A familiar figure stood on the other side of the well-wishing stream. A bony, gnarled, barefoot stick: Ranald Crayke was waiting.
‘Will you cross the stream with me, Laila?’
‘This one you must do alone.’
Ashe leapt over the stream and grabbed Crayke’s sinewy arm.
‘Fancy a walk, Ashe?’
Ashe nodded.
‘Sorry I missed the dancing.’
‘There’s plenty to come, sir.’
‘Indeed.’
The men made their way back into the valley.
‘This has been quite an operation, Ashe. I have watched you grow with pride.’
‘Thank you, sir. I only wish I could have brought things to a prettier conclusion.’
‘Goodness me, no! You have served well.’
‘Still something that puzzles me, sir.’
‘Proceed.’
‘The Tower bombing. Who did it?’
‘I am here to enlighten, dear boy. Thanks to your memory returning of that fateful day, we were able to follow up your “green prophet” story.’
‘And?’
‘Prepare for a surprise, Ashe.’
‘I’m prepared.’
Ashe’s brain froze, then melted. ‘The green prophet—’
‘Operates more prosaically under the name Colin Firman. Currently under psychiatric custody. Turns out Firman had been living rough in Broxbourne Woods for months. Ex-SAS. Had a grudge against the brigadier.’
‘Some grudge!’
‘His story will interest you. An explosives expert, Firman was badly wounded when undercover in Iraq before the first Gulf War. They have a code about getting bodies back wherever possible, but Firman’s comrades never came to help him. What Firman didn’t know was that his comrades were dead, their bodies disposed of… so he thought he had been abandoned. As if this wasn’t bad enough, Firman was captured and subjected to medical experiments by—’
‘Al-Qasr?’
‘Right. Firman escaped during the 1992 bombing raid that destroyed the Baba Sheykh’s son’s remains. Found his way back to Britain and had himself committed into a psychiatric hospital, suffering from partial amnesia and severe psychological disorders. Poor chap’s brain had been tampered with. Anyhow, he claimed to have developed spiritual powers of prophecy, listening to God and so on. Says he had this message from a higher power that the Tower of Babel was being rebuilt.
‘After years of treatment, it finally looked as though Firman was responding positively to new medication. Coming out into what has been euphemistically called “care in the community”, Firman found a home of sorts in Broxbourne Woods. One day he saw the Tower at Admiral Whitmore’s house, and got strange ideas. What clinched the matter for him was seeing the brigadier and other senior military and naval figures there. The Tower became in his mind an affront to God, and Firman became the angel of vengeance.’
‘And Reynolds?’
‘The admiral’s butler – something of a lost soul himself – befriended Firman. Reynolds let Firman into the Tower to share food and drink, domestic supplies, and reminisce about service life. All against the rules, of course. After Firman’s bomb went off, Reynolds immediately connected the explosion to Firman, whom he was fascinated by. Seems they’d discussed explosives and suchlike. Firman had asked him if he’d ever felt like blowing up his superior officers. Reynolds blamed himself for what happened and went to ground in Scotland. Forensics found his fingerprints on the sheets of paper used so threateningly by Firman. Once Special Branch tracked him down, Reynolds led us to Firman’s woodland burrow: a remarkable underground complex.’
‘A reflection of himself perhaps.’
‘Quite.’
Ashe sighed. ‘So the archdeacon was really another of al-Qasr’s victims.’
‘Indirectly, yes. Makes you think, doesn’t it, Ashe?’
Ashe tried to see the funny side. ‘Must have been something about the Tower that attracted Oddballs…’
‘That’s the ticket, Ashe! Cheer up! If you’re sad, it’s because you hoped for too much too soon. Forgive me for saying so, but I’d say you’re still labouring under the impression that our work is about finding the truth.’
‘That’s one of the attractions, sir.’
‘Wrong, Ashe. The greater part of our work is deception.’
‘Deception? That’s one word for it.’
‘Listen, then forget. For quite a while there have been high-level attempts in Europe to counter those elements in the Turkish military that oppose entry into the EU and, where possible, to encourage progressive movements in Turkey. The Koglu and Aslan types are only two extreme aspects of resistance to progress.’
‘Progress? Those men loved their country!’
‘They loved an idea of it. And not a very nice idea when you get to know about it.’
‘And what business is that of ours?’
‘Ours is not to reason why, Ashe. Fortunately, we have the willing help of courageous people like Yildiz and Yazar, who also, if I may say so, love their country.’
‘Yildiz and Yazar – working for you?’
Crayke smiled. ‘Not exactly working for us, no. Common interests. In their hearts they work for Turkey’s future, and their own. They got wind of curious goings-on concerning Colonel Aslan. They knew about his skills and the reputation he’d earned from his career with special forces in the eastern provinces. Aslan, in turn, being nothing less than brilliant, began to look into Yildiz and Yazar, suspecting they knew something about his activities on the Turkey–Iraq border. To Aslan, they were a threat, and as far as he was concerned, that made them a threat to Turkey.
‘You, dear Ashe, served Aslan’s purpose well. He manipulated the intelligence, and got you to pursue the two men through Iraq. This gave Aslan additional clout with the MIT, Turkey’s National Intelligence Organisation, though Aslan’s colleagues in Turkish security needed little encouragement to see Yildiz and Yazar as threatening to Turkey.
‘Had Zappa located Yildiz and Yazar when you were first in Iraq, he was under instructions to protect them from MIT harassment.’
‘So I was never going to be allowed to meet them?’
‘Of course not. Aslan could have got hold of them through you. Unfortunately, MIT got closer to Yildiz and Yazar than you did. As MIT closed in, Zappa helped Yildiz and Yazar flee to Germany. And MIT in Iraq vented their frustration on poor Vincent Zappa, as you may recall. At this point, you’d used up most of your usefulness to Aslan, but not to me. Aslan eventually tracked Yildiz and Yazar back from Germany to Istanbul, where he had them arrested and interrogated. Now, thanks in part to your activities, they have been released, and in some respects we’re back where we started.’
Ashe sat down outside the Sanctuary Guesthouse and stared at the ancient, human-sized relief of the black serpent that guarded the sanctuary door. Crayke observed Ashe’s fascination. ‘Beautiful isn’t it?’
‘Looks pretty damn black to me. In fact, everything does.’
‘Unenlightened, Ashe! Until you see that black serpent as a radiant angel, you’ve seen nothing.’
‘Then I’ve seen nothing.’
‘Wrong again. Yours is the darkness before the dawn.’
‘Is it always as black as this?’
‘Look, Ashe, there are jobs we’d rather not do. Be in no doubt that your friend Aslan was a better man than those who gave me – and you – your orders.’
Ashe smiled. ‘Yes… Aslan.’ He gathered up some dirt from the courtyard stones, spat on it, and rolled it in his hands. ‘It’s a pity, really’ – he flicked the unholy berat into the courtyard air –‘that he’s an Oddball.’
Crayke caught the ball of dirt and crumbled it between his fingers. ‘Takes one to know one. Ready?’
Ashe nodded, pulled himself together, and left the Market of Mystical Knowledge for a more common market, and home.