‘OK, Fless, you got something on al-Qasr? Let’s hear it.’
Fless took a deep breath. ‘Your CTC received a communication from a doctor in Iraq. About al-Qasr.’
Beck whispered in Kellner’s ear. ‘How the hell does he know?’
‘Which communication would this be?’
‘The same one you received, Mr Kellner. We intercepted it.’
‘Fucking Mossad again! Won’t you ever trust us?’
‘Of course we trust you. We trust you to screw up.’
‘Time will tell, Fless.’ Kellner looked at the shackles round Fless’s feet. ‘Looks to me like everyone’s screwing up. So, let’s concentrate on the enemy. And Fless…’
‘Yes?’
‘Just can the adolescent, jerk-off shit!’
That stung. It wasn’t the first time Fless had been accused of being an arsehole.
‘How do we know you didn’t concoct the whole damn thing in the first place? For all we know, this began as an Israeli plot to make us suspect al-Qasr.’
‘You didn’t reply to the message. That gave my mission its urgency. Then you interrupted us.’
‘An action for which I offer no apologies. Tell me, Mr Fless, did you understand the reference to the British air raid of 1992, and why al-Qasr might have been less useful to our scientific effort than he first appeared?’
‘Yeah, well, we hoped you might reveal something, something to throw light on this question. All we observed was that al-Qasr defected to the USA shortly after the British raid. One thing I can tell you…’
‘Shoot.’
‘The message accused al-Qasr of links with Ansar al-Sunna. I can positively confirm this.’
‘Positively?’
‘Absolute certainty. Absolute certainty, Mr Kellner. No question. But you will have your own methods. No doubt your people are going through al-Qasr’s things right now, so confirmation will come soon enough. Let me repeat: under your very noses, your famous scientist has been in regular two-way communication with the forces of Ansar al-Sunna in northern Iraq. And not only in Iraq.’
‘Where else?’
‘Europe.’
Kellner looked at Beck. Beck sucked in his lower lip.
‘Surely, gentlemen, that information is worth my freedom?’
Kellner got out of his chair. ‘Excuse us a minute, Mati.’
Fless smiled indulgently and looked at the stationary fan blades above. ‘I need some air.’
‘Sorry, sir. Security. Had a suicide try to cut his—’
‘OK, Beck, spare us the details. Hear that, Fless? It’s for your own good.’ Kellner drew his finger across his throat.
In the corridor outside, Beck and Kellner whispered frantically to one another.
‘OK, Sherman, don’t shove it down my neck. I know we’ve lost valuable time. It’s true. But it’s not too late.’
‘Do we bring al-Qasr in, sir?’
Kellner looked at the tranquil Fless through the one-way plate set in the door.
‘Fless could be useful to us.’
‘But shall I bring al-Qasr in, sir?’
‘No, Beck. You sit tight. I got our Iraqi scientist very closely covered.’
‘Buckley was working for al-Qasr. That’s how it was set up. His own little protector. But when I first heard about this business, I put an undercover agent right inside the hornet’s nest.’
‘You didn’t tell me, sir.’
‘And you know what?’
‘Sir?’
‘This agent ain’t workin’ for Leanne Gresham. This agent’s workin’ for me.’