Robert Wilson: The Ignoranceof Blood

I was not acting when you saw me in Madrid. I was completely horrified at this prospect. It would, of course, have been impossible for me to prevent this from happening without revealing myself as an enemy to their cause. They, having proposed this idea, then did nothing about it, but rather started talking to me about Faisal. They approached the subject as if they already knew Faisal and that he was, if not an active supporter of their cause, then at least an ideological supporter. And to a certain extent that is true, except that Faisal has a much broader mind. Over the weeks this attitude gradually changed and they drew my attention to some of Faisal 's less likeable traits as far as they were concerned. They also started to grill me about his security arrangements when he was travelling.

The threat of Abdullah's conversion was meticulously maintained by a person whose capability to successfully recruit him I did not doubt. The worst of it all was that they infected my mind. From the moment they first mentioned his recruitment I started watching Abdullah, looking for changes, checking his computer, his friends, where he went They made me spy on my own son.

I had already told them that Faisal's security arrangements were impregnable. Nobody was allowed to see him without being searched. This was not q uite true. I was never searched, but his security detail watched me, checked my movements, made sure I was clean even before I got to see him. But I didn't want the GICM to think that they had any chance of getting someone close to Faisal. That would be an unpredictable situation. This was when the marine navigation training started. They were clever. They trained three of us at the same time. None of us was given any clue of the mission.

I was getting increasingly nervous. The pressure on me has been enormous. I told Faisal everything. Sorry, Javier, but he was the target, after all, and, as you so rightly said, you had no experience in these matters. He could have saved himself a lot of trouble by just getting rid of me, but he feared for my safety and, of course, Abdullah's future. He was that sort of man. Our only resort was to counteract the GICM plan by hatching our own.

I told the GICM of Faisal's travel arrangements, which included his annual trip from Tangier to Marbella. They already knew about this, which was the reason for the marine navigation training. Then I struck the deal with my closest contact in the GICM. I volunteered to ram the Princess Bouchra and in return he would guarantee that Abdullah would never be recruited to the cause. I explained that it was not a life I wanted for him. It was q uickly apparent that this had been their aim all along.

I won't bore you with all the details about how we planned to get Faisal and his fellow royals on to the boat and then off it again in Tangier. Suffice to say that the idea was to create a big confusion with lots of people and in the end the Princess Bouchra would set sail with the captain and a slightly larger crew of highly trained marines on board. The ship, by the way, was fifteen years old and in need of a complete refit. They were going to trade her in for a new one, but now the insurance will take care of that. The Saudis will delay their press release about those on board for at least twenty-four hours. You'll understand why later.

In the original plan I was going to jump from the boat before the fatal collision, but only James Bond can get away with that sort of thing and anyway I would have been condemned to a life without my family, living in secret in Saudi Arabia and, after my childhood, this was not what I wanted. The other alternative – to tell Abdullah everything – would have put an intolerable strain on the boy and, because of his close relationship to the GICM recruiter, would have left me constantly exposed. And I didn't want to be a spy any more, Javier. I found that out very quickly. The way I had imagined it contained nothing of the horror of the reality. Believe me when I tell you that I am completely at peace. My vision, which I told you about in Madrid, beneath the cotton shroud, is where I am.

Some final requests. You must show this letter to Abdullah, but it must not remain in his possession. It is, of course, vital that he does not see me as a martyr to any terrorist cause, which is why I have penned this in my own hand. You must do this as quickly as you can. He will be in Rabat on Thursday, but given the developments, possibly before.

I would also like you to go to Fes and find Mustafa Barakat. He should be there until Friday, when he is scheduled to fly to Germany. If the CNI are any good at their job, you should know more about him by now. There are very strong ties between the Diouris and the Barakats. He has been like a brother to me, and this is why I could never do what I am going to ask of you.

I want you to find Mustafa Barakat and kill him.

He has been my main contact with the GICM and is a very dangerous man. He recruited me specifically to carry out the assassination of Faisal and he is responsible for the abduction of Dario. He might argue that he did this to distract you, so that you would be less likely to discover 'his plan' to ram the Princess Bouchra. However, I know that it was done as much out of spite as anything else, and this has made me very angry. He has also committed the unforgivable transgression of threatening a family member and for these reasons he must die. The Saudis will delay their press release until they hear from you.

I am sure you will find Dario in the Diouri family home in Fes. Be careful of the woman there, who lives apart from the rest and is probably the one holding the boy. She is Mustafa Barakat's mother and is both vicious and, in my opinion, clinically insane. If she hears that her son is dead, she will kill Dario immediately.

This is the challenge: you must kill Mustafa Barakat and rescue the boy straight away. Do not do this in a way that threatens your safety or your future. However, I do not want you to contact the Moroccan intelligence services through the CNI. They will have no compunction about torturing Mustafa Barakat, and it will be to the death because he will reveal nothing. I do not want that to happen. I am afraid that a conscience may come with me into the afterlife.

One final mystery for you, because I know that it is in your nature. You might be interested to check Mustafa Barakat 's DNA; from that you will understand his story.

You are, no doubt, in a state of shock. I am sorry, my friend, to have done this to you. I was very touched by what you told me in Brown's on that grey afternoon in London. You must believe, Javier, that you will never be alone, you have far too great a heart for that.

I wish I could embrace you again. I was very glad to be able to say goodbye in Osuna that afternoon.

Do not be sad for me. I am free now.

Your friend,

Yacoub Diouri

Falcon folded the letter, put it back in its envelope. He called Consuelo and told her to pack and be ready to leave for Morocco before midday.

Jefatura, Seville – Wednesday, 20th September 2006, 10.10 hrs

The square reinforced-glass window set in the door of interview room number four perfectly framed Nikita Sokolov, who was considered sufficiently dangerous to be held in handcuffs, hands behind his back. Ramirez was waiting for the translator and was dismayed, several minutes later, to be shaking hands with a small middle-aged Cuban woman.

'Have you done this before?' he asked.

'Translate?' she said, giving him the eyebrow.

'For us,' he said, 'with criminals.'

'What's he done?'

'He's a particularly nasty murderer and you're going to hear some ugly stuff… to do with women.'

She had to stand on tiptoe to see through the glass.

'Thanks very much for being so considerate, Inspector,' she said. 'But I used to live in Miami. There the ugly stuff happened in your living room.'