Killsong

by Mark Mannock

  25

  The sandstorm was still hammering the world outside. I didn’t hear a thing, only the words of the man before me.

  “Firstly,” Devlin-Waters began, “please let me apologize for our little ruse with Major Jacobs here. We knew that out there in the storm he would not be able to persuade you to change course, so to speak, so a … military escort seemed appropriate. It was urgent that I speak to you.”

  I looked over to the door. Jacobs had put away his gun and was pulling up a chair.

  “I am very sorry,” said Jacobs. “After you told me you were planning to hand the samples over to our base commander and I saw the depth of your commitment, I realized that only one man could persuade you to change your minds. The general instructed me to bring you to him, and not take no for an answer.”

  General Devlin-Waters nodded in agreement.

  “But how could he instruct you when we were with you the whole time?” I asked.

  It was Greatrex who provided the answer. “When he stayed to mend the fence, we went ahead. Radio, I presume.”

  Jacobs reached into his pocket and produced a small handset.

  “Why?” I began. “Why do you want us to change our minds? And while we’re at it, why the hell are you, a now apparently retired Marine general, here in Iraq at all?”

  I may have sounded aggressive, but I didn’t mean to. I was just thoroughly confused.

  “Fair enough. One step at a time, and I’ll try to make everything as clear as I can,” said our former boss.

  We waited expectantly for the general to tell his story.

  “When we were all stationed here in Iraq several years ago, some worrying rumors came to my attention. They pertained to the possibility that Saddam Hussein had done some sort of deal to get rid of his chemical weapons before the coalition invasion. We understood that in return he was promised freedom after the war. We were also told that part of the deal was that someone would keep samples of the weapons, the nerve agents, and the formulas safe for later collection. The problem was we had no idea who had made this deal or who was going to collect them.”

  Our former superior officer had our complete attention. The story was sounding all too familiar.

  “Suspicion fell on several people. It made us begin to contemplate the concept that this was not the isolated work of one man, but rather a cartel, if you like.”

  “A coalition working against our coalition,” said Greatrex.

  “Exactly, Jack. I hope you don’t mind me calling you Jack now that we’re all decommissioned.”

  Greatrex and I both nodded in agreement, but we knew that General Devlin-Waters would never be Colin to us; too much respect had gone under the bridge for that.

  “After the issue with you, Nicholas, and that poor man Akram Salib, it was logical that some suspicion would fall on Major Giles Winter. I never liked the man.”

  “I think we can offer you agreement on that, sir,” I added. It took me a while, but I was starting to regain my equilibrium.

  “Anyway, Winter was shipped out of Iraq and out of the service. I had argued against that, because I thought he was our biggest lead into this phantom cartel. I was overruled.”

  “He likes to call it a network,” chipped in Greatrex.

  The general nodded and continued. “Over time the leads ran out and we could make no case against anyone specific. We still had our suspicions, but suspicions were not enough to prosecute anybody. In the end we accepted that to some extent, our coalition, and our political leaders, had been made to look like fools. There was nothing we could do about it. No chemical weapons found, plain and simple.”

  “It’s our understanding that Giles Winter’s network influenced the media greatly to make that case,” I interrupted.

  “Not surprising. May I ask how you came to know this, Nicholas?”

  “He told us,” I responded bluntly.

  The general raised an eyebrow but continued. “As time went by, I was promoted and reassigned to other duties and locations, but I always tried to keep tabs on Winter. I wasn’t happy about the way things had ended.”

  We all took a collective break for a minute to let these new facts sink in. The storm still raged outside, as did the storm in my head as I tried to think this through.

  “It was only in the last few months that we started getting snippets of information indicating Winter was on the move again. We didn’t know what he was up to, but our sources told us it related back to the original issue in Iraq.”

  “We? … Us?” I questioned.

  “During my service and after my retirement I built up quite a circle of … friends—colleagues, if you like. These were people who, like me, worried when recalcitrants like Giles Winter got away with sanctioning suspect activities while the authorities had their hands tied with red tape.”

  “Sounds a bit like a star chamber to me,” said an unimpressed Greatrex. “A group of people who think they can make judgments better than everyone else, including the authorities.”

  “I see what you mean, Jack, but no. Perhaps I have misrepresented the situation. This is not a formal group of people; we never meet, nor do we ever sanction anything against the elected government’s policies. We just help with a bit of information and facilitation from time to time, and only when we are requested to by our elected leaders.”

  Jack Greatrex seemed pacified, and to some extent so did I.

  “You and your group are still well connected to active military personnel and information, I presume?” I asked, nodding in Jacobs’ direction.

  “We are. It is often essential.”

  Another moment of relative silence. This was all seeming a little surreal.

  “So, where do Nicholas and I fit into all of this?” asked Greatrex, again forthright.

  “As more information was gathered, we learned there may be a connection between Winter and the upcoming USO tour. Imagine my surprise when we found out the two of you were involved with the tour. We weren’t sure if that was coincidental or planned. We did, however, think it expedient to place someone on the tour to keep an eye on things.”

  “Who, exactly?”

  “Give me a moment more, Nicholas, and all will be revealed. I will say, however, that once you confided to Major Jacobs what had occurred over the last few weeks, the ball game changed. That’s when I decided to fly in to be available to speak to you if circumstances required. As it turned out, circumstances did dictate the need for this conversation.”

  “I think we need an answer to the most important question, sir. Why don’t you want us to hand these samples and formulas over to the authorities? You must know it is at huge expense to ourselves and others close to us that we’ve made that decision,” I asked.

  “Yes, I do, and I can’t begin to express how much sympathy I feel for the two of you, and for Leyla and Amira Akram in this situation. None of you did anything to deserve this.”

  The general looked genuinely upset. Nothing had changed my mind that this was a good man in front of us, but I could still see no solution.

  “The trouble is we don’t know how wide Giles Winter’s network is. We don’t know who we can trust and who we can’t,” said the general.

  “Amen to that,” said Greatrex.

  I thought for a moment. “What if we give the samples to you, here, now?”

  “I appreciate your trust, Nicholas, I really do, but the only way we are going to be done with all this is if we catch Winter in possession of the samples. Anything else won’t stick. I believe he is enough of a coward to give up information on his ‘network’ if we have him over a legal barrel. We just can’t get near him.” Devlin-Waters paused for a moment; you didn’t become a general without knowing how to give a good persuasive speech.

  “The two of you can get close; he is expecting you. We can get to him through you, but only while you have those samples in your possession.”

  “What if something goes wrong?” asked Greatrex. “The ramifications are too mu
ch to even contemplate. The lives …”

  “I know, and I agree … to some extent. The difference is now you are not alone. You have my support, along with that of my colleagues. I think we have proven so far, through Major Jacobs, how useful that support can be. That is the game changer.”

  The general had completed his pitch, or so we thought.

  “One more thing, sir. You didn’t answer our question. Who did you have keeping an eye on us?”

  “Well, I’m afraid I have made a costly error there. Costly to me, and if I’m not mistaken maybe costly to you as well, Nicholas.”

  “Who is your man watching us on the tour? I assume he was watching us from the beginning, which excludes Major Jacobs.” Greatrex spoke for us both.

  “You assume correctly and incorrectly, Jack. You’re right, I did have someone watching you from the beginning of the tour. I used the only real contact I have in your new industry. Where you assume wrongly is thinking it was a man. It was not; it was in fact a woman, my stepdaughter, to be specific. I think you know her well, Nicholas. Her name is Kaitlin Reed, and she has recently gone missing.”

  Among the kaleidoscope of thoughts and questions that were spinning around my brain I heard the general say:

  “Take a few minutes, gentlemen. Whatever decision you make, we will stand behind you.” With that, he and Major Jacobs walked through the door into the next room.

  Jack Greatrex and I sat looking at each other in silence.

  “Holy shit,” he said.

  I couldn’t have put it better myself.

  “We have about five minutes to make the biggest decision of our lives.” I said.

  “And it could be the last decision of Leyla’s and Amira’s lives.”

  “Not to mention Kaitlin,” I added.

  We sat for a moment, listening to the storm beat down on the tin roof.

  “Y’know, we have no decision to make,” I said after a minute or so.

  “If the general thinks the right thing to do is to hang on to the samples, then it’s the right thing to do.” Greatrex was a great believer in trust and doing what was right.

  “Plus, it gives us a possible chance of helping the girls and Kaitlin.” This was the real game changer.

  “We tell him?” asked Greatrex.

  “We tell him.”

  I called the general and Major Jacobs back into the room and told them of our decision.

  “Well done,” he said. “I know it’s a risk, but we can do this,” said the general.

  I liked the “we” part.

  “Now,” he continued, “you need to get back to your equipment and store that package.”

  “Before Winter’s lapdog notices how long you’ve taken to make it back,” added Jacobs.

  Greatrex and I asked the general a few more questions about Kaitlin, her involvement, and her disappearance.

  “She sent me a message saying she thought she knew who Winter had inside the tour, then we didn’t hear from her again,” he told us.

  “How were you receiving messages from her?” asked Greatrex.

  “We didn’t know who to trust on the US side, so we communicated through a contact from the British embassy.”

  There was the problem.

  We got up to go. After again covering ourselves in our Iraqi garb in preparation for the wild storm outside, we turned to the man who was unexpectedly sending us on yet another mission, just like old times. Both Greatrex and I shook hands with the general.

  “We’ll do our best to fix this, sir,” I said boldly, “and we will do our best to bring back your stepdaughter.” I sounded more confident than I felt.

  I was sure I saw a slight tear in a good man’s eye.

  Jacobs opened the door, and we stepped out into the grasp of the sandstorm.

  We had snatched the devil’s catch. Now it was time to outrun the hounds of hell.

  26

  Everyone on the tour was tired the next day, but Greatrex and I were exhausted. It must have shown on our faces, but our bandmates had the good grace not to mention it. They were now used to us being out of step.

  After we left General Colin Devlin-Waters the night before, Jacobs, Greatrex, and I had braved the storm back to where the equipment was stored. Greatrex had a key, so we let ourselves in and inserted our deadly package inside my keyboard as instructed. We then went back to our room. Once on the journey I thought I may have again seen a shadow behind us, but we had no energy or inclination to follow it up. We felt sure Winter’s contact would expose themselves soon enough. As things were, it was vital to our plan that Winter was told by his man that we had possession of the weapon samples and had followed his instructions.

  The rest of the tour was moving on today. They were catching a C-130 Hercules from the Taji Base at midday. They were flying directly to the Bagram Airfield, Afghanistan, where they would be joined by another band who were replacing us. We said our goodbyes midmorning and wished them all the best. They were a good bunch of people. We had shared a lot in a short space of time. Oddly, both the music industry and war did that to you—brothers and sisters in arms.

  Our gear had been separated from the rest. Greatrex had supervised this, knowing the importance of one particular keyboard not going missing in action.

  Our band and crew were due to fly out midafternoon. We were joining a British C-17 directly out of Taji, which was taking us to the RAF Brize Norton Airbase in Gloucestershire, England. From there it would be a reasonably short journey to the Isle of Wight for our next performance. We were all looking forward to being out of Iraq and back in civilian territory.

  It was about 2 p.m. when Major Jacobs tracked us down at our quarters.

  “I just wanted to say goodbye and wish you the best of luck,” he said, shaking our hands. “You have a big job ahead, but you two are very determined and resourceful men.”

  Easy for him to say; on the other hand, I liked the major much more when he wasn’t pointing a gun at us.

  “By the way,” he continued, “we are out of River Valley now—no more blackout—so if you want to answer that earlier message from LA, I can make our communications center available to you before you leave.”

  It seemed like a good idea. Among the events of the night before I had almost forgotten about the message from Kenny Medina. The major led the way.

  The Skype image of Kenny Medina appeared on the screen before us. He looked tired and a little grumpy. Not surprising, as it was 4.30 a.m. in Los Angeles.

  “You know I need my beauty sleep,” Kenny joked. He’d probably only just gone to bed anyway; like most music people, he was a night owl.

  “I’ve only just been able to get back to you, Kenny. We’ve been in blackout. Sorry about the timing, but your message said you might have some important information for us,” I said, trying to soften him up.

  “I’m glad to see you both alive and well, but unless it’s just bad reception, you both look like crap,” was his honest response.

  “You’re not the first to say that in the last couple of days,” responded Greatrex, who was looking at the screen over my shoulder.

  Kenny carried on undistracted. “I continued making a few inquiries after you left. I have a few friends who have worked on USO tours and even a couple who have worked directly for the organization.”

  “Go on,” I said.

  “Well, it took a while for my contacts to get back to me, but there was one bit of information I thought may be relevant to your situation.”

  We both looked at Kenny’s image expectantly.

  “It turns out there was an unfortunate accident. A very experienced and respected USO tour organizer turned up dead in Long Beach. The police are calling it in as an accident—drowning, in fact.”

  I was starting to feel a chill in that hot room.

  “Do you have a name?” asked Greatrex.

  “Yes, that’s what confused me. I thought it was the name of the USO person working on your tour, but I may be wrong.”
r />   I felt cold.

  “What was his name, Kenny?” I pleaded.

  “It was Elliot Brooks.”

  I felt colder. I turned to Greatrex.

  “How could this be?” I asked. “How could anyone get away with impersonating a well-connected operator like that. People over here would’ve known he wasn’t the real Elliot Brooks.”

  “Well, here’s the thing,” interrupted Kenny. “Elliot Brooks was a very experienced USO operator, but he had done all his work in the Asia Pacific region. This was meant to be his first tour of the Middle East. There was a good chance no one there would have known him.”

  “Damn. Hell and damn.” I responded, lost for better words.

  Major Jacobs was quicker to react than the rest of us. He was on the radio attempting to contact the C-130 taking our former tour mates, including the man we knew as Elliot Brooks, to Bagram. At one point we heard him say, “Are you sure? Please confirm.” His voice sounded urgent.

  It took a few minutes—in fact, almost twenty—before he turned to us with a pained expression on his face.

  “I just heard back from the flight crew of the C-130 taking the tour to Afghanistan. They performed a thorough check of personnel on the aircraft. Elliot Brooks was not on board; he never got on the plane.”

  Greatrex and I looked at each other. Given the information we had received over the last few minutes, it wasn’t surprising that Brooks had vanished. He had no more need of the tour nor the people on it. He did, however, need to keep an eye on us. I presumed he had also been the one “keeping an eye on us” the night before, the shadowy figure in the sandstorm.

  Of one thing we were certain: we would be seeing the man who claimed to be Elliot Brooks again. Deep in my core, I hoped that meeting would not go well for him.

  27

  As we descended toward the runway at the RAF Brize Norton base in Gloucestershire, the contrast between the dry plains and deserts of Iraq and the rich color of the South-West English countryside couldn’t be greater. Below us, the patchwork of green fields, hedgerows, and county lanes was a welcome sight. Our C-17 Globemaster 111 landed smoothly, and the British troops who were on the plane with us let out a cheer as we touched down on their home soil.