Ultimatum, page 30
‘Meaning?’
‘Orders from the top. You’ll appreciate I can’t give you any details. But certain people in DC have … How can I put it?’ He paused, searching for the right words. ‘Look, they’ve simply run out of patience with the Iranians on this one. It’s the final straw. They think the Iranian government’s up to its neck in this kidnapping of your minister and now they’re just stalling you Brits.’
Chip Nuttall’s expression didn’t alter. London had warned him that the Americans were itching to have a go at Iran and he cut straight to the point. ‘How long have we got?’
The American checked his watch.
‘Twenty-four hours. Then we’re going in. We’re gonna hit them where it hurts. Hard. You might want to have your guys well clear by then.’
‘Thanks,’ said Nuttall. ‘I appreciate the heads-up.’
‘What heads-up?’ said the SEAL Commander, and winked as he left the room.
Chapter 82
Onboard HMS Astute, the Gulf
COMMANDER BEN WALLIS sucked in his cheeks and blew out hard. It was the only outward sign he gave of just how nervous he was. Because he had the same question running through his mind as they all did in the submarine’s control room. Had Tareq spotted them?
Astute had only come up to periscope depth for a matter of seconds before they’d seen her, just before midnight local time, sitting quietly on the surface, her Russian-built diesel engines almost inaudible to other vessels. The departing tanker, MV Ocean Star, would have masked the sound of Astute’s propellers as she headed west into the Gulf but a watchful sonar operator would pick her up.
‘We’ll know soon enough,’ said Wallis, to the Officer of the Watch, as Astute continued her descent to depth. ‘Keep a close eye on Tareq to see if she starts to shadow us. Warn the sound room to look out for aircraft on top. This could throw our timings out completely.’ And that’s putting it mildly, he thought. This could even end up aborting the entire mission. Right now, at this exact moment, the life of the Foreign Secretary and the risk of all-out war in the Gulf rested on whether the crew of an ageing Iranian sub had spotted them.
Wallis called over Lieutenant Commander Jess Pearson. ‘Go and get Barkwell, will you? Ask him to come up here to the control room. We’d better let his team know what’s going on.’
Wallis was hunched over a hydrographic chart of all the depths and shallows around the Strait of Hormuz when Barkwell was brought in. He could see the look of expectation on the young SBS assault team Commander’s face. The submariner had an awful feeling Barkwell’s team might have made a wasted journey out to the Gulf.
‘What I had planned to do,’ Wallis told him, showing him where they currently were on the chart, ‘was to take us quietly into Iranian waters, nice and slow, let you and your team egress in the submersible, then move to a loiter position, either here or here, ready for the extraction.’ He pointed to two shaded areas on the chart, coloured with a blue Chinagraph pen. ‘Both carry their own risks,’ Wallis continued. ‘The northern loitering area is likely to be heavily patrolled by the IRGC Navy, in the air and on the surface. But the southern one here …’ he pointed to an area just west of the Musandam peninsula ‘… that one has a lot of coastal traffic we’d need to avoid, especially the Marlboro run.’
‘Marlboro run?’ Barkwell raised an eyebrow.
Wallis allowed himself a momentary smile. ‘It’s the Iranian cigarette-smuggling route. Twice a day a whole fleet of extremely fast speedboats leaves the Iranian coast for Oman to pick up cartons of fags they flog back home in the Islamic Republic for a hefty profit. Both governments pretty much turn a blind eye to it.’
‘I see. And now?’ said Barkwell.
‘And now we have a problem.’ Wallis understood only too well how all this waiting around prior to the mission could be almost more exhausting than the op itself. ‘We came a damn sight closer to one of the Iranian subs than I’d have liked just now. If Tareq – that’s their boat – spotted us they’ll likely start shadowing us. And if that’s the case I can’t take you in. I’m not risking my boat. The Iranians would have you out of the water, like goldfish in a pond, the moment you get close inshore.’ Wallis gave Barkwell what he hoped was a sympathetic look. ‘It’s an unfortunate state of affairs, Captain, but I’m afraid the risk comes with the badge.’
‘With respect, sir, we don’t know if she’s spotted us, do we?’
‘That’s true,’ said Wallis. ‘So we’re going to move slowly away from the datum – that’s the last position we know Tareq was in – then return to PD—’
‘PD?’
Wallis didn’t mind the interruption. He had been in the Navy so long he sometimes forgot that much of its jargon was a mystery, even to Royal Marines like Barkwell. ‘Periscope depth. We’ll need to check if any of Tareq’s radio messages have been intercepted. You won’t be surprised to hear that both GCHQ and NSA are monitoring all the Iranian military channels right now. But if they tell us we’ve been detected, I’m afraid it’s ENDEX for your team and that’s you back to shore.’ Wallis gave him a fatherly pat on the shoulder. He hoped it didn’t come across as patronizing. He watched the young man take in this news in silence, exhaling slowly as its awful significance sank in. He was probably thinking about all that training, all those rehearsals in the Omani desert, the night-time parachute drop, the cramped underwater passage, only to see his mission aborted by an unlucky encounter with an Iranian sub in the wrong place at the wrong time.
‘Then what are our chances, sir?’ Barkwell said eventually.
‘Of not having been spotted? I’d say about fifty:fifty. It’s pitch-dark up there and we were still close enough to Ocean Star to mask our noise profile. That, at least, is in our favour. Just depends if the Iranians were awake and alert. As I say, we’ll know soon enough if that sub starts to dive. I’d advise holding off speaking to your guys just yet. We’ll give it an hour.’
Barkwell nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’ll do just that,’ he said. ‘But I’d appreciate it if they don’t hear this from anyone else.’
‘That’s a given,’ said Wallis. ‘And now you’ll have to excuse me. We’re about to play Grandmother’s Footsteps with the Iranian sub. That’s us making minute course changes every few minutes to throw a pursuer off the scent.’
Wallis watched the SBS man return to his bunk. He didn’t envy him. He was the only member of his team to know it could all be called off at any moment.
Exactly one hour and seven minutes after Wallis had ordered Astute to go deep, he sent for Barkwell again. He stood up from his charts as the captain came into the control room. ‘I have some news for you,’ he said. ‘Tareq has stayed put. It looks like she missed us. So that means—’
‘We’re on?’ Barkwell finished the sentence for him, his face breaking into a broad grin.
‘Exactly. You’ll need to be ready for the egress in three and a half hours. I’m sure you’ll use that time wisely.’
Chapter 83
Qeshm Island, Iran
FOR A MINUTE or so Luke and Tannaz lay in the dark, listening to the receding putter of the little boat as it headed back to the mainland. It was cold and uncomfortable on the wet sand, and Luke’s mind was whirling. Things had been looking up: they’d made it to the island – but now this. Her breath was coming in short, spasmodic gasps, and although he knew she was trying to be brave, Tannaz was clearly in a lot of pain. Luke felt a stab of guilt. He had got her into this, hadn’t he? If it wasn’t for him, she would still be living a relatively carefree life as a student in Tehran, or at least be with her mother and brother safely across the border in Azerbaijan. Instead, she was washed up on a beach on some godforsaken island, helping a British spy she barely knew on a mission with a minimal chance of success.
And what of the motto he’d seen pinned to a wall on that agent-handling course? ‘The safety and wellbeing of all our agents is of paramount importance to the Service.’ It didn’t look that way to him right now. He reached out to comfort her, and this time she didn’t push him away.
When Tannaz spoke, her voice was faint, as if a light inside her had gone out. ‘Cheh khaaky bar saram bereezam?’ she muttered to herself, and then, for his benefit, ‘What the hell am I going to do? How do I find my father now? And how can I call Mama without my phone? Which you broke, remember?’ She sat up, gasping with pain and grabbing at her ankle. ‘And what about Farz?’ she continued, agitated now. ‘He’s in prison because of you!’
Was it despair he’d heard in her voice? Luke wasn’t sure but he knew they needed to get going.
‘Okay, I’ll tell you exactly what we’re going to do,’ he replied. ‘We’re going to find some transport and head south, to where your father is. We’ll wait there until first light, then you’ll contact him and we’ll take it from there.’ And that’s the bit where I guide in the SBS team, they take out your father, free his hostage and leave fast. But you don’t need to know that.
Luke sensed Tannaz looking critically in his direction.
‘Mister, are you crazy? What transport? There’s nothing here, nothing on this stupid island, I’m telling you!’ Now he heard bitterness in her tone, as if she were already aware she’d made a terrible mistake in coming with him. He knew he should leave her but he felt responsible for her and – being blunt – he still needed her help for what was to come.
‘Listen, Tannaz. Your ankle is badly sprained and you can’t walk, but I’m not sure I can carry you halfway across this island. We need a vehicle and I’m going to try to find one, so let’s find you some shelter.’ He grunted as he got to his feet, pointing up the beach to a line of bushes silhouetted in the moonlight. ‘I’ll be back in an hour. Tannaz …’ Luke squatted so that his face was close to hers and gently lifted her chin. God, she was beautiful. ‘It’s going to be okay,’ he told her. ‘I promise.’ He kissed her forehead as he scooped her up and carried her to the bushes. ‘Now don’t go talking to any strangers,’ he said, as he turned away. She didn’t laugh.
Keeping low and moving fast, Luke made a beeline for the houses he’d noticed when they’d first come ashore, nestling close to the water’s edge. Someone here must have a car, surely. He covered the few hundred metres’ distance in long, easy strides. The night sky was clear, giving him good visibility, but also making him easier to spot. A dog barking in the distance reminded him he would need to be as silent as a ghost. As he closed in on the village he considered his priorities. He knew he should check in with Angela at Vauxhall Cross. But he needed every bar of battery for Tannaz to call her father.
And then there was Elise. Kind, beautiful, trusting Elise, mourning her mother, needing him there, by her side – but he still didn’t feel he could call her. What was wrong with him? He could take care of himself in the most hostile of environments yet in matters of the heart he just didn’t seem able to do the right thing.
He pushed these thoughts away as there, straight ahead, was a single-storey house. No lights, no sound, but – hallelujah! – a vehicle. Edging closer, he cursed inwardly. It was a modern 4x4 – too flash, too recognizable and almost certainly fitted with an alarm. No, he needed something clapped out and inconspicuous. He moved on, treading softly, keeping to the shadows and feeling his way round each building. Then, across what looked like a patch of waste ground, he saw a white Nissan pick-up truck. Even in the dark, he could tell it had seen better days. Would it be locked? Luke doubted it – Qeshm Island didn’t seem the sort of place where people locked their front doors, let alone their cars.
He hurried across the open ground and crept up to the driver’s door. Gingerly, he tried the handle and pulled. It didn’t budge. Shit! The clock was ticking and his options were running out. The longer he skulked about in this tiny village, even at this time of night, the greater the chance he’d be rumbled. He moved to the passenger side and – yes, a click, the door swung open, and he was in. He felt around the steering column, hoping the keys might have been left in the ignition. No chance. He’d have to hotwire it. If he could remember how. He’d done the course at Poole. Think, Carlton, think.
That was it. Find the steering column and remove the cover. Easier said than done – he cut his thumb as he tore off the cover – but he got there in the end. What came next? The wiring harness connector. How the hell was he going to find that in the dark? He glanced at his phone. The blinking on the digital display had stopped so now he used the screen’s glow to separate three distinct bundles of wiring. Okay, the one with the battery cable. Then what? He needed to pull this bundle out of its socket and strip away a few centimetres of insulation to expose the battery wires. Now, deep breath. If he’d got this right then one – the red – was the battery and the other was the ignition. Now he had to marry them up. He was on the point of joining the two wires together when he heard a noise on the other side of the car. Somebody was out there.
Carefully covering the light from his phone, Luke sank lower into the seat, then waited. All he could hear was his own breathing but then there it was again, a scratching outside and panting. Dogs. He stayed very still, frozen in one position. The slightest sound from him could set off a cacophony of barking that would wake the village and bring men running. Minutes ticked by, and then at last he saw them through the windscreen: three pied mongrels trotting away into the night. Good riddance, you bastards, and don’t come back.
He gave it another minute, then clambered into the driver’s seat and twisted the two wires together. Immediately the dash lights came on, needles swung around on dials and the radio crackled into life. Frantically, he searched for the off button and killed it. But he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Now came the really hard part. Working by the light of his phone’s screen, Luke stripped the insulation off the live starter wire and touched it to the battery wire. With a low growl, the engine came to life. He was up and running.
Chapter 84
Buckinghamshire
PILLOW PLUMPED, DUVET crumpled, Elise Mayhew was red-eyed and wide awake. It had been just over twenty-four hours since her mother had passed away. Just over twenty-four hours since she had called Luke, wherever the hell he was in the world, given him the grim news and asked him to come home. And what had he done? He had all but hung up on her. Un-bloody-forgivable. Luke hadn’t said so but she guessed he must be caught up in the kidnap of the Foreign Secretary, which was all over the news. That was still no excuse. This was family and her mother had taken Luke in, like he was her own son. Now was the time for him to show his gratitude to her family, and Elise expected more of him, so much more. There was the funeral to organize, the church, the order of service, the notice in the paper, those difficult phone calls to be made – and, above all, there was her father to take care of. Bloody Luke Carlton wasn’t there and she didn’t think she could do it all on her own. But there was someone who could help. She reached over to the bedside table, picked up her phone, scrolled through the numbers and dialled.
‘Hugo? … It’s Elise.’ She looked at her watch, it was just past eleven p.m. ‘Hope I’m not disturbing you? Can you talk?’
Hugo Squires had always been good to her, and if there was one person she could count on it was him. She had never told Luke but she and Hugo had shared a kiss once, while Luke was off on some mission in South America. It had never been mentioned between her and Hugo since, but she knew Luke disliked him and that was partly why she was calling him now. She could hear music in the background but Hugo’s voice was like a healing hand on her shoulder.
‘I’m so sorry about Helen,’ he said. ‘What a dreadful time for you … Yes, of course … Listen, I’ll take the afternoon off tomorrow. It’s not a problem at all. I’ll come round and help you sort everything out. We’ll get you through this.’
‘Thank you so much, Hugo. What would I do without you?’
‘Don’t mention it. See you tomorrow.’
When Elise finished the call she lay there for some time, looking at the bedroom wall. She had grown up in this room, and in the yellow light of her bedside lamp she could just make out the Blu-tack stains on the wall where her Coldplay poster had once been. On impulse, she picked up the phone again and composed a text to Luke. She was still furious with him.
Funeral arranged, it read. Hugo sorting everything. Don’t bother coming back for it.
Chapter 85
Namakdan Salt Caves, Qeshm Island
IN THE DARK, dank recesses of the Namakdan Salt Caves, Karim Zamani ordered the chairs to be fetched. They had been brought up earlier from a café in Bandar-e-Doulab. They were white, made of plastic, and there were just two. That was all he needed.
He coughed and patted his chest as he looked around the cave. The air was bad down here, deep inside this coastal mountain. He could feel it in his lungs and all across his chest. Karim Zamani, forty-four, senior commander in the Sepah, the IRGC, liked to think of himself as a soldier of the Islamic Revolution, someone who could be deployed anywhere, anytime, at a moment’s notice. Had he not already proved himself in the Beka’a Valley? In Homs? In providing expert advice to his country’s allies, the popular mobilization units in Iraq, as they retook the town of Tikrit from those godless barbarians, ISIS?
But the truth was, Zamani was a mountain man, a son of the great Elburz range that stood between Tehran and the shores of the Caspian Sea and he disliked the damp, cloying heat on the Gulf coast. His prisoner, too, seemed to be suffering the ill effects of the airless atmosphere in the caves. That, and the effects of the earlier ‘procedure’, he thought. Zamani chuckled to himself. Indeed, the British politician had developed a wet, rasping cough and it was already getting on his nerves. No matter: it would not be troubling either of them for much longer. The hour was fast approaching.
