Adrian Magson - Tracers

‘So what has this all been about?’

‘Propaganda. Power. Pecking order. The man’s no fool; he’s learned to read people. He’s a politician. He knew it was only a question of time before someone in his own community took a pop at him. But what if he turned it on its head? His survival and reappearance, followed by a triumphant entry to Baghdad, would be like the Second Coming. And with the funds and support he’s been gathering, it would create havoc. He’d be in a position of incredible power — for a while, anyway.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It wouldn’t last. They’d use him for his contacts and influence, then get rid. It’s the nature of things over there. A lot of people don’t want him to get even that far.’

‘Like?’

‘Oil people. Money people. Some members of the new Iraqi government.’

‘What’s the Coalition view?’

‘I really couldn’t comment on that.’

Harry tilted his head in disbelief. ‘You know who they are, don’t you? The people behind this.’

Ballatyne appeared to consider his words carefully before answering. ‘Some of them. We know who organized the assassination attempt and this follow-up farce. One of them is an official in the new Iraqi administration. He was over here recently, and met with others who have connections to the oil industry here and in the States. We’re moving on some of them right now. We’ll leave the rest for later.’

‘They must be insane.’

‘Scared, more like. Scared that if Rafa’i gets to power, he’ll lock the gates to the oil wells and throw away the keys. It would plunge his country back into the Dark Ages and send the price of oil through the roof. And there are plenty of people who don’t want that to happen.’ He shrugged. ‘But there are other problems attached to Rafa’i’s continued safety. Which is where you come in.’

‘Go on.’

‘You were correct, in your own bullish way: if Subhi Rafa’i were to die here, God only knows what would happen. We think the bomb plots so far have been bad? The repercussions of him dying on British soil would close this country down for years. There’s hardly anyone in the Middle East who wouldn’t believe it was all some Coalition plot.’

‘So you want him back in Baghdad.’ Harry frowned. ‘Isn’t that what he wants?’

Ballatyne gave the ghost of a smile. ‘Not quite. We’ll be dropping him back in Baghdad, but there won’t be any triumphant entry. We’re letting it be known that he allowed his own people to die in the compound to save his own skin. We’ve got proof and we can leak it in such a manner that nobody will know where it came from. There’s also the matter of how some of the money he’s been gathering has “stuck” in a private bank account in the Caymans. He’ll be discredited for good. . especially among the money men.’ He studied his hands as if looking for dirt. ‘I wouldn’t rate his chances of survival too highly after that.’

Harry shook his head, wondering at the minds that had been thinking about this situation all along. ‘So what’s this big favour?’

‘Well, as you know,’ the intelligence man continued smoothly, ‘we’re pretty short of good people at the moment, what with all the trouble spots we’re trying to police around the world. We need all the experienced hands we can get.’

Harry waited, wondering what was coming.

‘How do you fancy a trip to Baghdad? All expenses paid, of course. Not like this one — which I remind you, you got into by yourself. Incidentally, I should ask to see your card, just for the record.’ He waited, eyebrows raised, until Harry took out his wallet and extracted a credit card. It was made out in the name of a minor finance house and looked no different to any normal card.

‘Fair enough.’ Ballatyne waved it away without examining it. ‘No need to go any further. Bloody things are probably easy to falsify now, anyway.’

‘So what next?’ Harry put the card away.

‘You’ll have help on the ground, filtering our troublesome cleric back into his home district. You should be back out within two days, three at most. Then we’ll drop you somewhere quiet to recuperate. Long enough to get the press concentrating on something else.’

‘Rik’s not in any state to travel.’

‘It didn’t look that serious. Small calibre. . minimal damage.’ Ballatyne chewed his lip. ‘OK. We can hold Rafa’i for a couple of days while the shoulder gets patched up. But that’s the limit. This is urgent.’

Harry remembered Rik’s reaction on seeing the hot box in the Saab and realizing that Harry was carrying a weapon. That issue still hadn’t been explained. He gave Ballatyne a level look. ‘What if I refuse?’

The intelligence man snorted. ‘You could try. You’re still on the reserve list, remember? Why do you think we allowed you to run with this once we found out who you were? You were highly regarded, you know, before you went private.’

‘Really?’ said Harry evenly. ‘Pity nobody thought so at the time.’

‘Yeah, well — our loss. Still, we can’t grumble, can we? It turned out OK.’ He began to move away, then turned back. ‘I’ll give you some extra motivation.’

‘You can try.’

Ballatyne was holding a five-by-four colour photo. He handed it over. It showed an anonymous street with cars, pedestrians and smart office buildings. The sun was shining and people were dressed in lightweight summer clothes. They looked relaxed, unhurried. One man was frozen centre-frame, about to step into the open door of a taxi only yards from the camera. He was wearing a smart linen suit and carrying a briefcase, a businessman on his way to a meeting. Although slightly grainy, the photo was clear enough for instant recognition.

It was Harry’s former boss, now on the run from the security services.

Henry Paulton.

He felt the earth tilt and looked at Ballatyne. ‘Is this a joke?’

‘No. One of our spotters recognized him while on another job. She couldn’t do anything without blowing her cover so she took a shot on her camera phone. Not too bad, considering.’ He took the photo back and put it away. ‘Do this job for me and I’ll let you have a copy. I’ll even tell you where it was taken.’ He grinned nastily. ‘I imagine you and Paulton must have lots to talk about.’

‘What was all the chat about?’ Rik rejoined Harry. He looked unsteady on his feet and had an unhealthy pallor, but was managing to stay upright. ‘Why did they take the cuffs off?’ He winced and moved his shoulder gingerly.

‘We’re off the hook,’ Harry said, and nodded at Rik’s wound. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘Only when I get my arm twisted. What do you mean, off the hook? We shot people in public. How do we get off a thing like that?’

‘A favour for a favour.’ Or rather, two favours, Harry reflected. He explained Ballatyne’s demand. ‘Two days’ work followed by a paid holiday, then we can go back to doing what we do, no questions asked.’

‘There’s got to be a catch.’

Harry shrugged and moved away towards the lakeside cafeteria. There was always a catch. He needed a stiff drink, although he wasn’t sure if they served anything stronger than tea or coffee. His eye brushed across the covered hump of Joanne’s body on the grass. No, he needed to get further away than this. He leaned against a strip of fencing.

Rik said, ‘You were going at it with Ballatyne. What was that all about?’

‘Horse trading,’ Harry replied. ‘He took some convincing, that’s all.’ He didn’t mention his threat to go public with the story, since the chances of pulling it off were infinitesimally small, anyway. And Rik would be all for spewing it on to the Internet without a second thought for the consequences.