Appetite for Risk
Page 35
‘How did it go?’ she asked.
I looked into her smiling eyes and thought of the conference and the mission.
‘It was good. A couple of issues needed to be sorted out, but I think we’re all set now. Oh, and some interest from a British outfit. I need to call Ali in the morning and check how that’s going. Probably arrange to meet with them here in London soon.’
‘It sounds hopeful,’ said Claire. She then glanced at Natalie, who had returned to watching the TV, smiled and whispered, ‘I’ve got some news for you later.’
She laughed as I frowned.
‘Okay. Later it is then.’
*
Claire looked me in the eyes. ‘I’m just going to come right out and say it. I’m pregnant.’
There’d been plenty of surprises over the last twelve months, but that topped the lot. Even as I processed the information, a grin broke out on my face.
‘That’s… amazing. Is it mine?’
‘You bastard.’
Claire laughed as she grabbed a pillow and hit me with it. I’d made the same joke when she’d announced her other two pregnancies in years gone by.
It wasn’t a complete shock. Natalie had complained regularly about being an only child until Becky had been born. When we’d made up in March after my return from Mosul, Claire and I had agreed to leave it to fate to determine whether we had a third child, a sibling who would be in the same age range as Becky. Fate must have reacted immediately because the new baby was due in December.
*
Three days later, on 7th July, London was struck by a series of bomb attacks by al-Qaeda, quickly dubbed the 7/7 attacks. I was working from home, eating toast and drinking coffee, as the news of the strikes against Tube trains and a London bus filled the TV channels. Despite the carnage, I couldn’t help but smile when my phone buzzed with messages from Kurdistan to check I was okay. Before long Ali rang and told me I needed to return to the safety of Sulaimaniyah.
Chapter 51
SULAIMANIYAH
LATE DECEMBER 2005
I signed the consultancy contract with the British firm in the autumn, even though they’d baulked at paying upfront fees. Instead, I’d only earn any money if we managed to secure them a deal in Kurdistan. Not the type of contract I preferred by any stretch, and I’d turned all previous similar offers down, but something tangible at least.
A week before Christmas, Claire had reached the final stages of pregnancy – we hadn’t thought that through very well. My intention had been to return to the UK in early December for the run-up to the festivities. However, the Asayish (Kurdish security service) scheduled an inspection of our office at the Salim Building late in the month, necessary to complete the branch company registration.
The timing was a pain, but worse I’d run out of cash to furnish and equip the office. Bank transfers to Iraq weren’t yet possible and I could hardly ask Claire to waddle up to a Hawallah office in Central London with an envelope full of cash to send over.
Ali got creative though. The company in the suite next door agreed to lend us their office for the morning. We had just finished switching the door numbers and adorning the walls and desks with our company logo and cheap, locally-printed brochures when the Asayish arrived. After a cursory examination and a social chat that lasted three glasses of chai and a discussion about tipping the commander the wink when we had a ‘sure thing’ investment for his family savings, we finally closed the door and laughed at getting away with it.
‘Have we got time to make the flight?’
Ali checked his watch. ‘Plenty of time.’
I took that with a pinch of salt, although fortunately the officials at the fledgling Sulaimaniyah Airport were far more relaxed about passengers turning up at the last minute than I’d ever experienced elsewhere.
‘Come on, let’s get going then. I was there when Natalie and Becky were born, so I need to be there this time.’
We removed our signage, switched the numbers back on the office doors, and flew down the stairs where one of Ali’s brothers waited to drive us to the airport. Four days before Christmas and neither of us had tickets booked for the afternoon flight, but we already had our gear in the car and pockets full of dinars and I intended to blag my way onto the flight one way or another. Claire wouldn’t make a big deal about it, but I knew she really wanted me there for the birth. Just maybe not as much as I wanted to be there with her.
Chapter 52
EPSOM GENERAL HOSPITAL, UK
23 DECember 2005
Claire woke me in the early morning, calmly instructed me to take her to the hospital, and checked the contents of her night bag as I scrambled to get dressed. Pregnancy number three meant we were old hands at this game and we made our way up to the labour ward in good spirits. After a short and sweet labour – no doubt shorter and sweeter for me because I wasn’t pushing a baby out of my nether regions – we had a new addition to the Pierce family.
‘Congratulations, you have a healthy baby girl,’ said the nurse, handing the quiet bundle to Claire after the checks for fingers, toes, and obvious abnormalities.
Claire nuzzled the baby’s head then turned to me with a proud smile. ‘Say hello to Daisy.’
Together with Natalie, we’d all agreed on provisional names for a boy or girl in advance, depending on how things panned out.
As I held Daisy for the first time, the love surged through me and another unbreakable bond locked into place. She looked serene, almost doll-like, and beautiful.
It took me back seventeen years to when Natalie was born; she too arrived with a quiet beauty. Our more recent experience three years ago saw a bawling, red, and angry-looking Becky arrive in the middle of the night. At the time I’d joked she resembled Winston Churchill, but now Becky had grown into a pretty little girl with long blonde hair and a third birthday looming. Amid the happiness, it weighed on me that I now had three beautiful daughters and a tired wife I needed to provide for.
Twenty minutes later I checked my watch: 08:35. I took a deep breath and stood up.
‘I really need to get going to a meeting in London with the clients. I was going to cancel but seeing as everything’s okay…’
The nurse shot me a dark look before she turned towards the bed. ‘Are you going to let him leave like that?’
Claire glanced up with a tired smile. ‘It’s fine. He needs to go, and my mum will be here soon.’
The nurse didn’t attempt to hide her obvious disapproval as I put my jacket on and then held Claire’s hand. We kissed and hugged briefly before I bent down to kiss Daisy’s tiny, perfect cheek.
‘Good luck,’ whispered Claire, before adding with more enthusiasm, ‘this time next year, eh…’
‘Yep, this time next year.’
I flashed a determined smile, told Claire I loved her, and headed out the door.
I hope you enjoyed reading Appetite for Risk, which was heavily inspired by my experiences in the aftermath of the 2003 Iraq War.
If you did enjoy it, then leaving a rating/review at your retailer of choice and/or wherever you hang out online may help others find the book and make up their own minds.
You can find out more about me, see photos from the real events that inspired the book, and take the opportunity to sign up for my ‘Briefing Room’ newsletter at jackleavers.com.
Yours aye,
Jack
Jack Leavers is a former Royal Marines Commando with over thirty-years’ experience in the military, private security, corporate investigations, maritime counter-piracy, and risk management. His varied career has included numerous deployments to conflict zones around the world such as Northern Ireland, Bosnia, Iraq, Afghanistan, trouble spots in Africa, and the Somali pirate-infested waters of the Indian Ocean.
He continues to work in challenging environments and has now begun to pen novels inspired by
some of the more enterprising projects that got the green light, and other audacious plans that didn’t.
When knuckling down to write, he’s normally based in London, UK.