A Line in the Sand (31 page)

strikes he creates further government repression which, night

201

llowing

fo

day, creates further destabilization. He organized the bombing of the

National Guard barracks at Riyadh, five Americans dead, and the

attack

the Kobar Tower barracks, nineteen Americans dead. Three

on

Americans

lled on the road between Dhahran and Riyadh. A Saudi general

ki

working

Americans was targeted and killed last year.

with

We had a chance

to

month, and we missed him. Missing him hurt, because

take him last

we

tegorize him as the principal terror criminal confronting us.

ca

He

was

ome from Saudi Arabia, and sent here."

called h

ham thought him masterful.

Geoff Mark

Littelbaum's voice was never

pushed, he used his hands only rarely and then for the supreme moment mphasis.

of e

cannot hide, cannot escape.

"It bleats,

It cries out, attracts the

predator, is stalked by the predator. It is watched, dragging at

its

rope, by the marksmen in the hide. It is the tethered goat..."

Fenton's breath whistled in his teeth. The red-haired woman gazed at

the American in fascination.

"If you go with your rifle into the bush or the jungle or the desert very little chance, the slimmest of possibilities, of

then you have

searching out your predator. But the predator has to be killed. So ind a goat. You put a stake in the ground and a rope around

you f

its

neck.

will attract the predator.

It

You tie the rope to the stake

and

in your hide with your rifle, and you watch your tethered

you sit

goat."

thought,

They sat in hushed quiet around the table as if, Markham

ne

no

sal.

of them dared to interrupt the bravado of the propo

e the

"Afterwards, when you have shot the predator, you will receiv anks of the community and you will walk with pride.

th

You don't have

202

to put the body on show.

s won't come, predators learn quickly,

Other

others will stay away. Forget your lunch, wine and photographs.

Leave

Frank Perry in place, where the predator knows he can find him. Make the hide, put good men in it.. . You are lucky, so lucky, that you have a bait available."

Fenton and Cox spoke at once.

"That is fraught with danger."

"It's brilliant."

The Branch superintendent said there would be minimal risk to his

e because the beast would have eyes only for the goat.

peopl

ed woman chuckled, said nothing, but she patted the

The red-hair

American's hand lightly.

sequences of such action, they

Cox murmured nervously, "But the con

could be dire..."

"Not if the matter is handled with discretion. With the necessary discretion there are no consequences. But, believe me, the

necessary

message will reach the Ministry of Information and Security

-discretion

avoids consequences."

"We'll buy that, if there's discretion," Cox said.

"I'll take responsibility for running it," Fenton rasped.

"At the moment we're drifting. This way we have purpose."

"Our discretion is guaranteed, my word on it." Littelbaum spoke with sincerity.

"It's what we'd do, if we'd had the luck that's given to you."

Geoff Markham wanted to ask, and didn't: how long would the marksmen hey fired?

wait before t

He held his silence. In the interests of

a

shot, would they sacrifice the goat?

better

The American had turned

away from his audience and rubbed his poorly shaven chin. Only

Markham

203

saw the satisfaction of his smile.

He hadn't asked his question because he already knew the answer, had seen it in their eyes. He slipped out of the room and left behind him

the clinking glasses and the pop of a drawn cork.

Jerry and Mary Wroughton had lived in the next house with their

five-year-old twins, Bethany and Clive, before Frank and Meryl had arrived in the village.

They were able to buy the house of pink stucco, four bedrooms,

overlooking the green, with upstairs views out across the sea because the bank offered favourable mortgage terms to employees. Without

that

they wouldn't have had a sniff at it and with it Jerry had to be

everybody's friend at work while Mary had to have a full-time job

as a

receptionist in a local surgery. In truth, they lived behind their front door as semi-paupers. Appearances, for Jerry and Mary

Wroughton,

were deceptive and their poverty was hidden. To the outside world, they presented an aspect of cheerful, friendly affluence. Jerry

Wroughton liked to be thought of as a bank manager, dropping 'deputy'; Mary gave her job description as a practice manager, not mentioning the

word 'receptionist'.

Just as Jerry, at work, acquired customers, and Mary, at work,

acquired

patients, so both, in the village, acquired friends. Friends went with

the territory.

And they were, of course, careful in the acquisition of their

friends.

Friendships, as with everything else in their lives, were planned.

Friendships were useful, important, should not create stress.

Friendships should not provide unpleasant or jarring surprises.

Both

hated surprises. They were close to the Carstairs, on good terms

with

the vicar, relaxed with the Fairbrothers, but their best friends were xt house. There were never any surprises from Frank and

in the ne

Meryl

204

Perry... not until that evening.

What Jerry and Mary liked about Frank and Meryl was that they

listened.

Jerry could talk all night round the kitchen table and Frank always seemed to find what he said interesting. Meryl was so kind, always ready to help out in a crisis, having the twins round if Jerry and Mary

were kept out late, always prepared to shop for them if work were

too

pressing. They had never had any cause for complaint about their

closest neighbours.

Vince, the vulgar little builder, had telephoned. Had they seen

their

guttering? Had they heard about the crane? What about the hut?

Did

they know about the guns? Would they be wanting him cash, if they didn't mind to check their guttering?

Coming home from work, Jerry Wroughton had seen the police car parked close to the junction on the main road at which the lane branched

off

to the village. He'd thought it was good to see them there, watching for thieves and speedsters, and yobs without tax discs or insurance.

He'd driven down Main Street, had seen a second police car coming

slowly towards him and thought that it was high time decent,

hard-working, law-abiding folk had proper protection. An empty car had

been parked outside the neighbours'. He'd been tired, he'd wanted his

tea, and he'd been sitting in front of the television when Vince had telephoned. He'd gone upstairs. From the back-bedroom window he

could

see down into the neighbours' rear garden. He saw the hut and the policeman walking slowly round their lawn. The sight of the

machine-gun in the policeman's hands had sent Jerry Wroughton into the

bathroom where he had vomited into the lavatory. The killing zone was

separated from his own property by a low fence of light palings. He rang Barry Carstairs, and then the fear was worse.

For the next hour, his wife doggedly insisted that it was his right to

protest and told him what to do.

205

It was the worst surprise that had ever confronted Jerry Wroughton.

Her car had provided the lead they required.

It was a two-room flat, one room for the bed and the wash-basin, one room for the easy chair, the television and the cooker. The lavatory and the bath were shared with others on the floor below. The

detectives had taken apart every drawer and cupboard, exposed every possession of Farida Yasmin Jones and found nothing.

The Rainbow Gold file had carried an old address with neither a number not a street for forwarding mail. The university records had failed them. The father had cursed and the mother had sulked, but they could not produce a current domicile for their daughter. The detectives hadn't a workplace and so had no national insurance number to feed into

the computers. The driving-licence address had not been updated.

But they had the car's registration from the vehicle-licensing files at

Swansea. Four men, with the registration, had foot-slogged round

the

back-street garages of Nottingham.

ne of the possessions in the flat, scattered from the drawers and

No

cupboard on to the floor, had produced what they searched for.

The

detectives had been told to look for evidence of commitment to an

ndamentalist Islamic sect, but the possessions were those

extreme fu

of

ry young woman, one of thousands, working for an insurance

an ordina

company. They had her pay slips on the table.

A list had been drawn up of every motor-repair yard qualified to issue an MOT certificate of road worthiness All they had was the

registration of her car. To get into the garages' records, they'd had

to promise that the evidence uncovered of VAT fraud and Revenue scams taken no further.

would be

They'd rolled back the carpet in the living room, torn away the

stuck-down vinyl in the bedroom and prised up the floor boards with ach of the four detectives was familiar with failure, but

jemmies e

it

always hurt. They were sullen, quiet, surrounded by the debris of the

206

fe.

young woman's li

ey had nothing to show that this ordinary young woman had clasped

Th

a

th, or had made a self-justification for a hatred of her own

new fai

society.

The last chance was the entry-hatch into the rafters of the building.

ifted the slightest among them into the space with a torch to

They l

guide him. They could hear his body movements above them. As they made a play t

a

tidying the flat, replacing the young woman's clothing,

they heard his shout of triumph.

A suitcase was passed down through the hatch.

Laid out on the table of the living room was a leather-bound volume of

slin cloth. There were the

the Koran wrapped in spotless white mu

careful notes of a student, handwritten, listing the five Pillars

of

the Faith and their meaning, neatly folded clothes that they

recognized, and the head scarves At the bottom of the case was a

of film negatives. The detective sergeant held them up

packet

towards

ng light.

the ceili

"Well done, lads. That'll do nicely."

e darkness was his friend.

Th

But the quiet was a greater friend than

the darkness.

Vahid Hossein sat cross-legged. He had heard a fox call behind him, in

the trees, and the shriek of an owl. He listened for each shift of the

water-fowl, dippers and waders, in front of him. The bird was close.

need his eyes to see it: his ears had located it, and he

He did not

knew it edged closer. He heard cars but they were a long way off.

The

g in the far distance.

only clear sound was of a dog barkin

When he had come back to the place where the sausage bag was hidden, he

had found that the bird had tried again to tear at the rabbit carcass had the strength. This time, feeling with his fingers,

and not

through

207

ess hours of the evening, he pulled off small pieces of the

the darkn

bloodless flesh, slipped them into his mouth and chewed to soften

them,

then tossed them towards the sounds of the bird.

ch time he threw

Ea

e chewed meat to the bird he drew it closer to him.

th

By the morning,

he would be able to touch it, smooth his fingers on its feathers.

It

was important to Vahid Hossein that he should win the trust of the bird

gh his help.

throu

he marshlands at night and the bird.

He thought of t

Later, when he

was

would plan and think: he would put from his mind the

at peace, he

ite-skinned legs of the girl and the fall of her breasts, and make wh

the plan. It was the same quiet he had found in the desert, in the Empty Quarter. His wife, Barzin, in their small house in the village and

of Jamaran, had a fear of darkness

of silence, and he could not

ange it: she would leave a light on outside the open bedroom door.

ch

It

when he had left the desert and the Bedouin whose loyalty

was harder,

won, and driven on the streets past the barracks of the

he had

ericans, to make the plan and to think.

Am

The best times were when

the

iet and the darkness of the Empty Quarter cloaked him, and he would qu

e plan and site the