Chapter 26: London Docklands: October 25: Afternoon.
The small brown parcel brought by the rain-sodden motorcycle courier was delivered straight to Chapman’s newsroom desk. The journalist stared suspiciously at the unfamiliar writing. Normally he treated any surprise deliveries like a newly purchased lottery ticket, kept them in a safe place and checked them carefully at the first available opportunity. But today he was anxious and distracted. Still no news from Sophie. He had called her any number of times over the last two days but her mobile was always switched off.
Increasingly anxious, he picked up the phone and dialled Magdalen College again. This time, the porter was more helpful. Miss Palmer had been granted a week’s exeat, reason and destination unknown.
‘Exeat? Christ, what’s happened? Is her mum ok?’
But the porter either couldn’t or wouldn’t confirm the reason why. Chapman thanked him and huffily replaced the receiver. As he did so, his eye caught the sinister-looking parcel lurking on the corner of his desk. He snatched at it angrily, and only then did he recognize the two crossed swords, a palm tree and a camel that formed the distinctive motif of the Royal Embassy of Ramliyya.
Curiosity aroused, Chapman tore at the awkward masking tape. Inside he found a memory stick and a sheaf of word-processed documentation and a hand-written note of neat cursive script in blank ink. He started with the note:
Sultanate of Ramliyya
October 24
Dear Mr Chapman,
As a reward for your investigative diligence, I am offering you the wherewithal for a sensational scoop surrounding the execution of a British citizen, Mr Philip Goss, that was carried out today in our capital, Madinat Al-Aasima. This recording has been rushed to you overnight via my personal courier to give you a head start on your competitors, though be careful: Al-Jazeera are not far behind!
You should listen first to the audio files and read the accompanying transcript. The video files are a recording of an unscheduled broadcast filmed today by Ramli TV. It will confirm the agreements which you will hear in the audio files. Act fast now before Al-Jazeera piece together all the details. I have contacts inside that organisation who can delay their story for a while, if you are quick.
The audio files will give you an inside into this story none of your competitors will ever have. But if you want to find out what lies beneath, you must continue your investigations into the ghosts of the past. Good luck!
I need scarcely remind you that the files are given to you as a present, on condition of the strictest confidentiality.
Prince Omar Adil ‘Al-Ajnabi’ Al-Janoubi
The audio files were easy. Chapman simply ran plugged in the memory stick and opened the audio files on his Apple, immediately recognizing the clipped, steady tones of Colonel Easterby.
You dirty bastard! Chapman mumbled out loud in delight when he heard the colonel calmly instruct Prince Omar and Dr AbdulAziz to sacrifice the British prisoner for his thirty pieces of silver.
He underlined Goss’s name as he found it in the printed transcript, then circled it with a halo of question marks and double lines. After a while he sat back in his chair and replayed the audio files, pausing at the first mention of Goss’s name, a name that had slipped Prince Omar’s memory on every occasion throughout the interview. Chapman chuckled. He felt he knew Prince Omar Al-Ajnabi well enough by now to realize that the Special Envoy’s repeated memory lapses were anything other than genuine.
He paused the playback again at the point where Prince Omar had obviously set Easterby up, dropping the original demand for BDS’s public support of the intended execution. But Easterby had walked straight into the trap, blinded by his greed.
If Goss is executed, will my company still be able to bid for the new contracts Dr Al-Badawi and I discussed? Easterby asked. Chapman replayed the fragment several times. At this point, the Ramlis must have given Easterby some tacit token of encouragement.
Then there is no decision to be made, Easterby’s voice continued.
You stupid git, you’ve walked right into it! Chapman snorted, again out loud, then played on to hear Easterby cover himself in shit by promising his help in toning down the British press. Think you can shut us up, eh? Chapman was fuming. Then paper the walls of your Surrey mansion with copies of tomorrow morning’s edition, you blind fool!
In a frenzy of purpose, Chapman pulled his swivel chair right up close to his Apple and opened up the video file. Straight away he saw the car park, the crowd and the prison van, felt his pulse race in the certainty of what was to happen next to the red-faced ginger ox of a man struggling furiously with the Ramli policemen.
The build-up was stomach-churning enough, but Chapman’s analytical mind overcame the revulsion to focus on the frames in which the prisoner was screaming defiantly across the car park. Every word was eerily succinct. Colonel Easterby, the rabid voice kept roaring. Always ‘Colonel’. It didn’t take Chapman long to guess that Goss and Easterby knew each other long before their ill-fated association with British Defence Systems. The connection went back a lot further, and Chapman reckoned he could trace it back to a more distant past, to the time of Aidan Hennessy, the Parachute Regiment and Northern Ireland.
By now he was in a mad rush to start writing the story that would splash the muck on Easterby all over tomorrow’s headlines. But instinct told him to be patient a little longer. First, he wanted to find out more about the unfortunate Phil Goss.
A couple of calls later and Chapman hit the jackpot. Yes, the Army Information Office could tell the journalist about Sergeant Philip Goss. Born Liverpool September 23rd. Joined D Company of the Parachute Regiment. Promoted to lance corporal and later full corporal. Sergeant’s stripes followed two years later and Staff Sergeant three years after that. Court-martial and dishonourable discharge without benefits the year after the Falls Road Massacre for bullying and gross indecency.
‘Can you tell me who Goss’s Commanding Officer would have been at the time of discharge?’ Chapman asked, guessing he already knew the answer.
The confirmation took some time, but when it came Chapman could no longer sit at his desk. He had the buzz, and it took him spinning for leads all over the internet and a call down to archives. Prince Omar Al-Ajnabi had set up the showdown between Goss and Easterby in Ramliyya. That was obvious. And the reason why had to be no more than a couple of clicks away on the new CD-ROM of back issues the archives department had only just completed.
Sure enough, Goss was only listed twice in the database. The first click took Chapman where he had expected to go—to the time of the Falls Road Massacre. But it wasn’t the story of the Falls Road Massacre that flashed up on screen initially. His mouse had landed at a later date, seven months after the Falls Road Massacre.
Chapman stared intently at the screen. He was looking at an article concerning the court-martial of an officer of the Parachute Regiment, Robert Bailey. He scrolled down further in search of Goss.
Christ, there it was! Forget Goss! He had found something much bigger: He was staring at a twenty-year old photo of Prince Omar Al-Ajnabi!
The face had hardly changed in twenty years. Only the eyes were different—the happy gaze of a young man with a bright future.
When he had finished with the photo, Chapman read the caption: Second Lieutenant Robert Bailey, D Company, Parachute Regiment. Accused of the manslaughter of 12 civilians in West Belfast in April of this year.