Spider Shepherd 10 - True Colours (17 page)

Holding his AK-74 rifle by the end of the barrel, and with both arms spread wide to show he posed no threat, he walked slowly towards the gates, calling out that he wanted to speak to an officer. The guards ordered him to stop and open his jacket to prove he was not wearing a suicide vest and he had to lie flat in the dirt while they searched him and took his weapon. When they were satisfied that he wasn’t a threat he was allowed into the base under guard and taken to see the commanding officer.

The officer heard him out in silence, asked a few less than penetrating questions and then left the room to confer over a secure link with his superiors at Bagram. Through the half-open door, Khan could hear the murmur of the officer’s voice and then his returning footsteps. The officer tossed him a can of Coke, cool from the fridge, winked and said, ‘Welcome aboard.’

Khan was given back his AK-74, though the magazines and spare ammunition were kept in a locked box carried by his American escort. He was flown to Bagram by helicopter that night, and debriefed by an African-American intelligence officer with the Defense Intelligence Agency. ‘
Salaam alaikum
, Khan,’ the officer said, touching his hand to his heart in the Afghan way, as Khan was shown into his office. ‘I’m Joshua.’ Khan suspected that it was not his real name, but the officer seemed open and honest, he met Khan’s gaze when he spoke to him, and he treated him with respect.

Khan first laid out his terms. ‘I’m willing to come over to your side,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you everything I know, the names of my comrades and the senior Taliban commanders I know, the tactics they use, the places where their weapons and explosives are hidden, the locations of their safe houses, and how they’re financed. I can tell you about the money house across the border in Pakistan where the money from drug smuggling, protection rackets and the stolen bribes you pay to buy the loyalties of warlords is stored and distributed to Taliban fighters and their allies. I can tell you the names of a few of the spies and sleepers within the Afghan regular army and I’ll even spy for you if you want.’

‘And what’s your angle?’ Joshua said. ‘What do you want in return for all of this?’

‘Do you have children?’ Khan said.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because if you have children, you will understand. I want a new life for my daughter in the West. Afghanistan is not safe for her. The Taliban have beaten her and I fear that one day they will return to kill her.’

‘And presumably you want to go to the West with her?’

‘
Insh’allah
, yes. But you must promise me that even if I am killed, you will still arrange for my daughter to leave this country.’

He waited in silence as Joshua weighed his words. ‘Deal,’ he said at last, and held out his hand. ‘Shake on it.’

For the next forty-eight hours, Khan told and retold his story, as Joshua interrogated him, probing and cross-examining him like a courtroom lawyer, never satisfied until he had teased out the last detail of everything Khan said, and, where possible, had cross-checked it against other information that he already possessed. He also brought in a succession of his colleagues for whom Khan had to repeat his story over and over again.

When Joshua at last pronounced himself satisfied, Khan added one final piece of information. ‘I think my men are also ready to come over,’ he said. ‘They are disenchanted with some of our leaders and tired of the endless fighting. There’s been no peace in Afghanistan for thirty years. They’re proud men and they won’t surrender to you, but if you give them a way to save face and hold out the prospect of peace to them, if not immediately, then at least soon, I think they will take it.’

He explained his planned rendezvous with his comrades and showed Joshua the place on a map. ‘The Brits are responsible for that area,’ Joshua said, ‘and they’ve an FOB a few miles from there. I’ll introduce you to a British contact and he can make the arrangements to bring your guys in.’

Khan was unconvinced by Joshua’s insistence on involving the British. He realised that Joshua didn’t completely trust Khan so he was letting the British handle the surrender. That way, if anything went wrong, it would be the British and not the Americans who would take the blame.

‘One other thing,’ Joshua said. ‘There is another agent in the same area. I don’t know his identity but he’s being run by the Brits, and if his own cover is threatened and he has any inkling that you are also an agent, he might betray you to save himself.’

‘Is there nothing else you can tell me about him?’

‘There is one thing. I’ve heard the Brits talk about him when we’ve been exchanging intelligence, and they used a code name for him that apparently he chose himself: “Abu Qartoob”. Do you know what it means?’

‘It means Father of the Earlobe,’ said Khan. ‘Afghans and Arabs don’t always see eye to eye, but we do have our sense of humour in common, and it is quite strange and very dark. You have heard of Abu Hamza, for instance? Well, his name translates as “Father of the Five”. Know why?’

Joshua shook his head.

‘It’s because he blew off one of his hands in an explosion, so he now has only five fingers.’ He studied Joshua for a moment. ‘I told you our sense of humour was strange.’

‘So this Abu Qartoob is likely to have a physical distinguishing mark too: big earlobes, or no earlobes at all, or something?’

‘Possibly. I shall watch out for such a man.’

Joshua completed briefing Khan on codes, systems for contacting Joshua or another American agent-handler, dead drops in which messages could be left, and emergency procedures, and then stood up. ‘Give me a few moments to brief the Brit guy,’ he said, ‘and then I’ll introduce you.’

‘Who is he?’

‘Captain Harry Todd. He’s a British Army officer serving a three-year tour with the SAS, but he’s been detached from his SAS squadron to the Intelligence Clearing Centre, where we collect and evaluate all the intelligence from human and electronic sources.’ While Joshua went in search of Todd, another American handler entered the room and began chatting to Khan.

Joshua returned half an hour later with the English officer. Todd’s long, floppy blond hair and pink, fresh-faced complexion gave him an air of boyish innocence. ‘I’m Harry,’ Todd said, extending his hand. ‘It sounds like you have an interesting story to tell.’

‘
Salaam alaikum
, Harry, I hope you’ll find it worthwhile,’ Khan said. He repeated his account to Todd, noting to himself that the Englishman asked far fewer questions about it than Joshua, and those that he did ask were less perceptive and incisive. After they had talked for some time, Todd nodded slowly. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’m convinced, let’s go and get them.’ He glanced at Joshua. ‘If you’ve finished with Khan, I’ll take him back to our section and arrange for some transport up to our FOB.’

Joshua reached into a desk drawer and handed a bundle of dollars to Khan.

‘What’s this?’ Khan said.

‘Payment.’

Khan shook his head. ‘I don’t need your money. That’s not why I’m doing this.’

Joshua spread his hands wide. ‘I understand that,’ he said. ‘But everyone needs money. Take it for your daughter, if not for yourself.’

Khan hesitated, then shrugged, took the dollars and stuffed them into the money belt that he wore around his waist. Most men in Afghanistan kept their cash and valuables in money belts, pockets were not to be trusted.

Khan followed Todd out of the American section of the base and into the British area. The British section appeared chaotic compared with the order and efficiency of the American operation, with its banks of computers, new-looking desks and equipment. Todd’s desk was covered with stacks of papers and files and there were more piled on top of the filing cabinet behind him, and a row of Post-it notes stuck to the edge of his desk heightened the impression of disorganisation. ‘I hope you take better care of your informants than you do of your documents,’ Khan said with a smile that belied his unease.

‘Don’t worry,’ Todd said. ‘Every document is locked away before I leave this office and every room is checked by the guards during the night. If there’s so much as a scrap of paper on show when they do so, I’ll be up on a charge.’ He smiled confidently. ‘You’re in safe hands, I promise you.’

His words would have been more reassuring, Khan thought to himself, had Todd not left all his documents on open display while he’d been spending more than an hour talking to him in the American section. But Khan knew that he had no choice other than to trust the British officer. Todd and Joshua were Khan’s only hope of escaping Afghanistan with his daughter.

The Bentley pulled up in front of the West Stand of Stamford Bridge stadium, home to Chelsea Football Club. It was just after ten o’clock in the morning and the street was pretty much deserted. They were well away from the main entrances where every match day more than forty thousand fans would pour in to cheer on their team. Popov gestured at a blue door, from which led a small flight of stairs to the left, and to the right a concrete wheelchair ramp. ‘That leads to the lift that goes straight up to Mr Abramovich’s private box.’ Two CCTV cameras covered the door and there was an intercom set into the wall to the left of the door.

‘It doesn’t look very VIP,’ said Shepherd. He was sitting in the back of the Bentley, directly behind Popov. Ulyashin was sitting next to him with his aluminium crutches between his legs, and Serov was squashed up against the other door, behind the driver. Shepherd could feel the transceiver pressing against the small of his back and he was having trouble getting used to the Bluetooth earpiece.

‘It’s not advertised,’ said Popov. ‘But it means high-profile visitors can get in and out without being snapped by the paparazzi.’

‘But it’s generally known that Mr Grechko would use it?’

Popov nodded. ‘More for convenience than because he wants to avoid publicity. Mrs Grechko likes to have her photograph taken.’

‘I bet she does,’ said Shepherd. ‘And this was where the car was parked, when it happened?’

‘For sure,’ said Popov. He said something to Chayka in Russian and the driver grunted and nodded. ‘Absolutely sure,’ said Popov.

‘And you came out of the door, with Mr Grechko?’

‘Me and Leo and Mikhail were with him in the box. We came down in the lift together after I confirmed that the cars were here.’

‘Cars?

‘The Bentley and one of the SUVs. Alexei and Boris were in the SUV with Nikolay driving.’

‘So there were two cars?’

Popov nodded.

‘Dmitry, I said I wanted everything to be the same.’

Popov frowned, not understanding the point Shepherd was making.

Shepherd sighed and reached for the door handle. ‘OK, run through it with me.’ He climbed out and then helped Ulyashin out with his crutches. His leg had a plastic protector around the dressing which reached from his ankle up to his knee and he had put an old sock over his foot. Popov got out of the front passenger seat and slammed the door behind him.

Popov, Tarasov and Shepherd walked up the steps to the door. Ulyashin looked at the steps, thought better of it and walked around and up the wheelchair ramp.

‘So in what order did you come out of the door?’ asked Shepherd.

‘I came out first,’ said Popov. ‘I had a quick look around to check that we were clear and then Leo joined me. Once we were in place Leo moved down the steps and Mr Grechko came out.’

‘Show me,’ said Shepherd. ‘Let’s pretend I’m Mr Grechko.’

Tarasov walked slowly down the steps, his arms swinging by his side. ‘So at this point I’m at the door, you’re to my left and Leo is in front of me,’ said Shepherd. ‘Then what?’

‘Then Mikhail came out.’

‘And did what? Stayed behind me?’

Popov nodded.

‘And what about the men in the SUV? Alexei and Boris?’

‘They stayed there. Watching from the car.’

Shepherd was about to point out that a bodyguard’s place was next to his principal, not sitting in a car watching what was going on, but he bit his tongue. He had meant what he’d said about not embarrassing the man in front of his colleagues. ‘OK, and what was the plan? Leo’s on the step, you’re on my left and Mikhail is behind me.’

‘Leo moves down to the car and opens the rear door. I go down and stand to the front of the car, next to Leo. You – Mr Grechko – walks down the stairs and gets into the car. Mikhail covers his rear, Leo gets in next to you, I get in the front and Mikhail goes back to the SUV.’

The SUV which isn’t there, thought Shepherd, but again he didn’t say anything. Nor did he point out that in a situation like Stamford Bridge there was safety in numbers and the safest option would have been to have brought Grechko out of one of the main exits. The isolated VIP entrance was a gift to any attacker.

Shepherd looked around. A good sniper, a really good one, could make a near-guaranteed kill shot at a mile or more, but that would be exceptional. Shepherd had honed his sniping skills in the deserts of Afghanistan, which is where an Australian sniper had a GPS-confirmed shot of more than three thousand yards and where Craig Harrison, a corporal with the Blues and Royals, shot and killed two Taliban machine-gunners at a range of two thousand seven hundred yards. But such distances really were the exception, and most snipers weren’t comfortable beyond half a mile. And at anything above half a mile the wind made a big difference, and calculating the distance the round would fall became crucial. The problem was that the stadium was in a built-up area of West London and was overlooked by all manner of residential and office buildings. From where he was standing Shepherd could see at least a dozen vantage points that would be perfect for a sniper, from open windows to office block roofs to cranes high above building projects.

‘Did the police do this with you?’ Shepherd asked Popov. ‘Did they do a run-through like this?’

Popov shook his head. ‘Mr Grechko didn’t want to talk to the police,’ he said. ‘He said the British police are useless when it comes to things like this. He said the British police couldn’t find their own arses if they used both hands.’ He laughed, and then repeated what he’d said in Russian for the benefit of Tarasov and Ulyashin.