Chapter two.
The alarm cut into her light sleep. Registering that it was her phone, and not her clock, she came instantly awake. Years of responding to phone calls that had sent her all over the world at a moment's notice meant she was alert the moment she picked up her mobile.
"Katie?" The voice held a question as if the caller was unsure that he was ringing the correct number.
"John." Her response held genuine pleasure at the sound of his voice. "Where are you?"
"At the moment about 40,000 feet over Europe."
"On your way home or going away?"
"Home. Katie I am bringing a mutual friend to visit."
"A friend?"
"Yeah, a long lost friend."
"As'ad? You have As'ad with you?"
"I do, and when we land I'd like you around as a security policy."
"Security policy?"
"I work for the secret service. I don't trust anybody in the firm as far as I can throw them. I want you at Brize Norton when we land so that As'ad doesn't conveniently disappear."
"Brize Norton? Odd place to bring you into."
"We're on a Hercules which is returning after delivering supplies. Katie, a Lieutenant Layla Thompson will be at Brize Norton to meet us, she's a friend as well, but I doubt she'll be alone. Tell her a member of Eric Clapton's fan club sent you. She will know you are a friend then."
"Christ you spies and your codes; I sometimes think it is all a game."
"Well you know boys and their toys. Will you be there?"
"Yes John I will be there."
"Thanks Katie, I owe you."
"You owe me? I think not. See you at Brize Norton." She ended the call.
John Porter, she smiled softly, she owed him her life. She glanced at the stump where her left hand had once been a lasting reminder, as if she needed one, of that time in Iraq. The memory of John Porter quietly asking if he could check the wound for infection, was still fresh in her memory. He'd been so calm, gentle and reassuring. "Trust me," he'd said, and she had without question.
Time, it seemed, was no guide to the depth of friendship. They had spent just a few short hours together, during which time a bond was forged which was stronger than she had with any other friend. He'd known just what to say from the first moment she'd seen him. The boy As'ad had pulled the hood from her head; at first she had thought she was alone, but when she had drunk the small amount of water the boy offered, she'd watched as he moved to another prisoner. She hadn't been sure when he'd arrived; since they had hacked of her hand, she'd lapsed in and out of consciousness. She'd simply stared at him her eyes wide in surprise, as a million questions ran through her mind. When they were alone he'd crawled over to her. Even trussed up like a chicken there was something strong and dependable about him. He'd told her she was a good girl. It should have offended her, but it hadn't. He'd realised how traumatised she was, and had known the simple words used to sooth a child were all that she could take in. She'd clung to those words and the hope they'd offered.
Her kidnapping and those events had all been over a year ago, but it felt like yesterday. Whenever he was in town they'd meet up for a drink and dinner. They'd even been to the pictures a couple of times. It wasn't a physical relationship; on her part there was no sexual spark, and she doubted there was one on his. Did she love him? Undoubtedly, but as a friend not a lover. She'd asked him if he'd stayed in touch with any other hostages he'd rescued, thinking it odd, but he said no. With her, he'd said, it was different. Firstly she knew about As'ad; secondly her rescue had been the catalyst to his regaining his self-esteem and rebuilding his relationship with his daughter. Inevitably, on their evenings out, the conversation had turned to As'ad. Both of them had felt a tremendous guilt at leaving him behind in Iraq; now, impossible as it had sounded, John had found him.
She headed into the bathroom to shower, thinking of how important As'ad was to John. The boy owed his life to him; it seemed he made a habit of saving peoples lives. He'd learned that night in Iraq that As'ad hadn't killed two of his colleagues and badly injured another. He wasn't responsible for those deaths because he'd allowed As'ad to live. He had paid an enormous price for a mistake he hadn't made, but without As'ad he'd no proof of that. Katie had seen a lot of killing. Despite the public's perception of the Special Forces they did not kill without conscience or consequence. It seemed that at last John would receive the answers he so desperately sought.
It was understandable; to her at least, that he didn't trust the secret service. MI5, MI6 and the military intelligence service were not whiter than white. She realised that they couldn't be. A lot of what they did happened in some twilight world, where morals and ethics had different boundaries. The night of the Bratton extraction when John had let an Iraqi boy live, two British troops had died, and If As'ad were to be believed they had been shot by a British soldier. Yes, John was right to be worried for As'ad; if it suited the secret service he would just disappear.
Within thirty minutes of John's call she was on the road headed towards Oxfordshire. Traffic was light and she made good time. She slowed the car at the security barrier at the gate to RAF Brize Norton and pushed a button to lower her window.
"I'm Katie Dartmouth I have some vital intel for a Lieutenant Thompson who is meeting a flight landing here today."
The young Sergeant glanced at a clip board he held before answering.
"I have no record of Lieutenant Thompson or any flight."
"Sure you do, the base is on high alert; you may not know why that is, but you do know that several non-descript cars bearing government plates have passed through these gates tonight. Now Lieutenant Thompson was in one of those cars. Contact her and tell her that a member of the Eric Clapton fan club suggested we speak."
"There is no flight and no Lieutenant Thompson."
"Ok have it your way. I will just put a call into REUTERS and explain that a British soldier is returning with an informant, who has information about an incident in the middle east that will rock the government and armed forces. Once I do, it will make every news bulletin around the world."
The Sergeant clicked on his radio.
"Remember Mr Clapton, it is how she will know I'm genuine. Also a trusted friend knows to ring REUTERS if I don't call within the next thirty minutes, just in case you are planning to detain me."
**********
Lieutenant Thompson had her back to the door and was looking out of the window when Katie Dartmouth was shown into the room. She turned and looked the journalist over her eyes resting on the prosthetic hand she wore. It provided an instant reminder of how they had met.
"Miss Dartmouth I'd no idea you were still in touch with John Porter."
"Yes he visited me in hospital on my return to this country and we meet up when we are both in town."
Layla smiled wryly.
"Does that amuse you?" Katie asked.
"No not at all, I was just wondering what it is about John Porter that draws women to him like a moth to a flame?"
"Does he? I would have thought given the nature of his work, the opposite would be true."
"I won't pretend you don't know what it is he does, because for obvious reason you do. I guess the thing that should make him vulnerable is what makes him outstanding at his job and compelling to us women."
"And that is?"
"His compassion. He should be cold and analytical and he is when it is needed. But he also shows immense compassion, and at times it has almost been fatal for him. Women see that in him."
"Yes you are right. He is not the killing machine the SAS are supposed to be."
"So, John contacted you Miss Dartmouth?"
"He did, he needs a security policy. You see I know about As'ad and the deaths of the British troops during the Bratton extraction. I know As'ad didn't kill them. I know they were killed by a British officer. Process of elimination and talking to John leads me to think that officer had to be Hugh Collinson. Collinson is dead, so As'ad is John's only hope of clearing his name."
"Well, not quite I have a dossier that confirms the bullet retrieved from the injured man came from a British gun... the gun that Collinson was carrying. I won't let this rest. John lost everything that night. There is to be an internal enquiry. I'm not sure what will be made public but John's name will be cleared."
"Yes, well Lieutenant Thompson I'm here to see that happens, and to protect As'ad. He's as much a victim as John is."
********
As'ad looked at the man opposite him; he appeared to be asleep but somehow As'ad doubted he was. In Iraq he'd been alert at all times. He knew his name now, Porter. A man trained to kill, who'd spared his life twice. He didn't understand why he had done this; all his life he'd been brought up to believe that the kafir would kill all Muslims and yet this man hadn't. Why? As'ad had never killed anybody himself; but he'd witnessed much bloodshed. Men, women and children killed by people like his uncle and Porter. No, not like Porter, he hadn't just killed, but other Westerners did. No one was innocent, not even the children, he thought.
The night they'd strapped the bomb to him seven years ago, the other children, who were his friends, had told him they'd have been proud to wear it, and how Allah would be pleased with him. Only, he hadn't been proud, he'd been scared. When it had come to it, he had stood and shook as the guns had opened fire. He'd been terrified until this man, this Porter, had disarmed the bomb. His English hadn't been very good then, but somehow he'd read in Porter's eyes that he should trust him, and he had.
After the kidnapping of Katie Dartmouth had gone so wrong, he'd been lucky to get away. He'd been shocked when Porter and Katie had left him there. Anger had surged through him. How could they just leave him? He'd helped them. Why had they left him? Thinking quickly, he'd lied to the two men Porter had not managed to kill and said that Porter had forced him to leave with him at gun point. They had seemed suspicious at first, but then he'd pointed out that the Kafir had killed his uncle, why would he have gone willingly with him? He'd asked them. They had believed him and the three of them had returned to the safe house.
They'd sat around that night talking and planning revenge for the death of Al Neseri. It had made him feel sick to his stomach listening to them. Al Neseri death would be avenged with an attack on some British soldiers and As'ad wanted no part in it. He wasn't even sure anymore what they were fighting for. All he knew was he had already lost too much. His parents and brothers were dead and he'd lost his childhood; as far as he could see the bloodshed solved nothing. He had no intention of giving any more. He'd disappeared that night putting as much distance between himself and his uncle's followers.
He never stayed put for very long; every time he heard rumours that the Sword of Islam was in an area he moved on. He'd ended up in the far north, and he'd thought he'd be safe. But the day he met Porter, he'd heard the name mentioned again at local Mosque. That was the real reason he'd gone with the British soldier, to save his own skin. The Sword of Islam were not a group from which a person just walked away. He praised Allah that Porter had been there in the cafe. He'd said he hadn't been looking for him that it was just luck that he was in the café. Well whatever it was, he was grateful. The English man was his ticket out of Iraq.
"You ok As'ad?" Porter's voice cut into his thoughts.
"Yes, why do you ask?"
"You were doing some deep thinking."
"I knew you did not sleep. You are watching all the time."
"Yeah well in my job that's important. What were you thinking about?"
"Why you did not kill me years ago? It makes no sense."
"No it made no sense to my unit either. Not killing you cost me everything: my marriage, family, home, job, and, three friends, I thought. I have gone over that night so many times, wondering if I would do things differently. The answer is no. You were a child, a frightened boy. I've a daughter your age. Everything about you that night made me think that you'd not volunteered for the job. Am I wrong?"
"No you are not wrong, I was chosen. I kept thinking I should be proud, but I wasn't, I was scared. Then you came and I thought it was over. I kept waiting for you to pull the trigger but you didn't. Your hand was so steady, like a rock, when you snipped the wire. Your eyes were so calm. I remember thinking why is this man not excited? Everybody I knew would have been excited to be carrying a gun."
"Easiest way to get shot is being overexcited. We'll be landing soon. I'll not leave you alone down there. I told Miss Dartmouth to be there. She'll help to guarantee your safety."
"Why would she do that after what my Uncle did?"
"I told you she hated leaving you behind in Iraq. She knew you were no killer As'ad. She'll want to help. Best hold on we're coming into land."
*********
Major Chris Pemberton hated to be out-manoeuvred, but that was what Lieutenant Thompson and Sergeant Porter had done. Porter... it was uncomfortable having to look at the man. If the young Iraqi man confirmed the reports in the dossier that Layla had given him, then Porter had been the victim of a miscarriage of justice seven years ago. He'd been Porter's commanding officer at the time of the Bratton extraction and he'd had no hesitation in selecting him to lead the mission. He was a good soldier. His face was grim as he remembered that night, and the mission that had gone spectacularly tits up. The public saw it as a success, but for the unit it had been a disaster; he'd lost three good men, four if you counted Porter. He'd accepted Porter's resignation and watched as the man's life unravelled.
He'd been around when Collinson had reactivated him and it had been no surprise to him when Porter had managed to free Katie Dartmouth; he'd always been a good operative, a good soldier. But what now? Porter had lost everything and it seemed that the man responsible for that was now dead. He looked at Porter again. What do you want to happen now? he wondered. He rubbed his hand wearily over his eyes. Shit what a mess.
He moved slowly towards Porter; as he was stood with Layla, Katie Dartmouth and the lad As'ad. They looked together like a tight little unit. God it made him feel like a complete outsider, which was not surprising really. He was an outsider. He'd been asked to take over as the head of Section Twenty when Collinson had been killed. It wasn't the first time he'd started a new job because somebody had died, and it probably wouldn't be the last. No matter how many times it happened it never got easier.
"Sergeant Porter." It was amazing; tired, dirty and dishevelled as he was, Porter turned sharply and snapped to attention at his words.
"Major Pemberton Sir." John was puzzled at his old CO's presence.
"At ease John. Obviously Layla hasn't told you that I'm the new head of Section Twenty."
John glanced over his shoulder,
"No Sir, she hasn't, but then we haven't had much time to talk."
"Well you look done in and so does the lad. We should get him to the safe house Layla has arranged. You needn't have involved Ms Dartmouth John. You can trust me to do what is right."
"Yeah? Well, at the time I didn't know you were my new boss.To be truthful with you, for the past eight years the only person I could trust was, well... me. Katie has an interest in the boy's welfare. I figured if she were here the boy would have some protection."
"John... about eight years ago, there's to be an enquiry. I'm certain you'll be completely exonerated, but that doesn't give you back those eight years."
"No it doesn't, but I spoke with Hugh before he was killed. I have closure now. It's time to move on."
"You were with Collinson when he died?"
"Not exactly; we came under attack and he was badly injured. He insisted I get out while I still could. He died allowing me to get away it was an act of supreme bravery."
"Ok John we'll talk again at the enquiry. I think we should move off."
"Sir, there is one more thing." He held a memory stick. "I presumed Layla briefed you on my latest mission, to extract Gerald Baxter?"
"Aye she did."
"Well this proves that the Americans were planning to deal with Sharq. It's why there is a shoot to kill order out on me. Talk to Langley or the folk in Grosvenor Square and get it lifted. I don't want to be looking over my shoulder all of the time."
Pemberton took the memory stick.
"Ok. Thanks John... and welcome back." He nodded to the two agents who were stood at the door.
"Take Mr Al Neseri to his temporary home. Miss Dartmouth you have my word that nothing will happen to the boy."
"I've given As'ad a mobile phone. I'll be checking that he is ok later. If he doesn't answer then I will go public with the true story of what happened during the Bratton Extraction. You see,"Katie looked at the name badge which hung from Chris Pemberton's pocket. "Major Pemberton, you're going to have to earn my trust."
A smile slid across John's face.
"I see now why you involved Miss Dartmouth. Nothing will happen to him."
As As'ad passed him, John reached out and touched his shoulder."
"I'll see you tomorrow ok?"
"Ok, shukran Mr Porter, shukran."
"Ahlan Wa Sahlan, As'ad." He turned and spoke to Katie. "I'll call you tomorrow, we'll have lunch?"
"That would be lovely, John."
Pemberton waited until As'ad and Katie had left before he spoke.
"A word before you both head off. If either of you pull a stunt like this again you'll be signing on at the job centre quicker than you can call me a Scottish bastard. We are a team and as such we have to trust each other. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes Sir," John answered sharply.
"Yes Sir," Layla responded quietly.
"Good now get home and get some sleep. I'll see you both tomorrow."
"He's right you look done in John. You best get home."
"Thanks Layla for everything."
"Don't mention it. John..." Layla paused, unsure how to continue. "About Danni... she's left Section Twenty."