by Mark Mannock
I felt myself go rigid as the recognition dawned on me. This was not going to go well.
A tall, tanned, all too familiar figure with dark hair and darker eyes appeared from the other side of the helicopter.
He smiled, I shuddered.
I would rather have faced off with the devil than the creature who stood in front of me.
“Giles Winter.” I choked on the words as I spat them out. There was probably a lot I wanted to say, and even more I needed to say, but as I stared at the bastard who had sent me to assassinate Leyla’s husband, Akram Salib, all those years ago, all I could do was implode with rage.
“Easy,” said Greatrex in a quiet voice. “There’s a lot at stake here.” He sounded to me like he was fighting his own war of control in the depths of his soul.
“You appear to be a little lost for words, Sharp. I thought you would have more to say when we caught up with each other again.” Winter’s voice was smug and emotionless, the voice of a sociopath.
I felt myself regaining some self-control. I had to now accept that a drive through the desert had just become a descent into hell.
“Let’s begin with a chat about old times, shall we?”
I chose not to respond.
“I never had the opportunity to express my gratitude for the work you did for me in Iraq. Back then, things were starting to get a bit difficult for a man in my … er … position. That Iraqi fellow, what was his name? Ah yes, Salib, well, he was getting just a bit too close to some facts I wanted to remain undetected, particularly regarding those people who were making my efforts so “worthwhile,” shall we say. Unfortunately, he had to be permanently removed from the scene.”
The sneer on Giles Winter’s face as he uttered those words made it clear “remorse” was not a term he understood.
He continued, “I knew that the Marines’ top Scout Sniper, the legendary Nicholas Sharp, was just the man for the job. That’s why I brought you in. You did what I needed done. You followed orders. That’s what you people do, isn’t it? Blindly follow orders. No matter what the consequence. Of course, I owe you my thanks.”
Like all sociopaths, Giles Winter loved the sound of his own voice and seemed genuinely amused by his own cleverness.
Finally, I found some words of my own. “There is not a word in any language that would describe you, Winter. You are beyond the darkest side of humanity. You sold out your country, you arranged to set up and slaughter an innocent man, and now you threaten the life of his family.” As I spoke, I felt my voice quiver and my rage grow. I also felt Greatrex’s hand on my arm.
“Bring it down, bring it down,” he whispered.
He was right; losing it now would achieve nothing for Leyla and Amira, and I was close to losing it.
“Actually, there is a word to describe me.” Satan had spoken again. “Successful.”
Nicholas Sharp, man of language: no response, just a cold, intense hatred.
Jack Greatrex spoke across the space between the two of us and Winter for the first time. “Clearly, you have the advantage here, Winter. You already know what you want us to do. We have no idea. You have the girls. We don’t know where they are. Cut out the Bond villain speeches and tell us what you want.”
Jack Greatrex, a man who gets to the point.
“Santori.” As Winter spoke, he looked at the first man from Portland. “Please guide Mr. Sharp and Mr. Greatrex down the embankment so we can go for a stroll. There is no point in risking undue attention, even on this lonely road. Rowley, follow behind.”
Now both the Portland enforcers had names. As we walked off, the helicopter powered up and took off. I assumed it was likely piloted by the third man I had met in Portland.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Sharp. He will be back to pick us up.”
That’s not what I was worrying about. When a bad man asks you to take a walk through the desert, nothing good usually comes of it. Greatrex and I looked at each other, both feeling pretty helpless. The pointy end of an AK-47 a few feet from your back will do that.
“They won’t harm us while they need us,” I whispered. Again, I was finding myself reluctantly shutting out the musician and letting Marine Sharp back in. Necessity breeds what it breeds.
“A great theory, here’s hoping,” Greatrex replied.
We walked on silently for around ten minutes in that same formation, Santori in the lead, Greatrex and I following. Winter to one side and Rowley behind us. These people were professionals.
The sun was hot, the land was dry and rocky. I was concentrating on the vain hope that a rattlesnake would appear from behind a rock and bite Winter. I should have known; rattlesnakes don’t bite their own kind.
“Enough,” I heard a voice say. To my surprise, it was mine. “We are not taking another step until you explain exactly what’s going on, Winter.”
The butt of an AK-47 caused an explosion of pain in the back of my head.
Greatrex balled his fists.
“We’ll let you know when it is enough,” said Santori. Just a little reminder of who was in charge.
Just to underscore the point, Giles Winter walked around six more paces and then commanded, “Stop here.” He turned to me.
“Now, Sharp, if you are done with your pointless protests, we need to have a chat. You and Mr. Greatrex need to listen very carefully. If you follow my instructions, there is a good chance the two of you will survive, along with your friends from Iraq. If you don’t, I can personally offer a prolonged and painful death to all four of you.”
Giles Winter certainly knew how to get our attention.
“In three weeks, you two are leaving on a tour of US army bases in Iraq, supporting your eighties has-been singer friend, Robbie West. You will be in Iraq for several days and then return via England, where you are performing at the Isle of Wight Festival.”
“What makes you think that?” I responded. The festival gig was well publicized, but the visit to Iraq was secret. It had to be that way for the safety of the entertainers. “I think you are imagining things, Winter.”
“Please don’t insult me, Sharp. I belong to a well-connected network. I knew about your Iraq tour before you did.”
Greatrex and I glanced at each other. Giles Winter certainly appeared very well connected, and his connections appeared to run deep into the US military.
He continued, “I have some materials in Iraq that I need shipped back to the United States. The materials I speak of are extremely … ah … sensitive. I cannot bring them back through normal means.”
Winter was sounding very confident.
“This is where your efforts will be required. You will bring back a package concealed in your musical equipment. Of course, your equipment won’t be searched, as it is permanently under watch within the military machine.” Winter smiled his cold smile. “Simple, isn’t it? You do what I ask, I see no reason for you not to live.”
Senses working overtime. I smelled a rat. A big, murderous, deceptive rat.
“You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to set this up, Winter. You’ve taken Leyla and Amira; you’re extorting us. There are a thousand ways to smuggle items back from Iraq now that the main conflict is well and truly over. I just don’t buy it.” Nicholas Sharp, extremely clever man.
“Mildly perceptive, Sharp. Allow me to explain.”
Winter sat on a log and made himself comfortable. I knew he must be feeling the effect of the sun as much as we were, but I figured he had the advantage of ice flowing through his veins.
“If you remember back several years, the main reason the coalition forces went into Iraq after 9/11 was because they believed Saddam Hussein had a stockpile of chemical weapons and was prepared to use them.”
“That myth was blown wide open,” Greatrex intervened. “When no chemical weapons were found, the public and press held the coalition leaders accountable. This is all on the public record.”
“Yes, they did,” said Winter, “and it is well documented. In fact, my colle
agues throughout our network spent a great deal of time and money making sure that happened. Well-placed leaks, funds exchanging hands, et cetera. It was quite an effort over a considerable period, in fact a much longer period than you might imagine.”
I didn’t like where this was going. Winter got up and began to pace.
“What people don’t know, except for an informed few, is that Saddam Hussein did have chemical weapons, very powerful and effective weapons. Without the hindrance of regulations and oversight, his regime was able to produce possibly the most powerful chemical weapons and nerve agents ever created.” Winter produced a smile that sent a shiver down to my core.
“Our people were made aware of these weapons well before the coalition invasion,” he said. “We not only knew about them, we also knew where they were. Saddam’s one disadvantage was that he hadn’t yet refined a way to effectively release and deliver the weapons. Accordingly, he couldn’t use them en masse against the coalition forces. He knew this, we knew this. It was obvious his regime was going to fail, so we made him an offer too good to refuse.”
I felt a cloak of darkness falling over me.
Winter went on. “We arranged for most of the chemical stocks to be destroyed, but samples of the weapons were to be held in a safe location known only to my people. Reverse engineering is an amazing craft. We would be able to reproduce as much of the Iraqi chemical weaponry as we needed. The plan was that in exchange for the weapons samples and formulas, we would help Saddam escape Iraq and avoid capture.”
“But he didn’t escape; he was captured by coalition forces.” Nicholas Sharp stating the obvious, again.
“Very true, Mr. Sharp.” Winter was hitting his stride now. “It also took quite a bit of arranging to make that happen. In the end, it didn’t suit us for him to walk free. It was, of course, no coincidence that I was assigned to duty in Baghdad. While ostensibly working in intelligence for the coalition forces, my real role was to keep an eye on our small stockpile of sample weapons for our network and to ensure Saddam Hussein’s capture. I was also responsible for making sure the coalition never knew what we were up to. What better place to do it than from the coalition intelligence service?”
Again, the smile of the devil.
“Of course, as I mentioned, your friend’s husband, Mr. Salib, got wind of what was going on, hence our need to access your particular talents.”
I wanted to leap forward and grab Winter around the throat, but the memory of the AK-47 butt was still reverberating through my skull. I did nothing.
“Now we come to our current situation.” Winter was really enjoying this. “Unfortunately, our supply line out of Iraq was recently discovered by the coalition. We were able to explain it off as a Turkish smuggler’s operation, but its discovery did leave us without a workable route out of Iraq for our weapon samples and formulas. Imagine my joy, Nicholas Sharp, when I learned that you had left the forces and become a successful working musician, of all things, especially one with a clearance to tour military bases. Once again, you were in a position to help our network with our plans.”
“I won’t do it,” I said.
Santori gave me a provocative look that promised more violence, but Winter dismissed him with a glance.
“Oh, you will do it, Mr. Sharp. You self-righteous, mightier-than-thou types always do, especially if you think you are saving lives. And make no mistake, Mr. Sharp, you are saving lives: those of your Leyla and Amira, and your own.”
Winter looked me straight in the eye. He was sounding more condescending than ever.
“And … er … by the way. If you or Mr. Greatrex should think of sacrificing your two Iraqi friends for the sake of some greater good, think again. Information has been arranged to surface regarding both of you and your involvement in the assassination of Akram Salib. This information provides provable facts that suggest both you and Mr. Greatrex were working solely to further your own financial interests. Just to make doubly sure, monies have also been deposited in both your bank accounts relating to this and other actions. Even if you went to the authorities, they would not believe the story of two people with such blemished records.” Winter smiled. “Again, let’s be clear about this, Mr. Sharp—you will do exactly as I say.”
6
The walk back to the road, still in the same rigid formation, seemed to happen in slow motion. I was trying to come to terms with too many things at once. My thoughts were racing. Leyla and Amira were in danger, and it seemed they were going to stay that way for a while.
My recent life as a musician, my refuge, had just been blown apart, and the past was clawing at me, drawing me back. I didn’t want to go. It also looked like Greatrex and I were about to become responsible for smuggling high-grade chemical weapons into the United States. It was all way too much to process. I felt an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach as I realized I could see no alternative, no way out.
The big fella, Greatrex, was on the ball before me.
“I have an idea,” he whispered, glancing down at his pocket with the pistol in it. In their overconfident zeal, our hosts hadn’t searched us. AK-47s trump all.
“I’m listening,” I said quietly.
“I have a little extra something.”
“A little something. Okay, do what you need to do. I’ll try create a distraction,” I responded. “But one thing,” I whispered.
Greatrex looked at me quizzically.
“The girls. We have to be playing the long game here, just doing some damage and getting out now is not enough.”
Greatrex now looked at me as though I was a poor student who couldn’t grasp a concept. Nicholas Sharp, simple-minded.
“The long game,” he repeated.
As we climbed the embankment back to the road, where the chopper was now waiting, I pretended to stumble. It was an old trick, but it worked. Behind me Rowley reacted with speed by moving forward and pressing the barrel of his gun hard against my back. At last, a mistake. As I went down, I grabbed the gun and, using my feet as leverage, flipped him over me and onto the road next to the big black machine. There was a risk of Rowley firing, but I didn’t think he would.
At the same time, Greatrex had pushed into Santori’s shoulder, shoving him hard into the side of the chopper. Santori recovered quickly, sending Greatrex to the ground with a swift kick, expertly administered. Rowley had also rallied speedily, as I expected him to. He was looking at me, pointing his gun at me with anticipation, as though I was the major threat in his immediate world. I expected him to do this as well; I did nothing except look up at him.
Greatrex was climbing to his feet, using both hands to steady himself against the helicopter. It was over before it began.
“One more pathetic move like that and one of the Iraqi girls will die tonight.” Giles Winter’s tone left no doubt as to his intention. “That will still leave one alive, with her future precariously placed in your hands, Mr. Sharp and Mr. Greatrex. You will not impede our plans with stupid macho demonstrations such as this.”
Again, he looked directly at me. “I would have thought better of you, Sharp.”
Winter and his men were firmly back in control now. I had to talk, say something, keep Winter’s attention on me.
“You may be the one calling the shots for now, Winter, but that won’t last forever.” Yet again, the rifle butt, this time in the solar plexus. The pain was excruciating.
“Enough. Santori, Rowley, into the helicopter.” The henchmen moved toward the machine while keeping their guns trained on us.
At the last minute, Winter stopped. He seemed to notice something glistening on the side of the chopper. He bent down and removed a small black metal object and examined it.
“A tracker, really? You thought we wouldn’t notice. This ridiculous little show and now some needless extra bruising for nothing.” Winter didn’t attempt to hide his arrogance. “I would have thought you would have seen the pointlessness of trying to follow me. I survive and succeed because I’m a
professional. Like my colleagues, I’m well versed in my craft. I will leave no trail for you to follow. You two would do well to remember that.”
Winter looked at us like we were a couple of failed cadets.
“However did you two last so long in such dangerous occupations?” he said dismissively as he climbed on board. “You will be hearing from me.”
Greatrex and I must have looked crestfallen as we stared up and watched the departing helicopter. At least we hoped we would.
“How many?” I asked.
“Two,” he responded. One for him to find, and one where the skids meet the body, much harder to find.”
Two trackers, one undiscovered. One small chance to save four lives and perhaps countless more. In my gut I knew one thing was certain. At the end of his operation Giles Winter had no intention of letting any of us live. He’d virtually said it himself: “I will leave no trail for you to follow.”
“Winter loves his plans, doesn’t he?” observed Greatrex with a wry smile that only those who knew him well would understand.
“He does. He’s a real Hannibal Smith,” I responded with a half-hearted chuckle.
But I was thinking about something else, someone else. I was thinking about John Lennon. “Life’s what happens when you’re making other plans,” he had sung.
I hoped he was right. All our lives were depending on it.
7
It was nearly midnight when I turned off Ocean Park Boulevard into the quiet side street where Greatrex lived. I felt the warm breath of the dry Californian air on my face as I stepped out of the Jag. There was almost no traffic and the street was eerily quiet.
Greatrex had dropped me off at my apartment to pick up my car after we returned from the Rancho de la Luna an hour earlier.
I’d completed my recording commitments at the studio as quickly as I could. It seemed a waste to rush such an enjoyably creative experience and head straight back to LA, but we had no choice. Our instructions were to carry on normally. Our intentions were to get back here as quickly as we could to see what we could do about chasing down Giles Winter and finding a connection to where Leyla and Amira were held.