Black Ops Read online

  She stared at him. ‘Absolutely not,’ she said.

  Danny gave her a cool stare.

  ‘Look,’ Bethany said, ‘I don’t know who you think you are, but if you imagine I’m going to be taking instructions from you, you can think again.’

  Danny didn’t reply.

  ‘It’s not safe, anyway,’ Bethany continued. ‘This is the safest place I can be, or so they tell me . . .’

  Danny kept quiet.

  ‘And anyway . . . I’ve been out of the country too much lately. I need to be within reach of my son, especially now.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘No you don’t.’

  ‘I’ve got a daughter,’ Danny said. ‘She’s been in danger before, because of my job. I don’t get to see her much. I know what it’s like.’

  Bethany inclined her head, as though reluctant to concede the point. Then, without warning, she bowed her head and put her face in her hands. Danny looked around. Here they were, in perhaps the most secure building in London, and this woman was plainly terrified for her life.

  When Danny spoke again, his voice was a little softer. ‘I’m going to promise you something,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter whether you’re in Beirut or Vauxhall, you’re safer with me than with anyone else. You’re a smart operator, I can tell that. So am I. We’re going to fly to Beirut, we’re going to interview Al-Farouk, and then we’re going to find Ibrahim Khan. When we find him, I’m going to deal with him. End of problem. But I need your help. I need your local knowledge. I need your handling notes. And I need you to help me get inside Khan’s head. What do you say?’

  Bethany was clearly unsure. She was silent for a minute, her eyes closed. Danny supposed she was weighing up the risks and benefits. She opened her eyes. ‘I want to see my son before we go,’ she said.

  ‘Deal,’ Danny said. ‘And I want to see Colonel Henry Bishop.’ An expression of distaste crossed Bethany’s face. ‘Problem?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Bethany said, ‘if you’re a guy and you went to a posh public school. He’s got an attitude towards women and plebs – his word, not mine. The only good thing about Ibrahim going off the radar was that I didn’t have to make weekly reports to the colonel. He always insisted on face to face, if you get my drift.’ She looked away. ‘I know his type well enough, anyway,’ she said.

  Danny wondered what she meant, but didn’t pursue it. ‘We won’t be there long,’ he said. ‘I just want his take on the situation.’ He paused. ‘What’s your take on the situation, Bethany? You knew Ibrahim better than anybody. Why do you think he’s doing this?’

  Bethany didn’t reply immediately. She stood up and turned her back to him. Danny couldn’t help noticing how shapely she was. The slope of her shoulder. The curve of her hip. She was the sort of woman who men would do things for. No wonder she had found herself running agents. He wondered what Khan thought of her. ‘The handler-agent relationship is a strange one,’ she said. ‘Officially your job is to debrief them, motivate them, and occasionally pay them. But really, your most important job is to befriend them. It’s a lonely life they lead, and you become their only link to the outside world. It becomes like a clandestine affair. You get to know each other’s quirks and worries and pressure points. Ibrahim wasn’t my only agent. I’ve run men and women all over the world. They all have moments when they doubt what they’re doing. I constantly have to reassure them. To let them know that we’re there for them, and their safety is our paramount concern – which it is, by the way. I never had to do that with Ibrahim. He was always calm and resolute. He knew he was fighting the good fight, and he never wavered. Not once.’

  ‘Or,’ Danny said, ‘he was very good at making you think that. Seems to me, if an agent shows no sign of concern for his own safety, it means he’s hiding something.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Bethany said. ‘I certainly got him wrong, anyway.’

  ‘Where do you think he is?’

  Bethany stared into the middle distance. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘I think he’s back in Syria. Other times, I think he’s infiltrated the building and he’s outside in the corridor, about to burst in on me. He could do that, you know?’

  ‘I know,’ Danny said quietly. ‘That’s why we need to catch him. Are you in?’

  Bethany frowned. ‘If I’m coming to Beirut with you, I’ll need to get it cleared by Sturrock. It can take a while to get a conversation with him.’ She picked up the phone on her desk.

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Danny said. He pulled out his mobile along with Sturrock’s card, put it on speaker phone, and dialled. Bethany looked astonished when Sturrock answered his phone immediately. ‘It’s me,’ Danny said. ‘We’ve got a lead. I need to get to Beirut and I’m taking Bethany White with me.’

  5

  The arrangements took less than an hour. An RAF flight to Tel Aviv was scheduled for the following morning at 08.00. Hereford arranged for it to be diverted to Beirut. That would give them time to pay the colonel a visit and look in on Christina and Danny junior, as Danny now thought of him. Bethany made some calls to ensure they were expected. Danny waited outside Bethany’s office so the MI6 officer could change out of her business suit. She emerged wearing jeans, a Barbour jacket and an Alice band. Quite the Sloane Ranger, Danny thought to himself. They drew curious glances as they walked back through the corridors of the MI6 buildings and signed out.

  Bethany knew the colonel’s address, and she knew where Christina and her boy were being held in a safe house. She’d softened slightly, but clearly hadn’t quite let go of the idea that she should be in charge. She refused to give Danny the location of the safe house. ‘I’ll tell you when you need to know,’ she said. ‘Not before. The colonel’s house is on the outskirts of Brynmawr, just to the south of the Brecon Beacons.

  ‘Says it all,’ Danny said as they drove away from the MI6 building.

  ‘I don’t follow you.’

  ‘Retired army officer sets up shop a few miles from Pen-y-Fan, where SAS selection takes place. As far as I know he never served with the Regiment, but he’ll be happy for people to draw their own conclusions.’

  ‘Trust me,’ Bethany said. ‘You’ll draw all the conclusions you need the minute you meet him. If the MISFIT intel hadn’t been so productive, he’d have been out on his ear years ago.’ She plugged the colonel’s address in to Danny’s satnav. ETA: 17.00 hrs.

  ‘That thing you mentioned,’ Danny said, ‘back in your office, about knowing the colonel’s type. What did you mean?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Bethany said. Danny didn’t push it. They sat in silence for a few seconds. ‘My father was cut from the same cloth,’ she said finally. ‘Military man, moved into intelligence. He was quite the legend in the Service before he retired and moved us all down to Devon. Pleased as punch when I got the tap on the shoulder at Oxford. Probably arranged it himself.’

  ‘You didn’t get on?’

  Bethany shrugged. ‘Let’s just say he wasn’t quite what he pretended to be.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t have to answer these questions, you know?’

  ‘I’m just making conversation,’ Danny said.

  ‘Yeah, right.’ She paused again, then continued without any prompting from Danny. ‘My whole life, all he ever talked about was queen and country. I went on an anti-government student march once. He saw me on TV. I thought he might disown me, he was so furious. Thought I’d fallen in with a bunch of anarchists.

  ‘Had you?’

  ‘Of course not. I was a history student. It’s what we did. Once I’d moved up the ranks at MI6 though, looked into a few files, it turned out my dear daddy was just as grubby and morally compromised as everybody else.’

  ‘We all have to do things we don’t like in this line of work,’ Danny said. ‘Goes with the territory.’

  ‘I know that. But a little authenticity would be nice, now and then, wouldn’t you say?’ Then she frowned and shook her head, as though she regrett
ed having been so open in front of him.

  Danny didn’t have an answer for her, but for some reason the image of Ibrahim Khan dropped into his head again. Khan had seemed like one of the good guys, and from what she’d said Bethany had seen that in him too. Maybe he’d revealed himself to be another in a long line of men who’d turned out not to be what she’d thought.

  They were driving along the south side of the river now, and Danny noticed a white Peugeot two cars behind. It stayed close for the next ten minutes. ‘There’s a . . .’ Bethany started to say.

  ‘I’m on it,’ Danny told her.

  He drove twice round the Wandsworth Bridge roundabout. The Peugeot stuck close. ‘Clumsy,’ Danny said.

  ‘Is it him?’ Bethany asked. Danny could tell she was trying to sound nonchalant. She wasn’t succeeding.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Ibrahim Khan was trained up by the Regiment. He’s killed three SAS guys. If he was following us, we wouldn’t notice him. At least, not so easily.’

  ‘So who is it?’

  ‘My guess is Sturrock wants to keep an eye on us. Don’t worry. I’ll lose them when we get on the motorway.’ When they were a couple of junctions along the M4, he did just that, pulling up on the hard shoulder while the white Peugeot went speeding past. ‘Muppets,’ Danny said. He waited for five minutes, then came off at the next junction and re-programmed the satnav to take them cross-country. It delayed their ETA for forty-five minutes, but it seemed to put Bethany’s mind at rest. She even slept, leaving Danny to concentrate on the road, and on the task ahead of him.

  Al-Farouk, the Lebanese businessman, was a lead but a tenuous one. The chance that he’d know Khan’s location was tiny. He might, though, have other contacts with more information. Danny would just have to get him to talk. He hoped Bethany had the stomach for whatever that might entail. He knew MI6 officers had basic firearms training, but there was no way Bethany could be as comfortable with application of extreme measures as Danny was.

  But there were others to speak to first. Colonel Henry Bishop for a start. Operation MISFIT was his baby, and it had gone sour. That was a black mark against him. Danny expected the stubbornness of a Rupert unable to admit he’d messed up. Why else would he be insisting on staying in his own home, when the threat against him was real and imminent? It was a stupid and stubborn attempt to save face. Danny wondered why MI6 were even standing for it. He was supposedly heading to the colonel’s house to see if he could shed any light on Ibrahim Khan’s whereabouts. In reality, Danny was just ticking boxes.

  The light was failing as they returned to the M4 and crossed the Severn Bridge. The snow had returned. It swirled heavily, compromising visibility and forcing Danny to drive slower than he’d have liked. As they reached Brynmawr it was dark and below zero. Bethany was awake again. She seemed cross with herself for having fallen asleep.

  Half a mile along the only road that led to the colonel’s house, an SUV blocked their path. A man in a puffer jacket stood in the road, wincing slightly from the glare of the oncoming headlights. Danny came to a halt and the man walked towards the car. Danny lowered his window. ‘He’s expecting us,’ he said.

  ‘Names?’ The man’s breath steamed in the cold night air. He had snow in his beard.

  ‘Danny Black, Bethany White.’

  The man nodded. ‘Drive up to the house, son. Wait by the car. You’ll be searched before you can enter.’

  He returned to the SUV and let them pass.

  ‘Security’s high,’ Bethany observed as they drove towards the house.

  ‘You think?’ Danny said. ‘We could have nailed him in about two seconds flat.’

  ‘We?’ Bethany said, one eyebrow arched.

  ‘I. And if I was closing in on the colonel I wouldn’t approach by road anyway.’

  The house appeared up ahead through the blizzard: hard to make out in much detail because of the snow, but imposing – an immense outline against the dark sky, with yellow light spilling from numerous windows. Danny’s vehicle crunched to a halt in front of some stone steps that led to the front door. He didn’t bother to holster his weapon as he knew he’d never get it into the house. He and Bethany alighted and stood together in the driving snow, powder accumulating in their hair. The front door opened and another man emerged. He descended the steps and wordlessly frisked the newcomers, then nodded. ‘In you go,’ he said. ‘First room on the right.’

  Danny and Bethany hurried into the house. It was warm here. The snow on their clothes melted immediately. A further guard stood at the door his colleague had indicated. He stepped aside to let them in. They found themselves in a comfortable room with a welcoming open fire, thick curtains and comfortable furniture. Quiet piano music played from some floor-standing speakers. A man stood with his back to the fire, a tumbler in his hand. He had probably been handsome once, but age and booze were catching up with him. He was a corpulent man who looked like he’d eaten too many good dinners. The collar of his shirt was a little tight for his neck, and his face had a whisky-glow. He wore red trousers and a navy blazer with a smudge of food on the lapel, and a handkerchief in the breast pocket. He gave his guests a bland smile. ‘Drink?’ he said. It was directed more to Danny than to Bethany.

  ‘No,’ Danny said.

  ‘You quite sure I can’t tempt you? There’s fuck all else to do here.’

  Neither Danny nor Bethany replied. The colonel shrugged and helped himself to half a tumbler of whisky from a drinks table to the left of the fire. Danny and Bethany exchanged a quick grin behind his back. The colonel plonked himself down in an armchair, waving one hand to indicate that his guests should also sit. ‘So have you found the malodorous little cunt yet?’

  ‘No,’ Danny said.

  ‘Well, get a fucking move on, will you? I’ve had nothing but microwave meals for the last forty-eight hours. You’d think someone on my security detail would know how to boil an egg.’ He swigged a mouthful of whisky, then peered at Bethany. ‘I thought you were under close protection as well.’

  ‘I am,’ Bethany said.

  ‘Been whisked away by a tall, dark SAS man, have you?’ He raised an eyebrow at Danny. ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree there, my friend. Worst-kept secret in Vauxhall is that our Bethany prefers the fairer sex.’ He drank some more whisky, eyeing Bethany over the brim of his glass. ‘You should invite some of your lady friends round, my dear. Give us all a bit of a show. It would relieve the fucking boredom, that’s for sure.’

  Bethany gave no reaction. Danny stood up. He walked over to the colonel, removed the whisky glass from his hand, and poured the contents over the carpet. The colonel was clearly outraged, but with Danny towering above him, he wisely made the correct decision and didn’t complain. ‘They told me you served,’ Danny said. ‘Gulf War I?’ The colonel nodded quickly, clearly a little scared of Danny, who leaned in towards him. ‘That’s the only reason your teeth are still in your face. Speak to her like that again, I’ll do Ibrahim Khan’s work for him myself. Understood?’

  The colonel’s red face grew redder. ‘I’ll call my close protection,’ he said. But his bluster died on his lips. ‘Just sit down, man. It was only a bloody joke. I’m more of a brunette man, in any case.’

  ‘The only brunette you’re likely to come in contact with,’ Danny said, ‘is Ibrahim Khan.’ He put the whisky tumbler on an occasional table next to the colonel’s chair and sat down again.

  ‘Filthy little towelhead,’ the colonel said. ‘Wish I’d never set eyes on the bugger.’

  ‘Do you think he was working for the other side from the get-go?’

  It was Bethany who answered. ‘I’d say that was impossible,’ she said.

  The colonel tried to interrupt. Danny held up one palm to quieten him. ‘Why?’ he said.

  ‘Because the MISFIT intel was too good. If Ibrahim was working for IS from the beginning, they’d only have been passing on information of a certain quality. Cor
rect but unimportant. Chickenfeed, we call it. Enough to make us believe Ibrahim had access to good intel, but nothing that would actually harm IS operations. We’re good at identifying chickenfeed, and the MISFIT intel wasn’t it. He tipped us off about major events. Troop movements in northern Iraq. A Semtex bomb at the French Embassy in London. A chemical attack on the Underground. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say Ibrahim Khan is the reason IS never gained a substantial foothold in the UK, and believe me it’s not for want of trying.’

  ‘So why did he flip?’

  ‘Because he was weak,’ said the colonel. ‘Happens all the bloody time in this game. Agents are messed up in the first place. Got to be, if you want to do a job like that. A little seed of sympathy for your enemy grows over time until you start to think like them. Normally we rely on our case officers to spot the signs, and get them out before they can do any lasting damage.’ He pointed at Bethany. ‘She dropped the ball. Quite why you’re still in post, my dear, and I’m out in the cold, is a mystery to me.’

  But it was not a mystery to Danny. Bethany White was obviously sharp and capable. The colonel had gone to seed and the booze was turning his brain to jelly. They were wasting their time even talking to him. ‘There’s nothing for us here,’ Danny said to Bethany. ‘Let’s go.’

  Bethany didn’t need telling twice. She stood up and headed for the exit. Danny, however, approached the colonel. ‘Do you have family?’ he said.

  ‘Divorced,’ the colonel muttered.

  ‘So nobody else is living here?’

  ‘Just me and the three fucking musketeers. Sure you won’t have a drink? There’s gin, red wine . . . I might have some beer somewhere . . .’

  ‘MI6 offered you a safe house?’

  ‘Damned if I’m going to bloody well . . .’

  ‘You should take it. Make the call now. Get out of here. Tonight.’ And before the colonel could reply, Danny knocked the empty whisky tumbler from the occasional table on to the floor. He trod on it and it cracked beneath his feet. Quickly bending over, he took a shard of lead crystal. Then he forced one hand over the colonel’s mouth and pressed the shard up against his carotid artery. ‘I could kill you now,’ he whispered. ‘Your security detail won’t hear a sound. I don’t need a gun, I don’t need a knife, and I could gain access to this house in seconds. If I can do it, Ibrahim Khan can do it. And he will, if I don’t find him first. Take the safe house.’