‘Well, you live and learn,’ said Gannon.
‘Supposing you do find out where they’re holding Mitchell, what then? You’ll need manpower.’
‘Once we’ve got a location, we can call on the Regiment, or if time’s an issue we can bring in the coalition forces. Prior to that, there’s three others with me and Spider, all guys who have worked with Geordie, and John Muller. He’s got a team in place in Iraq, mainly South African mercenaries they use for armed protection. Half a dozen. So, twelve in all.’
‘And you think that’ll be enough? The Dirty Dozen?’
‘Too many and we’ll stick out. This is only going to work if they think Spider’s out there on his own.’
‘And when do you plan to go in?’
‘I guess that’s up to you,’ said Gannon.
‘I’ve already told you, none of this is on my shoulders,’ said Button.
‘But without your acquiescence we can’t go ahead.’
Button nodded thoughtfully. She picked up her teacup again, saw that a dark scum had started to form on the surface, and put it down. ‘What you’re planning is madness,’ she said. ‘I’ve already told Spider so. And I’ve also told him that his responsibilities as a father outweigh his loyalty to a former colleague.’
‘There’s more to it than that,’ said Gannon. ‘Geordie saved Spider’s life in Afghanistan.’
‘I know what happened in Afghanistan,’ said Button, brusquely. ‘That was a war zone and Mitchell did what any other soldier would have done.’
‘Agreed,’ said Gannon. ‘But Spider’s not for turning on this.’
‘You’re all as bad as each other,’ said Button. ‘You want to be bloody heroes. It’s the testosterone coursing through your veins.’
‘Spider reckons he owes Geordie a debt, and I can understand that.’
Button gave him a withering look. ‘I’m not saying I don’t understand what he’s doing,’ she said, ‘but just because what he’s doing is understandable doesn’t make it any less suicidal.’
‘He’ll have back-up.’
‘At the last count there were about a hundred and fifty thousand coalition troops in Iraq, and the death toll rises every day. Back-up counts for nothing there. What counts is not putting yourself at risk.’
‘Spider’s a pro. He’ll be doing for me what he does for you. Playing a role. We’ll be watching over him every step of the way. When they take him they’ll want to keep him alive so long as he’s useful to them.’
‘Fourteen days.’
‘You say that like it’s a death sentence, but it’s not. It’s a window of opportunity. Nothing will happen to him during those fourteen days.’
‘Other than that he’ll be in the hands of men who’ll think nothing of hacking off his head. I don’t even know why I’m here.’
‘Because you know we’re doing the right thing,’ said Gannon, quietly. ‘Because if one of your people was out there, you’d be moving heaven and earth to get them back.’
Button put her hand up to her face and massaged the bridge of her nose as if she was trying to ward off a headache. ‘If he dies…’
‘He won’t,’ said Gannon.
‘You can’t promise that,’ said Button.
‘I can promise I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him alive,’ he said. ‘Are you going to allow us to proceed? Or are you going to make that phone call?’
Button took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘Do what you have to do,’ she said.
‘What’s happening about the equipment?’ asked Gannon.
‘I’ve allowed Spider to take what he needs. He has two small GPS trackers. One can be fitted into a shoe, the other is more powerful but bigger so I’ve no idea where you can put it that it won’t be discovered. The equipment’s untraceable. There’s nothing that will lead back to us.’
‘Thank you,’ said Gannon.
Button stood up. ‘Don’t thank me,’ she said. ‘I am vehemently opposed to what you’re doing, but I sympathise with your motives. I want one thing understood, though. No more going behind my back with one of my men – with any of them. If they work for me they answer to me, and if you want to start playing fast and loose with them you talk to me first.’
‘Understood,’ said Gannon. ‘And if anything should go wrong, we never had this conversation.’
‘Don’t do me any favours,’ she said. ‘I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.’
‘I can see that,’ said Gannon.
‘Flattery will get you absolutely nowhere,’ said Button. She walked away, heels clicking on the tiled floor.
Gannon sighed. He had the feeling he’d got off lightly.
The flight from Dubai to Baghdad was on a chartered Boeing 727 and there wasn’t a single female passenger on board. Muller had a dozen of his people on the plane, most of whom were former American soldiers heading back to Iraq after a week’s R amp;R. Shepherd sat next to him close to the front of the plane. As it taxied for take-off, Muller took a pair of reading glasses out of his jacket pocket, a sheaf of papers from a leather briefcase and began to read, occasionally making marks in the margin with a gold fountain pen.
After an hour a stewardess in a tight-fitting green uniform handed out plastic trays with finger sandwiches, followed by a colleague offering coffee or tea. Shepherd passed on the food and the drink. Muller took a cheese sandwich and put away his paperwork. ‘This is your first time in Baghdad, right?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ said Shepherd. The lie came easily. He doubted that Yokely would want too many people knowing that he had been a passenger on a rendition flight. ‘Although I was in Afghanistan when I was with the Regiment. Another life.’
‘Iraq’s not dissimilar,’ said Muller. ‘The difference is that before Saddam Iraq was a decent enough country. He ran it into the ground.’
‘The Major said you were special forces. Delta Force, yeah?’
‘On the fringes,’ said Muller. ‘Again, it was another life. I was in Vietnam, way back when. Part of the Phoenix Program. Winning hearts and minds and throwing Viet Cong out of helicopters when that didn’t work.’
‘You must have been a kid,’ said Shepherd.
‘I was twenty when I went in, twenty-two when we ran away with our tails between our legs. But I tell you, Dan, I saw the way things went in ’Nam and I see the same things going wrong in Iraq.’
‘You can’t beat insurgents with brute force, you mean?’
‘There’s that,’ agreed Muller. ‘But the problem isn’t so much the mootwah, it’s what the hell happens after the mootwah.’
‘What the hell is mootwah?’
‘Military Operations Other Than War,’ said Muller. He grinned. ‘MOOTW. Mootwah. It’s how the top brass describe what’s going on over there. You see, Dan, it can’t go on for ever. At some point, the coalition forces are going to have to leave. It probably won’t be helicopters flying off embassy roofs, but they’ll be going. When we pulled out of Vietnam in 1973, the South Vietnamese military was the fourth largest in the world. More than a million men under arms. And what happened when we left? They let the North Vietnamese walk right over them. Most of the men we trained threw away their uniforms and went to ground. Then what happened? Sixty-five thousand executions, and a quarter of a million people sent to “re-education camps” so they could be taught how to be better citizens. And two million refugees for the world to deal with.’
‘And the same’s going to happen in Iraq?’
‘I’d bet my bottom dollar on it. It doesn’t matter how much money we throw at them, how well we train them, how much we fire them up to believe in the American way, at the end of the day it’s down to character and I don’t think they’re up to the job. The moment we leave, Iran will urge on the insurgents and you won’t see the men we’ve trained for dust. And Europe’ll be picking up the pieces. You’ll have a refugee problem the like of which you’ve never seen before and Londonistan will be their city of choice.’ He grinned. ‘That’s what they’re calling your capital city these days, you know that?’