The Gilgamesh Conspiracy

by Jeffrey Fleming

  The memo outlined how an Iraqi national, Rashid Hamsin had moved back to Southampton following a period in Iraq during the invasion. It reminded Cornwall that this was the same man with whose apprehension his department had assisted the CIA back in February of this year. Hamsin had been of some assistance to the CIA in a minor project and now they had further need of his services. Anticipating Rashid Hamsin’s reluctance to render any further assistance, perhaps he could arrange for an interview to take place.

  Cornwall studied Gerry carefully as she read through it. Despite his assurance that she was looking well, he thought that she looked even more drawn, weary and thinner about the face. Definitely not a good thing that a pregnant woman should be losing weight, he thought. It was hard to believe that this was the same person who had cleaned up the Cyprus arms dealers in 1999, bombed the Al Qaeda cell in Ras Al Khaimah in 2000, shot two kidnappers in Lebanon back in 2001 and cut the throat of that drug dealer in a seamy suburb of Berlin last year. Then there was the recent incident with Mulholland the arms dealer a few weeks ago. Self-defence that time, of course. Now she was pregnant and bereaved and he found himself considering her a vulnerable woman rather than bolshie, insubordinate and lethal. He must be an idiot, he decided.

  Gerry finished reading and placed the memo on the table. ‘Yes I remember that. It was a routine operation. It all went according to plan. Who are you going to send this time?’ she asked.

  After receiving the message from Fielding Cornwall had summoned up the report describing Rashid Hamsin’s apprehension back in February. It was with a certain misgiving that he remembered that the case officer was Geraldine Tate, and it was with some reluctance that he had decided to involve her once again. ‘I was hoping that you could do it for us.’

  Cornwall saw the immediate quickening of interest; she was sitting up straighter and looking more animated even as she said ‘But I’m off operations. You told me I’m only meant to do office work until I return from maternity leave. Anyway it should be done by MI5 if it’s back here.’

  ‘Yes I understand that of course. But you know the fellow; you speak his language and I’m sure it won’t be hazardous. It would save me briefing anyone else…but if you’re not happy doing it, I will of course find someone.’

  ‘No…I’ll do it. It’ll do me good to have something more active,’ she declared. ‘I’m a bit bored with just doing translations and case reviews.’

  ‘Good. Well let’s take it straight through to the planning stage now. I’ll get our American friend Neil Samms to come over here; apparently there’s no time to be lost.’

  Following her meeting she drove straight down to Rashid Hamsin’s flat in Southampton. He was scheduled to be in a tutorial so she had an hour to check inside his home for any hazards that might prevent the smooth running of the operation. Apart from a Chubb lock and a Yale lock on the front door and some bars on the rear windows next to a somewhat rickety looking fire escape there were no security features. She managed to open the locks with her special keys and walk inside.

  The apartment had changed little since her visit three months previously. The sofa where she had sat before was covered by Arabic language newspapers with articles fiercely critical of the invasion of Iraq prominent on the front pages, but also there were a couple of classic novels with copious notes written on an A4 pad suggesting that Rashid was keeping up with his studies. Omar’s room was tidy and apparently unoccupied and the Home Office immigration computer had reported that ten days ago he had departed the United Kingdom, destination Cairo. Another change was a smell of cigarette smoke that pervaded the flat. An empty pack of cigarettes lay beside an ashtray which held a few butts in it and she automatically memorised the brand that Rashid had started smoking. Next she attempted to switch on his computer but had no luck guessing the password. Instead she unclipped the case, took out the hard drive, duplicated it and then returned the drive to its location. She installed a miniature CCTV camera in a convenient wall-mounted light fitting so that it commanded a view of the sitting room and then left the building and got back into her car. The plan she had agreed with Samms was that they would return in the evening and abduct him under the cover of darkness. She was about to start the engine when she saw him walking along the road towards her.

  She watched Rashid fumble in his pocket for his keys, unlock the door and disappear inside. She started the engine and was about to drive off but then for some undefinable reason she changed her mind.

  She climbed out of the car, opened the front door and walked up the stairs to the first floor landing and knocked on the door of Rashid’s flat. A few seconds later he opened the door. He did not recognise her at first but then she watched his expression change from curiosity through recognition and then to anger.

  ‘What the fuck do you want?’ he asked.

  ‘Can I come in and talk to you?’

  ‘Why the hell would I let you in? Are you going to try and kidnap me again?’

  ‘No I’m not. I just need to talk to you.’

  ‘What have you got this time, Sandra? A hypodermic? A knife? A gun?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Gerry replied, ‘I’m not some thug.’ Actually she had a gun and a Taser concealed in her bag, but she doubted that she would need them. ‘Can I come in?’ she asked again.

  He did not reply but backed away and let her walk past before closing the front door. She sat down on one of the upright chairs beside the table and arched her back and massaged herself briefly.

  ‘Do you know what happened to me last time I met you?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’ve no idea. I’m not supposed to ask unnecessary questions. I know you were in Baghdad for a while.’

  ‘Yes there was this creepy old American guy who said that I’d better do what I was told or my family would suffer. Rather ironic as now my father’s missing and my mother’s alone in Baghdad and beside herself with worry. Do you know what’s happened to him?’

  Gerry shook her head. ‘I’m sorry; I can’t help you. Perhaps the people who want to meet you will have some information.’

  ‘Do you know why they wanted me to go to Iraq back in February?’

  ‘No idea,’ Gerry replied. ‘It wasn’t part of my brief.’

  ‘Do you know why they invaded my country, then?’ he asked.

  ‘To get rid of Saddam Hussein,’ she replied, ‘to stop his threat to Middle East peace, or world peace even.’ The words rang hollow in her ears.

  ‘And of course because he had an arsenal of weapons of mass destruction. You’re obviously in the English secret police. Did you people ever believe that?’ Rashid asked.

  ‘Probably not. It was a flimsy pretext at best, cooked up by our politicians, or for our politicians.’

  ‘The real reason was that the Americans want our oil,’ Rashid declared.

  ‘Is that right? What’s your theory?’ Gerry asked.

  ‘Oh it’s obvious. Sources of supply are drying up. Demand is increasing from China, India and the other developing nations, and my country can make up the shortfall, if only the infrastructure can be installed.’

  ‘So you’re an expert on the geopolitics of oil are you? I thought you were a language student,’ Gerry replied.

  ‘Well when you’ve learned what I’ve learned, you discover new interests.’

  ‘Oh yes? So tell me what you’ve learned,’ said Gerry.

  ‘There’s no way I can trust you. My father, my whole family could be killed if anyone thought we knew.’

  ‘Knew what?’ Gerry asked her interest suddenly aroused.

  ‘Last time I went back to Iraq. This American guy Colonel Jasper White made me carry a document for Hakim Mansour of the old regime. Something called Gilgamesh. My father translated it into Arabic, and I read both the Arabic and English versions at our home in Baghdad.’ Rashid stared at her for a moment. ‘Are you pregnant?’ he asked. She saw him glance at her left hand, lacking a wedding ring.

  ‘Yes I am. Does it show?’
/>
  ‘Not much, but I remember my cousin doing that back stretching and rubbing thing whenever she sat down.’ He gave a little demonstration.

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Gerry. ‘Look can I borrow your loo please…it’s being pregnant. You need to go all the time.’

  He said nothing but waved in the general direction of the bathroom. She stood up with some effort and went in. After using the loo she stared at herself in the mirror and wondered if she was really going to carry out the idea that had been going through her mind ever since she had seen Rashid. It was ridiculous. She was a loyal agent. Just because Philip had been killed didn’t mean that she should abandon her core beliefs. But…She went back into the sitting room.

  ‘How did you get out of Iraq?’ she asked.

  ‘My father had somehow obtained Lebanese passports for us, and my parents had a little money put by for emergencies. I managed to get across the border, but my mother insisted on staying in Baghdad. She wouldn’t leave without knowing where my father was.’ He gave Gerry an accusing stare. ‘Do you know what’s happened to him?’

  ‘I’m very sorry, I’ve no idea, but listen Rashid, I was sent here to abduct you again.’

  ‘You fucking bitch!’

  ‘Oh shut up and listen to me. First of all have you got any money?’

  ‘I have a little with me, but mostly in the bank.’

  ‘Ok. You need to go to the cash machine and get out all you can. Then you need to take the train to Holyhead and then go by ferry to Dublin. Officially you don’t need a passport if you are a British citizen, but you might have to show some form of ID to get in.’

  ‘I’m not British and I don’t have a British passport.’

  ‘Yeah I know that, but have you got a driving license? A UK one I mean.’

  ‘Yes I have actually.’

  ‘That will get you into the Republic of Ireland. Then you must use your own passport to go home.’

  He stared at her for a moment and then realised the implications. ‘How long have I got?’

  ‘If you’re lucky they won’t put out a ports and airports on you until tomorrow evening; however they might have done so already, but this is your best, your only chance.’

  ‘Why are you doing this for me?’

  She gave him a sad smile. ‘I’m really not sure. I think I’m just rebelling because someone who I was close to has just died on duty, and I think the bastards are lying to me about it. Maybe because a creep called Neil Samms is involved. Now get the hell out of here.’

  Later that same evening, a month before the summer solstice, it was barely dark as Gerry waited in the van outside Rashid Hamsin’s apartment. Neil Samms shifted in his seat and began to hum tunelessly. Since the previous occasion, he had added a drooping moustache to his pony tail which Gerry thought did little to improve his appearance. She had taken an instant dislike to him when they had last met and she liked him no better now.

  ‘So a pregnant broad, huh?’ he had said with his gold toothed grin when they had met to discuss the operation. ‘Mind if I get Mike to tag along too?’ Gerry knew that in her loose fitting coat her condition would be hidden from a casual observer and she wondered who the hell had told Samms and she had struggled to hide her irritation.

  Mike turned out to be a twenty stone giant who now occupied the driver’s seat of the van reading the latest edition of Playboy magazine, every so often turning the pages sideways to gain a better appreciation of the delights on view. The three of them waited in silence for Rashid Hamsin to come home. Samms passed the time by listening to music on his I Pod while Gerry mourned Philip and considered her future whilst gazing at the monitoring screens fed by the discrete roof mounted cameras.

  ‘Where the hell is he?’ Samms complained.

  ‘Maybe he’s at a party,’ said Gerry, ‘he might not be home until late.’ She wondered how far Rashid would have travelled by now. ‘We’ll just have to wait. Try and be patient Neil.’

  Shortly after midnight Samms groaned. ‘I don’t think he’s coming back here. Maybe he’s shacked up somewhere else. Maybe he’s too pissed to come home.’

  ‘He doesn’t drink,’ said Gerry, ‘let’s give him a bit longer.’

  ‘Well ok.’

  An hour and a half later Gerry called Cornwall and admitted that they had not found Hamsin.

  ‘Where the hell is he, then?’ he demanded.

  ‘I’ve no idea; we’ve just had a look round his flat; there are clothes strewn about on his bed and the place looks empty. No suitcases anywhere. I think we should keep the place under observation in case he turns up, but I rather suspect he’s left the country.’

  ‘Without leaving any trace? I rather doubt that, but maybe he’s holed up somewhere, staying with friends perhaps. Anyway, why the hell should he suddenly disappear?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s something got to do with the fact that he’s already been abducted once and we’ve invaded his country,’ Gerry had been on the point of suggesting. Instead she said ‘Maybe he left some time ago. I’ve copied the hard drive from the desk top computer here. I could bring that in tomorrow morning and maybe we’ll learn something from it.’

  Having slept for only five hours, Gerry was yawning as she checked through security and took the elevator up to her floor. As she approached her desk a colleague she knew vaguely named Vincent Parker came up to her.

  ‘Miss Tate? Jarvis would like to see you in his office, straightaway.’

  Gerry gazed at him. ‘What…Jarvis? Not Richard Cornwall!’

  She was somewhat nonplussed. She wondered why Don Jarvis, Director of Operations, Richard Cornwall’s immediate superior, wanted to see her and why had he not merely left a note in her electronic ‘in’ tray for her to pick up when she signed in. She was more surprised when Parker followed her along the corridor. ‘I do know the way, actually,’ she said with some asperity.

  ‘Yeah I get that, but Jarvis told me to come with you,’ he insisted. Rather than expressing further curiosity Gerry nodded briefly as if she found this a satisfactory explanation.

  Another surprise awaited her when she entered the office and found that Sir Hugh Fielding himself was sitting in a chair to one side of the desk. He carried on reading through a brief and did not bother to acknowledge her entrance, but Jarvis stood up and greeted her.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Tate. Please sit down.’ This time the chair in front of the desk was indicated. Gerry sat on it, aware that Parker had sat down behind her at the conference table.

  ‘Please could you give a verbal report about what happened yesterday?’ Jarvis requested. Sir Hugh stared at her over his reading glasses then closed the report and slapped it down on the desk; Gerry realised it was her operational briefing. Gerry paused for a moment while she marshalled her thoughts.

  ‘The operation proceeded according to plan, except that Rashid Hamsin turned out not to be there.’ She recounted a heavily censored version of the day’s events up until the time that she had called Cornwall. ‘I left the Americans on watch and then I went home. I’ve slept for five hours or so and now here I am. Oh and here’s the copy of Hamsin’s hard drive.’ She reached forward and dropped it defiantly on the desk and sat back in her chair.

  In the silence that followed she saw Donald Jarvis look at Sir Hugh Fielding who shifted slightly and seemed minded to say something. Before either man could speak she continued ‘Shall I get on with filing my report now?’

  Jarvis and Sir Hugh exchanged glances.

  ‘Don and I have discussed the matter of your maternity leave and we have decided it is effective immediately.’

  Gerry stared at them both for a moment. ‘But I’m not meant to be on maternity leave for weeks.’

  ‘Nevertheless, in view of your recent physical injury, we have decided that it is fair to grant you extra leave.’

  Gerry looked from one to the other and she realised any further protests would be useless. ‘Very well sir. Shall I go and file the report?’

  ‘We
have just recorded your verbal report; a written one is not required.’ He looked at his watch. ‘This meeting concludes at 1433 on May 21st 2003.’ Jarvis reached for a hidden switch to turn off the recorder and smiled at Gerry, an artificial smile which did nothing to convey any warmth. ‘It only remains for us all to wish you every comfort and happiness for your forthcoming arrival.’

  ‘Thank you sir,’ Gerry replied with as much sincerity as she could muster, but nevertheless she felt as if she was being dismissed rather than going on leave. There was a knock and Fielding’s personal assistant looked round the door.

  ‘Sir, there’s a call from General Bruckner in Washington; priority and personal.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll take it in my den.’ Fielding left without giving Gerry a further glance and walked to his office.

  CHAPTER NINE

  21st May 2003

  Following her apparent suspension disguised as maternity leave at the instigation of Donald Jarvis and Sir Hugh Fielding, Gerry left the building and walked across to the wall overlooking the river. She gazed at a Thames barge as it negotiated a passage between the piers of Vauxhall Bridge, the fast running tide sending waves slapping against the prow. She derived some satisfaction from the inference that Rashid Hamsin had escaped his pursuers. She could safely assumed that if he had been taken then he would inevitably, if reluctantly, have revealed her role in his flight.

  The morning cloud had mostly cleared and it was turning out to be a pleasant early summer afternoon but the weather did not match her troubled mood. She looked back at the building and tried to suppress a weird feeling that she would not be permitted to enter it again. Then her mobile phone bleeped and she read a text message reminding her that she had an appointment for a scan in two hours. ‘I thought that was on Wednesday,’ she muttered, then she realised that of course it was Wednesday. She shoved her phone back in her bag and began to walk to her car but then it rang again. ‘Bloody hell what now!’ she snapped, and decided to let the recording system take it, but then felt guilty when a few minutes later she sat in her car and played the message.