realistic. I’ll get you whatever intel I can, but be aware that you’re probably flogging a dead horse.’
Shepherd drained his glass and stood up. ‘Give me a call as soon as you have anything,’ he said.
‘Now I’ve offended you,’ said Yokely.
‘No more than usual,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ll get over it.’
The Major had booked a suite of offices in a building close to the BBC’s Broadcasting House in Portland Place. Shepherd took the Tube to Regent’s Park, left the station and walked through the park for fifteen minutes. Once he was satisfied that no one was following him, he walked south down Portland Place, heading for the office block. Several yards ahead of him, sitting cross-legged on the pavement, a middle-aged Chinese woman was holding her hands out, palms up, chanting. Across the road a bored armed policeman stood, feet planted shoulder-width apart, in front of the Chinese Embassy. There was always at least one protester demonstrating against the Chinese government’s torture of dissidents. Shepherd wondered if the woman thought she could change government policy or if she was there to prove that someone cared. The lone policeman was a token presence, rather than a serious security measure, and there was something very British about the stand-off. Shepherd doubted that the Chinese would have been so tolerant if the woman had been in her own country.
He reached the office block and did a final check that he hadn’t been followed. There was an intercom at the main door and Shepherd pressed the buzzer for the second floor. Armstrong answered and let him in.
When Shepherd arrived Major Gannon was sitting at the head of a large boardroom table drinking a mug of coffee. His satellite phone was on a smaller table by the window that looked out over the road. Whiteboards had been attached to three walls, displaying newspaper cuttings, photographs and satellite images of Baghdad. On the fourth wall there was a large-scale map of Iraq. Armstrong was pouring coffee and O’Brien was rummaging through a selection of Marks & Spencer sandwiches. As usual, Shortt was the last to arrive and hurried in, apologising profusely.
‘Let’s get started,’ said Gannon. ‘This will be our HQ.’ He pointed to a door on his left. ‘There’s a couple of camp beds in there, and a bathroom. I’ll be either here or at the Duke of York Barracks, but my mobile will always be switched on.’ He gestured at two laptop computers on a side-table in the far corner of the room. ‘They’ve got broadband and I’ve rigged up access to the Regiment’s databases.’ The Major bent down, swung a briefcase on to the table and clicked open the locks to reveal bundles of twenty-pound notes. ‘There’s cash here, more if we need it.’ He closed the briefcase. ‘Where do we stand with the video?’
‘You were right, boss,’ said Armstrong, lighting a cigarette. ‘Al-Jazeera got it first, but we’re not sure how and they’re not prepared to give us any help on that front.’
‘What can you tell us about al-Jazeera?’ asked the Major.
‘It’s the largest Arabic news channel in the Middle East,’ said Armstrong. ‘It means the Island, or the Peninsula. Based in Qatar, it’s been around for just over ten years. Tends to show sensational pictures of bodies and the like on its news channel, but also runs sport and children’s channels. They came on to the radar after nine/eleven when they broadcast video statements by Bin Laden and his chums. They run a website, too. Aljazeera.net. Not to be confused with Aljazeera.com, which runs really inflammatory stuff.’
‘Bush hates them,’ interjected Shortt. He rubbed his moustache. ‘In 2001 the US bombed al-Jazeera’s offices in Afghanistan and a couple of years later they shelled a hotel in Iraq where the only guests were al-Jazeera journalists. They’ve put several of their journalists in prison and the US-backed government in Iraq has banned the network from
Shepherd drained his glass and stood up. ‘Give me a call as soon as you have anything,’ he said.
‘Now I’ve offended you,’ said Yokely.
‘No more than usual,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ll get over it.’
The Major had booked a suite of offices in a building close to the BBC’s Broadcasting House in Portland Place. Shepherd took the Tube to Regent’s Park, left the station and walked through the park for fifteen minutes. Once he was satisfied that no one was following him, he walked south down Portland Place, heading for the office block. Several yards ahead of him, sitting cross-legged on the pavement, a middle-aged Chinese woman was holding her hands out, palms up, chanting. Across the road a bored armed policeman stood, feet planted shoulder-width apart, in front of the Chinese Embassy. There was always at least one protester demonstrating against the Chinese government’s torture of dissidents. Shepherd wondered if the woman thought she could change government policy or if she was there to prove that someone cared. The lone policeman was a token presence, rather than a serious security measure, and there was something very British about the stand-off. Shepherd doubted that the Chinese would have been so tolerant if the woman had been in her own country.
He reached the office block and did a final check that he hadn’t been followed. There was an intercom at the main door and Shepherd pressed the buzzer for the second floor. Armstrong answered and let him in.
When Shepherd arrived Major Gannon was sitting at the head of a large boardroom table drinking a mug of coffee. His satellite phone was on a smaller table by the window that looked out over the road. Whiteboards had been attached to three walls, displaying newspaper cuttings, photographs and satellite images of Baghdad. On the fourth wall there was a large-scale map of Iraq. Armstrong was pouring coffee and O’Brien was rummaging through a selection of Marks & Spencer sandwiches. As usual, Shortt was the last to arrive and hurried in, apologising profusely.
‘Let’s get started,’ said Gannon. ‘This will be our HQ.’ He pointed to a door on his left. ‘There’s a couple of camp beds in there, and a bathroom. I’ll be either here or at the Duke of York Barracks, but my mobile will always be switched on.’ He gestured at two laptop computers on a side-table in the far corner of the room. ‘They’ve got broadband and I’ve rigged up access to the Regiment’s databases.’ The Major bent down, swung a briefcase on to the table and clicked open the locks to reveal bundles of twenty-pound notes. ‘There’s cash here, more if we need it.’ He closed the briefcase. ‘Where do we stand with the video?’
‘You were right, boss,’ said Armstrong, lighting a cigarette. ‘Al-Jazeera got it first, but we’re not sure how and they’re not prepared to give us any help on that front.’
‘What can you tell us about al-Jazeera?’ asked the Major.
‘It’s the largest Arabic news channel in the Middle East,’ said Armstrong. ‘It means the Island, or the Peninsula. Based in Qatar, it’s been around for just over ten years. Tends to show sensational pictures of bodies and the like on its news channel, but also runs sport and children’s channels. They came on to the radar after nine/eleven when they broadcast video statements by Bin Laden and his chums. They run a website, too. Aljazeera.net. Not to be confused with Aljazeera.com, which runs really inflammatory stuff.’
‘Bush hates them,’ interjected Shortt. He rubbed his moustache. ‘In 2001 the US bombed al-Jazeera’s offices in Afghanistan and a couple of years later they shelled a hotel in Iraq where the only guests were al-Jazeera journalists. They’ve put several of their journalists in prison and the US-backed government in Iraq has banned the network from
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