Under Fire: (A Dan Taylor thriller) (27 page)

‘Who was she?’

David removed a photograph from his coat pocket and handed it to Dan. ‘An Iranian national by the name of Yasmin Gulzar. Completed a degree in computer programming at Tehran University and was then recruited by the Iranian security service.’

The men stopped talking as a priest approached Philippa’s parents, offering his condolences to the bereaved couple huddled at the graveside under a large black umbrella, their small forms dwarfed by the oak tree which cast shadows over the gathered mourners.

David sighed, his breath fogging in the cold air. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do without her,’ he murmured, shaking his head.

‘How’s Mitch?’

‘The doctors saved his leg, but he’s facing months of physiotherapy,’ said David. ‘It’s not clear yet whether he’s going to be able to return to field work. Whatever happens, I’ll make sure he’s looked after.’

As the group of mourners drifted from the graveside, the two men walked back to the Government car which had brought them to the service. The driver opened the back doors as they approached, then started the engine and began the journey back towards the city centre.

‘What happened to the real Antonia?’ asked Dan,  settling into his seat for the ride.

 ‘Maltese police found a body in Valetta harbour a week ago. It was badly decomposed, the face damaged by acid. They were treating it as a suspected ‘honour’ killing until the DNA analysis came through late yesterday afternoon.’

Dan peered out at the afternoon sky. It was getting darker, the rain beating steadily against the glass. He traced a couple of raindrops with his eyes, the car headlights in the opposite traffic lanes appearing blurred as if captured in the water streaming down the window. ‘Poor kid must’ve suffered.’ He shook his head to try to clear the thought then pulled away from the window. ‘You really had no idea?’

‘None.’ David shook his head. ‘You can imagine how embarrassed the Qataris are too.’

‘Hassan’s team must’ve intercepted her as soon as she arrived in Malta.’

‘The Qataris think the Iranians were monitoring her before she even arrived. The real Antonia was meant to be reporting directly to us, so their embassy saw nothing unusual in her being out of contact. Antonia’s father, the Sheik, had left for Ras Laffan so wasn’t in a position to verify what she looked like. The Qataris didn’t get a whiff anything was wrong until we phoned them yesterday to say she’d been shot. You can imagine the ruckus when they sent their section chief to identify the body and found it wasn’t who they expected.’

‘You look tired,’ said Dan.

‘It’s been a long week.’ David held up another photograph to Dan. Its edges were blackened and curled, the image melted and creased. ‘We found this in the pocket of Yasmin’s jeans.’

Dan pulled it towards him. ‘She found this at Hassan’s villa. When I asked her, she said she hadn’t found anything of significance when we were going through the ruins.’

In the middle of the photograph, a gangly teenage girl stood next to a younger Hassan.

Dan looked up at David and frowned. ‘Is this who I think it is?’

‘He was her father.’

‘Jesus.’

‘Indeed. Seems her father used her as a sleeper agent – it would appear that he had been planning this for a
very
long time.’

Dan swallowed. Putting the photograph carefully on the car seat between them, he glanced up at David. ‘What happened to Hassan?’

‘The Iranians are stalling. Claiming diplomatic immunity at the moment, although that won’t stack up for long. My fear is they’ve already got Hassan out of the country.’

‘How?’

‘If he’s got a private jet, it’ll be relatively easy. The Ministry of Defence has long been complaining that because passports aren’t rigorously checked at smaller airfields around London, they can’t monitor who’s coming into or leaving the country.’

‘So he’ll run.’

‘I’ve spoken with the PM this morning. Our feeling is the Iranians will deal with him themselves. We’ve heard a whisper his actions weren’t authorised by the Government there or the religious faction in the country, so he’ll probably be punished for embarrassing them. It doesn’t bode well for them trying to have sanctions lifted any time soon.’

‘I can’t believe we’re just going to let them get away with it.’

David smiled. ‘Who said anything about letting them get away with it?’

Dan’s head shot up. ‘I want in.’

‘I thought you might. Be mindful though – if you’re caught, or anyone sees you, you’re on your own.’

***

His footsteps echoing along the tiled passageway, Dan glanced at each door he passed, the sequential numbers increasing as he walked through the labyrinth of the hospital complex.

Two armed guards turned to face him as he approached the last door on the right, their faces stern.

‘At ease gents,’ said Dan. ‘Just a short visit.’

‘Five minutes,’ said the taller of the two guards. ‘Doctor’s orders.’

Dan nodded, and eased open the door.

‘You better not have grapes in that bag,’ said a gruff voice from the bed. ‘If you’ve brought grapes, I swear I’m going to stick every single one of them up your…’

‘Relax,’ grinned Dan. ‘I brought something else.’  He held up the carry bag and lifted out a four-pack of John Smith’s beer. ‘Will these do?’

‘You’re an angel,’ said Mitch. ‘Now for chrissakes put them in the cupboard over here before the nurse finds them.’

Dan did as he was told, and then pulled over a chair to the bed. ‘David tells me you’re healing well.’

‘Bollocks,’ said Mitch. ‘I hurt like hell. It hurts even more because we couldn’t save Philippa.’

‘Yeah.’ Dan looked down at his hands. ‘I know.’

‘How was the funeral?’

Dan shrugged. ‘David’s really shaken up – more so than I expected.’

Mitch smiled. ‘He always had a soft spot for Philippa,’ he said. ‘I’ve often wondered if it went a little further than the professional front they kept up. Poor bastard.’

Dan spent the next half an hour bringing Mitch up to speed on the investigation.

‘So what are they going to do about it?’ he asked when Dan had finished. ‘They can’t just let Hassan get away with it!’

Dan smiled and stood up. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘I have a feeling the Iranians are going to have their hands full for a while yet.’

After taking his leave from Mitch, he walked back through the hospital and out to the car park.

Turning the key in the ignition, he revved the car’s engine and pointed it towards the airport. As he joined the motorway, he hit a speed dial on his mobile phone. The ringtone suggested the phone was ringing some distance away, on a foreign exchange.

After four rings, the call was answered.

‘Good afternoon, General,’ said Dan, indicating as he swung the car right and into the overtaking lane. ‘I need some of those new toys you’ve got stored in your barn.’

Somewhere near the Kazakhstan border

It began with the dogs barking, all at once, in a cacophony of noise. People looked up from their day-to-day chores in bewilderment, conversations stopping mid-sentence.

The dogs would normally bark, one followed by the others, if a stranger drove through the village, but this was different – they sounded scared, whimpering and howling.

An old woman, grey hair flecked with white tied tucked under a faded red scarf, stopped sweeping the path outside her house and leaned on her broom, mouth open in astonishment. Any dog not tethered within the confines of its owner’s property was now running past her house, heading out of the village.

A faint rumble, almost an infrasound, growled in the distance. The woman felt a slight tremor in the ground under her feet. She looked up at the grey overcast sky. Rain had been forecast but no storms – no lightning or thunder to set off the dogs.

The village sat in a valley between a steep range of hills, a cluster of farming families and peripheral businesses to support them. The community was close-knit. They’d been through hardships together, flood and famine. She put up her hand to a man across the road, sitting on his tractor, the engine running, his eyes wide and staring at the animals running by. He caught her eye and shook his head in bewilderment before turning his attention back to the phenomenon.

The woman’s small one-storey house was the last on the main track out of the remote village. In summer, the dust crept into the house with every breeze. As summer progressed through autumn and into winter, the dust turned to mud, caked around wheels and feet. A low stone wall formed a boundary on the opposite side of the track. She could hear sheep bleating beyond it, nervous at the sound of the barking canines.

More dogs joined the fast-moving pack as they fled down the track, eyes white with fear, tails between their legs.

The old woman’s attention was caught by the sound of a loud whimpering from her neighbour’s property. Looking over, she saw his dog tethered to a post outside the house. The dog was terrified, desperately trying to pull free from the rope looped around its neck and tethered to the post. Blood covered its neck where it was struggling to get its head out of the loop which held it tight.

The woman leaned her broom against the door frame and made her way slowly to the dog. She was afraid to go near it as it had a reputation as a mean animal. Something was different today though – as she approached it, the dog whimpered again, its whole body straining against the rope once more.

Another tremor. The woman looked up in the distance. The rumbling seemed to be getting closer, but there were still no storm clouds in the sky.

Talking softly to the dog, she bent down and carefully, gently, loosened the rope from around the dog’s head, taking care to lift it out of the wounds which bled profusely from its neck. She lifted the rope over its neck, freeing the animal.  It blinked once at her before tearing after the pack, whose barks could be heard echoing in the distance.

Easing herself upright, the old woman glanced in the direction the dogs had taken and then turned to look back at the village and the hills behind it. She frowned.

It can’t be an earthquake. Not here. That’s why they built the pipeline through these hills – it’s safe.

A movement to her left caught her attention. She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. The neighbour’s land banked downwards towards a small stream which, at this time of year, was in full flow. Scrubby trees and grass covered the banks and it was here the woman’s attention was drawn. She nervously rubbed her hands down her skirt and looked over her shoulder. There was no-one to walk with her.

She felt her heart racing in her chest. Taking a deep breath, she made her way down the hill, carefully lifting her skirt as she stepped over large stones and rocks in her way, trying to avoid the dung left by the grazing animals. As she drew closer to the stream, the sound of flowing water drifted up to her.

She pushed tree branches away from her face and forced her way through the undergrowth to the water. Finally, as she stood on the embankment, she started at the sound of a splash further downstream. Looking to her right, she gazed down the water course. There were ripples in the stream only a few metres from where she stood.

Frowning, she walked along the embankment until she reached the spot. She glanced down. The outline of a large boot had been imprinted into the sandy coloured mud. She looked to her right, but it seemed the man had then made sure he stepped on the rocks leading into the trees, to disguise his trail. If she hadn’t heard the splash, she wouldn’t have realised there was anyone there.

In the hill behind the village, the timer on the last explosive charge fixed to Hassan’s natural gas pipeline dropped to zero.

Another
boom
, closer this time, made her jump. As she turned to return to her house, she let out a stifled scream.

A man’s face, covered in black grease, stared at her from among the trees. His blue eyes pierced through the camouflage paint, watching her intently. As she stood still, her heart hammering, her hand across her mouth in shock, she was astonished to see the man put his finger to his lips.

Shhhh
.

He grinned at her, winked – and disappeared.

Sign up to the author’s reader’s group today

and receive an exclusive extract from the new Dan Taylor thriller,

Three Lives Down
, out on November 16, 2015

Details here