Chapter Eight

IT WAS THE worst phone call I have ever had to make. Nobody was angry, nobody shouted or made accusations, but the sense of failure and fear was overwhelming.

After I had said goodbye to the director of the Mabahith, one of the black SUVs took me the short distance across town to the high-security compound that housed the US consulate. Carter from Beirut Station had called ahead and alerted them to my presence, so I had little delay in getting through the anti-suicide barriers and guardhouses.

Once I was inside, the young duty officer assumed I needed a bed for the night and started to show me towards a guest apartment, but I stopped him halfway to the elevator and told him I needed a telephone in the building’s Tempest zone – an area specially engineered to prevent any electronic eavesdropping. The Mabahith and I might have ended on good terms, but that didn’t mean I trusted them.

The duty officer hesitated, probably wondering who I was exactly, then started activating the electronic locks on blast-proof doors, leading me deep into the heart of the building. We passed through an internal security checkpoint, which told me we were entering the area occupied by the CIA, before arriving at a small room with only a desk and a telephone. The blandest place you have ever seen, distinguished only by its complete lack of sound.

I closed the door, activated the electronic lock, picked up the phone and asked the operator for the Oval Office.

The phone was answered immediately and I heard the president’s voice. It was clear he was exhausted, but it was equally obvious that his spirits were buoyed by the expectation of good news. I had told them I would have the Saracen’s full name, date of birth and probably a photo. I had found them too, I just hadn’t anticipated they would be useless.

Whisperer announced that he was on the line as well, and I think he guessed from my downbeat greeting that a disaster was heading down the pike. Like any good case officer he had learned to judge every nuance of a joe’s behaviour. ‘What is it? ’ he asked, his voice tightening.

I told it to them hard and cold and straight, like one of those accident reports you read in the daily news. I said that, despite all our efforts and the great promise of a few hours ago, we had nothing to work with. Nothing at all.

There was a terrible silence.

‘One minute we were cock of the walk, next a feather duster, ’ Whisperer said finally. ‘It’s a bust—’

‘Busted flat and out of time, ’ the president added, the exhaustion, stripped of its veneer of hope, coming through loud and clear.

‘What about the others? ’ I asked. ‘Everybody who’s looking for the nuclear trigger. Anything from them? ’

‘A hundred thousand people and nothing, ’ Grosvenor replied.

‘I figure we never had a chance. I think we ran into the perfect storm—’ Whisperer started to say.

‘A cleanskin flying solo, ’ I said.

‘A cleanskin, yes. But not totally solo – no, ’ he replied.

‘What do you mean? ’

‘In Afghanistan – he must have had help for at least a short period. A man flying solo can’t grab three hostages. ’

He was right, but it didn’t seem important and, anyway, the president was already moving on.

‘We’ll pick up the woman – what’s her name, Cumali? – as soon as possible. Is that the plan? ’ he asked Whisperer.

‘Yeah. Pilgrim believes she’s in the dark – am I right? ’

‘Pretty much, ’ I said. ‘As Whisperer probably told you, Mr President, she has a way of contacting him, but I think it will be booby-trapped. She’ll misplace a letter, use a different word – it’ll warn him to run. ’

‘You may be right, ’ the president said. ‘He bought a damn death certificate, he’s smart enough – but we have to try. ’

‘I’ll send a team in fast, ’ Whisperer said. ‘We’ll get her out of Turkey, rendition her to Bright Light. ’

Bright Light was the code name for Khun Yuam, the CIA secret prison I had visited up on the Thai–Burma border. The story was that once somebody disappeared into Bright Light, they didn’t emerge. It was strange – given the magnitude of the events which we were confronting – but I couldn’t help thinking about the little guy and what would happen to him. Back to an orphanage in either Gaza or Turkey, I figured. Wherever it was, there wouldn’t be much bowing and laughter.

‘At dawn, or near enough, I’ll issue an executive order, ’ Grosvenor continued, ‘and close the borders. We’ll isolate the country the best we can – airports, land crossings, ports of entry, everything we can think of. ’

It was obvious they were still heading down the human-vector track and, even if they were right about the method of dispersal, over half a million illegal aliens entered the country every year – a good indication that any attempt to secure the borders would be of little use. Like the old virologist had said: sooner or later, we all sit down to a banquet of consequences.

Even though I didn’t think their plan would work, I said nothing. I had no alternative, so it would have been churlish to tear it apart without having something better to offer. They were doing their best to keep the country afloat, that was all.

‘We don’t have to say it’s smallpox, ’ Whisperer suggested. ‘We could claim it’s a highly virulent avian flu. As bad as it is, it’s not freighted with the same terror. Once you say “smallpox” and add “sledgehammer”, it’s gonna be like Mount Everest – it’ll make its own weather. ’

‘No, ’ Grosvenor replied – he had obviously thought of it too. ‘What happens when the truth gets out? Our only hope is the cooperation of the public – given the chance, Americans always rise to the occasion. Betray them and you’ve lost ’em. One vector, one trace, that’s all we need and we can track it backwards. I also plan to release the vaccine. I don’t know if it will do any good, but we have to try everything and use what we’ve got. ’

‘Yes, Mr President, ’ Whisperer said. ‘What about you, Pilgrim? Coming home? ’

‘I’ll go to Gaza, ’ I said.

It was Whisperer who recovered first. ‘An American alone in Gaza, without a legend? They’ll be lining up with bomb belts and baseball bats – you’ll be dead in a day. ’

‘I’ve spoken to the Saudis – they’ve got some people on the ground who can help. ’

‘That means the line will only be half as long. ’

‘Al-Nassouri was there – it’s the only thread we’ve got. ’

‘You don’t have to do it, ’ the president said. ‘Not finding him is no reflection on you. On the contrary. When we first met, I asked Whisperer to stay behind – I told him you were the coolest sonofabitch I’d ever met. I didn’t realize you were also the best. You’ve done an outstanding job. ’

‘Thank you, ’ I said simply.

‘I won’t send you a presidential letter of commendation, ’ he said, trying to lighten the tone. ‘You’ve already got one of those. ’

‘And the golf balls, ’ I replied.

They laughed, and it gave me a chance. ‘If I could ask one thing, Mr President? ’ I said.

‘Go ahead, ’ he replied.

‘There’s a hacker we pulled out of Leavenworth who did some great work. Would it be possible not to send him back? ’

‘A pardon, you mean? ’

‘If it could be done, ’ I replied.

‘What about it, Whisperer? You know this guy? ’

‘Yeah, excellent work – I’d support it. ’

‘Okay – I’ll get his name from Whisperer and write the order. ’

‘Thank you, Mr President’ was all I could say. I was thinking of Battleboi holding Rachel tight when he heard the news.

‘Good luck, Pilgrim, ’ the president said, bringing the call to an end. ‘I hope we’ll see each other again in better circumstances. ’ He didn’t sound very confident.

The line went dead, and I sat in the soundproofed silence, thinking that it would probably be the last moments of peace I would know for a long time. Maybe ever.

Gaza.

Whisperer was right – it was one of the deadliest places on earth. The only good thing about it was that there was nowhere to sail: at least there wouldn’t be any old boats with patched sails waiting for me.

Elsewhere maybe, but not in Gaza.