HOME RUN (42 page)

"He's a fine young man."

"They're all fine young men, Mattie, our field agents. But that'll keep till the morning."

The Director of the Revolutionary Centre for Volunteers for Martyrdom was still in his office because on many evenings the office doubled as his bedroom. He was in an easy chair and reading a manual of the US Marine Corps on base security procedures, and he was happy in the discovery that they had learned nothing, the authors of this study.

They took coffee, thick and bitter, and with it was served orange juice. They were two men of cultures that were chasms apart. The Director had spent six years in the Qezel-Hesar gaol in the times of the Shah of Shahs, and he had spent six years in exile in Iraq and France. If a young Mullah who was a rising star had not offered the investigator his protection, then, in great probability, the Director would have used the pistol, holstered and hanging from a hook behind his door, on the back of the neck of the one time S A V A K man.

The investigator spoke of a watch that was now maintained on a barber's shop in the Aksaray district of Istanbul. He told of a man who would come to the shop. At the back of the shop, Charlie Eshraq, the son of the late Colonel Hassan Eshraq, would collect forged papers that he would use when he came back into Iran. He asked a great favour of the Director. He said that he would have this Eshraq under surveillance from the moment that he left the shop. His request was for a small force of men who would be in position on the frontier to intercept Eshraq at whatever crossing point he used. Would he come over at a crossing point? Of course

- and the investigator had researched the matter - because of the weight of the armour-piercing missiles he was known to be bringing and their packaging he would have to come by road. He asked for the service as if he were a humble creature at the feet of a great man.

He asked for nothing. The Director would be most pleased to make such a squad available, in the name of the Imam.

The Director said, "Consider the words of the martyred Ayatollah Sadeq Khalkhali: 'Those who are against killing have no place in Islam. Faith requires the shedding of blood, we are there to perform our duty. . . .' He was a great man."

And a great butcher, and a hanging judge without equal.

His patron, the Mullah that he served, was but a boy in comparison with Khalkhali, the unlamented protector of the Revolution.

"A great man, who spoke words of great wisdom," the investigator said. And he asked the second favour. He asked that after Charlie Eshraq had collected his papers from the barber's shop, that the shop be destroyed by explosives.

Profusely, he thanked the Director for his cooperation.

It was necessary for him, business completed, to stay another hour in the company of the Director. The Director was pleased to report the details of the killing in London of Jamil Shabro, traitor to the Imam, traitor to his faith, and guilty of waging war against Allah.

When they parted, in the quiet of the dark, on the steps outside the old University, their cheeks brushed each other's lips.

If the restaurant had been half empty, and not full, then Park would have sat at a separate table. There was only their reserved table, so he had to sit with Eshraq if he wanted to eat. And he did want to eat.

Eshraq made conversation, as if they were strangers who had crossed paths in a strange city and needed company. And he ate like he was starting a hunger strike in the morning. He ate
fettucine
for starters, main course bowl, and he followed with the
fegato,
and took the lion's share of the vegetables they should have shared, and he finished with strawberries and then coffee and a large Armagnac to rinse down the valpolicella of which he had drunk two thirds of the bottle.

Park hadn't talked much, and the first real exchange was when he had insisted on halving the bill when it came. He took his time, Eshraq, but he pocketed the money, and he paid the whole bill with an American Express card.

Park said, "But you won't be here, not when they bill you."

"Present from America."

"That's dishonest."

"Why don't you call the head waiter?" The mocking in the eyes.

"And you eat like a pig."

Eshraq leaned forward and he looked into Park's face. "Do you think where I am going that I will be eating a meal like this, do you think so? And you know what is the penalty for drinking wine and for drinking brandy, do you know?"

"I don't know, and I don't care."

"I could be flogged."

"Best thing for you."

"You are a generous member of the human race."

There was a hesitation, and Park asked, "When you get there, what do you do?"

"I build a life for myself."

"Where do you live?"

"Sometimes rough and sometimes in safe houses, at first."

"How long does it last?"

"How long is a piece of string, April Five?"

"I don't care, it's nothing to me, but it's suicide."

"What did your man offer you, many years ago? He offered you blood and sweat and tears, and he offered you victory."

He couldn't find the words. The words seemed to mean nothing. The face loomed ahead of him, and there was the chatter and the life of the restaurant around them, and the flapping of the kitchen doors, and laughter. "And you're not coming back. There's no coming back, is there? It's all one way, isn't it? You're going back, and you're staying there. Is that right?"

"You said that you didn't care, that it was nothing to you, but I have no intention of dying."

The bill came back, with his plastic. He put his tip on the table, between his coffee cup and the brandy glass, everything that Park had given him.

At the door, Eshraq kissed the waitress on the mouth, and he bowed to the applause of the other customers. Park followed him out. Eshraq was on the pavement and flexing himself, as if he was breathing in the London street air, as if he was trying to keep a part of it for himself, for always.

Park walked alongside him, back towards Eshraq's place.

He followed the big bounding strides. There was an excitement about the man. Everything before was wind-up, tomorrow was real. They reached the entrance to the flats.

"Eshraq, I just want to tell you something."

"What?" Charlie turned. "What do you want to tell me, April Five?"

It had been going through Park's mind most of the time at the restaurant. He waited while an old lady walked her dog between them, waited until the dog had cocked its leg against a railing and was then dragged away.

"I just want you to know that we will follow you anywhere you go, except Iran. If you come out of Iran then we'll know, and that goes for the rest of your life. We'll circulate you, Eshraq, they'll hear about you in Paris, Bonn, Rome, Washington, they'll know you're a trafficker in drugs. If you come out of Iran, if you pitch up at any airport, then I'll hear, I'll get the call. You want to play games with us, just try us.

That's the truth, Eshraq, and don't ever forget it."

Charlie smiled. He fished his keys from his pocket.

"You're welcome to sleep on the floor."

"I prefer my car."

"Are you married?"

"What's that to you?"

"Just assumed you hadn't a home to go to."

"My instructions are to stay close to you until you go over the border."

"I asked if you were married."

" I was."

"What broke it?"

"If it's any of your business . . . you broke it."

The Director General was at the Joint Intelligence Committee, the Deputy Director General was on his way back from the country. Of all the many hundreds who worked on the nineteen floors and the basement at Century they were the only two who had an overall picture of Furniss' case. Both would be at their desks by the late morning of Monday, neither was available for the fast reaction that was needed to co-ordinate a jumble of information originating from differing sources.

There was Carter's call from Albury on Sunday that had been logged by the Duty Officer. There was the monitoring of a short wave radio message in Oman that required immediate response. There was a report, brought by a Turkish lorry driver to Dogubeyezit, and from there telephoned to Ankara.

Related matters, but early on that Monday morning, as the building strove without enthusiasm to throw off lethargy, those matters remained unrelated. The transcript of Henry Carter's message was passed to the Director General's PA.

The short wave radio message ended on the desk of a man with the title of Special Services (Armed Forces) Liaison. The communication from Ankara lay in the In tray of the Desk Head (Near East).

Later, a sub-committee would be set up to examine means of ensuring that all crucial intelligence was distributed at once to the desks that were available to deal with it. There had been sub-committees with that brief as long as the old hands could remember.

Faced with the absence of the Director General and his deputy, the SS(AF)L officer took a car across the Thames to the Ministry of Defence, to ask a rare favour of old Navy chums.

They went on the morning flight.

Charlie's ticket was one way, Park's a return. They flew Tourist class. They didn't have to talk on the flight because Charlie slept. Park couldn't sleep, not with the stiffness settling in after a cramped night in the back of the Escort. He was grateful that Eshraq slept, because he'd had his bellyful of small talk.

It had started with a police phone tap on a dealer, but Parrish didn't tell them that, nor did he tell April team that there had been all but blood on the carpet when the NDIU had passed it from police control to ID. His style was matter of fact. He showed no signs of having had about the worst weekend he could remember since joining Customs and Excise. It would have been a passable weekend if his wife hadn't pitched in with her opinions, and her report. . . . He told it as he knew it. The dealer's supplier was a Turk who operated out of the port of Izmir. The scag would be Iranian and across the land border and into Turkey, and then overland to Izmir. He had the name of the ship out of Izmir, and its route was via Naples.

It was known that Naples, information provided by the Drugs Enforcement Agency, was a pick-up point for a consignment of Italian pinewood furniture. The assumption was that the scag would be coming into Southampton Docks all tucked up with the table legs. April would be there in force. He would be there himself, along with Harlech and Corinthian and Token and the new kid from Felixstowe who had joined them that day and who hadn't yet a codename which meant thai they'd call him Extra, and there would be back-up from Southampton ID. Parrish said that it was good they had the dealer spoken for, and the supplier, but that they wanted the distributor. He reckoned the distributor would show at Southampton. They'd be going down that morning, and he didn't know when they'd be back, so they'd better have their clean socks with them. There were the jokes about the cars from the depot being clapped out, and the Vodaphones not working, all the usual crap. . . . He was pretty pleased that they'd another investigation to latch on to so soon, and better still to get them out of London. Those of April who were not going to Southampton would be for the delights of Bethnal Green, chez the dealer, and for the banks where he had his accounts. The ship was coming in that night, was already down the Channel with a Brixham pilot on board, so could they get their backsides off their seats, please.

He'd finished. His finger snaked out, pointed to Duggie Williams. He gestured towards the inner office, and headed there.

He sat at the desk. He let Harlech stand. He'd get it off his chest. He thought April was the best team in the Lane, and he was damned if he'd see it broken.

"Saturday night, Duggie, that was insufferable."

"She asked for it."

"You only had to take her home, drop her."

"How did you know?"

"I know, but if I hadn't known, I'd have read it all over your face."

"She was ready for it."

"She was the wife of your colleague."

"I didn't start the dumping."

"He's your brother-in-arms, for heaven's sake."

"He's a prig and a bore and he doesn't keep his missus happy. Sorry, Bill, no apologies."

"If I catch you round there again . . . "

"You going to sit on the doorstep?"

". . . you're back in uniform."

"She was the unhappiest woman I've ever poked, and she's a good kid. And where is our brother-in-arms?"

"Don't know. Don't know where he is, what he's got himself into. . . . Lose yourself."

"The DG rang, Mattie, he's just back from the Joint Intelligence session. He wanted you to know that your praises were sung to the roof."

"Thank you, much appreciated."

"And I'm to tell you that you're being put up for a gong."

"I thought those sort of things were supposed to be a surprise."

"Be the Order of the British Empire, Mattie. I expect the DG wanted to cheer you a bit."

"Why, Henry, do I need cheering?"

"Your agent in Tabriz . . . Revolutionary Guards beat us to him."

"And what exactly are you implying?"

"Which comes on top of your man in Tehran, also not reached, also gone absent, although we don't know for certain that he was arrested. We do know it of the man in Tabriz."

"I'll tell you what I think. I think that I was compromised from the time that I landed in the Gulf. I think that I was trailed right the way across the Gulf, right the way to Ankara and on to Van. I think I was set up from the start. . . . What's happened to my man in Bandar Abbas?"

"Making a run for it tonight. Navy are going to try and pick him up at sea. I think that's rather dodgy. He knows they are watching him."

"I told you. I gave their names. Looking back on it, on the moment that I knew, knew absolutely that my cover was a farce, was when the investigator asked me what I had been doing all round the Gulf. He practically gave me the addresses I had been at, starting in Bahrain. I wish you'd get someone on to this at once, see just who is in and out of that Service wing. But yes, what must have been two weeks later, I did give their names. But what I can't get over is the utter uselessness - it makes me sick to think of it - of day upon day of torture while the Service twiddles its thumbs and now you come moping in here and say alas, we've lost another agent.