Free Payback by James Barrington

and Bahrain International Airport.
    Buraydah, Saudi Arabia
    They’d travelled to the country from all over the Middle East, and the car park on the outskirts of Buraydah was their penultimate rendezvous. The town had been
chosen because it was a long way from the site of the operation, and distance was important. More practically, there weren’t that many places in the area that could supply the equipment they
needed, but they’d found a source on the outskirts of town, and had already made the booking.
    Once they’d finished their brief discussion, the men dispersed, climbing into their dusty four-by-fours – two Mitsubishis, a Toyota Land Cruiser and a Nissan Patrol. Three of these
vehicles were carrying goods in their luggage compartments. The Nissan held two bulky fabric bags, each about three feet long, which clanked metallically as the vehicle moved off. The two
Mitsubishis each carried four bales of hay. These appeared normal in every respect except one – they were too heavy, and the extra weight was entirely due to the oblong package that lay
concealed in the centre of each bale. The packages had been inserted very carefully, one end of each bale being cut out so as to retain its shape, and some of the hay then repacked into the cavity.
Without a detailed inspection, the bales would appear completely normal.
    The two Mitsubishis headed out into the desert, while the Toyota and Nissan drove towards the centre of Buraydah. All the vehicles were ultimately heading for the same destination, some two
hundred kilometres to the north-east, but these two had a stop to make first.
    Protected by a high chain-link fence, interrupted only by a set of wide double gates, the construction equipment yard was predominantly open space. More or less in the centre stood a
single-storey office building surrounded by a couple of acres of concreted surface, upon which stood a wild profusion of machinery: diggers, bulldozers, concrete mixers, cherry-pickers and other
equipment.
    The driver of the Land Cruiser – the name he was using was ‘Saadi’ – stepped out of the vehicle and walked across to the office.
    Inside it, three men were sitting at a long desk, a variety of maps, documents and calculators scattered in front of them, with a couple of computer terminals at one end. Saadi produced a sheet
of paper which he offered to the Arab who stood up to greet him.
    ‘Is it ready?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes.’ The man scanned the paper and nodded. ‘We just have to load it on the trailer. You have brought a tow vehicle?’
    Saadi nodded assent and proffered a gold credit card.
    A couple of minutes later he walked outside again and backed the Toyota up to a four-wheel trailer, while a company employee drove a small digger around the building, manoeuvred it onto the
trailer and secured it with chains.
    Less than twenty minutes after they’d arrived at the yard, the two jeeps drove back out through the open gates, Saadi’s vehicle now hauling the trailer. They were running altogether
over an hour behind the two Mitsubishis, but that didn’t matter because the others wouldn’t start until they got there.
    Hammersmith, London
    ‘This is a joke, right?’ Richter said.
    ‘I don’t tell jokes and I don’t make jokes, as you well know,’ Simpson snapped, turning slightly pinker. ‘You can think whatever you like about this, but the
tasking came straight from our Cousins across the pond.’
    ‘Via Vauxhall Cross,’ Richter pointed out.
    ‘As you say, via Vauxhall Cross, but it’s still a CIA request and we’ve been instructed by Six to implement it. And I’ve chosen you.’
    ‘Why? Am I at the top of your shit list again?’
    ‘Not quite, as it happens. You got Khatid out of that flat in Stratford very competently, so this is by way of being a reward.’
    ‘A reward? This tasking is complete bollocks. It’s just a stupid waste of time and effort, and you know that as well as I do.’
    ‘You’re wrong,’