False Friends (13 page)

Al-Jaber smiled when he saw Bin Azim walking towards him. In terms of money and status Bin Azim was a pygmy compared to Al-Jaber, but he was ten years older and, out of respect for his age, Al-Jaber stood up and held out his hands in welcome. It was Bin Azim who initiated the kissing, a soft peck on each cheek, before they sat down.

‘I’m not eating,’ said Al-Jaber. ‘But please order whatever you like.’

‘Coffee is fine,’ said Bin Azim, adjusting his robe around his legs. A hovering waiter asked him what sort of coffee he wanted and Bin Azim ordered an espresso. His doctor was constantly asking him to switch to tea but coffee was one of the few pleasures that Bin Azim had left in his life and he intended to enjoy it until his last breath.

‘How was Karachi?’ asked Al-Jaber.

‘It there a worse place in the world?’ said Bin Azim. ‘If there is I have yet to find it.’

‘Perhaps in Africa,’ said Al-Jaber. ‘But there is money to be made in Pakistan and the generals are easy to work with. Everything and everyone has a price there.’

Bin Azim’s hand moved slowly inside his robe. He was wel known to Al-Jaber’s bodyguards but they stil stiffened and their hands moved to their concealed weapons. Bin Azim’s hand reappeared holding a piece of paper and the bodyguards relaxed. He slid the piece of paper across the table.

‘The Americans had help,’ said Bin Azim.

‘From the Pakistanis?’ There was a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses on the table by Al-Jaber’s right hand and he put them on.

‘From someone,’ said Bin Azim. He nodded at the piece of paper. ‘That’s the proof.’

Al-Jaber unfolded the sheet of paper. It was a photocopy of a hand-drawn floor plan.

‘It is a drawing of the compound and the buildings in it,’ said Bin Azim. ‘The wal s and the exterior can be seen from satel ites but, as you can see, the map shows the internal wal s.’

Al-Jaber studied the map for almost a ful minute before looking up. ‘And it is accurate?’

‘Absolutely. Every room.’

‘So it was drawn by someone who had visited the compound?’

‘That is the only way to get that amount of detail. You see the doors? The way they are drawn open?’

Al-Jaber looked back at the map. ‘Yes, I see that.’

‘The hinges are al on the correct sides. If the door is hinged on the left, it is drawn that way. And the furniture. It is exactly as it was in the house. I checked with his family.’

‘The Americans are saying that they fol owed The Sheik’s courier to the compound.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Is that a lie, then?’

‘It might perhaps be how they found the compound. But the courier would never betray The Sheik.’

‘The map is definitely genuine?’ asked Al-Jaber.

‘I have no reason to doubt its veracity.’

‘They are duplicitous bastards, the Pakistanis. You shake a Pakistani’s hand and you had better count your fingers afterwards.’

Bin Azim laughed. ‘My contact is solid. He met with The Sheik himself, many years ago. And he has supplied us with top-grade intel igence in the past.’

‘Leopards can change their spots,’ said Al-Jaber. ‘Especial y ones from Pakistan.’

‘I can vouch for him,’ said Bin Azim.

‘My concern is that the Pakistanis might want to cause mischief for the Americans.’ He held up the piece of paper. ‘ISI could have made this map after the event. Then leaked it to you.’

‘Why would they do that? What is there to gain? Are we going to hate the Americans more because of this map? Of course not.’

‘And the timing is very suspicious. Why release it now?’

‘It has only just been discovered. My contact says that they were clearing out one of the upstairs bedrooms and they found it under a mattress.

The Americans were in there at night, the map must have been dropped in the confusion and the mattress tipped on top of it.’

‘So the Pakistanis didn’t search the building after the attack?’

‘Why would they? They would have assumed that the Americans had taken everything of importance.’ He held out his hand and Al-Jaber passed the map back.

‘What about the Americans? Could they have wanted the Pakistanis to find the map? The Americans might want to sow dissent among our ranks. We start to suspect everybody. Once an organisation loses trust, it cannot function.’

The waiter reappeared with Bin Azim’s coffee and they waited until he had set the white porcelain cup down on the table and left before continuing their conversation.

‘So that is the question we must ask ourselves,’ said Al-Jaber. ‘Did the Americans leave it to be found? Or do we have something that they would rather we didn’t have?’

‘The fact that ISI went public is an embarrassment to the Americans. It makes them look less than professional.’

Al-Jaber chuckled. ‘Crashing their helicopter did that,’ he said. ‘My worry is that the Americans want us to act on this map. That they left it there for the Pakistanis to find, knowing that the Pakistanis would in turn pass it to us.’

‘If it was a plant it was very cleverly done. I am more inclined to believe that it was an error. These are the same Americans who crashed their helicopter, remember?’

Al-Jaber nodded slowly. ‘Then let us assume that the map is genuine and that the Americans made a mistake. What do we do?’

‘We find out who betrayed The Sheik and we kil him. Such a betrayal cannot go unpunished.’

‘The Sheik is dead,’ said Al-Jaber. ‘Kil ing the betrayer wil not bring him back. One must be careful with revenge. Remember what the Koran says, old friend. “If thou dost stretch thy hand against me, to slay me, it is not for me to stretch my hand against thee to slay thee: for I do fear Al ah, the cherisher of the worlds.” Revenge is not for good Muslims; it’s what the infidels do.’

‘Then not for revenge, but to make sure that it doesn’t happen again. Whoever gave away The Sheik’s location might be in a position to betray us in some other way. Who knows who else he might give up? We have to find out who the traitor is, find out what he knows, and then . . .’ He shrugged. ‘I do not see that we have any choice.’ He sipped his coffee.

Al-Jaber stroked his chin. ‘How do we find this traitor?’ he asked.

Bin Azim unfolded the map again and placed it on the table. He tapped a finger on one of the rooms. There were the outlines of a bed and a cupboard and what appeared to be a flat-screen television against one wal . ‘This is the room where The Sheik died,’ he said. ‘It is accurate: the furniture is correctly marked and the door opens with the hinges on the left.’ He tapped a second door, to the right of the bed. ‘This door leads to a bathroom. But last summer this door was not here. The room next door to the bedroom was used as another bedroom. But a builder was brought in to turn it into a bathroom and make a connecting door.’ He tapped the map again. ‘So prior to mid-August this door did not exist. Whoever drew this map could only have visited the compound between mid-August and when The Sheik was kil ed. That is a narrow time frame. Nine months.’

‘And what about the builder? Was he aware that The Sheik lived there?’

‘I’m assured that he wasn’t. The Sheik and his family were moved to another safe house while the work was carried out. Only when the building workers had gone did The Sheik move back.’

‘We would need to be sure that the builder is not the traitor,’ said Al-Jaber.

‘Of course,’ said Bin Azim. ‘But if he is cleared we wil then need to take a look at every visitor that The Sheik received over the nine months since the bathroom was instal ed.’

‘Do you have someone in mind for this?’

‘I do, yes. A Palestinian who has handled interrogations for me before.’

‘And if the betrayer is found wil this Palestinian be able to take care of things?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Bin Azim.

‘Then that’s what we shal do,’ said Al-Jaber. ‘There is a problem, though. Of those that visited The Sheik, most were being readied for jihad in countries around the world. Do we al ow them to go ahead, or do we stop them?’

‘If we pul them out now questions wil be asked and rumours wil start. If we let it be known that we suspect we have a traitor then al trust wil be shattered. Suspicions wil spread like a cancer.’

‘So we tel no one? Only the Palestinian?’

Bin Azim nodded. ‘I think it is best. Only one apple is bad. The Palestinian wil identify the bad apple and wil remove it. But we wil be watching al our operations careful y. If we so much as suspect that any have been compromised we wil cauterise them immediately.’

‘I agree,’ said Al-Jaber. He looked at his watch, a diamond-encrusted gold Rolex. ‘I have to go soon; my wife wants to go shopping.’

‘Where are you heading?’ asked Bin Azim.

‘London,’ said Al-Jaber. ‘The weak pound makes their Harrods as cheap as a market bazaar. She has a shopping list that is longer than my arm.’

Bin Azim knew that Al-Jaber had four wives, but he didn’t have to ask which one was going on the shopping trip. Al-Jaber’s first wife was in her sixties and was rarely seen outside the family compound. His second and third wives had borne Al-Jaber sixteen children between them. One was in a top American hospital being treated for bowel cancer and the other was rumoured to be in a Swiss facility being treated for depression fol owing two failed suicide attempts. Al-Jaber’s fourth wife was a third of his age, a stunning Lebanese girl. Bin Azim was one of the few non-family members who had ever seen her face. She only ever wore a ful burka including a mesh veil that shielded her eyes when she went out. Even when she was overseas Al-Jaber insisted that she stayed covered. The women of Lebanon were more spirited than their Saudi sisters, but Al-Jaber’s fourth wife knew better than to argue with her husband. The marriage had been arranged – she was the granddaughter of one of Al-Jaber’s business associates – and the union had been financial y beneficial to her family to the tune of tens of mil ions of dol ars. In the grand scheme of things the burka was a smal price to pay.

‘I am using the large jet, but the Gulfstream is available for whoever you decide to use,’ said Al-Jaber. ‘My people can also arrange for diplomatic status and a passport.’

‘As always, you read my mind,’ said Bin Azim.

‘Only Al ah can see into our minds,’ said Al-Jaber, getting to his feet. ‘But I understand what needs to be done. And I am privileged to be able to offer the assistance that is within my gift.’

Bin Azim stood up and kissed Al-Jaber on both cheeks. Al-Jaber’s bodyguards were already moving towards the restaurant doors, and Bin Azim knew that, far below, more big men in dark suits would be standing by Al-Jaber’s bombproof white Bentley.

Chaudhry looked at his watch, then over at Malik, who was sitting on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table, watching footbal on the television.

‘We’ve got to go, Harvey,’ he said.

‘This is bloody ridiculous,’ said Malik. ‘Did he say why we’re going to Reading?’

‘He wanted somewhere where nobody would know us.’

‘But Reading?’ He slapped the arm of his sofa. ‘How do we even get there?’

‘Trains run from Paddington al the time.’

‘Yeah, but getting to Paddington from Stokie is a pain.’

‘It’s for our own good. It’s a training exercise, so we’l know what to do if we’re ever fol owed.’

Malik’s eyes narrowed. ‘See, that’s what’s worrying me, brother. Why would anyone be fol owing us? They’d only do that if they suspected us, right? And if they even suspect that we’re spies then we’re dead.’

Chaudhry walked over to the sofa and stood looking down at his friend. ‘We’ve been through this,’ he said. ‘Khalid might get someone to check us out. Or the cops might fol ow us. No one knows what we’re doing, remember? And the cops are always looking at the mosque, you know that.

Someone at the mosque passes our name on to the cops and they might take a look at us. John’s putting us through this so we’l know what to look for.’

‘It’s a waste of time, innit?’ scowled Malik. ‘We’re not doing anything wrong. Even if they fol ow us what are they going to see? We go to lectures, we eat, we sleep, we shit. You play squash. I play five-a-side. It’s not like we’re mixing explosives or scoping out targets. We’re waiting, brother.

That’s al we’ve been doing for months now. If anyone fol ows us they’l be bored out of their skul s in a few days.’

‘Harvey, we have to do this.’

‘Brother, we don’t have to do anything. We’re not on staff, are we? Last time I looked MI5 weren’t paying us a salary. In fact they’re paying us fuck al , in spite of everything we did for them.’ He jabbed his finger at Chaudhry. ‘We kil ed The Sheik, you and me. We grassed him up and the Yanks blew him away and that’s down to us. But instead of being heroes we’re supposed to drag our arses al the way to Reading to prove a point?’

Chaudhry sat down next to Malik. ‘What’s up with you?’

‘It just feels like they’re yanking our chain,’ said Malik.

Chaudhry grinned. ‘Are you not feeling loved, is that it?’

‘Screw you,’ laughed Malik.

‘We’re not doing this to be loved, Harvey. We didn’t go to MI5 because we wanted a medal or because we wanted money. We went to them because it’s the right thing to do. This is our country and people like Khalid are trying to destroy it. It’s up to us to help stop them.’

‘I get that. I’m not stupid.’

‘No one’s saying you’re stupid, but you sound like you’re losing focus. We have to be committed to this. If we aren’t you know what could happen?’ Malik didn’t say anything. He looked away, unwil ing to meet Chaudhry’s piercing gaze. ‘How wil you feel, Harvey, if you do bail out and a few weeks down the line something bad happens and a lot of people die? How are you going to feel then, knowing that you could have stopped it?’

Malik shrugged. ‘Okay.’

‘Okay what?’

‘I hear you.’ He nodded. ‘I’m just pissed off at al the waiting. It’s doing my head in. Why won’t Khalid just tel us what we’re going to do?’

‘Maybe he doesn’t know himself. Maybe he’s taking orders from someone else. Al we can do is wait. As for John, he wants to help. He’s not doing this to piss us around. It’s to keep us sharp.’