Robert Wilson: The Ignoranceof Blood

The boat had drifted. He manoeuvred her back into position, just seven hundred metres north-west. 08.27. He scanned the ocean once more. Seven ships now to the west, four to the east. The Princess Bouchra must be visible by now. They'd worked it out meticulously. He knew everything about that boat. She must have left Tangier late. He released the binoculars, held on to the windscreen of the cockpit, checked the SatNav, perfect position.

The sun was fully up and out of the water now, its heat on his back. He stripped off his shirt and threw it behind him. He closed his eyes for a moment, relaxed them; he'd worked them hard in the dark. He brought the binoculars up to his face, opened his eyes. One, two, three, four ships. Stopped, went back. Between three and four, a smaller vessel. He throttled up, moved forward a hundred metres, two hundred, picked up the Moroccan flag at the back, moved along to the hull. Princess Bouchra. He suddenly needed to piss.

He throttled back, went down into the cabin, lifted up the cache, turned the switch 180 degrees, a red light, then a faint wheezing sound came from the point of the hull and a click. The red light changed to green. Primed. Back in the cockpit, binoculars to his face. There she was. Five hundred metres away now. He rested the binoculars on his chest. Reached for the photograph in his back pocket, wanted to kiss the memory of Yousra, Abdullah and Leila. It was in his trousers, which he'd thrown overboard. No matter, he kissed them anyway. He opened the throttles gradually, taking the boat up to full speed. The power wanted to force him back into his seat but he remained standing, hanging on to the wheel. The Princess Bouchra was getting bigger, more to scale. Hundred metres to go now. Yacoub wasn't thinking any more. He was concentrating on nothing but the porthole in the middle of the starboard side of the boat, which he aimed to hit at one hundred and twenty-five kilometres per hour.

The sea beneath his hull seemed as hard as tarmac. The bow smacked the surface, juddering his organs. The vessel was huge in his vision. Its white superstructure towering above him. He smiled at the wind in his face, the thought of being on the other side, of going straight through to another dimension, shivering through the transparent wall that would make all his suffering appear suddenly absurd. His hull and the porthole met. He slipped through the fissure of time, while the Princess Bouchra broke in half with a sound that wasn't loud enough for him to hear.

Falcon's house Calle Bailen, Seville – Wednesday, 20th September 2006, 09.30 hrs

There was something about the intensity of the two vibrating mobile phones on the marble top of his bedside table that seemed more alarming than usual. They kissed and came apart like molluscs engaged in some mating ritual. Falcon wiped his hand down his face, asked himself: Was anyone completely innocent killed last night? Isabel Sanchez. He shook his head, levered himself up on an elbow, grabbed a phone and clamped it to his ear.

'Diga.'

'Finally,' said Pablo. 'Don't bother to pick up the other one, it's me as well.'

'I had a late night last night, with four murders and two arrests in the space of about one hour. And that doesn't include the suicide on the Huelva road. So I hope you're not going to ask anything complicated of me,' said Falcon. 'I've got a lot on my plate today, probably starting with a very ugly interview with Comisario Elvira.'

'There's no easy way to break this to you, Javier,' said Pablo, 'so I'll tell it to you straight. Yacoub Diouri drove a power boat packed with high explosives into the side of a Saudi royal family vessel called the Princess Bouchra at around eight forty this morning.'

Silence. Falcon blinked.

'The captain and crew abandoned ship and were picked up by a passing dry cargo vessel. The Princess Bouchra went straight to the bottom. We're not sure who was left on board.'

'Are you sure it was Yacoub?'

'We're absolutely positive,' said Pablo.

'How do you know?' asked Falcon. 'This happened less than an hour ago. How can you be so positive?'

'Listen to the news. I just wanted to warn you before you saw it. It's the only story on all channels,' said Pablo. 'We'll talk later when you're in the office.'

Falcon threw off the sheet, sprinted downstairs in his underpants, turned on the television, sat back in his chair.

'The captain and crew have been taken by helicopter to Algeciras where they have been admitted to hospital uninjured, but suffering from shock. The Princess Bouchra sank immediately. It is believed that four members of the Saudi royal family were on board, two with government portfolios and two provincial governors. We are still awaiting confirmation of their names.'

Zap.

'The suicide bomber, who has been named as Yousef Daoudi, is believed to have set off from the coastal town of Mertil, about ten kilometres from the northern Moroccan town of Tetouan.'

Zap.

'The explosion was first reported by the captain of a gas tanker called the Inigo Tapias at eight forty-two. The position was confirmed later by the coastguard just out of the Straits of Gibraltar, about forty-three kilometres due east of La Linea. It is believed that there were no survivors.'

Encarnacion, his housekeeper, appeared at the door of his study.

'What's going on, Javier?'

'Just trying to get some news.'

'The ship that blew up off the Costa del Sol?' said Encarnacion, crossing herself. 'They said on Ondacero that it was al-Qaeda.'

That gave him the idea to try the Al Jazeera channel. Encarnacion handed him the post she'd picked up by the front door.

'A crew member of the dry cargo vessel, which picked up the survivors of the Princess Bouchra, said that he saw the power boat take aim at the luxury cruiser and hit her amidships. There was an explosion, a massive ball of flame and the Princess Bouchra broke in two and sank immediately. We are still trying to get confirmation who was aboard the vessel. It is believed that there were six members of the Saudi royal family, who were travelling from Tangier to Marbella. A Moroccan-based terrorist organization called the GICM – the Moroccan Islamic Combatant Group – have claimed responsibility. They have named the assassin as Yacoub Diouri, who we understand is owner and director of a clothes manufacturing company based in Sale, near Rabat in Morocco. And here to talk to us about these developments is -'

Falcon turned off the television, let the remote drop to the floor. The mail Encarnacion had given him scattered across the tiles. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, head viced in his hands, trying to force some logic into his stunned brain cells. If last night had gone badly, this was disaster on an epic scale. He felt hollow, black and hideously cold inside.

Grief and the horrific repercussions of Yacoub's act fought for supremacy in his mind as he stared into the clay tiles and noticed a hotel envelope on the floor: the Vista del Mar in Marbella, with his address in Yacoub's handwriting. He picked it up, it was stamped with yesterday's date. Marbella 19 September 2006 Dear Javier, By the time you open this you will already have been told about what happened last night in the Straits of Gibraltar, or you will at least have seen it on the news. (Al Jazeera is my recommendation for this kind of thing.) Although, because it took place out at sea, there will inevitably be some confusion. The confusion is deliberate and an important part of the plan. But rather than starting with confusion, let me begin at the beginning and hopefully make everything clear for you.

First of all, I am sorry, Javier, that I have lied to you. Abdullah has not been, and now never will be, recruited by the GICM. You will remember what I told you in Madrid about their ruthlessness; I learned about it the hardest way – through practical experience. I also told you that they were nervous of my non-Moroccan half. That was q uite true. They did not completely trust me, not from the very first moment But they wanted access to Faisal. So the first thing that happened was that they declared their intention to recruit Abdullah to the cause. They said he would be proud to join his father in the jihad and they would train him up to be a great mujahideen fighter.