Authors: Alan McDermott
“Of course they do. We spoke to
the British Embassy the day we were kidnapped and Jonjon has sent them messages
every week.”
There was no way of sugar coating it, so
Grant settled for: “I’m sorry...”
An awkward silence followed, during
which Grant took the opportunity to assess his captors. There were
fifteen guards that he could see, some adorned in U.S Army combat trousers, boots
and smocks while others wore a mishmash of army gear and civvies. He
didn't see anyone who looked over the age of thirty, and three of them looked
like they should still be in school. Two things they all had in common
were that they wore bandanas in varying shades of red and each carried small
arms, including M16 rifles and pistols. Almost all had bolos — long
knives similar to machetes and used for hacking a path through the jungle —
hanging from their waists. A couple even had hand grenades dangling from
various bits of webbing. A couple of Multi-shot Soviet RPG-7s were
propped up against a tree next to a box of High Explosive rounds, representing
their heavy arsenal.
“We'll be moving out soon,” Vick said,
watching the Abu Sayyaf members pull down their hammocks and gather their
belongings.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere else,” she said flatly.
“We never have a destination, we just march until sundown.”
That made sense to Grant. Alma had
told him that the island of Basilan was only about forty miles across, and with
the AFP constantly hounding them Abu Sayyaf would have to stay mobile to avoid
detection.
His stomach growled and he realised that
he hadn’t had a bite to eat since the previous evening. “What about
breakfast?” he asked. “Have you already eaten?”
“Ha!” Halton snorted. “We’re lucky
to get a handful of rice once a day. Once we had a tin of sardines
between twelve of us and we thought it was Christmas and our birthdays all
rolled into one.”
His accent marked him as American, whereas
Grant could tell that Vick and Moore were definitely British.
“And now that you’ve joined us,” Halton
continued, “our portion just got smaller.”
“I don’t think Sam chose to be here,
Eddie,” Vick chastised. “Given the choice, I’m sure he would prefer to be
tucked up in bed right now.”
Halton continued muttering while he
scratched his beard but Grant shrugged the comment off, instead returning to
his assessment of the setup.
As he scanned the encampment two figures
emerged from the tent and Leader joined them, handing over Grant's mobile
phone. They exchanged a few words and then Leader came over and ordered
Grant to get to his feet before handing over the phone. “Call your office
and tell them we want one million dollars for your release.”
“I already told you, I haven't got a
million dollars. The company barely brings in a million pesos a month.”
“Then you must get it somewhere.
Call your embassy, call your family, I don’t care. The price is one
million dollars.”
Grant toyed with his phone, weighing up
his options. Just one look at the other prisoners told him this wasn’t a
situation he wanted to endure for any length of time, but he was telling the
truth when he said his company didn’t have that kind of money. He had
about five hundred thousand dollars in his personal account, but to get access
to that he would have to go through James Farrar, and he wondered briefly if
decapitation would be a better alternative to another conversation with that
snake. Sadly, he knew he had little alternative and he thumbed through
his call history and dialled the number.
“What?” Farrar snapped, unhappy at being
woken at such an ungodly hour.
“I have a problem and I need access to
my account,” Grant told him.
“What’s wrong? Your bed warmer got
a bun in the oven?”
“Farrar, for once I want you to stop
being a sarcastic prick and listen. I am being held by Abu Sayyaf and I
need all the money in the account, plus another half million dollars.”
There was silence as Farrar took in the news
and it seemed an age before the reply came, exploding into Grant’s ear.
“You really are the most incompetent
shit I’ve ever had the misfortune to deal with.”
Grant allowed him that cheap shot.
“Will you get the money?”
“It isn’t our policy to negotiate with
terrorists,” was the frank reply.
“You don’t have to negotiate, you just
have to pay them,” Grant said menacingly through gritted teeth, his patience
with Farrar exhausted. Leader sensed the call wasn’t going well and
grabbed the phone from Grant’s hand.
“I am Bong Manalo. Who is this?”
“James Farrar.”
“Well, James Farrar, we want one million
dollars for the safe release of Sam Grant. You have until the end of the
day to agree to pay or we will deliver his head to you.”
Manalo killed the connection and pushed
Grant back to the ground before striding back to the men standing at the
entrance to the tent.
“Who’re the guys he’s talking to?”
Grant asked, nodding towards the trio.
“The taller one’s name is Zandro Calizo,
but they call him Jonjon. He’s the main man. The other one is his
second-in-command, Abel Guzman. Neither of them speaks English, so Bong
acts as an interpreter.”
As she spoke there were raised voices
from the trio, with Bong and Jonjon shouting at each other and Abel trying to
calm them both down. Grant caught the word
Sundalos
a few times
and got the gist of the conversation: keep your voices down or you’ll bring the
soldiers down on us.
Bong eventually backed down and stomped
off in a huff, taking his frustration out on anyone who got close enough, but
it seemed everyone knew to keep out of his way when he was in this kind of
mood.
The packing up moved at double-quick
time and when they were ready to move off the group of prisoners was told to
get to their feet. It was only then that Grant saw them tethered to each
other by the ankle in groups of three. One of the younger terrorists came
over and released Eddie Halton, then used a fresh piece of twine to tie him to
Grant, turning a bad day into a really shitty one.
They were lined up in their little
groups and flanked by eight guards they moved off into the jungle, the
mosquitoes taking their turn to heap misery on them.
“You know, your voice sounds familiar,”
Vick said to the back of Grant’s head. “I’ve heard it somewhere before,
I’m sure of it.”
“Yeah, that happens a lot,” Grant said,
not happy that she’d brought it up. Farrar may have changed his name and
looks, but the voice remained the same, the voice which had been broadcast
worldwide a year earlier.
“People say I sound like the guy in that
advert,” he offered.
“Which advert?”
“You know, the one for car insurance.”
He left her with that vague answer and
concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other in time with Halton.
* * *
James Farrar put his phone back on the
bedside table and tousled his hair, trying to shake off the remnants of the
previous nights’ sleep. He hated Mondays as a rule, and to start one this
way wasn’t going to do anything to help his mood.
He’d met some ill-disciplined people in
his time, he thought, as well as his fair share of imbeciles, yet Grant was the
only one who fell into both categories. Only an idiot could get himself
kidnapped four days before a mission, one that had been manufactured especially
for him. Well, perhaps manufactured was the wrong word, but they had been
awaiting an opportunity to get Grant out into the field and one had presented
itself in the shape of a small-time arms dealer who was looking to provide
weapons to terrorist cells in Pakistan.
Hakan Farli was a Turkish national who
had spent a few years selling small arms in his country of birth but was now
hoping to step up to the big time. In order to do so he had spread the
word about the services he offered, but unfortunately for him he had spread it
too far and showed up on the MI6 radar in Islamabad while meeting with
suspected terrorists. A full background check was done and the data sent
to London where it was disseminated to all the other security services, and
within hours a copy had been sent to James Farrar who saw Farli as the perfect
opportunity to send Grant out into the open.
The plan had been simple: Grant, who
would now be accompanied by Len Smart and Sonny Baines, would be tasked with
tailing Farli with a view to causing an 'accident'. However, they
themselves would be tailed, and the terrorist cell Farli was going to meet
would be informed of their mission. Several of Farrar's men would be on
the ground to record the moment the cell took them out and that video would then
be shown to the other surviving co-conspirators as proof that Tom Gray was once
and for all dead.
Of the eight men who had helped Tom Gray
carry out his terrorist act — there was no other word for it in Farrar's
opinion — Colin Avery and Michael Fletcher had died in Abdul Mansour's attack
and two had passed away in the subsequent eleven months. Farrar had been
telling the truth when he'd told Grant that Tristram Barker-Fink had died in
Iraq, but what he hadn't shared was the fact that it was Farrar's team who had
leaked the route Tris and his principal would be taking. After the IED
had been planted at the roadside by the insurgents it came down to just waiting
for their convoy to pass.
Paul Bennett had been involved in a
tragic motorcycle accident while he was doing over eighty miles-per-hour on the
motorway. No other vehicles were involved in the incident, but only a
select few knew that the people in the car following him at the time worked for
Farrar. A portable heat gun had been focused on the back wheel of the
bike for just a few hundred yards, its beam intense enough to compromise the
integrity of the tyre wall and cause the fatal blowout.
That left just Carl Levine, Jeff
Campbell, Baines and Smart to eliminate. Oh, and of course Sam Grant, he
reminded himself.
Farrar would have happily let Grant rot
in the jungle for a couple of years, but there was growing pressure to tie up
all the loose ends as soon as possible. Besides, there was an agreement
in place to show a video of Grant to his friends, with new footage to be
provided every fortnight, as proof that he was still alive and that the
government were sticking to their side of the bargain. He could of course
just inform the Abu Sayyaf leadership that the man they thought was Sam Grant
was in fact a British agent, but selling his death at the hands of terrorists
to his friends would be difficult and raise too many questions. What was
he doing there? What was done to try and get him out? Well, they
could hardly send in the SAS to rescue a man who should be dead, but…
Stumbling upon the possibility of
killing three birds with one stone he did a quick mental calculation that told
him it was close to midnight in England. A bit late to be calling, he
thought, but if he’d had his sleep disturbed, why not pay it forward? He
picked up his phone and dialled the first number. It answered on the
second ring. “Hello?”
“Len, it’s James. I need to tell
you about a change in the contract.”
“You’re not cancelling it, are you?”
“No, it has become a recovery mission,
that’s all I can tell you at the moment,” Farrar said, not needing to point out
that it was an unsecure line. “Tickets will be waiting at the KLM desk at
Heathrow and you’ll be met at the airport when you get here.”
“What’s the terms?” Len Smart asked.
“Same daily rate as we discussed, plus
five thousand on completion.”
“And the terrain: how should I pack?”
“It’ll be mostly jungle,” Farrar said.
“I’ll need some equipment when I get
there.”
“I’ll provide everything you need,”
Farrar promised.
“Okay, see you tomorrow.”
That's how it should be done, Farrar
thought: No quibbling, no arguments, just get the instructions and be
ready to move. If only Grant could be like that. He ended the call
and gave the same instructions to Sonny Baines, who also readily agreed.
It was a shame they had to die, but when you dance with the devil...
His next call was to the office.
“It's me. I need you to track a
mobile phone,” he said and read out the number. “It should be somewhere in
Mindanao. I want an exact fix and constant updates on its movement.”
With the wheels in motion he cranked the
air conditioning up a notch and jumped into the shower to prepare for what he
knew was going to be a long day.
Chapter 4
Monday 16th April
2012
“What do you know about our brothers in
the Philippines?”
That had been the simple question, and
Abdul Mansour had answered honestly: very little.
It had been asked at a meeting just over
the Afghan border from his home in Pakistan and he had told them what he knew,
which was that Abu Sayyaf had had some notable successes in the past, including
the kidnapping for ransom of several foreign nationals, and of course the ferry
bombing in 2004 which had killed over a hundred people. There had been other
minor incidents in recent years but nothing that had made international
headlines. Beyond that he knew little of their current strength or future
strategy, and said as much.
“They are more concerned with internal
and regional feuds than striking out against their oppressors,” Azhar Al-Asiri
had told him. “They need some proper leadership in order to focus their
attention.”
Al-Asiri had long been both Osama Bin
Laden’s deputy and the brains behind Al-Qaeda but had nowhere near the charisma
of the man he called the Sheikh. He had been happy to let the Amir front
the organisation while secretly pulling the strings from behind the
scenes. In fact, it was Al-Asiri who had suggested taking things to a
global level. Bin Laden’s initial fight had been against the presence of
American soldiers on Saudi soil, but it was Al-Asiri who had planted the idea
of aiding fellow Muslims in their grievances, wherever they may be. There
had been financial support for Abu Sayyaf in the early days but that had dried up
as their hierarchy had fragmented, splintering into separate groups.
“Our aim is to unify these pockets of
resistance once more and turn them into a formidable ally, but we cannot do
that with money and weapons alone. I would like you to go there and do
for them what you have done for me here.
“You will take them the weapons they
need and show them how to use them. More importantly, you must get them
to launch attacks against our enemies as soon as possible.”
Mansour hadn’t questioned the need for
an immediate strike. He’d simply accepted the mission without hesitation,
honoured to have been chosen for such a task.
“You will not have long,” Al-Asiri told
him. “You will leave in seven days and I need you to return before the
middle of May. I have a major offensive in mind and I want you to take
part in the planning.”
Following Bin Laden’s death the previous
year Al-Asiri, in his early fifties, had taken over the reins, as had been
widely anticipated by the western world. However, they were quick to
dismiss him as a lamb to Bin Laden’s lion, a sparrow to his eagle, and it
pleased him that they had written him off so readily. So far he had done
what his detractors had expected, which had been nothing whatsoever.
At least, so they thought.
His focus had been on building up an
army of generals, men who would go into the world and train others so that one
day they could launch a co-ordinated attack that would leave the infidels
trembling at the mention of his name.
One such general was Abdul Mansour,
whose rise through the ranks had been meteoric. From a humble British
background he had quickly proven himself an excellent soldier, carrying out
numerous raids against the occupying U.S. and British forces in
Afghanistan. His crowning moment, however, had been his attack on the
stronghold of Tom Gray in England the previous year. The intention had
been to prevent Gray revealing the location of a device set to kill thousands
of people, and it had cost the lives of thirty young martyrs. The device had
been found in time by the British authorities, but the audacity of the raid in
such a short time had cemented his name in Al-Qaeda history. Mansour had
come up with the idea himself and seventy-two hours after putting forward his
proposal to the elders he was in the middle of the battle, taking several lives
including that of Gray himself.
Upon his return to Pakistan he had
received a hero's welcome and quickly been elevated up the ranks, going from
foot soldier to tactician, from student to teacher. The recruits he
trained were in awe of his achievements and he taught them that nothing was
impossible if you trusted Allah with your life. Many men had passed
through his hands, soaking up his courage and strength as well as his
knowledge, and his exploits had come to the attention of the very highest in
the organisation.
To his great regret, Mansour hadn't been
able to meet Osama Bin Laden in person. A meeting had been arranged in
Abbottabad but the U.S. Navy Seals struck two days before Mansour could be
introduced to his master. That had been a personal blow, but he'd soon
found that Azhar Al-Asiri was a more than fitting replacement, and it was
Al-Asiri who had been instrumental in his successive promotions.
Mansour began overseeing the training of
all new recruits and Al-Asiri was impressed with the results. He was even
more impressed with Abdul's suggestion of a series of co-ordinated strikes
around the world, something which fit his global ambitions, and had considered
it for many weeks before convening a meeting between the highest ranks of the
organisation. The idea was discussed and agreed, with generals dispatched
to a variety of countries to make their preparations.
Azhar Al-Asiri had personally chosen
Abdul for what he considered the toughest assignment, which was why Mansour was
now sitting on the rain-soaked deck of a Banca heading for the island of Jolo,
alongside his companion Nabil.
Nabil Shah was Mansour’s lieutenant, an
excellent soldier in his own right and good friend over the last few
years. Although older than Mansour, Shah had no qualms about taking
orders from his general, a man who had proven himself in battle time and time
again. Indeed, he thought it a privilege to serve him.
The journey had been long and arduous,
beginning with a four hundred mile drive from Quetta south to the port of
Karachi. It had taken a full ten hours to reach their first destination,
travelling not only on main roads but also on rough tracks which often limited
the speed to a mere ten miles an hour. At the port, they had been whisked
aboard a freighter and given a cramped cabin for the seventeen day trip.
On nearing the port of Zamboanga Abdul, Nabil and their cargo had been
transferred onto this vessel for the final leg of the journey. The boat looked
like any other Banca but boasted two giant Tohatsu outboard motors which could
be swung into place at a moment’s notice, making it easily capable of
outrunning the local navy patrols. In addition, there was a box of
shoulder-launched missiles on board which would discourage, if not sink, any of
the Hamilton Class cutters that might manage to get in too close.
A lesser person might have taken the
easier route of either flying to their destination or travelling most of the
way overland, but Mansour was not only highly regarded within his own
organisation: he was also known and sought throughout the world. Crossing
just one border was a huge risk, so he had no hesitation in taking such a
circuitous route. He’d filled his time using his 3G tablet PC to read up
on Abu Sayyaf and their exploits over the years, using both the Internet and
files provided by Al-Asiri.
Known to everyone else as Abu Sayyaf —
meaning “bearer of the sword” — they called themselves Al-Harakat Al-Islamiyya,
“Islamic Movement” and were founded in the early 1990s when they split from the
Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF). Their first leader was Abdurajak
Janjalani, a veteran of the fight against the Soviet occupation in Afghanistan,
and their first major attack claimed the lives of two American evangelists in
1991. Shortly afterwards they claimed responsibility for the bombing of
M/V Doulos, a Christian missionary ship docked in Zamboanga City Port.
Their attacks weren’t limited to foreign
nationals, as the Ipil raid in April 1995 proved. Desperate for funds,
they had attacked the predominantly Christian town of Ipil in Zamboanga Del
Sur, looting shops and banks while firing indiscriminately at civilians.
Fifty-three people were killed in the attack and upwards of thirty — mostly
women and children — were taken hostage as they retreated.
Another attack in 1999 had claimed the
lives of six Christians when their jeep was attacked. Some of the victims
were shot while others were hacked to death with bolos.
In the last decade their favoured method
of attack, however, was bombings. From 2002 they had hit populated
locations with the intention of causing as many casualties as possible.
Targets included a karaoke bar in Zamboanga (killing three, including an
American soldier), as well as a FitMart store in General Santos City where they
killed fifteen.
In 2003 twenty-one people died when a
waiting shed at the front of Davao airport was blown up, and on Valentine’s Day
2005 they hit separate targets in General Santos City, Makati and Davao City,
where they claimed eight lives.
Recent attacks had been sporadic, with
only the attack on Tubigan village in Maluso, Basilan making international
news. Eleven people died that day as up to seventy members of Abu Sayyaf
raked houses with gunfire and set them ablaze in the pre-dawn raid.
In order to carry out these attacks, Abu
Sayyaf needed weapons, and weapons cost money. In the early days they
received funding through Mohammad Jamal Khalifa, a brother-in-law of Osama Bin
Laden. Bin Laden had been a colleague of Janjalani during their Afghan
Mujiheddin days and had provided his personal financial support until 1995 when
Khalifa’s connection to Abu Sayyaf was uncovered.
Having cut their ties with MNLF and by
association the Malaysian group Jemaah Islamiyah in 1991, they had foregone
their access to the major Al-Qaeda funding that had been channelled into the
region, so they stepped up their kidnapping campaign as a way of supporting
themselves. They had taken hostages in 1993 and 1996 (the latter managing
to escape after thirteen days) but kicked it up a gear at the start of the next
decade following the death of Abdurajak Janjalani. Instead of retaining
his ideological focus they fell into kidnapping, murder and extortion in a big way
under the rule of Janjalani’s younger brother, Khadaffy.
There were four separate abductions in
2000, starting with several teachers and students from two schools in
Tumahubong, Basilan. Father Rhoel Gallardo and three of the teachers were
found murdered in May that year, the bodies showing indications of
torture. Following that was the Sipadan kidnapping in which twenty-one
people were taken from a dive resort in Malaysia, with most of them being
released within a few months. During that time TV evangelist Wilde Almeda
and some of his Jesus Miracle Crusade "prayer warriors" turned up at
the Abu Sayyaf camp in Jolo, Sulu, to pray for the hostages. Unfortunately,
they themselves became captives and were held until being rescued by the
military nearly four months later.
American Jeffrey Schilling became a
hostage under totally different circumstances in August 2000, reportedly
walking into their camp following an invitation from one of the Abu Sayyaf
members who was related to his wife. Abu Sayyaf demanded a ransom of
$10Million but he managed to escape and was picked up by a local military
patrol in April the following year.
In 2001 one of the highest profile
kidnappings took place when twenty foreign nationals were grabbed from tourist
resort Dos Palmos Beach in Palawan, including three Americans: Martin and
Gracia Burnham, and Guillermo Sobero. A fortnight later a request was
made for a Malaysian intermediary to negotiate a ransom payment but instead
they came under attack from AFP soldiers. After managing to evade the
soldiers, Sobero was taken into the jungle and beheaded, a move designed to
show that Abu Sayyaf were taking the situation seriously, even if the
Philippine government were not.
It was over a year later that Martin
Burnham and Ebidorah Yap, a Filipino nurse, were killed when the AFP launched
yet another attack. Martin’s wife Gracia was wounded in the leg but
survived, and a subsequent investigation showed that it was AFP bullets which
had been to blame for all three casualties.
Following the botched rescue the U.S.
Army sent six hundred military advisors as part of Operation Freedom Eagle
(later to come under the Enduring Freedom umbrella). In addition the CIA
sent elite paramilitary officers of the Special Activities Division (SAD).
As a result, kidnappings fell to an all time low, but not before they abducted
six Jehovah’s Witnesses and their Muslim guides in 2002. Two of the
preachers were beheaded and some of the captives managed to escape before the
rest were rescued by government troops in May 2003.
Khadaffy Janjalani himself was killed in
action in 2006 and in 2007 Jainal Antel Sali Jr., known to all as Abu Sulaiman
and Khadaffy’s likely successor, was killed by the AFP.
Mansour had soaked all of this
information up during his journey, and his conclusion was that the kidnappings
had probably tailed off because of the relentless pressure being applied by the
U.S. and Philippine forces, as well as a lack of continuous leadership.
No matter, he thought, as he saw the
island of Jolo appear on the distant horizon. Their days of limited funds
would soon be over thanks in no small part to the cash he was bringing, as well
as the promise of continued financial support for years to come.