Stephen Leather - Hot Blood

Yokely raised his coffee mug in salute to the screen on the wall. ‘I’d offer you one, Dean, but as you’re ten thousand miles away it’d be cold by the time it got to you.’

Dean Hepburn grinned and held up a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. ‘I’d offer to split this with you but I don’t reckon you’re allowed JD in the Green Zone, right?’

‘Sadly, that’s true,’ said Yokely. ‘So, how are things in Crypto City?’

‘Same old,’ said Hepburn. ‘You were lucky I was around. I was heading off when they told me you wanted the satellite link.’ He poured himself a large slug of whiskey.

‘Just wanted to run a few things by you,’ said Yokely. ‘I think I’m going to get my hands on Wafeeq.’

‘Kudos,’ said Hepburn. He raised his glass in a toast.

‘Any traffic?’

‘None from the man. He’s too clued up to the way we operate.’

‘Yeah, the CSG here says the same. He never goes near a phone these days.’

‘Hardly surprising. The last al-Qaeda heavyweight to use a cellphone was al-Zarqawi and we tracked him down and blew him away.’

‘Keep listening anyway. At some point the kidnappers are going to contact Wafeeq so even if they do it through a third party they might mention his name. Also, keep an ear open for anyone talking about Peter Simpson. That’s the name our man is using.’

‘Will do,’ said Hepburn.

Yokely’s mobile rang. He apologised to Hepburn and took the call. It was Nichols. ‘Two men have just arrived at the house,’ said Nichols. ‘We have decent visuals so I’m running an ID.’

‘Great,’ said Yokely. ‘If they move Shepherd, let me know straight away.’ He ended the call and apologised again to Hepburn.

‘Can’t believe it, this link is costing hundreds of dollars a minute and you put me on hold,’ said Hepburn. He raised his glass of Jack Daniel’s. ‘Still, the taxpayer pays, right?’

‘For which I’m eternally grateful,’ said Yokely. ‘Okay, things are moving out here. I need you to run some IDs for me. Are you near a secure terminal?’

‘Beside me,’ said Hepburn.

‘I’m going to send you eight names,’ said Yokely. ‘Three are guys I’ve already spoken to you about but I want to check whether or not they have direct links to Wafeeq.’

‘Why, Richard, you don’t think they’d lie to you, do you?’

Yokely smiled thinly. ‘I’m fairly confident they were telling the truth, but it’s always nice to have confirmation. The other five are new to me. They’re the guys who are currently holding Shepherd. I need full checks and any pictures you have. Obviously I’m especially interested in connections they have with Wafeeq or any one else on the most-wanted list.’

Hepburn put down his glass and tapped on the keyboard next to him. ‘Okay, I’m online. Download the names when you’re ready.’

Shepherd stared at the shattered pieces of the transmitter, his last connection with the outside world.

‘Who are you?’ asked the man with the straggly beard.

‘You know who I am,’ said Shepherd. ‘You have my passport.’

‘Why are you in Iraq?’

‘I’m here to work. Security.’

‘We don’t believe you.’

‘It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. It’s the truth.’

The old man spoke in Arabic to the tall one, who left the room.

Straggly Beard pointed at the broken transmitter. ‘What is that?’

‘I told your friend,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s a transmitter. It shows where I am. My company gave it to me. The man I replaced was kidnapped. The company was worried it might happen again.’

The man laughed, a harsh bark that echoed around the room. ‘It didn’t help you, did it?’

The door opened and the tall man appeared with a length of rope.

‘Look, my company will pay to get me back,’ said Shepherd. ‘Call them. They’ll offer you money.’

‘We have been told what we have to do,’ said Straggly Beard.

‘No one will know,’ said Shepherd. ‘You just take the money and I’ll leave Iraq.’

‘Our friend will know,’ said Straggly Beard. He held out his hand for the rope and the tall man gave it to him. ‘He will know and his retribution will be swift.’ He started to tie Shepherd to the chair. Shepherd tried to stand up but the tall man hurried over and pressed his shoulders down. The old man grabbed Shepherd’s legs and together the three men wrapped the rope round him and knotted it securely. Shepherd struggled but he couldn’t move.

The old man said something in Arabic and all three Iraqis laughed.

Shepherd knew there was no way he could stop what was about to happen. All he could do was hang on and hope that the Major and his men came to his rescue. It was a slim hope, but it was all he had.

Yokely walked past a coffee shop where half a dozen off-duty marines lounged on plastic chairs and sipped cappuccino. Street vendors were selling Persian rugs with Mickey Mouse motifs, T-shirts with slogans such as ‘Who’s Your Baghdaddy?’, Operation Iraqi Freedom beach towels and coffee mugs, and framed banknotes bearing the head of Saddam Hussein. Overhead four Apache attack helicopters rattled west. He looked at an AT amp;T phone centre where soldiers were lining up to call home. The temperature was climbing towards fifty degrees, and even though he had only been outside for a couple of minutes, sweat was already trickling down the small of his back.

Yokely’s mobile phone rang and he pulled it out of his body armour. It was Simon Nichols. ‘Richard, the two guys who went around to the house have left. They didn’t take your man with them.’

‘Okay,’ said Yokely. ‘Thanks for telling me. Have you identified the visitors?’

‘Still waiting to hear,’ said Nichols. ‘The pictures aren’t as clear as I would have liked so the tech boys are doing some enhancement. As soon as I know, you’ll know. Do you want us to follow them, or stick with the house?’

‘Which way are they heading?’ asked Yokely.

‘North towards Baghdad.’

‘No reading from Spider’s second transmitter?’

‘Nothing.’

‘And no other visitors to the house?’

‘Just the one van.’

‘Okay, stick with the house,’ said Yokely. ‘But as soon as you ID the occupants of the van let me know.’ He ended the call and put away his phone. It was just before midday. He doubted they’d move Shepherd while it was light, which meant he had time for a shower, a shave and maybe a steak before he headed out to rejoin the Major.

Straggly Beard slapped Shepherd with the flat of his hand. Shepherd moved his head a fraction of a second before the blow but it still hurt like hell and he tasted blood. The man backhanded him, then punched him in the side of the head.

Shepherd slumped, feigning unconsciousness, but the tall man grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. Shepherd tried to block out what was happening. He focused on Liam, picturing himself in the park with his boy, playing football, Liam running, his hair flying in the wind, Shepherd matching his pace but not trying to catch up.

Something was pulled over his head and Shepherd opened his eyes. It was a plastic bag. He started to panic and his chest heaved, although he knew that the faster he breathed the quicker he’d use up the air. The bag tightened round his neck. He kicked out but two of the men were behind him and the old man was out of reach. The plastic sucked into his mouth and Shepherd blew out but as soon as he breathed in the plastic was back in his mouth. He shook his head from side to side but whoever was holding the bag kept it in place. His chest burned and he strained against the ropes that kept him tied to the chair but they wouldn’t budge. He rocked the chair back. The pain in his chest was intensifying as if molten metal had been poured down his throat. Condensation was forming inside the bag but he could still see the old man, his lips pulled back in a snarl that showed his uneven grey teeth. He threw back his head and laughed as Shepherd lost consciousness.