The Gilgamesh Conspiracy

by Jeffrey Fleming

  Gerry returned to her own flat in a state of some anxiety. She and Philip had been too security conscious to leave much of their personal lives on a home computer and certainly nothing of their professional lives was stored there, but she nevertheless worried about what the thief might discover besides some slightly embarrassing photographs.

  It wasn’t until she opened her wardrobe doors ready to unpack her bags that she became more suspicious. When she had clumsily pulled some clothes out to pack them, she remembered cursing as her blue silk evening dress had rustled off its hanger onto the bottom of the wardrobe. Now it was hanging back up. Also the hangers were in a fairly orderly row rather than pushed to one side. She looked around and realised some other items were not quite in their familiar places

  Her own flat had been rummaged by someone who had clearly not been bothered about revealing the search. She shivered and sat down on the bed. Her landline telephone rang. ‘Hello.’

  ‘My name’s Dean Furness,’ an American voice told her.

  ‘Who are you and how did you get my number?’ Gerry said deciding to play ignorant in case her line was bugged.

  ‘Do you know the Hollytree café, Richmond? It’s in the Terrace Gardens on the river side.’

  ‘Yes. Yes I do. It’s about fifteen minutes’ walk from here.’

  ‘Ok, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’

  Gerry locked up her front door and walked to the cafe. She ordered a latte, sat down outside and gazed out over the river watching some rowers sculling back towards the local club. Philip had been a member there; she wondered if Furness knew that. Gerry shivered and folded her arms. Then she checked the time. He was late. ‘Look Furness, I don’t really know who you are or why you’ve asked me to meet you, but I’m here,’ she said to herself. ‘What is it you want?’

  As if on cue she saw a man aged about forty, deeply tanned with a wary expression on his face walking towards her. He looked all around before sitting down next to her.

  ‘Hello again Gerry, or should I still call you Emily?’

  ‘You’ve shaved off your beard and had a decent haircut, but I recognise you. Should I still call you Dean?’

  ‘Dean’s my real name,’ he answered. He gazed at her while reaching for a packet of cigarettes from his shirt front pocket.

  ‘Sorry this place is no smoking.’

  ‘Not out front here it isn’t,’ he countered. Gerry reached across and deftly removed the cigarette from his mouth before he could bring his lighter up to it. ‘I’m a no smoking area, then. Why did you call me?’

  ‘I worked with Philip Barrett in Abuja.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ Gerry picked up her coffee and took a drink. The saucer rattled when she replaced the cup. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Yeah, we got on pretty good, I don’t know if he ever mentioned me. Did Philip tell you what we’d been working on? Send you any messages about our stuff out there?’

  She stared at him for a few seconds. ‘No, his work was classified. Although we’re partners…we were partners, he wouldn’t send me official material. So what were you doing out there?’

  ‘We were interrogating people brought out from Iraq. Well I was interrogating; Phil was mostly doing Arabic translation for us and drinking a little too much. Anyway we were ordered to fly back to London together. That’s the day he was killed. I was due to travel with him to the airport in the same car, but I had a motor bike to deliver.’ He looked all around, and then reached for a cigarette again. This time Gerry just watched him light up and inhale deeply.

  ‘I was interrogating this guy Kamal Ahwadi. I don’t know if you’ve done any waterboarding. Rumsfeld and Cheney might think harsh interrogation is ok, but they haven’t done it. The guy thrashes around and he starts bleeding from the places where he’s held. You can see the cloth over his face puffing in and out, in and out as he tries to breath. It might not be torture in the sense of inflicting physical pain, but it’s everything else.

  ‘Anyway this guy Ahwadi had readily told us that he was working on Qusay Hussein’s staff and then he admits that he was his personal bodyguard and hatchet man. He’s given us the names of the people who worked in his office, but I was convinced he was keeping something back. What we wanted to know was where his boss is hiding, possibly Saddam as well. He tells us he has no idea but when I give Sergeant Myers the order to pour water over him he hollers out ‘No wait, wait I tell you, I’ll tell you about Gilgamesh!’

  ‘Gilgamesh? What the hell are you talking about?’ I ask him. Anyway the guy begins to talk in Arabic about this document that was carried across the border from Saudi Arabia in the middle of February. I was involved in that project, and so were you in a small way, because it all came out of that meeting we were both at in Frankfurt. You remember?’

  ‘Yes of course I remember it,’ said Gerry. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well I’d recorded what Ahwadi had said in Arabic, but I hadn’t followed it all ‘cause my Arabic’s not that good, so of course I call up Phil who knows the language from all sides around.’ He paused and lit another cigarette while Gerry watched him intently.

  ‘I’m sorry to say that he was overdoing the boozing. I nearly said something - we were pretty good buddies by then - but our time out there was nearly up and I figured that when he got home he’d sober up ok again. You know Phil hated his assignment out there and wished he’d not let himself in for it, but I’m afraid you’re a little to blame.’

  ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’ she demanded.

  ‘He told me he had this girlfriend who worked in the field, and although she had never suggested for one moment that he should get himself involved, he always felt guilty that she was out there doing the dangerous stuff while he was in London. He felt that his assignment in Abuja made up for it a bit. At that time I had no idea that it was you he was talking about.

  ‘Anyway we met up at this restaurant we liked to go to. I remember there was a TV in the bar. It was showing CNN and they showed that newsreel of when President Bush arrives on board the aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln. Bloody idiot, grandstanding like that! Anyone would think he’d just flown some combat mission out in Iraq, not sat in the back seat as someone flew him out to a ship thirty miles off the US coast. And then he makes his speech with that banner above him. Mission Accomplished! Actually it was just the ship’s banner to mark the end of a long commission, but that’s not what it looked like to everyone else, and as sure as hell it sounded like he was making a victory speech. I tell you Gerry we’re not gonna be out of that country for years! It’s a helluva fine mess.’

  ‘Of course you’re right Dean,’ Gerry agreed, ‘but stick to your story.’

  ‘Yeah ok, sorry…anyway I say to Phil that we should talk to Ali Hamsin…’

  ‘Ali Hamsin the translator?’ Gerry broke in.

  ‘Yuh, didn’t I say? We’d brought him out of Baghdad on the same flight as Ahwadi and we were holding him there as well, and Ahwadi mentioned him as knowing all about it too, the Gilgamesh thing. Anyway Phil is on my case because Hamsin had always co-operated with us and Phil didn’t want me giving him any of the rough treatment, which I have to say I found a bit rich because your people in London might not have been doing the asking, but they were sure involved in setting some of the questions.’

  He frowned, took a drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out.

  ‘Sorry I’m digressing again. Anyway we’re keeping him and the other prisoners in the barrack block room in this dilapidated old military camp. As I said he’d co-operated fully and so he’d been given good treatment and reasonable food too. However he’s got no idea where his family are and although Phil had tried to find out for him, he was in a bad way with worry and all. He admits to knowing Kamal Ahwadi and listens to the tape and when he hears it he agrees to tell us what he knows.

  ‘Having got Hamsin’s story down on tape, I get in touch with Jasper White as he’s the senior man I most trust. I hoped he would come out, but instead it’s Bruckner him
self who turns up, along with two bag carriers, one of our guys I don’t recognise and some English guy from your lot. Bruckner tells me and Phil that we’ve done really well but he warns us not to talk about it to anyone at all, this Gilgamesh business. Then he tells us he’s arranged that we take Hamsin and Ahwadi to Guantanamo for further debriefing and that we’ll drop Phil off in London on the way back.

  ‘Now I’d promised this local contact guy called Achebela who does security at the airport that I would give him my motorbike when I ship out, a sort of reward for services rendered, so next morning I give Sergeant Myers my bags to take in the car and I arrange to meet him and Phil at the airport terminal. I ride off there and wait for them but they don’t show. Then I notice that the engine covers are still on the airplane and those red streamers that show that the landing gear pins and stuff are in place. Time’s going by and there’s no sign of Bruckner or Hamsin or the pilots and Phil’s not shown up still. I go back to my friend Sam Achebela, the guy who’s going to have my BMW, and get him to call the control tower. He tells me there’s no flight plan filed for the Gulfstream. So I’m really getting jumpy. I get back on my bike and head off back towards the city.’

  He pulled out another cigarette. ‘Sorry, did you want one?’ She slowly shook her head and watched him light up. Then he looked at her. ‘Are you ready for this?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t know how or why, but I know he’s dead. Go on.’

  ‘About five miles down the road I stop. Across the other side of the freeway I see the blue Toyota Camry lying on its side in the ditch at edge of the road with its roof blown off and all the windows shattered. It’s surrounded by police cars and an ambulance and a tow truck. The police were busy all around it keeping away the onlookers. I was just waiting for a gap in the traffic to drive across when I see this other car pull up. This western guy gets out along with a senior local policeman, more medal ribbons on his chest than a Russian general. These two go and take a good look inside the car. Now I run across the road still wearing my crash helmet. You can’t hear too well wearing one of them but I heard the western guy making some comment about there only being two people in the car. Then I realise that he’s the English type who was with Bruckner.

  ‘Now of course I know I’m the missing third man who should be in that car and I’m frankly scared that my own people have issued a kill notice on me and Phil. Then I’m wondering if Ali Hamsin’s ok so I make a phone call to Sergeant Simski at the guard house telling him I’m coming over and ride back to the prison.

  ‘Simski greets me as his old buddy just the same as usual so I decide it’s safe to walk in there and tell him I need to see Hamsin. Simski tells me that some guy turned up with orders from General Bruckner and marched Hamsin clear out of there.

  ‘Oh ok, I say, I’ll go and have a word with Kamal Ahwadi instead,’ said Dean Furness. ‘So I go to his cell and I find that Ahwadi’s lying on his bed. He looks to be asleep, but I can’t wake him. No pulse and his pupils fixed and dilated. I go back to the guard house and find Simski talking on the phone. Well to cut it down a little, Simski has orders to arrest me. By now as you can imagine I was ready for something like that and I jump Simski just as he’s trying to pull a gun on me.

  ‘He tells me that there’s a detail on its way to arrest me and I tell him that I’m gonna drive down to Lagos, get down to the docks and find a boat to take me down to South Africa, as I’ve got friends down there. Instead I ride the bike to one of the northerly border roads crossing into Niger, work my way east using the desert tracks and then approach Ndjamena in Chad from the north avoiding the busy road from Nigeria through Cameroon. Then I get on a cargo flight up to Algiers, cross the Mediterranean by sea and then I get to England. Then I come to see you.’ He fell silent and took another look around.

  ‘So how come you found out that I was his girlfriend?’ Gerry asked.

  ‘Well he’d talked about his girlfriend, said some real nice things about you too, and he had a photo of you on his desk. I didn’t recognise you from that though because you were wearing sunglasses with your hair loose and a floppy blue sunhat, and…well just a bikini bottom. Also you were sitting down so I didn’t see how tall you were. Your height’s a bit of a giveaway for someone in our line of work if you don’t mind me saying.’

  ‘Yeah I’m aware of that thanks. Go on.’

  ‘Then when I was in Algiers I managed to check out who you are. There’s some pretty slack security in our local office there. I saw your picture on file and then I recognised Emily Stevens from Frankfurt airport.’ He paused, and then asked ‘Listen, did Philip mention it, or had you heard of Gilgamesh?’

  Gerry stared at him for a moment thinking about the documents that Mansour was carrying on the flight back to Kuwait and her talk with Rashid Hamsin before she sent him on his way to Ireland. ‘Well of course I have,’ she replied. ‘I’ve studied a lot of Middle East history. Gilgamesh was a Mesopotamian king who ruled in the area that is now Iraq er…about four thousand years ago, I think. What the hell has he got to do with anything?’

  ‘Look I need to speak to you again,’ he said, ‘but now I need to make sure my tracks are covered and I’ll be grateful if you don’t mention my name.’

  ‘Why did you come to see me then?’ Gerry asked.

  ‘I figured you might want to find out who was responsible for Phil’s death.’ He shook his head ‘I guess I thought you might care a bit more than it seems you do.’

  ‘Listen, I care very much, but you’re some man who appears from nowhere, just like this Jasper White guy, and you start going on about some semi-mythological king named Gilgamesh. What do you expect me to say?’

  ‘Gilgamesh is the code name for that operation that seemed to begin with that meeting in Frankfurt. There were six people there that day: General Robert Bruckner, your guy Fielding, Hakim Mansour, Ali Hamsin, you and me.’

  ‘It’s a crappy sort of code name, I can’t believe it would ever get approved,’ Gerry said.

  ‘I know but Mansour insisted upon it. Maybe he was a romantic at heart.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘Yeah he’s dead now.’ Furness stared at her for a moment. ‘Hey, didn’t you just say that Jasper White came to see you?’

  ‘White told me he wanted to find out what had happened to you.’

  ‘Okay, he’s one of the good guys; you can trust him.’

  ‘Oh really? I don’t trust anyone.’

  ‘Look Gerry, Phil was a friend. I feel real bad about what happened to him.’ He suddenly stood up and ground his cigarette out under his toe. ‘I’m gonna get in touch with Jasper, then I’ll come and see you again. I’ve also kept a copy of the tapes of Ahwadi and the translations Phil made and the info that Hamsin gave us. I’ll bring them along and you can listen for yourself. Tomorrow evening after sunset, ok? I’ll arrange where we can meet up, Jasper too probably.’

  Gerry watched him walk off. For a moment she considered trailing him but she felt an overwhelming weariness so she walked slowly back towards her flat whilst mulling over their short meeting. She sat down in front of her computer and tried to log on to the Service intranet but found that her access had been suspended whilst she was on leave. She slumped down on to her bed and fell asleep.

  Suddenly she was awake. A high pitched warble told her that someone was outside her apartment. She switched the television on and selected the remote camera input. A man was standing outside her front door and gazing around. Evidently he had no problem getting through the security of the main access door into the building. He looked up at the camera and Gerry recognised Neil Samms.

  ‘Well, this is a hell of a coincidence or you’ve been sent to ask me about Dean Furness or Jasper White,’ Gerry muttered to herself. She saw him reach up to the bell push and then heard the bell sound out in the entrance hall. Gerry glanced in the mirror as she walked out of her bedroom. As she expected she looked a mess.

  She drew a breath and spoke into the intercom. ‘Hello, who are you
and what do you want?’

  ‘It’s Neil Samms. I’d like to talk to you about your meeting with Dean Furness this afternoon.’

  ‘I’m sorry Samms,’ Gerry replied, ‘I’ve no idea who he is or what you’re talking about, and I don’t feel like chatting right now.’

  Gerry saw Samms reach into a back pocket and pull out a piece of paper and unfold it. ‘I’ve no doubt you’ve recognised me. Is that your CCTV camera up there Miss Tate? Focus on this.’

  He held up a photograph of her talking to Dean Furness at the cafe.

  ‘Oh, I’ve no idea who that was,’ said Gerry. ‘I thought he was just some tourist…did you take that photo? It’s not very good.’

  ‘No it isn’t, and no I didn’t take it. Are you gonna let me in?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Gerry. ‘I’m going to call the police and tell them that there’s an armed intruder in the building.’

  ‘Dean Furness worked with Philip Barrett in Nigeria, Miss Tate. And then he killed him. He had his car rammed off the road by a truck.’

  Gerry flinched, then slumped back against the wall and slid down to a sitting position. She thought for a minute and then looked up at the man on the screen. With something of an effort she got to her feet and said ‘Hold on I’ll let you in.’

  Samms heard a clunk as the door lock released and the door swung open. Before he could gather his wits the bitch grabbed his arm, twisted it and before he could think about reacting his feet were swept from under him and then he was face down on the floor with her heel grinding into his back with his arm wrenched painfully up into the air.

  ‘Jesus…shit,’ he gasped out. She relaxed her grip a little.

  ‘Put your hands behind your arse and then roll over on top of them,’ she ordered.

  As he carried out this order, her face came into view and then a Beretta automatic in her hand. He contemplated trying to kick the gun from her grasp but another look at her ferocious glare convinced him not to try anything. He lay meekly while she patted him down the front and took his own gun from its holster. Then she stepped back.