“Two are thinking of going home. The rest are waiting for you, I think.”
“Well, we’re not running away. We are only here a few days. Are we safe at the remaining meetings?”
“We’ve all done our best. We believed you to be safe before this happened and this doesn’t change anything in that regard.”
“OK, we stay. What statement should I put out?”
“We are drafting some options, but they basically repeat our support for the UN, for a referendum and for respecting the result. They state that taking and killing hostages will not change policy and will harden the world’s view against the Sahrawis, with whom the US has no beef. The G20 will continue with reinforced solidarity.”
“The Moroccans are going crazy behind the scenes. Every person they have is looking for this poor hostage,” someone said.
“OK, that’s it. Get me the text ASAP.” The President had had enough.
Across Marrakech, a very similar series of discussions was taking place between the British PM and his team.
“Right, what do I need to know? What do I need to say? Are we all safe?” Victor asked the three questions on his mind.
“With regard to your first question, in one respect, we can sit back because it’s the Americans who need to sort this out. What’s worrying is the evolution of a new terrorist organisation that’s going to be anti-West and anti-anyone who supports Morocco. What makes them different from the Polisario – basically, their predecessors – is that they aren’t quite so enthusiastic about Algeria, despite all of the Sahrawis that live in camps there. This new group, SPA, is definitely vehemently against the USA, but it doesn’t like the Russian and Chinese backing of Algeria either. They truly want independence.” His adviser continued by answering the second question: “As to what you say, I think you should condemn hostage-taking; support the UN, which is seeking a referendum; and express solidarity with the other G20 members.” The adviser looked around. “As to your final question, I’ll hand over to Lorna.”
Lorna began to give MI6’s view on the situation: “The hostage is a CIA operative. The Americans have been very active in Morocco, especially in the build-up to this G20. The Moroccans want this G20 to be a success, so they’re doing everything behind the scenes to find this hostage and to nip this new terrorist organisation in the bud. You’ll be aware that any US President is severely restricted by executive orders. These are circumvented by tacit agreement with the President. Basically, he isn’t told about certain things so that he cannot be impeached or prosecuted. In reality, this means that the CIA doesn’t actively undertake certain actions abroad; instead, these are done by third-party organisations supported indirectly by the CIA. One of the most actively used is the DEGD (the Moroccan intelligence agency). The fact that Morocco is so strongly anti-Algeria, anti-Russia and anti-Chinese makes them easy bedfellows.” She paused for her words to take effect. “It hasn’t been necessary for us to be overly active here because we get everything from the Moroccans via the Americans through Fives Eyes in London. The general thinking is that this G20 meeting is safe and this hostage-taking is a small group using the opportunity to grab some headlines. If anything changes, we’ll hear it from either our monitoring of various sources or via Five Eyes. Of course, the Canadians and Australians are worried about the safety of their leaders too.”
With that, Victor moved on to the agenda for a series of one-to-one meetings with other G20 leaders.
In a grey office in Chiswick, someone else was watching the video of Ramon Ramirez filmed against a backdrop of the Sahrawi national flag. Leonard de Vries was so frustrated. He hadn’t heard from Ramon for so many weeks that he had begun to believe he was dead. Ramon had struck up a relationship with the SPA terrorist group, and Leonard was desperate to hear what he had discovered. The video came as a shock. He had so hoped that Mike would find him.
One of his phones rang. It was the brief update from Josie, patched through from the Australians.
So, Mike had found Ramon; he smiled to himself quietly. He didn’t have the luxury of wallowing in self-congratulation, however, as his priority had to change quickly to letting key players know about the bomb threat. The event at the Yves Saint Laurent villa would, no doubt, be cancelled and security increased. Next, he made a call that would lead to two helicopters, containing special forces personnel from Morocco and the USA, taking off from near Marrakech for the forty-minute flight to the coordinates provided by the Australians.
If only they could rescue Ramon and Mike Kingdom, he would have had a good day and he might treat himself to a meal at his favourite Greek restaurant – only the Greeks and Americans understood portion size.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Josie had passed on the message.
The bomb threat would be dealt with, and special forces would soon be on their way to the farm by helicopter and by road. She now needed to take out the two remaining men and get the keys to release Ramon and Mike. It was no use waiting too long. The failing light or darkness would favour them: they knew the farm; she did not. Although a gun would have been useful, she hadn’t seen anything to suggest they were carrying anything either. Inside the main house, there probably were guns, but not immediately to hand.
It was also likely that they would get ever twitchier. Ramon was CIA, Mike was effectively CIA and she had found their hideaway. They would know that their cover had been blown. They would be worried about who else was on the way and would be getting ready to disappear soon, she guessed, and this might involve silencing any witnesses. The other Berbers had already gone off in the pickup with the dog.
She approached the kitchen door. In her left hand, she had a handful of dusty sand, and in her right, her knife. If someone was to come out unexpectedly, the sand would give her the one-second advantage she needed to disable them, with or without the knife. As it happened, she looked through the window and saw the back of the bigger man hunched over a laptop. This was good news, but she didn’t know where the other man was, and he might hear her and turn up with a gun.
Always expect the unexpected, she had been taught at her base at Holsworthy Barracks in New South Wales and when being hunted in the jungles of Brunei during her training. She suddenly heard the sound of someone walking fast around the side of the building, coming towards her. He turned the corner. The sand was thrown up into his eyes and the side of a hand struck him in the throat. She caught hold of him to control any noise as she lowered him to the ground. She listened – nothing.
The bigger man in the shiny suit was sitting four paces inside the door. She opened it with her left hand, and he began to say something, assuming that she was his colleague. He didn’t turn around and died instantly from a single thrust of her knife. She pulled out his opened laptop from underneath him, so it wouldn’t get covered in blood, and also picked up his phone. The keys for the padlock and car that she needed were in his jacket pocket, and as soon as she’d extracted them, she raced back to free Mike and Ramon.
It took one person under each arm to get Ramon across the yard to the grey Renault, and this wasn’t easy as Mike was very stiff with a weak left leg. With Ramon in the back and Mike in the passenger seat holding the big man’s laptop, Josie drove the car back towards Essaouira.
“Thank you so much.” Ramon was still slurring his words from having a broken jaw.
“You’ve been amazing. Are you going to tell us exactly who you are?” Mike was inquisitive.
“I told you I was ex-special forces, and that’s true. I was hoping that you would let me come along with you for moral support when you thought you were meeting your brother-in-law,” Josie said.
“Are you a freelancer?”
“No, I’m in the ASIS. I’m in intelligence … like you two.”
“I’m not complaining, but did you purposely follow me from Marrakech?”
“Yes, I’ve been watching you since you arrived. You almost threw me when you booked the bus journey. I had to think on my feet.”
“Why are ASIS interested in me?” Mike was puzzled.
“I’m part of a team of four that’s checking the ground before our PM attends the G20. I’ve been here a few months.”
“But how did you know about me?”
“Your fat uncle put in a request via my boss for me to watch that you didn’t get into trouble.”
“The …” Mike was about to rant against Leonard, but she realised that, yet again, he had been right. She hated him.
“He said you’re the best analyst ever to go into the field.” Josie turned and winked at Mike.
