The Gilgamesh Conspiracy

by Jeffrey Fleming

  She put the folder down and gazed out the window. Ali Hamsin was now over fifty years old. Her only encounter with him had been in that meeting in Frankfurt. They had spent hours talking to each other on the flight back to Kuwait and made some kind of connection, but hardly enough to make him choose her as his confidante. Then she had abducted his son, Rashid Hamsin. If Ali was aware of that it would hardly endear her to him. She recalled her encounters with Rashid; the first occasion they had travelled back together from the protest meeting in London. They had sat next to one another on the coach and then shared a meal and he had talked optimistically about his future. He had asked her about her own life but of course she had deflected and dissembled. Then she had drugged him so that he could be abducted by the Neil Samms and his team.

  The second occasion she had been deeply embittered by her loss of Philip and in a spontaneous and reckless betrayal of trust she had encouraged the young man to escape. Maybe Ali Hamsin knew about that? No, surely he would have had no opportunity to find out.

  She recalled her conversation with Rashid. He had talked about the so-called weapons of mass destruction, and how they were a flimsy pretext for the invasion of his country. Well that had been amply proven over the following years, but ex-President George Bush and ex-Prime Minister Tony Blair were both totally unrepentant about the death and destruction that had enveloped Iraq following the invasion. For some reason they seemed to be able to disown any responsibility for it, which she thought suggested that they were in more need of psychiatric help than anyone. Then Rashid suggested that the real reason was to enable America to get control of Iraq’s oil supplies. He had described how Colonel White had made him carry a document to someone in Baghdad, code name Gilgamesh, which his father had translated into Arabic. Maybe Gilgamesh was the code name of an individual, maybe Saddam Hussein himself. Damn! Why hadn’t she paid closer attention? She should have bloody well interrogated Rashid, not sent him on his way.

  Having disembarked from the aircraft, the passengers boarded a small Navy launch that carried them across the bay to the main base. Gerry remembered watching Tom Cruise making the same journey in the film “A Few Good Men” and she wondered if it had been filmed on location or in some part of Los Angeles harbour or Longbeach. She was musing on the film when she looked up and saw they were approaching the jetty where there was a small group waiting to meet them.

  One of them was a tall man aged in his mid-sixties, wearing a lightweight civilian suit but nevertheless plainly of military bearing. He had iron grey hair and a craggy face that carried the self-assured aura of one accustomed to authority.

  ‘Gerry, this is General Robert Bruckner,’ Grainger declared.

  ‘Yes we’ve met before, at Frankfurt airport in 2003,’ said Gerry. ‘Good morning General.’

  ‘Good morning Miss Tate, I’m glad you could come along and help us with this situation. Sir Hugh Fielding told me that you would be happy to co-operate.’

  It appeared that the fact that she had been languishing in prisoned for the murder of an American citizen was being swept under the carpet. ‘How is Sir Hugh?’ she enquired, ‘I haven’t seen him in a while.’ The last time was when he was ordering her dismissal from the Secret Intelligence Service. No, she had seen him in the public gallery at her trial when she had been sentenced.

  ‘He’s very well,’ said Bruckner. ‘Ah, there’s Doctor Fisher.’ Bruckner signalled to an attractive woman of about thirty with blonde hair tied in a ponytail, a slightly overweight figure enclosed in military style green trousers and shirt but with no badges of rank.

  ‘Mandy Fisher wrote the report on Ali Hamsin,’ said Bruckner. ‘Doctor Fisher!’ he called out. She looked round, smiled and walked over.

  ‘Hello General,’ she said, ‘Felix, hi.’

  ‘Mandy this is Gerry Tate from London,’ said Bruckner. ‘She’s read your report on Ali Hamsin, and I think you’ll be taking her to meet with him.’

  ‘Hi Gerry,’ the woman said with a smile and they shook hands.

  ‘I didn’t realise that you were the psychiatrist who wrote the report,’ said Gerry, ‘it wasn’t attributed.’

  ‘Oh I’m not a psychiatrist. I have a PhD in psychology, so yeah, I am a doctor I guess, but not in the medical sense.’

  ‘Still, you’re well qualified to write psychological assessments,’ Gerry replied, ‘and yours was very insightful.’

  ‘Thank you. Anyway, I’m here to take you to see Hamsin. We’ve an hour and a half before we meet for lunch, so are you all set?’

  Gerry was hard pressed to appear nonchalant. ‘Sure, I’m ready when you are.’

  Mandy led Gerry to a well-used Chevy Blazer.

  ‘It’s a bit of a wreck I’m afraid,’ Mandy said. ‘They don’t import too may new vehicles here, and they certainly don’t let us non-military types have them, but at least the aircon sort of works.’

  ‘I saw you have no rank badges. Who do you actually work for?’ Gerry asked.

  ‘I’m with the FBI team. I was sent here initially because I speak some Arabic. It’s not enough to converse fluently, but it helps to form some kind of rapport with the detainees. Do you speak any?’

  ‘Not much really, I’m afraid,’ said Gerry, out of habit revealing as little as possible, and also pleased that the American apparently knew little about her. ‘What do you know about this General Bruckner character who introduced us? He seems old for the army.’

  ‘Oh, he retired ages ago, but these older guys like to keep their ranks, especially if they were senior officers. I’m not sure who he is now. He’s never been FBI; I’m pretty sure he’s not CIA, but he probably was at one time. He’s just one of these well-connected people in some obscure branch of the administration who pops up here from time to time. Somehow you don’t feel like asking too many questions of them, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘You’re telling me! I came across some right tricky bastards in my lot. Have you been here long, in Guantanamo?’ Gerry asked.

  ‘I’ve been here three years now. I was seconded for one year, pretty reluctant I might tell you, but then, well, I met someone here, and so instead of being resentful, I suddenly became all happy and content.’

  ‘Good for you,’ said Gerry.

  ‘Thanks. How about you? Are you married? Do you have any children?’

  ‘No, I’m single,’ said Gerry, ‘and I don’t have any…’

  Mandy suddenly swerved the car violently as a stray dog ran across the road.

  ‘Sorry about that, we’ve been trying to round them up. We’re driving to camp five. That’s where the interrogation facilities are. As you know we’re no longer interrogating Hamsin; haven’t done for months, but he’s sort of set up home there, and didn’t want to be moved.’

  ‘Your report stated that he is institutionalised.’

  ‘Well I thought perhaps he was, but when we told him you were coming to see him as per his request he became quite excited. He said he knew you from years back.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘He told me that when he went on some mission to Frankfurt and this British woman went with him, only he called you Emily, not Gerry. It took us a little while to get your details from your lot. They seemed rather reluctant to have you sent over.’

  ‘I was on an overseas assignment,’ said Gerry, ‘and I couldn’t be freed to come over here straight away.’

  ‘Oh I see,’ said Mandy. She brought the vehicle to a halt outside the prison block and as she watched the British woman climb out of the car she bestowed a small look of contempt towards her back. She had been briefed that Gerry had been released from prison to meet Hamsin.

  Mandy led the way into the monitoring room. Two men in military fatigues were scanning the CCTV screens that showed each occupant of the cells in turn. ‘The guards look into the cells every few minutes, and monitor them all the time on these screens.’

  ‘They don’t get much privacy,’ Gerry remarked.

  ‘No, none at
all really.’

  They watched the screen cycle through the detainees. They were all wearing beige coveralls, which showed that they had co-operated to some degree with their captors. Several sat in wheelchairs and a few of them were missing limbs, the result of explosions or combat injuries. Mandy tapped on the computer screen below one of the monitors and there was Ali Hamsin sitting in an armchair reading a novel. Mandy zoomed on to the cover.

  ‘It’s “Heart of Darkness” by Joseph Conrad,’ said Fisher. ‘Very appropriate.’

  ‘Yes it is,’ Gerry agreed. She glanced at Mandy wondering if she had actually read the novel and understood the metaphor in the title. Ali looked older than she had expected. He was thinner but still appeared distinguished despite his scruffy beard.

  ‘I don’t want to talk to him in one of those interrogation rooms,’ Gerry said.

  ‘We’ll go to one of the recreation pens, then,’ Fisher agreed.

  She led the way along the corridors, nodding and smiling at the guards and swapping the occasional name and greeting. They were all men and they stared at Gerry with some interest. She stopped outside a door with a hatch and an observation port but rather than looking in she knocked and called out.

  ‘Hi Ali, this is Mandy.’

  His reply emerged from a speaker on the wall next to the door. ‘So I suppose you are coming in, then.’

  Mandy unlocked the door and Ali stared past her at Gerry. ‘Emily…you’re here.’

  ‘Hello Ali. It’s been a few years,’ said Gerry.

  ‘Yes.’ He inclined his head in polite agreement.

  ‘Come on Ali,’ said Mandy, ‘we’ll talk in one of the recreation spaces.’

  She led the way outside the back of the building into an area about six metres by three surrounded by a concrete wall and a mesh roofing that cut out most of the sun. Gerry looked round and saw that there was another CCTV camera mounted in one corner with an array of microphones beneath it. There was no chance of a private conversation while Ali Hamsin was under the supervision of his captors in Guantanamo bay. Presumably Bruckner, Grainger and half a dozen others were preparing to listen to their conversation. Maybe it was also being transmitted to the George Bush Center in Langley.

  Ali sat down on one side of the table and Gerry and Mandy sat down on the other. He placed his hands on the table and Gerry could see that his nails were bitten as badly as her own. He had a mosquito bite on the back of his hand and he had scratched it until it bled.

  ‘So Emily,’ he began in his near perfect English accent, ‘how are you enjoying your visit to our tropical island paradise.’

  ‘Not at all really Ali,’ she replied. ‘I’m here strictly on business.’

  ‘Why that’s too bad,’ he said in a high pitched American accent, ‘we have excellent facilities for leisure and entertainment, all the food you can eat; medical care; feature films as well.’

  Gerry guessed that his accent was an imitation of Mandy Fisher’s. She glanced towards the psychologist and her tight-lipped expression confirmed it. ‘Unfortunately the television is mostly closed circuit surveillance and hardly anyone gets a chance to leave,’ Ali finished.

  ‘I’ve been instructed to leave the two of you to talk on your own,’ said Mandy. ‘Besides I’m sure Ali has had had enough of my company.’

  Gerry and Ali watched her stalk off to the exit, then he said ‘Of course everything will be recorded anyway, in fact I expect she’ll go next door and put on a pair of headphones.’

  ‘In that case let’s begin, but first of all my name isn’t Emily, it’s Gerry.’

  He gave his head a weary shake. ‘For years I have thought of you as Emily.’

  ‘Perhaps you can get used to Gerry. We intend to settle you in England, as you know. Will your wife be happy to leave Baghdad? Is there anywhere you particularly wish to go?’ Gerry asked.

  ‘Sloane Square sounds nice, or perhaps Virginia Water. Will the budget stretch to either of those places?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Gerry smiled, ‘but you’d be welcome to stay in my little house in Twickenham until we can sort something out. It used to be my fiancé’s home, but sadly he was murdered by someone in the CIA and it’s been empty for a while.’

  ‘Ah… do I hear that you too have unresolved issues?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she nodded, ‘I certainly have many unresolved issues. But our listeners will be growing impatient. So what do you have to tell me?

  He stared at her for a moment, and then smiled.

  ‘Do you remember when we were travelling back to Kuwait? You and I and Hakim Mansour.’

  ‘Yes I remember.’

  ‘You saw a document named Gilgamesh?’

  ‘I was just about to have a look at it when you stopped me.’

  ‘That’s right, I did.’ He gave an artificial smile. ‘Now I want to negotiate what I know about Gilgamesh for my freedom and resettling my family in England.’

  ‘Why didn’t you do it years ago?’

  ‘Because back then George Bush was president of the United States. Now Obama is in office I feel it is time. And I am desperate. I’m worried that if not soon then I’ll never get out of here.’

  ‘But…’ Gerry hesitated.

  ‘But what?’ Ali asked, frowning.

  ‘President Obama has already promised to release everyone from Guantanamo Bay. First of all he said it would be done inside one year after his inauguration. That’s proven wide of the mark because he’s in his second term now, but still you should be out of here anyway.’

  ‘But of course nobody saw fit to inform me!’

  ‘Well there’s a surprise, but nevertheless that’s the case.’

  ‘God be praised!

  ‘Well yes of course, but good for President Obama as well!’

  ‘But this means that I don’t have to strike any deals.’

  ‘Well maybe not Ali, but I was told you asked for me to come here all this way to talk to me about Gilgamesh.’ She leaned towards him. ‘So go on, tell me why you had me brought here.’

  Ali frowned. ‘What do you mean? I had you brought here.’

  Gerry leaned back in her seat and stared at him in consternation. ‘I was told you had asked for me to come here to talk to me about Gilgamesh.’

  ‘I had no idea that you were coming until this very morning!’ he replied.

  Gerry gazed up at the CCTV cameras and microphones, then she reached out and seized his hand. ‘I really want you to tell me what you know. I think it might throw some much needed light in dark places. It might certainly help me found out who killed my fiancé, and clear up one or two other matters.’

  ‘Very well,’ he shrugged, ‘Gilgamesh was an agreement drawn up between Hakim Mansour…’

  A siren blast cut Ali off in mid speech. The door burst open and four men charged in. The first two grabbed Ali just as Gerry sprang to her feet, lifted up her chair and whirled it round and slammed it into the body of the third man. She lost her grip on the chair and faced the fourth man who rushed recklessly at her. She side-stepped, jabbed him under the ribs then chopped him hard on the back of the neck and then she launched herself at the two men hustling Ali towards the door. She punched one of them in the back and he fell to his knees gasping for breath. Then she heard a sharp click and felt a huge jolt of electricity all over her body; her muscles went numb and she collapsed to the floor realising that she had been hit by a Taser. She gritted her teeth knowing that the pain would end as soon as her assailant cut the power, but she saw Ali being hustled through the door before she was at last released from her seizure. The other men departed the room and left her gasping on the floor. As her muscles recovered she groaned and struggled on to her hands and knees, muttering ‘bastards!’ to herself.

  ‘Crap thing to happen,’ someone said. It was Mandy Fisher who had come into the enclosure. ‘I had a jolt as part of training, but they didn’t keep it on me like that for so long.’ Gerry turned her head towards the woman and saw the grin on her face. ‘Com
e on tough Miss Tate; get up! You’re heading back to your hotel, probably none the worse for wear.’

  On the return journey to the aircraft Gerry and Mandy Fisher were escorted by two armed guards, but she was greeted cordially enough by Felix Grainger. Perhaps he was oblivious to the drama of her encounter with Ali Hamsin. At any rate he made no enquiries as to the outcome of their meeting.

  Gerry sat in the aircraft considering her conversation with Hamsin. Some confidence trick had apparently been played out on them both and she found the implications very worrying. However following the abrupt and violent termination of their meeting, she was now sitting here none the worse for wear as if the whole incident had never happened and nobody seemed inclined to speak about it.

  She stared across the aisle at Vince and Ryan who were reviewing case notes together. She looked at her own files while trying to listen to their conversation. After a while they began to talk about the political situation in general and her attention wandered off.

  Her train of thought was interrupted by a loud snore from Grainger seated across the aisle from her. She remembered Philip snoring in bed beside her and how she had pushed him in the shoulder until he rolled on to his side. Her thoughts moved onto other intimate details of their life together and once again she felt a burning anger towards whoever had destroyed their happy relationship. She felt a resurgence of other emotions that she had repressed all those years ago: her confusion at the events that led to her suspension and then her sense of betrayal at her subsequent arrest. Only now she was not pregnant and neither was she suffering from depression. She began to speculate on the possibility that a sudden jolt of electricity from a Taser could reset her thought processes as if her brain had been rebooted like some kind of computer. She felt a renewed determination to learn the truth about what had happened to Philip and Dean Furness and who was responsible for her imprisonment. Her mind whirled around in circles until she was mentally exhausted. She deliberately closed her eyes and tried to doze off. Then she felt a prod on her shoulder.