Killsong

by Mark Mannock

  “It’s a disused building on the Iraqi side of camp. It was once a mosque. A much larger mosque has since been built on the other side of the Iraqi section of the base, so this building is no longer used. At least not for prayer.” Jacobs pointed to the coordinates on the paper. “It appears your theory was correct, Mr. Sharp.”

  “What is the building used for now?” asked Greatrex.

  “I’m not totally certain, but I think only for storage purposes.”

  “Will it be difficult for us to get into the Iraqi section of the camp?” My turn for a question.

  “Normally, security is very tight between the two sections. Tonight’s concert was an exception. It would normally be unusual for visitors such as yourselves to be allowed in that area.”

  “Unusual, but not out of the question?” asked Greatrex.

  “Tonight,” the major continued, “tonight I think nothing is out of the question. Listen.”

  We all listened. We certainly didn’t listen in silence. As we had been talking, the racket outside had been growing louder. It was now overpowering.

  “If you are foolish enough to go out in that sandstorm, then you could probably get just about anywhere on this base unseen. A pair of bolt cutters would need to be your keys.” The major had finished.

  “We are foolish enough,” I said. Greatrex nodded and grinned.

  “How do we know where the package will be once we find the building? It could take hours to search, hours we don’t have.”

  My friend had a point. I had an answer. I reached across the desk and turned the piece of paper over. On the other side, one word was written: “beneath.” That was all.

  “There you go,” said Greatrex. “Maybe we bring a shovel.”

  “I’m not so sure. I have a feeling once we get there, we’ll know what the package is beneath, or at least we’ll figure it out,” I said confidently.

  “Well, your intuition has been pretty good so far; let’s go with that,” said the major. I appreciated the faith.

  I looked across at the big fella. “Let’s get to work,” I said, and began to get up.

  “Gentlemen, please, it is hard enough to find your way around this base in normal conditions. Out there tonight you will have no chance on your own.”

  Greatrex and I looked at each other again. Major Jacobs probably had a good point.

  He continued, “I also am feeling a little foolish this evening. I will be your guide.”

  I was going to argue with him, but he was right; we needed him.

  “Thank you,” I said, and meant it.

  I turned to Greatrex and said, “Local knowledge.”

  “I also think you may be underestimating what conditions are like out there. You will need these.”

  Major Jacobs walked over to a large cupboard, opened the door, and reached in. He produced some heavy robes and scarves. They looked as though they had belonged to local Iraqis.

  “As well as protection, these will also provide an element of disguise if anyone sees us.”

  He also produced three flashlights.

  “These will be of little use outside, but they may help inside the building.”

  Local knowledge and wisdom. I was beginning to feel a little optimism, just a bit.

  We got up and put on the major’s garments. If I had a mirror, I wouldn’t have recognized myself.

  We then took a deep breath and headed out the door into the night.

  It was like running into a concrete wall. We were immediately pounded with tens of thousands of particles of sand. They felt like bullets and I could feel them stinging through my thick clothing. In an instant the small part of my face that was exposed felt like someone had taken to it with a knife. Greatrex and I had been caught in sandstorms before, but never anything like this.

  Through squinted eyes, I looked ahead and could see almost nothing. After a minute or so I could only just make out the two figures ahead of me. I knew them to be Greatrex and the major, but visibility was so bad I couldn’t identify who was who. I was reminded of the film Ice Station Zebra, where the plots twists take place in a blinding snowstorm on an ice cap. I would have swapped that ice cap for this sandstorm in an instant.

  One of the two figures led the way; I assumed it to be Major Jacobs. We seemed to go on forever, moving between endless rows of buildings. They must have offered some protection from the storm, but we didn’t notice it. We did, however, notice it when we left the narrow laneways and had to cross a large open space. I assumed it to be the area where the concert was held just a few hours before, but all I could see now was sand and darkness, so I couldn’t be sure. The moment we left the protection of the buildings, misery became torture. The wind was so strong that standing was difficult. Missiles of sand pulverized us, and moving forward was almost impossible. As we slowly edged our way across the space, I found it harder and harder to breathe. I just focused on the shadow ahead of me and hoped for the best. Stopping or collapsing out here would almost certainly mean a prolonged and painful death.

  After what seemed like an eternity, we had crossed the space and had again found the limited protection of some more buildings. I would never complain about wind and rain, or any weather for that matter, ever again. A couple more twists and turns and we found ourselves blocked by a tall wire fence. We couldn’t see the top of it, but Major Jacobs had told us that razor wire ran the length of it. As we huddled there, the wind’s shriek was still so loud we couldn’t begin a conversation. Always prepared, the major produced a small pair of bolt cutters out of his robes and began to cut. As I looked over his shoulder, back toward the way we had come, I thought for a fleeting second I saw the shadow of a figure move behind one of the buildings. Not possible, I thought. I couldn’t be certain of seeing anything in this weather.

  A few minutes later we were through the fence. There were no signs of any guards or personnel. Why would there be in conditions like this? A couple of times I glanced behind us, but my imaginary friend didn’t reappear.

  I had heard that the Iraqi section of the camp, where we now found ourselves, was not as well provisioned as the coalition side. As we began moving between buildings, I could see no evidence of this, probably because I could see no evidence of anything. My body felt numb with pain, and my eyes stung as though they’d been attacked by hornets, but it was my breathing that was beating me. I just couldn’t find clear air to get into my lungs. I was right at the point of tapping Greatrex on the shoulder to say I could go no further when the major pointed to a small stone building just ahead of us. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but from his mannerisms I thought this may be our former mosque; at least I hoped so.

  I couldn’t see much of the outside of the structure, but it looked primitive and basic. It had a very solid-looking wooden door that was bolted shut. There was a large padlock attached to the bolt. It looked too big for the major’s bolt cutters. I thought we might have come all this way, through all this pain, for nothing. Despair turned to hope when the major produced a small pointed screwdriver from his robes and proceeded to work the lock. He had it open in three painful minutes. A resourceful man, our major. We opened the door; no one would hear us over the sound of the wind. I shone my flashlight briefly around the inside wall of the building. There was no sign of movement, so we entered the darkened room.

  I closed the door behind us. Although we could still hear the storm outside, it felt like silence in the relative shelter of the room. The three of us took a few moments to catch our respective breaths. Greatrex felt around the wall for a light switch. He found it and flicked it on. Nothing.

  “That was a life experience I would not care to repeat,” I announced as I taught myself how to breathe again.

  “A little bad news there; we’re going to have to find our way back, you know.” Greatrex bringing me back to reality. Thanks so much.

  The major just smiled as we started shining our flashlights around the room. We were uncertain what we were searching for, but w
e needed to get an idea of what kind of space we were dealing with.

  The internal walls were all stone. At one end of the small building there were some wooden crates that were stenciled in Arabic. I didn’t know what they said. At the other end was a small semicircular niche carved in the stone wall with some additional crude stonework around it.

  “That will be the Mihrab,” said Major Jacobs as he shone his light over the structure. “It will be indicating the direction of the Kaaba in Mecca, the direction Muslims face when praying.”

  “This place doesn’t look like it has been used for prayer in a very long time,” said Greatrex.

  There were some simply carved wooden pillars that were holding up a basic tin roof that was once painted white. Most of the noise we were still hearing came from the sand outside bouncing off the tin.

  We began moving around the room, looking at possible hiding places for Winter’s samples. We shook things, opened things, moved things, looked under things, as per our one-word instruction, but we found nothing. Twenty minutes later we thought we had explored all possibilities and were again gathered in the center of the building.

  “Ideas, gentlemen?” I asked.

  None came leaping into anyone’s mind.

  We kept shining our flashlights around the room, looking for something, anything that would give us a clue. I was starting to feel like a failed Indiana Jones. Then I saw it. In one corner, slightly jutting out behind some of the boxes, was a small stone plinth. It was only a few inches higher than the rest of the floor and was partially covered by the boxes we had moved in our search, so we hadn’t seen it at first.

  I moved over to the plinth, and the others followed. I reached my hands around the base and tried to move it. Nothing.

  “Those stones look as old as the rest of the building, but the mortar work seems more recent,” observed Greatrex.

  Jacobs and I nodded.

  “Can you pass me your screwdriver, major?” I asked.

  I ran the screwdriver around the base of the plinth, trying to remove some of the mortar around it. When I had finished, I handed the tool back to Jacobs. I then crouched down with an arm around either side of the plinth and tried to move it again. Still nothing.

  I put out my hand for the screwdriver again and proceeded to repeat my work on the mortar around the base. This time I dug more deeply into it, trying to remove as much as possible. It took a little time; anticipation was high, and no one spoke. When I was done, I reached down again. With every bit of strength I had left in me, I tried moving the stone. Again nothing … but then suddenly there was a small movement.

  “Jack, give me a hand.”

  Greatrex was a strong man. He reached down with me and pushed hard as I pulled, and then we had it. The stone moved to reveal a small compartment. In that compartment was a thin metal container. It was almost like a folder but constructed of metal instead of paper. I reached in and lifted it out carefully, very carefully.

  The container was sealed, and I had no intention of opening it. The three of us looked at it and then looked at each other. It had to be Giles Winter’s package. It seemed we now possessed samples of some of the deadliest chemical weapons and nerve agents ever produced.

  I didn’t feel victorious. I felt sick.

  24

  I think it hit me right then, as I held that container in my hands. I was holding something so powerful and so evil that I had no right to be its custodian. If this material was reverse engineered, as Giles Winter had promised, it could do untold damage to thousands, or tens of thousands, of innocent people. How did I, or Jack Greatrex—anyone, for that matter—have the right to make decisions about those lives, about this material that was in my hands right now? I don’t think the reality of the situation had really come home until we found and held that package.

  For a few moments the only sound was the storm tearing away at the world outside.

  Then the thought that I had been trying to avoid for weeks came to me like a shroud of darkness. In my hands I was holding Leyla and Amira’s death sentence.

  “We can’t do it,” I said. My voice was shaking, and I could feel my hands trembling. “We can’t give this to Winter.”

  Another moment’s silence.

  “You’re right.” It was Greatrex. He was looking down, avoiding my eyes. As ever, he could read my thoughts. “Too many people would suffer, too many lives.”

  At that moment I realized what hatred really felt like. It was Giles Winter who had put us in this position, making us choose between two terrible options, assuming we would choose to save our friends. Only a psychopath devoid of morality would put us in that position. Right then, in that moment, I loathed Giles Winter to the depth of my soul.

  “No matter what the outcome of this, I will find him and I will kill him.” The words felt brutal and cold as I was saying them. Then I felt myself tearing up. I looked over to my best friend. The same. I knew he would be beside me every step of the way.

  “What are you saying?” The hard emotion of the moment was broken by Major Jacobs’ question.

  “You will need to take us to the camp’s commanding officer,” I said. “We’ll hand this package to the authorities through him.”

  I thought there was a moment of confusion on Jacobs’ face.

  “But what about your friends?” he asked.

  It was then that the tears flowed, freely, embarrassingly, and despairingly.

  Eventually, we replaced the plinth, secured the container under my robe, and prepared to face the sandstorm once more. Again, the storm hit us with no mercy as we opened the door and stepped into the maelstrom. Greatrex was in front; he was confident he could find our way back. I was in the middle and Major Jacobs was bringing up the rear. I kept my eyes peeled for shadowy figures in the darkness, but there were none.

  Again, it was hard going, to say the least. Our breathing was labored, but we seemed to have the wind behind us for most of the journey. This gave the exposed skin of our faces some relief. We could even communicate slightly, the major correcting Greatrex with a “right” or “left” if the big man hesitated.

  Soon we were crawling through the fence between the coalition and Iraqi sectors. Jacobs motioned for us to go ahead while he performed some makeshift camouflage to try to cover our tracks. Ten minutes later he had caught up and we were pounding our way across the exposed parade ground.

  Just as we left the exposed area and began to make our way down a laneway between buildings, with the wind and sand still tearing through us, I heard the major’s voice.

  “Gentleman, please.” The words were yelled through the cacophony of the storm. “Stop here and turn right.”

  Greatrex, in the lead, seemed uncertain. I was sure we had been retracing our steps exactly the way we had come.

  “Now if you please.” The major’s voice was sounding coldly insistent.

  I turned around and realized why. In Jacob’s hand was his service revolver, and it was making an arc, taking turns between pointing at Greatrex and me. We had misjudged this man, in a big way. It was clear this was now going to cost us dearly. Goodbye, belief in humanity.

  “Continue down this laneway to the left,” he pointed with his gun. We could barely hear him over the storm, but his intentions were clear. Jacobs was also standing too far behind me for me to try any clever maneuver. Besides, I had the samples of chemical weapons and nerve agents on me. No maneuver could be clever.

  I didn’t try to talk to him; it would be pointless in this din. I looked at Greatrex, and his eyes looked as crestfallen as my heart felt. We had trusted this man, with everything. As we walked, I went over the last twenty-four hours in my head—the crash site, the robes, the bolt cutters, the willingness to join us. Everything was too damn easy; it had all fallen into place without us questioning a thing. Nicholas Sharp, sucker.

  Five minutes later Jacobs commanded, “Stop here.” Again, he motioned with his gun toward the door of a hut on our left. “In there.”


  We entered the hut through a wooden door, Greatrex first, then me. Jacobs loitered far enough behind that I couldn’t kick out, but not so far that I could slam the door on his gun hand. He was clearly a professional. The room we entered was dimly lit but bright enough to see that it was empty. A few feet ahead was another door.

  “Through there, please.” Jacobs was used to his orders being obeyed.

  In the same order we moved through the door into the next room. I could see the wheels spinning behind Greatrex’s eyes. Like me, he was trying to see a way out of this. Like me, he was having no success.

  The room was almost dark when we walked in—just the filtered light from a small lamp. Behind us Jacobs must have flicked a light switch; the room became almost blindingly bright. It took me a minute to adjust to the light. I could almost say see the light, because in that moment I surely started believing in humanity again.

  Standing before me was I figure I knew all too well, a man I had not seen for a long, long time, a man who had held my life in his hands so often. He was also the man who had saved Leyla and Amira all those years ago by supplying the papers that got them out of Iraq.

  “Good evening, Nicholas, Jack,” said the figure before us. “You both look absolutely dreadful.”

  “What the …?” Greatrex had found some words, but probably not appropriate ones.

  He had aged since I last saw him; he was grayer around the temples but still looked as fit as a bulldog. In that uninspiring, sparsely furnished military hut in the middle of a wild Iraqi sandstorm stood my former commanding officer, Colonel Colin Devlin-Waters.

  After much considered thought I responded. “Shit.”

  Greatrex had done better.

  “Colonel.” I was trying to recover.

  “It’s actually Lieutenant General, now retired, I should point out,” responded the man in front of me.

  “Now, please sit down, we have quite a bit of talking to do.” He indicated some wooden army-issue chairs that were arranged in a semicircle to his right.

  We sat down.