In the Valley of Death Part II

[Silktie]

PART II

London, the Grid
12:43

Alec, Beth, Dimitri and Ruth were gathered in the meeting room to discuss ways of penetrating a newly identified terror cell when Tariq burst in. His eyes looked almost black against the pallor of his skin, and he stood there for long seconds, his gaze darting from person to person before coming to rest on Ruth. When he didn’t speak, Alec asked, “What?”
Tariq swallowed, and finally managed to croak out the dreaded words.
“Harry’s been taken.”

They stared at him in incomprehension. Beth’s eyes automatically turned to the head of the table, to Harry’s empty chair, before going to Ruth. The analyst gripped the edge of the table, trying to make sense of Tariq’s words. Part of her refused to accept it. She had spoken to him just a little while ago, it couldn’t be true. Another part, the realist in her, knew instinctively that it was. That her worst fears had been realised. Her head spun, and for a moment she thought she would pass out or throw up. She could see his face in front of her, his eyes smiling into hers with infinite love. Oh God, Harry… The vision galvanised her. He needed her, needed them all to stay calm and act quickly. They could still save him.

“How?” Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper, and it brought the others around the table out of their initial shock.
Alec took charge, knowing that he was about to face the biggest test of his leadership since taking over as Section Chief. He looked at Ruth worriedly.
“Ruth,” he said gently, “maybe you should-“
“Don’t,” she interrupted roughly, desperation on her face, “don’t you dare ask me to leave the room or to step back from this.”
She looked around the table. “I need to be a part of it.” She turned back to Alec. “Please. For Harry.” Her voice caught on his name, but she refused to break down.
Alec studied her with respect and with resignation. “All right.”
He turned to the techie who was still frozen in the doorway, looking lost.
“What do we know?” He gestured for Tariq to sit down.

Once settled at the table, Tariq took a deep breath and picked up the remote.
“Just before eleven, this happened.”
CCTV footage showed Harry’s car being broadsided by the SUV, and then they saw him dragged out of the car, knocked unconscious and loaded into the back of an ambulance.
Dimitri frowned. “Why has it taken us two hours to find out? Surely the first policeman on the scene should have notified us that one of our cars were in an accident.”
Tariq avoided looking at Ruth when he answered. “This was carefully planned. There were fake ambulance and police vehicles waiting close by. As soon as they staged the accident, these appeared on the scene. As a result, none of the bystanders called the real police. The fake police stayed for over an hour, then just casually packed up and left. A Bobby on the beat happened to pass by and noticed that there was a dead man in the car. When he checked the car registration it flagged up and he informed us.”

Everyone was thinking the same thing: that the careful planning behind the kidnap and the scope of the operation did not bode well, as it showed that this probably went deeper than some local dissident group striking it lucky. But no-one dared vocalise that thought.
“Was Charlie killed in the accident?” Alec asked.
Tariq shook his head. “He was shot.”
Alec rubbed a hand across his face before looking at the shell shocked officers around the table.
“Okay. I’m going to inform the DG and the Home Secretary. We’ll need to warn all officers in the field that Harry has knowledge of, change all codes etc. Tariq, try to trace where that ambulance went, and see if you can find anything that may identify the kidnappers.”
He turned to Dimitri and Beth. “You get out to the site of the accident, talk to the eye witnesses and search the area. Ruth,” he said more quietly, “inform the police and all points of exit from the country and distribute Harry’s photo to them. If we can prevent them from moving him out of the country we’ll have a better chance of finding him.” He waited until she nodded before dismissing them, and they dispersed to their allotted tasks.

* * *

Two hours later

A sombre mood enveloped the people gathered in the meeting room. The Home Secretary and the DG had joined the officers from Section D, and was waiting for Alec to provide them with the latest update. He stood up and moved to the screen before nodding to Tariq. A map of the London Greater Area appeared. He pointed towards the intersection.
“At 10:55 this morning an SUV crashed into Harry’s vehicle at this intersection. His security officer was shot dead, and Harry himself was knocked unconscious and removed by a fake ambulance. The ambulance took him to a private airfield nearby,” again he indicated it on the map, “where he was loaded into a waiting helicopter.”
He turned to the others. “Air traffic control tracked the helicopter’s flight to a ship in the English channel, sailing under a Panama flag. During the next hour, six smaller ships anchored next to this ship, and took on board cargo. They dispersed in different directions.”
There was a hopeless expression on his face. “Harry could have been loaded onto any one of those ships.” He fell quiet and stared at the table before looking up again and meeting the Home Secretary’s eyes.
“We’ve lost him.”

* * *

Harry

He gradually became aware of sensations. His neck felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, and one side of his head throbbed agonisingly. But it was nothing compared to his knee. It felt like it was on fire, and he couldn’t move it at all without experiencing excruciating pain. It was dark - no, he was in some sort of crate, but there were faint traces of light to be seen between the slats. The world was swaying, and at first he thought it was because of his head, but after a while he realised that it was real. He was moving. Perhaps a train or… a ship. Yes. He was on water.

Slowly, painstakingly, he sat up, but even that slight movement made his head swim and his stomach heave. He lurched onto his good knee and scrambled for the far corner of the crate, where he was violently sick. Every retch made pain shoot through his neck and head, which led to more retching. When it was finally over, he crawled as far away as he could get before collapsing weakly.

He lay there for a long time, too exhausted to move. Sweat began to form on his upper lip and he realised he was still wearing his coat. With as little movement as possible he took it off and folded it under his neck and head. His suit jacket was used to cushion his knee. It eased the pain somewhat, and he tried to concentrate on his surroundings. He could smell the ocean and the ship’s movements were pronounced, which meant that they were probably on the open sea. The chances of him still being in UK territory appeared slim. The realisation made his heart sink. He knew from experience that it was much more difficult to get an officer back once he’d been taken out of the country. The first tendril of fear began to curl around his heart.

* * *

The Grid

Dimitri took up the briefing.
“The SUV that hit them was stolen, so no leads there. We found Harry’s mobile and watch in a garbage bin close by. They emptied his pockets and dumped everything. The helicopter was leased two days ago, with a false identity. Another dead end.” He looked crestfallen.
“So we have no idea who took Harry?” Towers asked, looking at Alec.
The Section Chief shifted uncomfortably before replying. “We have one, but it doesn’t make much sense.” He nodded at Tariq.
“I managed to isolate a clear image of one of the kidnappers from the CCTV footage,” the young man stated. “Face recognition identified him as this man.”
A picture displayed on the screen.
“Ali Al-Redhi. He’s from Yemeni Intelligence.”
Towers’ head jerked up.
“Are you saying Yemeni Intelligence kidnapped Harry?”
Ruth gave him a knowing look.
“It looks like it.”
“Dear God.” The Home Secretary buried his face in his hands. When he lifted his head again, he seemed to have aged ten years.
“I’ll speak to the Foreign Secretary and get onto the Yemenis through diplomatic channels. I will give you all possible diplomatic support to get Harry back.”
The DG nodded. “And I will speak to Six, get someone from their Middle East Directorate to assist you.”

As they left the room, the Home Secretary grasped Ruth’s elbow lightly and held her back.
“I’m so very sorry, Ruth. I give you my word that I will not rest until we’ve got him back. And if you need anything…”
Ruth swallowed and turned her head away. “Thank you.” She gently pulled her arm out of his grasp.
“Excuse me, I have work to do.”
Towers watched her sadly as she walked away, head bowed.

Two hours later Ruth let her head sink into her hands before rubbing her temples. Her brain felt like it might explode at any moment. She was exhausted, not only by trying to figure out where Harry could be, but also by the tremendous effort she was making to keep herself together emotionally. They were running into brick walls at every turn. Whoever had orchestrated Harry’s kidnapping had covered their tracks extremely well. It was obvious to her that they needed more hands. She cornered Alec.
“We’re not getting anywhere. We need more help.”
“I know,” he sighed. “Ken Willis from Six is on his way.”
Ruth shook her head. “That’s not enough. We need another computer expert. Tariq can’t cope with everything on his own.”
She looked at him pleadingly. “Let me ask Malcolm Wynn-Jones to come back temporarily.”
Alec knew Malcolm by reputation, and after the Albany events he was also aware that Harry had put great trust in the man. He nodded. “That’s a good idea. I’ll send someone round to fetch him.”
But Ruth shook her head. “I’d like to go. I should be the one to tell him.” She hesitated. “…About Harry.”
Alec studied her pale, drawn face, seeing clearly how much effort she was putting into keeping control of her emotions. He realised that it would probably do her good to get away from the Grid for a bit.
“Okay,” he responded, “take a car and driver and go get him.”

It was a forty minute drive to Malcolm’s house, and Ruth leaned her head back against the head-rest and closed her eyes. She was grateful to be off the Grid, away from the pitying, sympathetic looks everyone was giving her. Although she knew they meant well, and that they were worried about her, she couldn’t cope with their sympathy right then. It was hard enough to keep her emotions in check as it was. Staring at the darkness outside the window, she wondered where in the world Harry was, and whether he was okay. Whether they’d hurt him – was maybe torturing him at that specific moment in time.

Her heart clenched at the thought and she tried to think about something else. She thought back to the last time she had seen Malcolm. It had been three months ago, at his mother’s funeral, and she wondered how he had coped with being on his own since then. She remembered how Harry had called her into his office and informed her of their friend’s mother’s death. When Ruth had lamented the fact that they would not be able to attend the funeral because they were not supposed to have contact with former members, Harry had stated fervently, “Bugger the rules! We’re going. Malcolm deserves that much.” And she had loved him more than ever for that. So they had gone, and had stayed with Malcolm overnight, talking about old times.
And now here she was on his doorstep again. Why was it, she thought bitterly as the car came to a halt, that we only manage to see each other at the worst of times?

She took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. When he opened the door and she looked into his familiar, comforting face, her self-control finally began to crack. The welcoming smile on his face disappeared quickly when the tears began to flow across her cheeks. Malcolm took her arm and pulled her into the house.
“What is it? What’s happened?” His voice was laced with alarm.
It took a few seconds before she managed to force the words through her clenched jaw.
“We need your help, Malcolm. Harry’s been taken.”
And then the tears came in full force, and her old friend put his arms around her awkwardly and held her.

* * *

Harry

When Harry once again became aware of his surroundings, the ship’s movements were less pronounced. He realised that he must have dozed off, or more likely had passed out again. Squinting in the darkness, he could make out faint light between the slats of the crate. So it was either dawn or dusk. He became aware of a coolness in the air, and decided that probably meant that it was dawn. What worried him was that it also meant that he had been out since the previous afternoon, which indicated that he was severely concussed, and that he was lucky to have woken up again at all. He gingerly touched his temple and could feel a large bump and congealed blood down the side of his face. Steeling himself, he carefully tried moving his knee. He almost cried out at the pain it caused and gave up. As he lay there, breathing hard, a feeling of desperation settled over him. There was no way he would be able to attempt an escape with the state his knee was in. He was helpless, and his fate now rested solely in the hands of others. It was not a feeling he was accustomed to, and it filled him with fear.

In an effort to squash the growing panic, he twisted around and tried to see something through a tiny gap between the slats. It was too small, and he cast around for ideas on how to make it bigger. There was nothing else in the crate; all he had with him was the clothes on his back. His clothes…
He still had his belt. He removed it and used the buckle to force the opening wider, ignoring the pain stabbing through his head and neck with every movement. When he judged that he’d gouged it wide enough, he pressed an eye to it.

To his surprise they were entering a large harbour. He tried to spot something that would give him an indication of where he was. They passed by a line of container ships, before turning into a smaller harbour filled with row upon row of expensive yachts. Harry frowned; nothing looked familiar to him. Just as he was about to give up, he spotted a billboard on the quay. It read:

Welcome to the White City

He sat back in shock, trying to make sense of it. He was in Tangiers.
Why would they bring him to Morocco?

Suddenly the ship stopped moving altogether. He could hear movement on the deck around him, but no-one came into his line of sight. The conversations he could hear were mostly in what sounded like Arabic to him, but he wasn’t entirely sure. Then, out of the blue, he heard a voice speaking in English. It was a familiar voice; he would recognise that upper class diction anywhere. And it could mean only one thing. His life was in perilous danger. What he overheard next strengthened this realisation.
“When you deliver him to our friends, make sure they understand the stipulations of our agreement. If I find out they have extracted any intelligence from him, the deal is off. They will get nothing.”
There was a pause before the voice continued. “I want him broken, emotionally and physically, but he must be kept alive until it is time for the final act. He must be killed on air for maximum impact.”

tbc