Two minutes later, Ashe and Beck were sitting in Beck’s Ford close to the Kurdish Community Centre in Silbersackstrasse.
‘How the hell did you track the sheykh down?’
‘Guess we owe you there, Toby. Your information on Sinàn matched up with our checks on his background. Then the messages he’s been sending the Agency about al-Qasr and the Yezidis. Clearly this sheykh guy ties in somewhere with al-Qasr’s interest in Yezidi genetics. That guy’s in danger. We also pulled favours from Yezidis in the Kurdistan National Assembly. They did what they could to track down the sheykh.’
‘Who handled the negotiation, Sherman?’
Beck was reluctant to reveal sources.
‘Wouldn’t have been a certain Vincent Zappa, would it?’
‘Well…’
‘Please give him my best wishes. How did you pin all this down to Hamburg?’
‘Hamburg police picked up an illegal taxi driver. He’d been racing round like a crazy guy. Turned out he’d carried two Yezidis from Giessen to Hamburg. Then we located a Berlin taxi driver who’d carried what he thought was a Turkish businessman to Hamburg. The timing matched al-Qasr’s arrival in Berlin. This gave us a match with an invisible guy who never boarded al-Qasr’s plane.’
‘Impressive work, Sherman.’
‘We got a lotta help. Since 9/11, Hamburg’s been a German intelligence hot spot. We got good relations. They got an agent in the Kurdish community here. That led us to St Pauli. That’s how we heard about the—’ Beck stopped in his tracks.
‘What is it?’
‘See that guy?’
‘Goksel?’
Beck nodded. ‘You got a piece?’
‘Will I need one?’
‘Keep your head down, Toby. Could get unfriendly.’
Ashe felt hemmed in. ‘We staying in the car?’
‘Got a better idea? Watch Goksel,’ Beck whispered. ‘Guy on the corner. Briefcase.’
‘Doctor?’
Beck’s eyes followed the man approaching Silbersackstrasse from Hein-Köllisch-Platz. Ashe registered the man’s fine, olive features: educated Yezidi; must be Sinàn. Where was the Baba Sheykh?
The man approached Goksel. The Kurd pointed to the Centre’s side entrance. More discussion. The man looked cautiously behind, then followed Goksel into the alleyway at the side of the Kurdish Centre.
Beck licked his lips. ‘I smell al-Qasr.’
‘I smell a rat, Sherman.’
‘Yeah. A rat.’
‘It’s a trap.’ Ashe was out of the car in a split second, pulling away from Beck’s restraining arm. ‘Cover me.’
‘Shit, Ashe!’
He ran into the alley. In the darkness stood the Yezidi.
‘Doctor?’
The man turned to see Ashe’s silhouette against the dull light.
‘Laila wants you.’
The man said a few hurried words to Goksel and walked towards the figure in the light. Ashe whispered, ‘Sinàn?’
The man nodded slowly. ‘And you?’
‘British intelligence. You know a man called al-Qasr?’
Sinàn shuddered.
‘Your man in there works for al-Qasr.’
Sinàn went pale. He turned to Goksel, still waiting by the side door. ‘Go in. Tell the woman I’m coming. Be kind to her.’
Goksel protested.
‘Go in, or forget it!’
Goksel shuffled his feet, then, reluctantly, pushed the Centre’s side door. The thick odour of over-spiced cooking swept into the alleyway.
‘Where’s the Baba Sheykh?’
Sinàn said nothing.
‘I know you’re protecting him. Al-Qasr’s in Hamburg. This is a set-up.’
‘Set-up? That’s why he’s… not here.’
‘You left him alone?’
The truth dawned.
‘Please get in the car. You direct us. Take us to him, Sinàn, please!’
‘Us?’
‘Before it’s too late.’
‘Why should I believe…?’
‘Don’t believe. Work it out for yourself.’
‘Where is Laila?’
‘Cairo. At least… she was last week.’
Sinàn’s eyes brightened. Ashe grabbed his arm and pulled him towards Beck’s car.
‘Ashe, you asshole!’ bellowed Beck. ‘You’ve fucked up the whole scene!’
Ashe prodded the doctor gently into the back seat, then got in himself.
Goksel appeared at the Centre’s front door, a picture of malice and confusion as he helplessly watched the Ford reverse and screech out of the side street into Hein-Köllisch-Platz.
Desperate, Goksel looked to a man in blue overalls loitering across the street. The Iranian trailed the car, his pace increasing into a jog. Where were his friends?
Inside the Ford, Sinàn pointed to the Iranian in the rear-view mirror. Seizing his radio, Beck alerted the men on the roofs to the man hurrying after their car.
‘Do we apprehend suspect, sir?’
Beck bit his lip.
Ashe interjected. ‘Apprehend! You need a lead.’
‘Who’s running this operation, Dr Ashe?’
‘Right now, I’d say Sami al-Qasr.’ Ashe ignored Beck’s anger. ‘Look, Sherman, just follow doctor’s orders. Where the Baba Sheykh is, al-Qasr will be close.’
Beck grunted and reversed the car over the cobbles of Hein-Köllisch-Platz. He then headed back into the one-way system on Silbersackstrasse, just as the Iranian was cornered by two plain-clothes agents. They bundled him into a Nissan 4x4.
‘You better be right, Ashe!’