Killsong

by Mark Mannock

  I was seated between Brian Pitt and Barry Flannigan as the sounds of the four-propeller engines echoed through the aircraft twenty-five thousand feet above the earth. Both looked decidedly nervous; neither had done a military tour to a place of conflict before. It was time for some reassurance.

  “Guys, you’re both looking a little troubled.” Nicholas Sharp, counselor.

  “I was reading the US Department of State travel advisory for Iraq last night. Big mistake.” Brian did not look happy. “I was okay until it got into the specifics, item number two on the ‘if you decide to travel to Iraq’ bit.”

  “What did it say?” Barry sounded a little unsure himself.

  “Item number two,” repeated Brian, “if you decide to travel to Iraq … make a will.”

  Barry turned a shade of pale.

  “Now, boys, calm down a little here.” I was attempting to be the voice of reason. “Time for a little historical perspective. You know the war was over a long time ago. Back in 2011 most US and coalition troops were pulled out; it was virtually all over.”

  “And then?” asked Brian.

  “Islamic State, or Da’esh as the locals know them, built up forces and took over a lot of Iraqi territory.”

  The teacher had his students’ attention.

  “That situation was not acceptable to the Iraqi government or the coalition. The Iraqi troops were not yet strong enough to stop them, so they called for help.”

  “What was the response?” Barry was looking like he was enjoying the story, but only if it was going to be a happy ending.

  “Operation Inherent Resolve,” I continued. “Our people went in with many other coalition members. The role was to advise and assist, boost the Iraqi forces’ capabilities through training with minimal US troops on the ground involved in direct fighting. There was also some coalition air support.”

  “I’m thinking I should have paid more attention to the news,” said Barry. “What I did see was that we won, didn’t we? We beat Islamic State?”

  “In Iraq, yes, but only after a lot of damage and the loss of too many lives. Iraq is back in the hands of the Iraqis now, but …”

  “But what?” asked a still nervous-looking Brian. “Why are Americans still advised not to go to Iraq?”

  “Islamic State still has influence and strength in some neighboring countries. There remains a lot of insurgent activity throughout Iraq, including Baghdad. The insurgents especially don’t like westerners. There’s been bombings, murders, kidnapping.” Nicholas Sharp, failed counselor.

  “But guys, don’t worry, you have the entire deployed US military apparatus looking after you. Stay close and do what you’re told. We may not have the tens of thousands of troops in Iraq that we had a few years ago, but there are plenty enough there to protect you now.” The voice of reason strikes again. The men either side of me looked a little better.

  Brian looked at me, “Nick, you seem to know a lot about Iraq. What’s up with that?”

  I closed my eyes, traveled back a little in time, then looked a little forward—same view. I didn’t, or perhaps couldn’t, answer my friends.

  Our pilot’s voice boomed through the intercom. “We have dropped to eighteen thousand feet and will begin our descent shortly. For those of you who haven’t done this before, you will have the chance to tell your kids about the infamous corkscrew landing, for those who have … enjoy the ride.”

  Silence either side of me.

  “Just a precautionary measure,” I assured my traveling companions. I knew it was a move designed to avoid any surface-to-air missiles or other weaponry attacks on the plane from the ground. I thought it better not to mention this.

  As I spoke, the C-130 banked sharply and began descending toward the runway in a slow, tight circle. It was like a spiral staircase or corkscrew to the ground. Before long, without event, we were leveling out and our wheels touched down on the tarmac at Baghdad International Airport.

  Because we were a military flight we taxied to the west of the runway, where we pulled up at the New Al Muthana Air Base. This was the military side of the airport, where the Iraqi Air Force was based. It was also used by all coalition members. As the door to the plane opened, I could see Iraqi and US planes sitting on the tarmac. There was a collective sigh of relief around the aircraft.

  Kaitlin was first on her feet. Brooks brushed past her, a little too closely I thought, and out the door.

  “Everyone up and out,” she said. “The military personnel will transfer the gear by road. Our helicopters should be waiting.”

  And waiting they were; we were getting the VIP treatment. In front of us were two HH-60 Pave Hawk helicopters. These modified versions of the classic Black Hawk were going to ferry us in a couple of trips to the US embassy. Greatrex, Brian, Barry, Robbie, and the rest of our band were ushered into one chopper. We were going in the first load.

  The ride was short. Traveling by chopper may have been overkill, but the US military didn’t take any chances with VIPs. The streets of Baghdad were still filled with potential hazards. Some of my colleagues seemed to wince at the sight of the US Air Force crew members manning the chopper’s 0.50-inch XM218 machine guns. Precautionary.

  A very few minutes later the US embassy compound came into view. It was an enormous mixture of buildings and treed parkland surrounded by the ever-frantic city of Baghdad. The Tigris River wound its way beside it. The embassy was like a city in itself. At 104 acres with over twenty buildings, including six apartment buildings, it was about the size of the Vatican but perhaps a little less holy.

  Our helicopter landed smoothly on an area of grass within the compound walls, the second chopper landing next to us. Kaitlin got off the second aircraft and waved us over to a small paved road a short distance away. The helicopters took off instantaneously to pick up more of our touring party. Looking around, it just didn’t feel like we were in Iraq, this massive complex seemed like a piece of the United States transported to the Middle East.

  A uniformed soldier came over and walked up to Kaitlin, and she introduced herself. “If you follow me, Ms. Reed, I’ll show you all to your quarters,” he said.

  Twenty minutes later we were ensconced in one of the brick apartment complexes. This was certainly more luxurious than the air base in Kuwait, and we each had a room. A map of the whole complex showed a variety of buildings including a gym, a basketball court, indoor pool, and outdoor tennis courts. This certainly was not the Iraq I remembered.

  Everyone was looking decidedly more relaxed in this environment; well, everyone except Greatrex and myself. We hadn’t had a chance to talk since we left Kuwait and we needed to think through the schedule that had been planned for us.

  “How about a walk?” I suggested. We had plenty of time until the equipment arrived, and the show needed to be set up.

  “Let’s go.”

  As we walked around the complex, I was still soaking it all in.

  “What do you make of all this?” I asked.

  “It’s quite something, but …”

  “But what?”

  He went on, “I can’t help but feel the Iraqi people had years of Saddam building palaces and monuments to himself. Have we just done the same thing with this embassy?”

  “I had similar thoughts. It’s funny, though; I hope some good may come out of this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, tomorrow we play at the Al-Faw Palace. When we knew the place back in the days of Operation Iraqi Freedom, it was a massive military headquarters, and now they are turning it into a university. It seems appropriate.”

  “In what way?” my friend asked.

  Teaching history seemed to be my theme of the day. “Well, Baghdad was once home to the ‘House of Wisdom.’ It was a major intellectual center during the Islamic Golden Age. From the ninth to thirteenth centuries the House of Wisdom hosted the cream of the intellectual elite. It was the largest repository of books in the world. Up until Saddam took over, the tone
in Baghdad was freedom of expression and religious tolerance.”

  Greatrex looked at me as though I was someone else.

  “Sorry, my mother’s side,” I said. “She believed in a classical education, plus, to be honest, Leyla has provided me with a cook’s tour of Iraqi history.”

  Greatrex looked relieved. “So the US starting a university here has a certain balance and symmetry.”

  “Exactly,” I replied.

  We walked some more. The embassy was like an endless maze of buildings and gardens. It was time to change the mood.

  “We two philosophers have far more pressing plans we need to attend to,” I said.

  “Too damn right,” agreed the big fella.

  “Now we know the itinerary, what do we think? Where are these elusive chemical weapon samples?”

  “We know from what Winter said to you that the location is going to be within our tour, geographically speaking.” Greatrex had a point.

  “We also know from both Winter and Brooks that there was a change to our schedule.”

  “Apart from adding the side trip to Al-Qa’im, we don’t know what the change was.” Greatrex making another point.

  “I think we can safely assume the samples are not within the walls of this embassy.”

  “Agreed.”

  “So,” I began, “is it Al-Faw, the Camp Taji operation base, or Al-Qa’im?”

  “Hard to know, impossible to be certain.”

  I continued, “The Al-Faw Palace is a possibility. It was a favorite bolt-hole for Saddam, and he didn’t expect to lose it, plus the idea of being near the river creates other access possibilities.”

  “It was also off limits to the UN inspectors. On the other hand, it’s right in the center of Baghdad and was the major coalition headquarters during Operation Iraqi Freedom. Does that seem a likely place to store chemical weapons?”

  “Probably not, but we can’t rule it out,” I said.

  “What about Taji? Do you know much about it?”

  “Once again, a bit of amateur Iraqi history here, albeit a bit more recent. Al Taji was Saddam’s largest and most advanced military base. It was at the heart of his Sunni triangle. Even more to the point, the United Nations Special Commission found six thousand canisters there, built to support chemical weapons. It’s common thinking that Al Taji was a major player in Saddam’s chemical weapons program.”

  “Right up to the point the coalition found no chemical weapons.”

  “Shot a hole in the reason for war,” I agreed. “However, the coalition turned Al Taji upside down looking for Saddam’s stash, and they found nothing of substance. What are the chances the combined experts of the coalition missed something, and we are going to find it?”

  “Almost nonexistent,” replied Greatrex.

  I nodded. As the afternoon was getting on, there was more activity around the embassy compound. Greatrex would have to go soon and begin setting up the show.

  “That leaves Al-Qa’im,” I said. “On the positive side the location is near the Syrian border for access, it’s easy to get in and out. Presumably, it would be easy to get chemical weapons in and out if things went wrong. Also, I don’t know if I read this right, but the Al-Qa’im show seemed like a bit of a last-minute add-on.”

  Greatrex took over. “On the negative side, things did go pear-shaped for Saddam and Winter, yet neither of them appeared to have been able to arrange someone to cross the border to pick their samples up, if they were there.”

  “True, that means we’re right back where we started.”

  Greatrex looked at me. “I’ll have to go in a minute, but there is one thing we haven’t really discussed in any detail yet, the elephant in the room.”

  “I know,” I agreed. “Who is Winter’s person on the inside?”

  We were both silent, because neither of us had an answer. Just as we were about to start tossing ideas around, the voice of Elliot Brooks intruded.

  “Gentleman, there you are. I’m afraid it’s time to go.”

  We looked around. He was walking toward us, accompanied by Kaitlin.

  “Can I give you a lift to the basketball arena where we are setting up for the concert, Mr. Greatrex?” Brooks asked.

  Greatrex nodded.

  “Nicholas, can I have a word with you?” The request came from Kaitlin. She seemed quite earnest.

  “Kaitlin, I think you will need to come to the stadium with Jack and myself; they will need you,” interrupted Brooks.

  Kaitlin looked at me. I’m sure a small wave of fear, or hesitation, or something crossed her face.

  “Later,” she said looking at me.

  “Later,” I replied.

  I watched the three of them climb into Brooks’ jeep and disappear to the other side of the compound.

  “Later,” I thought. I was puzzled by the brief look I’d seen on Kaitlin’s face, and this was not the first time. I was also a little confused about my own feelings toward her. Had we just shared a moment? Yet I wasn’t by any means sure I could trust her. When it came to Kaitlin Reed, I wasn’t even sure I could trust myself. I did feel we needed to talk; she thought it important too.

  Brooks had abruptly put an end to that.

  For me, “later” couldn’t come soon enough.

  15

  I looked out at the sea of faces. Around nine hundred people had filled the embassy basketball stadium, and they were going off. We had played well, Robbie had conjured up the “Robbie West magic” and the crowd were totally with us. Before ego took over, I had to remind myself that these folks were working far, far away from home and didn’t get that much stateside entertainment. This show, however, was as much of a treat for us as it was for them.

  I had tried to catch Kaitlin all evening. Every time I caught her eye someone or something either distracted her or me. I don’t know whether I was imagining it, but often as not Brooks seemed to be among the cause of the distraction. For now, I put it down to the frantic atmosphere backstage at a big show.

  We were going to finish with a ballad. It was a big song with an anthemic chorus. It had been a huge hit for Robbie, and everyone would know the words. Time to get out the flashlight app on the phones, wave them from side to side, and have a big emotional sing-along. I began the piano introduction; flowing arpeggios filled the huge room. I was consistently thankful that I had inherited some of my mother’s piano prowess, even if I used it an environment far removed from her concertos and concert halls. We worked our way through the song. The levels of emotion were high, and the energy was fantastic. As we played the closing chords of the final chorus, Robbie belted out a high emotional last note, and it was over.

  The applause was deafening. We hardly had time to catch our breath before Brooks bundled the band into a small bus and we headed back to our apartment block in the compound. Greatrex stayed at the stadium packing up, as did Kaitlin. I thought I would catch up with them both back at our quarters. It turned out I was wrong about that.

  It was past midnight when I heard a vehicle roll up outside, followed by room doors opening and closing in the hallway. I went out to see Jack Greatrex walking toward my room. He looked tired.

  “How’d it go?”

  “No problem, all done,” he replied.

  “I want to catch up, but it may have to wait until the morning. I’d like to have a quiet word with Kaitlin tonight and see what’s on her mind.”

  The Greatrex half-smile. “All work or a little play as well?”

  I didn’t have an answer to give him because I didn’t know.

  “Well, Kaitlin wasn’t on the bus,” Greatrex continued. “I assume she’s coming back with Brooks.”

  “I’ll wait,” I said, surprised that I was feeling slightly miffed.

  The next morning, I awoke around ten. A big show requires a fair bit of downtime to rebuild your energies. I had stayed up until around 2 a.m., but there had been no sign of Kaitlin or even Elliot Brooks for that matter. I went to sleep feeling even more miffe
d. Nicholas Sharp, just a jealous guy?

  Around eleven the next morning there was a knock on the door; it was Greatrex. He walked in and sat down sluggishly on the couch. I offered him a coffee. We both started to wake up as the caffeine hit us.

  “They want us to meet at the bus downstairs at one,” he informed me. “Bring your clothes. Apparently, they’ll provide us with dressing rooms and showers at the palace. We won’t get back here until after the show. How’d it go with Kaitlin?”

  “It didn’t. I didn’t see her,” I explained. I left out the emotional details. Need to know basis.

  “How’d you feel about that?”

  Damn him.

  “How about we take a stroll around the International Zone for an hour or so?” I suggested.

  “Great idea, but they’ll probably want to send someone with us … as protection.”

  We both chuckled. There was some humor in two former Marines requiring some nineteen-year-old army rookie to look after them. Oh well, it was the way of the world.

  Twenty minutes later we were walking by the banks of the Tigris River, our military chaperone a few feet behind us, just out of earshot. The International Zone is the former Green Zone, an area of Baghdad where internationals were meant to feel safe and secure. It was well protected but not foolproof. It never had been.

  We spoke about the possibilities of who Giles Winter’s inside person may be; in the end we decided it could be anyone. We thought the most likely candidates were still Tommy Dabbs or Kaitlin Reed, mainly because they had joined the tour late. Also on our list was Elliot Brooks, mainly because we didn’t like him. Apart from that, it could still be almost anyone in our touring group or even someone we hadn’t met yet. I was pretty sure that we were lousy detectives. I was also decidedly uncomfortable with the idea that Kaitlin could be on the wrong side of this, but facts were facts and I couldn’t discount them.