Shepherd taped Fariq’s wrists behind his back, then taped his feet together.
He stood up. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said, to Armstrong.
‘I wouldn’t mind a coffee.’
Shepherd went downstairs. O’Brien was slicing a loaf of bread. ‘Billy wants a coffee,’ said Shepherd, ‘and you might take up some water for the family.’
‘How did the video go?’
‘He looked scared to death.’
‘Should do the trick,’ said O’Brien. He held up a slice of bread. ‘You want toast?’
‘Maybe later,’ said Shepherd. The front door opened. He grabbed for his Glock and brought it to bear on the figure that stepped across the threshold but relaxed when he saw it was Shortt.
Shortt closed the door carefully. ‘Halim says the video’s fine. Fariq stuck pretty much to the script, just added a bit about please do what we say because he’s sure we mean to kill him.’
‘How do we get the video to al-Jazeera?’ asked O’Brien. ‘Email?’
‘Too risky,’ said Shepherd. ‘They could track it back to its source. Maybe not to the exact computer but certainly to the server and definitely to the country. We need them to think that Fariq’s in Baghdad. If the police suspect he’s in Dubai they’ll tear the country apart. We’ll copy the DVD and have it hand-delivered to al-Jazeera’s office here, the same way they got Geordie’s video.’
The Major came down the stairs. Shortt gave him the camera. ‘It’s fine,’ he said. The Major pulled a small cable and a blank DVD from his pocket. ‘Give me a hand,’ he said to Shepherd.
Shepherd followed him to the study. The computer was still on, the fan in the main unit whirring quietly. Shepherd sat down in front of it, slotted in the DVD and connected the camera to one of the computer’s two USB sockets. It took several minutes to download the video, then Shepherd edited out the first few seconds and ended the video at the point where Fariq was about to ask if what he’d said was okay. He and the Major watched it through from start to finish, checking that nothing on screen would identify the location.
‘Looks good to me,’ said the Major.
Shepherd burned the video on to the DVD, ejected it and handed it to him. ‘Do you think it’ll work?’ he asked.
‘I hope so,’ said the Major.
‘What Fariq said, about not being close to his brother, he might have been telling the truth.’
‘Blood’s got to be thicker than water,’ said the Major. ‘Close or not, I can’t see a man standing by and seeing his brother killed.’
‘Unless he’s a dyed-in-the-wool fundamentalist who reckons his brother’s in the pay of the infidels. I figure the hard-liners have got to see Dubai as a threat to what they’re trying to achieve in Iraq and Iran. Fariq’s taken his family from Baghdad and set up home here. Maybe Wafeeq would be happy to see him dead.’
‘You’re a cynical bugger, Spider.’
‘I’m a realist.’
‘Any other suggestions?’
‘I wish I had,’ said Shepherd. ‘I just worry that this is all we’ve got.’
‘It’s our best shot. Let’s see how it works out.’ He waved the DVD. ‘I’ll take this to John. He can get Halim to have it delivered first thing. With any luck it’ll be on air by lunchtime.’
‘Do you think they’ll believe he was kidnapped in Iraq?’
‘I don’t see why not. Fariq travels back and forth. Worst possible scenario, the local cops will come around to see if the wife’s here. We get the old guy to answer the door and say the family’s away for a few days. I don’t see there’ll be any reason for them to be suspicious.’
‘I can’t believe we’re doing this,’ said Shepherd.
‘Believe it, Spider, because it’s the only chance we’ve got of freeing Geordie.’
Richard Yokely’s mobile rang. There were two men in the office with him, both wearing Bluetooth headsets. They were in their early thirties and were wearing dark sweatshirts with the sleeves pulled up to the elbows, jeans and heavy workboots. They could have been brothers they looked so alike, but one had a broken nose and the other a thick scar above his lip. ‘Excuse me, guys, I have to take this,’ he said. He went out into the corridor. A marine in dress uniform with an M16 in his hands stood to attention. ‘Marion, sweetheart, how are you?’ said Yokely.
‘Where are you, or is that classified?’ she asked.
‘London,’ said Yokely. ‘The embassy.’
‘Information retrieval?’ she said.
He laughed. ‘Embassies are a lovely grey area,’ he said. ‘American soil, yet not American soil, and safe from prying eyes.’
‘Anyone I know?’ she asked.
‘One of the Invisibles,’ said Yokely. ‘British-born Pakistani. He’s been under the radar here but NSA picked up some interesting phone traffic that suggests he might be a link to some heavy-hitters in Afghanistan. We’ve just brought him in for a talk, see if there’s any way we can persuade him to change sides. You know how it is.’
‘Sadly, I know exactly how it is,’ she said. ‘Have you been watching al-Jazeera?’
‘It’s on my must-watch list,’ said Yokely. ‘Right after Larry King on CNN.’
‘I heard he died three years ago and that it’s all computer-generated, these days,’ said Cooke.
Yokely chuckled. ‘I heard that, too,’ he said. ‘How can I help you, Marion?’
‘I just wanted a chat,’ she said. ‘There’s a new kidnap video, just been released. An Iraqi businessman by the name of Fariq bin Said al-Hadi.’
‘Ah,’ said Yokely.
‘Coincidence, or not?’
‘I’m in London, Marion,’ said Yokely. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
‘I know you wouldn’t lie to me, Richard. We go back way too far for that. But is this something I should be worried about?’
‘It’s absolutely one hundred per cent nothing to do with me,’ said Yokely. ‘Mitchell is a Brit and Brits are out there causing mischief.’
‘This Fariq is not a player, Richard. He’s a businessman. He’s been looked at in the past and there’s not a black mark against him. And you know who his wife is?’
‘I did a bit of digging, yes, but what’s happening is nothing to do with me. Or you.’
‘Well, that’s reassuring,’ said Cooke. ‘I have to say, it’s a nice spin, isn’t it? Kidnap a close relative of someone who’s holding one of your friends. Tit for tat. You let yours go and we’ll let ours go.’
‘That seems to be their thinking.’
‘Do you think it’ll work?’
‘Actually, Marion, I don’t,’ said Yokely.
O’Brien was frying eggs, splashing fat over the yolks with a spatula and humming. Muller had visited a local supermarket and delivered two carrier-bags filled with Western groceries including eggs, bread, Heinz ketchup, Nescafe, breakfast cereal and milk. ‘Easy over, Spider?’ asked O’Brien.
‘As they come,’ said Shepherd. Since they’d broken into Fariq’s house, he’d lost his appetite, not from fear but because he had a growing sense that, despite their intentions, what they were doing was fundamentally wrong.
The Major and Armstrong were in the servants’ quarters keeping watch on their captives, and Shortt was in the front bedroom, watching through the window. Halim had delivered the DVD to the television station’s office just before noon, and by three o’clock they had seen it on the al-Jazeera website. Fariq was described as an Iraqi businessman and the story with the video reported that he had been kidnapped in Baghdad.
O’Brien slapped an egg so hard on to a slice of bread that the yolk burst. ‘Help yourself to sauce,’ he said.
One of Shepherd’s two mobile phones rang inside his leather jacket, which was hanging on the back of a chair. He fished it out and cursed under his breath. It was the Graham May phone and Ali was calling. ‘Martin, keep quiet, yeah? This is business.’ He pressed the green button to take the call. ‘Yeah?’
‘Graham?’
‘Yeah, what’s up?’
‘It’s Tom,’ said Ali. ‘Where are you?’
‘Why do you care?’ snapped Shepherd. ‘You’re not my mother.’
‘When I called the ringing tone was different, like you were out of the country.’