The Spider Ladder: Keith Bailey, #2

By Ken Judge

Keith Bailey, now trained and hardened by the instructors at Hereford, has yet to prove to the senior officers of MI6 that he can follow orders and be a good covert operative. In February 2011, he is sent into Gaddafi's Libya together with Graham Peterson with orders to find out where another MI6 agent is being held prisoner after a failed attempt to bring out a Libyan scientist.

Operating in one of the most hostile environments in the world, they decide to try and free the scientist as well as the agent, but – even if they succeed – is that going to be enough to convince the spymasters that they should keep Bailey in MI6?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Olympia Publishing Limited
• Release date: May 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393157946

Book preview

Flight

Wednesday, 20th October 2010.

He looked around his house for the last time. Even now, committed as he was to the path he had set himself and his family on, it broke his heart to know that they would never again see their beautiful home in the affluent Tripoli suburb of Hayy al Andalus.

Hurry, my love, Ghaida urged him towards the waiting car, his teenage son and daughter already inside.

He closed the door for the last time and took his wife’s hand as they walked down the steps towards where his driver, Omar, held the car door open for them.

Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded at the man, who was doubtless under the impression that he was worried about his appointment with the doctors in Tunis.

As far as the children were concerned, they were accompanying him on a flight to Tunis, where he was going to see some doctors about an on-going medical condition.

The truth, that only he and his wife shared, was a little different.

During the four decades since the bloodless coup d'état engineered in 1969 by the Brother Leader, in contrast to many Arab and African countries, women had made notable progress in Libya. During the reign of King Idris, less than a quarter of girls went to primary school but, when he came to power, Gaddafi had increased the duration of compulsory education from six years to nine, boosting female literacy from one of the lowest in the region to one of the highest, and by 2010 there were more women at university than men. Women were encouraged to take up jobs such as teaching, nursing and administrative work – but they also became pharmacists, doctors, dentists and sometimes even engineers. By 2010, Libya’s workforce employed more women than most other Arab countries.

But there was also a dark side to life in the Great Socialist People's Libyan Arab Jamahiriya. It was known that the Brother Leader had an eye for beautiful young girls.

And Ayesha, Hamdi’s daughter, was seventeen years old.

Looking back, he cursed himself for a fool.

Bring your family to the compound, Gaddafi had said, inviting him to Bab al Aziziyah. Let them see how highly regarded and important you are.

Ghaida had been apprehensive, possibly with a mother’s sixth sense, but his petty pride at being singled out for an invitation had brushed aside her doubts and they went to Bab al Aziziyah anyway.

It did not take long for him to realise the terrible mistake he had made. From the first time he saw her, Gaddafi had not taken his eyes off Ayesha. Ghaida was distraught. After enduring it for two hours, she had begged Hamdi to take them all home, giving the excuse that she felt unwell. Even then, Gaddafi had suggested Hamdi could take Ghaida home and come back later for the children, but eventually relented after extracting a promise from Hamdi that they would visit again in a few days.

Ghaida had broken down when they got home. What could they do now? Ayesha could obviously never give herself to that disgusting old man with the wrinkled, sagging face but, when she spurned his advances, who could say what terrible reprisals would be inflicted on them? His wife was inconsolable and cried for hours.

And so, he and Ghaida had spent the next four days secretly planning their way out.

Although on the face of it the obvious choice, due to the large Libyan ex-patriot community already there, he had discounted Britain partly for that very reason. There would undoubtedly be many there who felt they had a score to settle with him and the last thing he wanted was to risk giving someone that opportunity. Also, during the Blair government’s period of détente with Gaddafi, Britain’s MI6 had colluded with the CIA to kidnap dissenting Libyans from other countries and return them to the clutches of the Mukhabarat el-Jamahiriya. He had no intention of becoming another victim, even though the renditions programme was supposed to have been shut down.

Turkey was not an option. He knew of too many people there who would definitely feel that their interests would be better served by siding with the regime already in place rather than a defector from that regime.

The U.S. would no doubt rule itself out, since Americans always seemed to have a mental block where relationships with Arab states were concerned.

The more he thought about it, the more he became certain that the choice lay between Italy and France.

Italy did have a lot of shared history with Libya but again, as he saw it, that was something of a drawback. Lots of old wounds.

France then. He had good personal connections with quite a few people at the French embassy and, if he could make the offer enticing enough, he just might be able to arrange something.

Once he had made the decision and told Ghaida, her relief was immediate. She was apprehensive of course, it was a massive risk they were taking, but they both realised that it was the only thing that had even a slight chance of protecting their daughter. She assured him that she would attend to things like converting as much as she could of what they owned into gold jewellery without raising suspicion and she even started the rumour among their circle of acquaintances that his health had begun to give them serious cause for concern.

While his wife was doing that, Hamdi was gathering together all the information he had about the loyalty or otherwise of people in key positions in the government and armed forces; information that he had originally intended to present to the Brother Leader for the kudos and rewards that it would earn him, but what had now become information that would be critical in his negotiations with the French. He loaded all the data onto USB drives to which he gave the innocuous title of ‘Report 1020’ hiding them in plain sight together with other official documents and files that, if challenged, he should be able to convincingly claim that he was going to continue working on during the time that he would be away from his office.

The next part of the plan was the most dangerous. He had to find a way to get in contact with the right people in France’s DGSE without arousing the suspicions of his own country’s security service, the Mukhabarat el-Jamahiriya. After deliberating for hours, he came to the conclusion that no such way existed, therefore he had to assume that the security service would find out, and so he would have to prepare accordingly.

After explaining to Ghaida that it was all totally untrue, he sat in front of his computer at home and, having disconnected it from the internet, recorded a video in which he said that the French Secret Service was blackmailing him about an affair he’d had in 2005.

In the video, he said that the DGSE had shown him compromising tapes of himself and a French woman in a Parisian hotel room, which they told him they would send to his wife if he did not co-operate with them. Reluctantly, he said, he had decided that he had no alternative but to meet with them and find out what they wanted before he would hand everything over to the Mukhabarat, including the identities of the DGSE operatives he had spoken to, so that they could be dealt with.

He wrapped the tape in a package and addressed it to the General Information Office, the Libyan agency for internal security. Handing the package to Ghada, he told her to keep it safe while he contacted an attaché at the French embassy whom he had long suspected was a spy. He told Ghaida that he would be phoning her at least once every thirty minutes while he was away from the house and the first time he failed to do so, it would mean that he had been arrested and she was then to put the package in the mail so that it would be delivered a few days later and, hopefully, mitigate his actions.

That done, he told Omar to take him to the Old City where, after leaving the driver with the car, he went alone into the covered section of the Souq el Ghizdara and bought a cellphone and sim card for the government owned Al-Madar mobile network. This was another unavoidable risk since, being in his position, he knew that from 2009 the Eagle monitoring system, installed by the French company Amesys, had enabled the Gaddafi regime to capture bulk internet traffic passing through conventional, satellite and mobile-phone networks and then store all the data in a filterable and searchable database. That database was then integrated with other sources of intelligence, such as phone recordings, allowing security personnel to pick through audio and data from a given person all at once. In other words, instead of having to select targets and monitor them, the secret police could now simply sweep up everything, sort it all by time and target and then browse through it later at their leisure. Actually, he had made extensive use of the database to help him compile the list he had originally intended to give Gaddafi but was now going to pass to the French.

Having seen the sheer amount of all the data involved, he was reasonably confident that the false information he had given to get the sim card was not likely to be discovered until after they had left the country. Taking the battery and sim card out of the phone so that it could not be tracked, he put the pieces in separate pockets and then contacted Ghaida again on his regular cellphone, saying he was on his way home.

Later that night he walked to a secluded part of the beach not far from their house and, after reassembling the phone, called a number that he had earlier committed to memory.  It was answered in French by a male voice after three rings.

This is the Embassy of France in Tripoli. How can I help you?

I need to speak to Henri Joubert, as soon as possible he said, also in French.

Who is speaking please?

Please tell him an old friend wishes to discuss some travel arrangements.

A pause. I’m afraid Monsieur Joubert is unavailable at this time. Perhaps if you could leave your number –

I can’t do that, Hamdi interrupted. When will he be available?

Another pause. Can you phone back in an hour?

Not wishing to push his luck any more than he absolutely had to, Hamdi ended the call without reply and stripped the phone down.

An hour later, he left his house for the beach again and re-dialled the number. The same male voice answered.

I called earlier to speak to Henri Joubert, said Hamdi, and was told to call back.

I’m sorry monsieur, but Monsieur Joubert is extremely busy and –

Controlling his temper, Hamdi interrupted the man again. Tell him we discussed the performances of the Peugeots and Audis at this year’s 24-hour Le Mans. Then tell him I will phone back precisely ten minutes from now, but that will be for the last time.

Without waiting for confirmation, he took the phone apart again. This time, having only ten minutes to wait he did not go back to his house, instead of which he spent the time looking out over the dark, brooding, Mediterranean.

When he called ten minutes later and again asked to speak to Henri Joubert, he was immediately put through to another phone that was answered on the first ring.

Henri Joubert.

Hamdi spoke in French. I told you the Audis would beat the Peugeots.

A stunned silence, and then a cautious This is – a surprise. Is that really you?

I don’t know if you’ve heard, mon ami, but my health is not what it was. Hamdi said, praying that Joubert would realize his intention and play along with the fictitious friendship. I am hoping to see a French specialist in Tunis tomorrow, or the day after.

How long will you be in Tunis? asked Joubert.

I have some things to clear up at work, answered Hamdi. But will be landing at Carthage, together with my family, early tomorrow evening. After that, I imagine it will be up to the specialist.

I worry about you mon ami, said Joubert, now sounding for all the world like a deeply concerned friend. Please let me know as soon as you have arrived safely.

I will Hamdi replied. For now, old friend, goodbye.

Non, non, mon ami. Let us merely say au revoir.

Taking the phone apart for the last time, Hamdi threw away the individual parts in separate locations before making his way home, fervently hoping that Joubert now knew exactly what he was about to do and would make the appropriate arrangements.

Pulling out of the secure guarded compound where their home, along with those of several other high government officials, was located they left the prosperous suburb by Gargaresh Main Road and then on to Omar al-Mukhtar Road.

Because they were not aware that the rumours about their father’s health were false, Ayesha was tearful and Idris very subdued, with neither of them speaking at all for the entire journey to the airport, which was precisely the mood he wanted them in while ever Omar was around.

As they passed the Old City, Hamdi looked out of the window and sighed. He wondered if he would ever again roam round the vast palace complex of the Assaraya al-Hamra Red Castle Museum on the outskirts of the Medina, dominating the city skyline as it did with its numerous courtyards, classical statues and Ottoman fountains. The Medina itself was largely unspoiled by tourism and, though increasingly exposed to more and more visitors from abroad following the 2003 lifting of the UN embargo, in his eyes it still retained much of its serene old-world ambience with beautiful buildings like the Ottoman Clock Tower.

Turning right at the end, Omar took the car along the Al-Shat Road, the modern high-speed dual carriageway that ran alongside the harbour and marina. Nine kilometres later they passed the public entrance to the airport, before turning off a further kilometre down the road into the entrance that was reserved for VIPs and high government officials. Without realising it, he sighed again as he prepared to get out.

Don’t worry, excellency, said Omar, misinterpreting the reason for his mood, In sha’ alih, you will soon be back, and all will be well.

Thank you, Omar he replied. God willing, we shall see. He almost extended his hand in farewell but checked himself in time, realising that it would have been completely out of character and a gross departure from their normal relationship.

Entering the VIP departure lounge, his heart sank as he saw that one of the people already there was just about the last person he wanted to see, today of all days. There was, however, no way he could avoid talking to Major General Abdullah al Senussi, Head of Libyan Military Intelligence and Gaddafi’s brother-in-law, so he put a brave face on it and approached the man who had been head of internal security in Libya during the 1980s, not coincidentally at a time when many of the Brother Leader’s opponents had been killed.

Salaamu alaikum, Major General he said, holding out his hand.

The handshake was accepted with the customary response Wa ‘alaikum salaam.

We were all sad to learn of the current concerns about your health. Senussi said, breaking the pregnant pause that can’t have lasted long, but certainly seemed to do so.

It’s the reason for this trip, Hamdi replied. There’s a doctor in Tunis that has been recommended to me.

And your family is going with you? An innocent enough question, if asked by anyone but the man facing him.

Ghaida wanted to be with me when I see the doctor, and the children have never been to Tunis. It sounded contrived, even as he said it.

Just then Senussi’s cellphone rang and, looking at the screen, he said This is a call I must take. He turned away, the health – or otherwise – of Hamdi el Rahmani of no real interest, or concern, to him.

Giddy with relief and his heart pounding so much he thought people nearby might hear it, Hamdi returned to where Ghaida sat with the children. He smiled to let her know that everything was fine. Inside, he fervently hoped that it actually was.

The flight to Carthage Airport in Tunis lasted just over an hour and ten minutes, landing at 18:15 local time.

The entry formalities, for a man of his importance, were minimal and before long they were in the arrival’s hall where he went to a public phone and put in a call to the French Embassy in Tripoli. On this occasion he was put through to Henri Joubert without any delay.

Henri? he said in French. I just wanted you to know that we have arrived safely in Tunis.

Excellent, excellent, replied Joubert. At which hotel are you staying?

The Four Seasons Tunis.

A friend of mine will come and see you there this evening. He can advise you on the best places for you to go while you’re in Tunis. It was good to hear that you and your family had arrived safely. Au revoir, dear friend. I look forward to seeing you again soon.

Returning to where Ghaida, Ayesha and Idris were waiting, he told them that when they arrived at the hotel, they would have to remain in their suite all evening because someone would be coming to meet him. Seeing the worried looks on the faces of his children, he smiled encouragingly.

Don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine. I promise.

Walking out of the building, they approached the row of yellow taxi cabs and waited in line until it was their turn at the front. Trivially, it suddenly occurred to him that he could not remember the last time that he had had to queue for anything.

As the taxi driver got out of the cab and came round for the few pieces of luggage that they had, Hamdi spoke in Libyan Arabic to the man.

We are going to the Four Seasons Tunis, La Marsa in Gammarth. Do you have a meter?

The man nodded dismissively. Yes, yes, Four Seasons. I give you a good deal, no problem. He reached for one of the cases.

Hamdi stood his ground and refused to be railroaded. He knew that many passengers were overcharged by unscrupulous cab drivers on unmetered journeys.

I don’t want a deal Hamdi shook his head emphatically. No meter, no journey.

The driver hesitated and looked closer at him, realising that he was not a tourist.

Okay, Okay, the driver agreed. On the meter.

Hamdi nodded at Idris, who then helped the driver load the cases into the trunk.

Hamdi had taken the front passenger seat and the driver made a big show of activating the meter in front of him, explaining the additional charges he was entitled to make for their luggage and the fact that there were more than two of them. Hamdi nodded his acceptance of the total additional amount to be charged and they pulled away from the taxi rank. Just over thirty minutes later, they had pulled up in front of the beautiful Four Seasons Tunis hotel, booked in and then been ushered up to one of the plush Mediterranean Suites on the first floor.

As soon as their cases had been unpacked, he and Ghaida told Ayesha and Idris to sit down as there was something they had to know about the trip they were on.

Hamdi saw the astonishment grow in the eyes of his daughter and son as he and Ghaida explained the true reason they had left Tripoli and then grow even more when the realisation sunk in that they might never be returning.

Typically for her, Ayesha was still worried on his behalf.

But what about the treatment you must have, Father? she asked.

I don’t need any treatment, he smiled reassuringly. There’s nothing wrong with me. It was all a ruse to give us a reason to come to Tunis. Your mother and I couldn’t tell you the truth before now because you both had to appear to be convincingly worried.

But Tripoli is only seven hours away by road Idris said, frowning. Surely the Mukhabarat could still just come here and take us back.

That is why your father is meeting this man tonight, explained Ghaida. We will not be staying in Tunis any longer than is absolutely necessary. We are sorry that it means you may never see your friends again, but to us, your safety is far more important."

To lighten the mood, Hamdi waved his arm at the room. But all in all, this is not too bad a place to have to stay in for the evening, is it?

The house phone rang before they could answer and when Hamdi picked it up, he was told that a Doctor Thibault from the Clinique Francaise was waiting for him in Reception. Telling the children that they were not to open the door to anyone at all, Hamdi and Ghaida went downstairs to meet their visitor. At the desk, the Receptionist indicated a man sitting in one of the nearby armchairs with a briefcase at his side.

Doctor Thibault was in his mid-thirties, just over 1.8 metres tall and looked in excellent physical shape. He also told them quietly in French that his name was Philipe Thibault, that Henri Joubert had sent him and that he wasn’t really a doctor. He suggested that he went up with them to their suite as though he was going to give Hamdi an initial examination relating to his fictitious medical condition.

Once in the suite, Thibault took out a number of items from his case, one of which was a device that he moved around the entire suite with, checking all the electronics and air conditioning vents. That done, he assured them that no eavesdropping equipment was present, and they could talk in complete confidence.

I have made arrangements for you and your family to be flown to Paris he said. "The first available flight is at 02:10 tomorrow morning, but it would look decidedly odd if you were to leave the hotel that early and – whilst we are anxious to get you there as soon as possible – we don’t want to raise any undue suspicion, so you’re all booked on the Air France flight at 09:50 in the morning instead. The flight lasts 2 hours 35 minutes, landing at Charles De Gaulle at 1:25 in the afternoon, local time.

You will be met off the plane and taken to The Hotel Concorde Lafayette, where a suite has been booked for you and several meetings have been arranged, initially with high-ranking officers of the DGSE and later including some other unspecified individuals. He looked at Hamdi. Henri tells me that you have brought some information with you that will be of interest to my government?"

Hamdi nodded cautiously. I have, but I am not yet prepared to –

Thibault cut across him. I quite understand. We value your co-operation very highly and will leave how and when you decide to divulge the information entirely up to you. He picked up the two cellphones he had earlier taken from his case. Here are two new cellphones for you to use once you get to Paris. Any phone you have now should be left in a trashcan here at the hotel when you leave, so that you cannot be tracked.

Ghaida was impressed. You’ve been very thorough and seem to have thought of everything.

Thibault smiled faintly. It’s not the first time we’ve done anything like this, he admitted. Finally, here is a credit card with which you can settle the hotel bill, as well as some Euros for your incidental expenses. Remember, it’s a serious offence to take Tunisian dinars out of the country, so if you have any – even loose coins – make sure you get rid of them before you get to the airport.

When they assured him that none of them had any Tunisian dinars at all, he stood up and shook Hamdi’s hand. Until tomorrow then, Mr Rahmani. In order that we maintain the charade of your illness, I will send an ambulance with two of my team members to collect you at 07:30 in the morning so that if hotel staff are ever asked, they will confirm that that’s how you left. The ambulance will actually take you to a building that we have secured at the airport where you can all wait until you board the aircraft.

After Thibault had left, Ghaida saw tears welling up in Ayesha’s eyes. Do not cry, Ayesha, she said. We will soon be starting a new life, safe and in a new country.

Her daughter shook her head. No mother, I am just so happy that father is not ill.

Hamdi took her in his arms, just like he had when she was a little girl, but this time it was also so that she would not see his own tears.

He knew they were doing the right thing.

Proposal

Wednesday, 17th November 2010.

She was definitely being followed. All the years she had spent as a kid on the streets of Athens