The Gilgamesh Conspiracy (18 page)

Gerry signalled to the bargirl and with her rapidly diminishing mental resources summoned up a smile. ‘Hi, I’d like a bottle of this to take out please.’

She returned to her flat and poured out the wine and then pulled out the last photo album that she and Philip had compiled before the world had turned to digital photography. She slowly turned the pages and rapidly drank the bottle of wine. Then she crawled off to the cabinet and found a bottle of ten year old Glenmorangie that Phil had bought in the duty free shop on their return from the Caribbean. ‘It’s twenty years old now, Phil,’ she mumbled. She poured herself a half tumbler and sunk down on to the floor and leant back against the sofa. She switched on the television and found herself half way through an old James Bond film. She snorted derisively but then after a few swigs of neat scotch she began to giggle idiotically at the ludicrous antics. Her head was swimming and she picked a cushion off the chair, lay down and sunk into sleep.

At four o’clock in the morning she woke up, climbed wearily to her feet and staggered off to the bathroom and threw up. Then she washed down two paracetamol with a pint of water, pulled off her clothes and collapsed on to the bed.

After waking up mid-morning she looked at herself in the mirror. ‘Ok you piss head, that’s enough of the self-pity.’ A quick rummage through her clothes drawers turned up some old running kit. She set off down the road and was not surprised when a car pulled out from the kerb and began to follow her. The passenger lowered the window.

‘Tate, we’re meant to be taking you into the office in fifteen minutes!’

‘You can call Cornwall and tell him I’ll be an hour late!’ she replied. She ran down to the river and into the park and past the café where she had met Dean Furness just before he was killed. The man climbed out of the car and tried to jog after her but she lost him easily enough. When she ran back up towards her house forty minutes later she saw him standing outside her front door looking at his watch with a worried expression that turned to relief when he saw her.

‘I’ll be ready in twenty minutes,’ she called out.

‘Bloody bitch!’ he muttered.

Richard Cornwall made no comment on her late arrival, which disappointed her as she had already constructed a few well-chosen ripostes during the journey in. Instead he gave her an hour’s briefing on her trip to the USA and on to Cuba and then took her on a short re-familiarisation tour of the building which had undergone some reorganisation in the last few years.

Gerry had been expecting to see some familiar faces but there were few people she recognised. She had been hoping to bump into some old friends. ‘Where’s Fiona these days, Fiona Bennett? Is she still here?’

‘Ah…she’s married, has two kids. Fiona Davenport now. She works part time and isn’t in today,’ said Cornwall.

‘How about Diana Turner?’

‘Let me see.’ He tapped on a keyboard. ‘She’s still full time, she works…oh…she’s taken the day off. Emergency dental appointment it says.’

‘Laura Harvey?’

Cornwall made another entry and then picked up a phone. ‘Hello Laura, its Richard Cornwall. There’s someone with me…oh…well where is she then? Oh ok then.’

‘Laura’s gone to see someone in Special Branch. We’ve just missed her. Is there anyone else?’

‘No, no one. I’m sure all my erstwhile friends will have gone sick, or be at meetings or something,’ said Gerry.

‘Gerry Tate, delighted to see you again!’ came a greeting. Cornwall saw a smile light up her face for a brief moment before she identified the voice as Vince Parker’s. Nevertheless she shook hands with him agreeably enough.

‘Hello Vince, how are you? You’re coming to the States with me I understand.’

‘Yes, the Sandstar op. I’m looking forward to it.’ He gave her his confident smile.

Smug, handsome creep, she thought to herself.

‘Well I have an appointment to go to. I’ll leave the two of you to get re-acquainted,’ said Cornwall.

‘Ok, How about we get lunch Gerry?’

She tried to think of an excuse but none came to her weary mind. ‘Yes why not?’ she replied. ‘I’m going to the ladies’; I don’t really want to go to the canteen so if that’s ok with you I’ll see you in the lobby in a few minutes.

She brooded about sharing the flight to the States with Vincent Parker, formerly her junior in the hierarchy. She remembered that he was efficient and intelligent, but also inclined to be condescending. She remembered his presence hovering in the background when she had been dismissed, and although she could not put her finger exactly on the reason why, she did not really trust him. Before his entry into the service he had completed a short service commission of eight years in the Guards. He had served on active duty in the Gulf and received some creditable military decoration. He was about two years older than her, but now she thought he looked younger. Anyway, she would have to put up with him.

‘Well it seems straightforward enough,’ said Vince when they were sitting together in the pub. ‘We fly to somewhere in the States, meet up with some gentlemen from their Department of Homeland Security which in this case probably means the CIA. Then visit this fellow Ali Hamsin, who may or may not be an Al Qaeda terrorist, or a war criminal or just a guy caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. If the Americans are happy with what he tells you we can bring him back to this country.’

‘That’s about it, said Gerry, nodding. ‘The more difficult bit is keeping it all secret from the gentlemen of the press and Amnesty International until he is safely resettled. The new administration doesn’t want to see the words “extraordinary rendition” in the papers again. Apparently there’s a team of plane spotters tracking the moves of every US ad hoc charter.’

‘So that’s why we’re handling it,’ said Vince. ‘We’re the only branch of Government who can be relied upon not to blurt out the details to the press for some grubby payment.’

‘Well I hope so,’ said Gerry, ‘but no doubt the Freedom of Information Act will be soon be extended to Her Majesty’s Secret Service. Now we have a contact in the US Embassy called Neil Samms, who I believe is travelling with us. Could you go and meet him? I don’t think I’ll be welcomed in Grosvenor Square. We also need to see if we can contact any of Hamsin’s family members, and find out where they’re living.’

In the evening a few days later, having completed the arrangements for Ali Hamsin’s return to Britain, Gerry sat withdrawn in memories in the car that was carrying her to a small airport south west of London

‘Penny for your thoughts,’ said Vince Parker, seated next to her in the back seats.

‘Did you know that these cars have the fastest depreciation of any built in the UK? I read it in a newspaper article recently,’ Gerry declared.

Vince smiled at her. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.’

‘It’s ok. I haven’t been in an aeroplane for some time, or to the States, or done anything much at all really.’

An hour later they were through the airfield security gates and being driven towards the white executive jet that gleamed pale orange under the apron floodlights. The muted scream from the aircraft’s auxiliary power unit was the only sound in the still night air. When the vehicle pulled up beside the aircraft, the main door swung down and the stairs extended to the ground. A moment later a man in pilot’s uniform walked down the steps followed by two women, one short and dark and the other tall and blonde.

‘Hi,’ he said, ‘my names Gary, I’m the First Officer flying you to the States. The Captain’s Harvey Wallbanger…er Harvey Wallis, I meant to say. This is Susan from your border control people, and this is Leanne from our embassy. Sue’s going to check you out and Leanne’s going to check you in, so to speak. Then we won’t have to trouble the Department of Homeland Security when we arrive in the States.’

Gerry pulled out her brand new passport and Vince his slightly dog-eared one and they handed them to the tall blonde woman who glanced through them and wrote the names and numbers on to a pad on a clipboard. She then handed them to the short dark woman who smiled broadly and said ‘Thank you!’ She pulled a hand-held computer link from her bag and swiped the passport edge through the slot and studied the biometric details. ‘Oh! It says here that you’re a convic…er…well could you just place your right index finger on the little screen there?’ she asked Gerry with a frown. Gerry complied. ‘Good. Now you sir,’ she said to Vince. ‘Good, you’re all set to go.’ She gave Vince a grin. ‘Enjoy your trip to the USA.’

Gerry climbed the stairs and boarded the Gulfstream. Inside were the usual plush seats and also one side was fitted a high tech communications console. Neil Samms, now with red hair cut short, was sitting before it busying himself at the keyboard.

He glanced up at Gerry as she walked down the aisle with a familiar gold tinted grin. ‘Hi Gerry, Vince. It’s all on schedule. Our other passenger should be with us in ten minutes.’

‘You’ve had a haircut,’ Vince remarked.

‘Yup. Tails may be ok in Europe, but back at head office they don’t look so good.’

‘Oh, you looked much younger with the ponytail,’ said Vince with a wicked smile, ‘what a shame!’

‘Yeah, I love you too, Vince.’

‘What other passengers?’ Gerry asked while trying not to sound irritated at this male bonhomie.

‘Permission to come aboard!’ Gerry turned to the front of the cabin where a man stood with a smile that could have graced an orthodontist’s advert. He was lean and handsome with facial hair that was slightly more than designer stubble and he was dressed like a Ralph Lauren model.

‘Good evening Mr Carson, how are you?’ asked Samms pushing past Vince and holding out his hand. Gerry suspected that his overly polite attitude at odds with his usual off-hand demeanour suggested that he did not much like this newcomer. ‘These are the two friends of mine from London, Gerry Tate and Vince Parker. Ryan Carson.’

He grinned at Gerry and Vince. ‘You guys call me Ryan, though.’

They all shook hands, exchanged greetings and introductions. Then they sat down as Gary emerged from the flight deck and closed up the cabin door.

‘We’re about ready to go,’ said the pilot. ‘You all set? Hey Major Ryan Carson, United States Air Force! Sure you don’t wanna fly the airplane? Then I could just go to sleep!’

‘It’s all yours, Gary,’ Carson replied. ‘We have matters to discuss and anyway I’m not checked out on this one.’

‘Ok suit yourself,’ said the pilot. ‘Now does anyone want a safety demo? There’s a card in the seat pocket. Pay attention to the seatbelt sign and there’s definitely no smoking. There’s plenty to eat and drink in the galley stowages.’ Without waiting for a reply he disappeared behind the flight deck door and fifteen minutes later the aircraft was airborne and heading towards the west. 

The seatbelt sign switched off with a sharp ping as the aircraft climbed out through the cloud tops. Ryan Carson took off his seat belt and stood up. ‘I’m happy to say this airplane’s not a dry ship: can I get anyone a drink? Neil, if I remember right, you’ll probably want Bourbon on the rocks and I could do with something to eat; I wonder if they’ve loaded any ice. I’ll have a rummage around.’ He walked up to the galley area at the front of the cabin.

‘I think Ryan sees himself as the Michael Chiarello of the airplane galley,’ said Neil Samms to Vince giving his gold toothed grin and Vince grinned back at him. Gerry lifted her eyes, shook her head and walked after Ryan.

‘Need any help?’ she asked. He turned and smiled at her and she smiled back. He was perhaps a year or two younger than her, he could do with a clean shave, but otherwise he was rather gorgeous …she gave herself a mental ticking off and put on her serious face.

‘Well there’s usually ice in one of these containers, and there might be some meals in foil containers. If there’s anything you fancy, we’ll put it in the oven.  Ah…ice; think I’ll have a gin and tonic. You?’ he asked with another smile.

‘I’ll have the same please,’ Gerry replied, smiling back. She then told herself to stop behaving like an adolescent. ‘No, I’d rather have a Scotch, actually.’ She opened up another cupboard. ‘This looks like the meals,’ she announced.

‘Oh well done,’ he said and she just managed to stop herself from thanking him. 

‘Hey Ryan, we’re getting thirsty back here,’ Neil Samms called out.

‘Would you mind taking requests?’ Ryan asked, gazing into her eyes.

‘Sure, no problem,’ she replied. She turned round and saw Samms and Vince grinning at her. ‘What do you two layabouts want to drink then?’ she scowled.

‘Bourbon on the rocks,’ Samms replied.

‘Same for me please,’ said Vince.

‘And bring us the menu when you have it, Gerry’ said Samms.

‘Two Bourbon on the rocks, coming right up!’ called Carson from behind her. Gerry resisted telling Samms to stick it up his arse and went back to fetch them.

‘Have you finished with your tray?’ Ryan Carson asked Gerry. 

‘Yes thanks,’ she replied. He took it away and then sat down opposite her.

‘I thought this would be a good time to talk to you before I fall asleep’ he said.

‘Ok, go ahead,’ she invited.

‘I work for Felix Grainger, the guy who’s in charge of the prisoner release program,’ Carson said.

‘I didn’t realise,’ Gerry replied, ‘I don’t think I’ve seen your name on any documents.’

‘No, I was placed with him only a week ago. I’d just finished an overseas tour so this is new for me, but I’ve worked for Felix before.’

‘What’s he like?’ Gerry asked. ‘My boss Richard Cornwall didn’t tell me much about him.’

‘He’s a good guy. He’ll be meeting us at the airport tomorrow morning. Friendly, upfront. You always know where you are with Felix.’

‘What’s your background then Ryan, if you don’t mind me asking? I heard Gary say you’re ex Air Force.’

‘Yeah, I used to fly fighters, F16s, but then I hurt my back ejecting when my aircraft caught fire and I changed to transports, C17s and found that a little dull. I decided I didn’t want to fly any longer so I took a career change opportunity. I picked up Spanish from my mom and a little Portuguese, and I‘ve been in Central and South America. Why I’ve been put in this department, I don’t know; I don’t speak any Arabic. I understand you’re fluent.’

She looked at him suspiciously. ‘Did you get that from Samms? Has he been talking about me?’

‘Him? No. I just got a message from Felix. He said you were expert, and that you could read all the interrogation reports without needing them translated. Neil’s just coming home after a two year posting. He’s always trying to get based in Europe; I think he’s got some woman in London. He and Vince are involved in operation Marchwood.’

‘What’s that?’ Gerry frowned.

‘Haven’t you been briefed? That’s a scheme in which we plan to announce the release of certain prisoners held in Guantanamo bay. But instead of releasing those prisoners, we were going to release doubles. These doubles are then going to infiltrate cells back in the terrorist hotspots and report back to us. Then we we’re going to send in teams to take out those cells.’

‘I expect that’s executive operations,’ said Gerry, ‘and I’m not really part of that anymore.’

‘Oh! Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you about it,’ said Carson.

‘Do you think these doubles would be able to infiltrate without being detected?’ Gerry frowned. ‘I’m rather doubtful. It sounds like a high risk strategy.’

‘Yeah well the idea was that they wouldn’t return to their own homelands. We would send say, Syrians to Egypt and Iraqis to Pakistan, Lebanese to London on the basis that their own countries would be too hot for them. Anyway, when Obama announced after his inauguration that all the inmates would be released from Guantanamo bay in one year, it left us a bit short of time, but the year went by and hey, the place is still open. I guess Vince is your lot’s liaison officer. I expect Felix will brief us tomorrow.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Well we’ll be arriving in about six hours. I’m going to get some sleep. Do you want me to get pillows and a blanket for you too? Help you get comfortable.’

‘Thanks, that would be great,’ Gerry replied.

She woke up a couple of hours later with a sore neck. She looked for Ryan but he was nowhere to be seen and in the seat across the aisle from her she saw a man aged about fifty in Captain’s uniform finishing off a meal. He smiled at her when she sat up and held out his hand.

‘Hi, I’m Harvey. You must be Gerry.’

‘That’s right. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Ryan’s prised me away from the controls. All that stuff about not missing flying but he never throws up a chance to do some. Have you done any flying yourself?’

‘I used to have a private pilot’s licence and twin engine rating, but it lapsed some years ago and I’ve not flown since. The largest aircraft I’ve flown is a Piper Seneca.’

‘You want to come and look at our flight deck; you’d be impressed.’

‘Ok, I’d like that,’ said Gerry. What else was there to do for the next few hours? She followed Harvey up to the flight deck door.

‘Alright guys, shift change! Gary, your dinner’s ready. Me and the lady will take over for a while.’ Ryan Carson smiled at Gerry and then spoke to Harvey.

‘Hey Harve, you gonna give the lady a lesson?’

‘Ryan she has a licence and she’s checked out on the Seneca, so I guess she’s already up to your standard,’ the pilot replied, ignoring the innuendo.

Ryan looked at Gerry with some respect. ‘Hey, you never told me you could fly.’

‘No I didn’t,’ she agreed with a smile. She spent the next two hours learning how to operate the big executive jet under Harvey’s patient guidance until Gary came back from his break. She thanked the pilots, returned to the cabin and settled back down to sleep.

      After a nine hour flight during which she had managed a few hours of fitful slumber Gerry stared out the aircraft window across the night landscape of Florida seeing the brightly lit cities surrounded by the geometric grid work of street lighting that was a feature of much of the urban United States. She looked at her watch. It was coming up to 9am London time. She set it back five hours, wondering what kind of reception committee would be assembled at 4am on a Saturday morning at a Florida Air Force base. She felt a headache coming on and she lay back in her seat and closed her eyes again.

A hand laid on her shoulder jolted her awake. ‘Whoa there, it’s only me,’ said Carson. Gerry connected with her surroundings and slumped back into her seat again. The burst of adrenaline had set her head throbbing.

‘I’ll feel awful,’ she groaned at him. He looked slightly different. ‘Oh! You’ve shaved. That’s…erm… are we landing soon?’

‘About twenty minutes. Here’s a bottle of water if you’d like it.’

‘Thanks, that’s exactly what I need. I’m probably dehydrated.’ She rummaged in her handbag for a couple of paracetamol, swigged back half the water and then staggered off to the toilet at the back of the plane.

With a pneumatic hiss the main door swung down and humid night air swept into the cabin and formed a slight mist as it mingled with the cold dry atmosphere inside. A few moments later a middle aged man with buzz cut blonde hair, florid face and bright blue eyes, wearing jeans and a red floral shirt came bouncing in.

‘Welcome home you guys!’ he declared. ‘Hey you look good! They’ve been looking after you real well over there, I can tell. Vince! Good to see you.  Hello again Ryan! Welcome home, Neil. You ran out of excuse to stay in London then.’ He shook hands, and then turned to Gerry. ‘Hi. You must be Gerry Tate. Happy to meet you.’