Ryan, Chris - Zero 22

‘You think someone’s tipped them off?’ Bethany said, her voice edgy, as Danny continued his circuit of the square.

‘No,’ Danny said. ‘The General’s meant to be overseeing a peace treaty between the Turks and the Kurds. It’s an obvious target for terrorist activity. If I was them, I’d be jumpy too.’

‘They’re right to be,’ Bethany said quietly.

Danny couldn’t argue with that.

He drove down one side of the hotel and then round the back. There were more soldiers here, guarding either end of the street. They passed three exits, one with a cluster of large plastic refuse bins outside. Two soldiers guarded each of the three exits. There was no way of getting in or out of this place without your ID being checked.

‘I don’t like it,’ Bethany said.

‘What did you expect?’ Danny said. ‘A walk in the park?’

She didn’t answer.

They were able to park the car about 800 metres from the hotel along a narrow road lined with cafes and small shops. The route back to the hotel would take them to a crossroads, where they would turn right on to a main road that led to the hotel. They parked outside a small shop selling fabrics. Danny stowed his handgun under his seat. He felt naked not wearing it, but there was zero chance of getting into the hotel if he was carrying. If he needed a weapon when he was inside – and he hoped he wouldn’t – he’d have to improvise. They exited the vehicle. Danny locked it and pocketed the key. He looked up and down the road. There were plenty of pedestrians, but they all seemed to be going about their business. If any of them were paying any special attention to the two smartly dressed westerners who had just stepped out of the dented old Passat, Danny didn’t notice them. And he was trained to do just that.

‘This is where we split up,’ Danny said. They couldn’t enter the hotel together. Once they were inside, nobody could know they were associated, if Bethany was to lay her honeytrap successfully. ‘You get in first. I’ll be watching.’

‘It’s almost like you don’t trust me.’

‘When it’s done, we meet back here. Any problems, get a taxi back to the safe house.’

‘I’m about to walk unarmed into a hotel heavily guarded by American troops and kill their top guy. What makes you think something’s going to go wrong?’

‘You have your phone. Contact me if there’s a problem, but do it discreetly.’

She gave him what was obviously meant to be a ‘don’t patronise me’ look, but she couldn’t hide her anxiety as she glanced over Danny’s shoulder in the direction of the hotel. ‘How do I look?’ she said.

‘Right for the job,’ Danny told her, and he meant it. Bethany would turn heads. With any luck, she’d turn the General’s.

She set off along the pavement. There was no need for her to weave in and out of the other pedestrians. There was something about her seemingly confident stride that made others get out of her way. He waited until they were separated by a distance of fifty metres before following her. His skin was damp with sweat as he walked past the entrance to a souk, fragrant with incense, and ignored the shouts of a street-food vendor offering him something wrapped in flatbread. Bethany didn’t look back. At the end of the street was the crossroads where she turned right, and Danny lost sight of her for a few seconds. As he himself turned right, he saw the back of her head as she continued down the road towards the hotel. They passed one of its side entrances on the opposite side of the road. Then they entered the recently recce’d square at the front of the hotel.

Bethany approached the main hotel entrance. Danny stopped outside a cafe with a green awning where young Jordanians sat in the shade drinking tiny cups of coffee. He noticed, with a certain amount of satisfaction, that a few of the American guys on patrol outside the hotel watched her appreciatively as she passed. One guy, stationed between the two palm trees, risked a bollocking by moving from his post and approaching her. He noted the way she flounced her hair as she walked away from him, and how the soldier made a rueful, arms-in-the-air gesture to one of his mates, as if to say: ‘Hey, I tried!’

Bethany trotted up the wide steps leading to the main entrance. Danny could see that the guys on guard here were a more serious prospect. There was nothing about their body language that suggested they had any flirtatious intention. They examined Bethany’s ID and press pass for a full thirty seconds. For a moment, Danny thought they had a problem, because the soldier passed the documentation to his mate, who studied it just as intently. After another thirty seconds, however, he handed it back to Bethany. The two soldiers stepped aside and she disappeared into the hotel.

Danny took a seat at the cafe and ordered a coffee. He would give it ten minutes. He watched as an official-looking black car pulled up in front of the hotel and three Jordanian men in suits emerged. They received the same treatment from the American soldiers at the door, and appeared impatient with the security arrangements. It didn’t do them much good. The soldiers prolonged the ID check before allowing them in.

There was more movement. A group of guys in Arabic dress exited the hotel. A minute later, the soldiers directed a courier to another entrance round the back. Danny checked his watch. 17.45 hrs. He decided it was time to enter. He put some money on the table and left the cafe.

He attracted considerably less attention than Bethany as he approached the hotel. To the soldier standing between the palm trees, he was invisible. Walking up the steps to the entrance, he fixed one of the two guards with an easy smile. ‘State your purpose,’ the guard said. Close up, Danny could see that he was carrying an MP5 sub-machine gun, and he noticed the handgun holster bulge under his camouflage jacket. He had a shaved head, and the kind of leathery complexion that Danny recognised from men operating in hot countries for extended periods. He decided this guy was probably part of the General’s SF retinue.

‘Press,’ Danny told him.

There was an uncomfortable moment as the guy looked Danny up and down. Danny knew what he was probably thinking: you’re the biggest journalist I ever saw. He felt self-conscious of his size, as though he was squeezed into a suit too small for him, and was glad that Bethany had loosened his tie. He held the guy’s gaze with the same, easy smile. If he showed any sign of uncertainty, he might be denied entrance.

‘You have ID?’ the Yank asked. He had a sturdy New York accent.

Danny dug into his shoulder bag and took out his fake passport and Sunday Times press pass. The guy handed the press pass to his mate, who started keying his name into a handheld device. He opened up the passport himself. He checked the photo against Danny’s face then continued to examine the details. ‘How old are you, Mr Waldren?’ he asked.

Danny was glad he’d done his homework. ‘Thirty-four,’ he said.

The soldier nodded and handed back the passport. ‘Let me see the bag.’

Danny handed it over. The soldier removed the notebook and flicked through its empty pages. He replaced it and returned the bag to Danny just as his mate handed back the press pass, saying: ‘He’s on the list.’

‘British, huh?’ said the first guy. ‘One of yours already came in here, a few minutes ago. Good-looking broad. Maybe you’ll get lucky.’

‘Business, not pleasure, mate. Lot of interest in the peace talks in London,’ Danny said. He smiled more broadly. ‘Hey, when do you get off duty? Maybe we could do a little interview. It would be an interesting piece, no? A day-in-the-life kind of thing.’

‘Nice try,’ said the soldier, clearly free of all suspicion now. He jabbed one thumb over his shoulder. ‘You’re in.’