned him through.

Craig Parker jumped up from his desk when Shepherd opened the door. ‘How did it go?’ he asked.

‘It was okay,’ said Shepherd, sitting down.

‘Can you help him?’

‘I don’t see why not. Do you really think he’s in danger?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Parker. ‘He said he fears for his safety and the safety of his family, but I haven’t heard it from anyone else. But then I wouldn’t, would I? The thing is, he’s hardly low-profile. He’s well known in the camp so I’m sure he’s on Islamic State’s radar.’

‘He says he’s been threatened. By an IS commander.’

‘That’s what he told me. And it’s perfectly possible, so he’s put his family in a safe house.’

‘If he really feared for his life, wouldn’t he just pack up and go?’

‘He needs the money,’ said Parker.

‘So he’s putting money ahead of his family’s safety.’

‘It’s tough out here, John,’ said Parker. ‘He doesn’t have many choices.’

One of Shepherd’s phones vibrated. He took it out and looked at the screen. It was the Terry Taylor phone and the caller had withheld his number. ‘I’ve got to take this,’ he said. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Sure, of course, go ahead,’ said Parker.

Shepherd smiled and held up the phone. Parker got the message. ‘Ah, right.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll be outside.’

Shepherd waited until Parker had left before taking the call. ‘Yeah?’

‘Terry, it’s Howard. The brothers want me to give you a briefing.’

‘How’s tomorrow?’

‘Today would be better,’ said Wedekind. ‘The Mayfair again – say, six?’

‘I’m out of the country, mate. Back tomorrow.’

‘Where the fuck are you?’

‘I had some business to take care of. I can do tomorrow, first thing.’

‘Tommy didn’t say anything about you being out of the country.’

‘Well, I’m not staff yet, Howard,’ said Shepherd. ‘If you want you can give me the SP over the phone and I’ll head straight out there.’

‘Tommy doesn’t want business discussed over the phone, ever,’ said Wedekind. ‘You’ll have to learn that. Anyone discusses anything other than face to face, they’re out.’

‘Understood. So what time’s good for you tomorrow?’

‘No time’s good for me tomorrow,’ snapped Wedekind. ‘That’s why I wanted to see you today.’

‘Howard, mate, I’m sorry. Totally my fault. Look, let me buy you lunch tomorrow. Or dinner. On me. Anywhere you want.’

‘Sheekey’s. Lunch. And I’ll be drinking champagne.’

‘As many bottles as you want, Howard.’

‘You can count on it.’

The message in the draft mail folder said the meeting was to be in Heaton Park again at eleven in the morning. Omar replied, explaining that his father queried time off so an evening meeting would be preferable. Within minutes another message had appeared:
7 p.m
.

Omar ran the same counter-surveillance measures as he had last time when he travelled from his home to the park by bus, tram and on foot. Once he was sure he wasn’t being followed he turned into the park. It was starting to rain and he had brought a small collapsible umbrella with him. He opened it and held it over his head as he walked to the bench. The man was already there, sitting under a large red, green and yellow striped golfing umbrella. There was a black kitbag at his feet.

Omar sat down. The rain was still spitting and all but the most committed dog-walkers had left the park. ‘I will need more money,’ said Omar. He reached into his coat and handed the man several printed sheets. ‘I can’t find anything usable for under three thousand pounds. The best ones are closer to ten. Six tens are sixty grand.’

The man nodded. ‘We knew you would need additional funds. Are the buyers happy to accept cash?’

‘Most prefer it. I’ve been asking for discounts for cash and no one knocks me back.’

‘Sixty thousand isn’t a problem,’ said the man. ‘Just remember what I said about receipts. How much work is required?’

‘They all need light bars but I can buy those second-hand and fit them myself. Of the ones I’m looking at, three are white so we’ll need to respray but I have a good guy for that.’

‘And the premises we arranged for you? They are suitable?’

‘They’re fine. Well away from prying eyes.’

The man pushed the kitbag towards Omar with his foot. ‘There is thirty thousand pounds in there. Be very careful with it, brother. You can tell me when you need more and we will meet again, but you must bring receipts with you.’

Omar reached down, picked up the kitbag and placed it on his lap.

‘This guy who is helping you. You trust him?’

‘He is a good man. He has met my imam and they have talked.’

‘I know that. I was asking if you trust him.’

‘I do.’

‘With your life?’

Omar frowned. ‘What do you mean, brother?’

‘You were trained by us. We know you. This man, we don’t know.’

‘He is a good man and a good jihadist. He has no family here. He has refugee status and his paperwork is all good.’

‘But he has family in Afghanistan?’

Omar nodded. ‘A wife and children.’

‘A family can make a man vulnerable to pressure,’ said the man. ‘If he is caught, it can be a lever to open his mouth.’

‘Faisal wouldn’t talk. But we won’t get caught. We’re careful. And all we’re doing at the moment is buying vehicles.’

The man smiled. ‘Of course. But there will come a point when the true purpose of those vehicles is realised. You are committed to our cause, brother, and you will die before you reveal its secrets. But this Faisal, will he be as steadfast?’

‘I think so.’

The man’s smile widened. ‘Is that worth betting your life on, brother? I know I wouldn’t bet my own on “I think so”. I would want to be sure.’ He wiped his hands on his coat. ‘But no matter. We can talk about this again closer to the time. For the moment we are happy for you to use Faisal.’ He stood up. ‘Send me a message when you need more funds.’ He walked away before Omar could reply.