‘Thanks, boss.’
The Major hugged Shepherd, who squeezed him in return. ‘Let’s not get over-emotional,’ he said. ‘If all goes to plan we’ll be back here in a few days having a beer with Geordie and laughing about it.’
They went to the main office building and found Muller sitting behind a massive oak desk, tapping at his computer keyboard. He stood up as the two men walked in. ‘Ready to go?’ he asked.
‘Sure,’ said Shepherd.
Muller picked up a laminated card and handed it to him. ‘This is a company ID card. I’ve used the name on the passport you gave me.’ He gave Shepherd two printed letters. ‘Some company correspondence. Just shove it in your pocket.’ Shepherd did so, and put the card into his wallet. His passport was in the back pocket of his jeans. Muller went over to a metal gun cabinet, unlocked it and took out a Glock pistol in a nylon holster. He gave it to Shepherd, who strapped the holster to his belt. Muller handed Shepherd a company transceiver. ‘The frequency is preset,’ he said. ‘And now the big question. Do you want something more than the Glock? An Uzi, maybe?’
Shepherd glanced at the Major. ‘I’m thinking less is better.’
‘The less firepower you’ve got, the less likely they are to start shooting,’ said the Major. ‘You’ve got to be armed because that’s what they’d expect, but an Uzi might worry them.’
‘That’s how I read it,’ said Shepherd. ‘If they see the gun on my hip and that I’m not pulling it, there’s no reason for them to start shooting. I send out all the right signals and they assume I’m a victim.’
‘Playing a role,’ said Muller.
‘It’s what I do,’ said Shepherd.
‘Is your transmitter on?’ asked the Major.
‘Not yet,’ said Shepherd.
‘Let’s do it,’ said the Major. ‘Gives us a chance to test it.’
Shepherd sat down on a wooden chair and removed his left boot. He pulled back the insole. Nestled in a hollow below it was the small transmitter Button had given him in London. It was the size of a couple of two-pound coins, joined by a quarter-inch length of wire, encased in a slim plastic case.
‘Can I see it?’ asked Muller.
Shepherd gave it to him. Muller squinted at the transmitter. He could see a regular phone Sim card set into a metal disc, a battery and a tiny circuit board set into a second. ‘There’s not much to it,’ he said.
‘It’s all you need,’ said Shepherd. ‘The battery is mercury, which gives us more power than lithium ones, and it operates on the eight hundred megahertz cellphone frequency.’
‘No antenna?’
‘The metal that the Sim card sits in acts as one.’ He pointed at the second disc. ‘This is a GPS receiver that picks up the two point four gigahertz signal from the satellites overhead. It can pick up its longitude and latitude and uses the Sim card to transmit the information as a data call.’
‘It phones in?’
‘That’s exactly what it does. Every ten minutes it makes a ten-second call downloading its position to a computer. Yokely’s going to be monitoring the signal locally but the Iraqi phone system has commercial transponder coverage across most of the country, so unless Geordie’s being held in the middle of the desert you’ll know where I am to a few metres.’ He opened the case, flicked a tiny switch and snapped it shut. ‘Do you want to tell Richard it’s on?’ he asked the Major. ‘We ran a test yesterday but I’d rather be safe than sorry.’
‘Will do.’ Gannon took out his mobile phone and called Yokely. He had a brief conversation, then said, ‘He’ll check and get back to us.’
Shepherd put the transmitter back into his boot and the boot back on to his foot.
‘You know they’ll take your boots off you,’ said Muller.
‘But hopefully not right away,’ said Shepherd.
‘How long’s the battery good for?’ asked Muller.
‘A couple of weeks, give or take,’ said Shepherd. ‘Should be more than enough.’ He tied his shoelace.
‘And you know where you’re going?’ asked Muller.
Shepherd grinned. ‘You’re worrying too much, John,’ he said. ‘I know what I’m doing.’
‘I’m worried you might get lost, that’s all. It’s dangerous out there,’ said Muller, gesturing with his thumb at the metal gate that led to the outside.
‘You keep saying. It’s a minefield.’
‘I meant that it’s an easy city to get lost in if you don’t know the language.’
‘I won’t get lost. I’ve been looking at street maps and satellite images of the city and my memory is almost photographic,’ said Shepherd. He stood up and walked up and down. The transmitter fitted perfectly into the slot in the sole of his boot and he couldn’t feel it. The only way someone would find it was by taking off his boot and removing the insole. He doubted anyone would bother to do that.
‘Did your American friend get clearance for the curfew?’ asked Muller.
‘He’s passed on descriptions of all your vehicles and registration numbers and says no one will bother us,’ said the Major.
‘He can do that?’ asked Muller.
‘He carries a lot of weight,’ said the Major.
‘He better had because they tend to shoot first and ask questions later after dark out here.’
‘Relax, John,’ said Shepherd.
Muller rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I just keep thinking of what Geordie’s facing. And if we screw up, you’ll be in the same position.’
‘No one’s going to screw up,’ said Shepherd, coolly. He took the Glock from its holster and checked the action. Then he ejected the magazine. It was fully loaded but if everything went to plan he wouldn’t even pull the gun from its holster.
‘He’s right, John,’ said the Major. ‘We’ll be on him every step of the way. Let’s get the vehicle ready.’
As they walked outside, the Major’s mobile rang. He listened for a few seconds, then put it away. ‘Yokely says the tracker’s working fine,’ he said, ‘and he wants you to wave.’
Shepherd frowned. ‘He wants what?’
‘He wants us all to wave,’ said the Major. He craned his neck and gazed up into the near-cloudless sky. In the far distance an airliner left a white trail as it headed west but nothing else was in the air. The Major waved, as did Shepherd.
‘You’re both mad,’ said Muller.
‘Just wave,’ said Shepherd, ‘and say “cheese”. We want to keep our guardian angel happy.’
Shepherd drove the Toyota Land Cruiser slowly down the road. He reached for the bottle of water on the passenger seat and drank from it. He was wearing body armour, and even with the air-conditioning on full blast he was sweating. He was entering Dora, the suburb in the south of Baghdad that, according to Muller, was controlled by Sunni insurgents and was a virtual no-go area for the coalition forces. Muller had said that IED attacks took place there virtually every day and the Americans drove through at speed, rarely venturing there on foot. The population of the suburb was almost half a million, a mixture of Sunnis, Shias and Christians, with the Sunnis in the majority. The suburb opened into countryside to the south, giving the insurgents an easy escape route. There were huge farms and luxurious villas, many of which had been owned by Saddam Hussein’s family and officials. Shepherd wasn’t out in the farmland, though. Geordie had been taken in the built-up area of the suburb, so that was where he was driving.
Shepherd passed a group of young men wearing dishdasha s who all glared at him. He picked up the transceiver and pushed the transmit button. ‘Okay, I’m getting ready to start the show. Are you in place?’
The transceiver crackled. ‘We’re here,’ said the Major. ‘I’ve just spoken to Yokely and he has you on the GPS and the eye in the sky. Whenever you’re ready, Spider.’
Shepherd put the transceiver back on the dashboard. His hands were wet with sweat and he wiped them one at a time on the legs of his jeans. He glanced into his rear-view mirror. There were no vehicles behind him. The Major and the rest of the team were keeping their distance. Their plan would only work if it looked as though Shepherd was on his own. He took a right turn into a narrow street that was filled with pedestrians, all Iraqi. There were women wearing full burkhas, covered from head to foot in black, there were men in grimy dishdasha s, a far cry from the gleaming robes he’d seen in Dubai, and plenty more in Western clothes.