The Persona Protocol - By Andy McDermott Page 0,13
he took in enough from them to nod in satisfaction. ‘The transfer looks good,’ he announced.
‘How much longer?’ Tony asked.
‘The usual amount of time. Two or three minutes.’
Tony turned to Kyle. ‘What are our friends outside doing?’
‘They’re checking the next street,’ Kyle answered. The three men being watched by the hovering drone had split up, a blue symbol generated by the automatic tracking software highlighting each. Khattak was still at the intersection looking back at the square, seeming unwilling to accept that his quarry had left it. One of his companions was heading right along the road, while the other skirted the buildings to the left, checking for unlocked doors.
Tony jabbed a finger at Khattak. ‘As long as this guy’s still watching, we can’t take Syed out of here.’
‘What’s he gonna do, just stand there staring at the van?’ said Baxter. ‘He’ll move.’
‘He’ll have to, otherwise—’ Tony broke off, finger moving to the leftmost blue symbol as the man within it moved out of sight behind a building. ‘Where’s this guy going? Kyle, get him back in view.’
Kyle was already working the controls. ‘I can’t get an angle on him. I think he’s gone inside.’
‘Damn. Keep watching, we need to find him – but zoom back out. We can’t lose track of the other guys either.’
Kyle did so. The computer reacquired Marwat. Khattak had not moved from the intersection – but he had at least turned away from the square. ‘He looks pissed. I think he’s gonna leave soon.’
‘Let’s hope so.’ Tony turned back to the strange tableau on the floor. ‘Roger?’
‘Not long now,’ Albion replied. He checked the screen again. The colour changes on the graphic gradually slowed. He watched the scrolling figures as they too reduced in speed, then tapped commands on the keyboard. CALCULATING LATENCY ESTIMATES. A new set of numbers appeared.
They were to Albion’s satisfaction. ‘That should do it,’ he announced, turning back to Adam and unfastening the skullcap’s strap. ‘Can you hear me?’
Adam blinked several times, then sat up sharply. ‘Roger! Did it . . .’ His voice had changed again, a new and different accent discernible even in a mere three words.
‘Let’s find out, shall we?’ Albion looked the younger man straight in the eye. ‘What is your name?’
The reply was immediate. ‘Malik Syed.’
5
No Reception
The others watched in fascination as Albion continued to ask questions. ‘Your date of birth?’
‘The eighth of March 1982.’
‘Place of birth?’
‘Mushtarzi.’
‘Where is that?’
‘It is a small town about ten kilometres south-west of Peshawar.’
‘Okay. Your mother’s name?’
‘Hadeel.’
‘When is her birthday?’
‘The fifteenth of September.’
‘What is your most guilty secret?’
Adam hesitated, shamefaced, before answering. ‘I . . . I watch pornography. Western pornography. There is a man in Islamabad who sells me DVDs. They are . . . they are foul, whores debasing themselves, but I cannot stop myself.’
‘So he watches some good old American porno,’ said Kyle. ‘Nothing wrong with that!’
Holly Jo gave him a tired look of disgust. ‘Knock it off, Kyle,’ said Tony firmly. ‘And find that other guy.’ There were still only two blue symbols on the screen. ‘Roger, is he ready?’
Albion asked Adam a few more questions, all purely factual queries about Syed’s past. The answers were prompt, without hesitancy. ‘I think the transfer’s fine.’
‘What about you, Adam? How do you feel?’
Adam stood, brushing dust from the dirty floor off his coat. His accent was not the only thing that had changed; even his body language was subtly different. Toradze’s rolling swagger had gone, replaced by hunched wariness. He regarded the Americans around him almost with suspicion. ‘I’m fine. I’m ready for questioning.’ He gazed down at Syed, who was now still and staring blankly upwards, mouth agape. ‘Or he is. We are.’
Holly Jo shifted uncomfortably. ‘It’s too weird when you do that. You sound just like him.’
‘I think like him, too.’ Adam’s intense stare did nothing to ease her discomfort.
‘Hopefully not too much like him,’ said Tony. ‘Okay, we’ve got what we need. Time to put Syed back where we found him.’
‘We should just kill the son of a bitch,’ rumbled Baxter. ‘Now that we know everything he knows,’ a glance at Adam, ‘we’d be doing the world a favour.’
‘If Syed’s group doesn’t realise they’ve been compromised, they’ll carry on with their current operations – which we’ll soon know all about. We can take out the entire cell in one go.’ Tony looked at his watch. ‘Eleven minutes since we bagged him. John, turn his watch back . . . eight minutes.’