The Gilgamesh Conspiracy

by Jeffrey Fleming

  She snatched her hand away muttering something under breath and then turned away and stalked off.

  ‘Here,’ said Rashid. He held out a sheet of paper with two rectangles drawn one inside the other. Gerry took it and saw two lines with distances on and a north pointing arrow. Outside the rectangle was a small square with a crescent moon in the middle. She gave Rashid and enquiring look.

  ‘That’s our family home in Baghdad with the wall around it. That’s the local mosque. You can see the minaret from the garden, if it’s still standing. What you’re looking for is buried in the garden. I think I’ve got the measurements about right, but it was a few years back.’ He turned the sheet over. ‘I’ve written the address here.’

  The doorbell rang and a few seconds later Ismail Farajat hurried in. ‘I got your text message,’ he began, ‘what’s happening…oh, you two are back,’ he said to Gerry and Dan with an expression of distaste.

  ‘You’d better clear off now,’ said Rashid.

  ‘Not until we see you safely on your way,’ said Dan.

  ‘While you’re getting ready, do you have a computer?’ Gerry asked. ‘I need to book us flights to Baghdad tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll be safe?’ Dan asked as they watched the two families drive away in big GMC SUVs.

  ‘I’m afraid they’ll catch up with them eventually and then Rashid will tell them everything he knows so he can protect his family. I just hope we’ve given them enough of a head start.’

  ‘What shall we do until the flight leaves? It’s going to be rather dangerous going through the airport isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, so we’re not taking the plane; that was mis-information. We’re driving to Baghdad. It’s about five hundred and forty miles, so if we’re lucky we’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.’

  Dan stared out into the dark desert as Gerry drove at eighty miles per hour towards the Iraqi border. ‘Is it safe to drive this fast? I don’t mean your driving; I mean is the road surface ok?’

  ‘I wish I knew, but we need to reach the border crossing point at dawn. I’m hoping we can join a convoy. It’ll give some protection against marauders and hijackers.’

  ‘Is driving across Iraq still dangerous this long after the war?’

  ‘I don’t know Dan,’ she snapped, ‘it’s one of the many things I didn’t learn about when I was in prison.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  They drove along in silence for a few minutes.

  ‘I’m sorry Dan; I shouldn’t have got sharp with you.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, let’s talk about something else.’

  ‘You could ask me who my favourite author is, what kind of music I like,’ she suggested.

  ‘Ok then, what kind of…hey; déjà vu! When we were on the road to Fujairah, we had that conversation back then.’

  ‘I wondered if you’d remember. A lot’s happened to us since.’

  ‘You bet it has, back then I was a Marines…’ His voice trailed away, and then he began again. ‘That’s when everything started to turn bad for you. You must have been a lot happier back then.’

  She reached across and found his hand. ‘It doesn’t matter. Right now I think I’m happy with you.’

  ‘Good…great, even.’

  As dawn broke the Iraq border lay about five miles ahead of them. The landscape was a featureless flat dull brown all the way to the Jordanian check point. The gate was decorated with a huge portrait of King Abdullah dressed in his military commander-in-chief uniform. Dan pulled up while Gerry took their UK passports to the immigration office. She emerged a few minutes later chattering to a uniformed official.

  ‘Dan, this is Ahmed from customs. He just wants to have a look around our vehicle. I think we have a small export payment to make.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Dan and handed over a roll of dollars that they had prepared. ‘Is that the correct amount?’

  The official made a quick inspection and said something to Gerry at which she laughed, and then he wandered off and waved to the man operating the barrier. Gerry drove under the red and white pole and parked the car alongside a collection of saloon cars, utility vehicles, pick-ups and trucks.

  ‘Is this Iraq?’ Dan asked. ‘Where are their border guards?’

  ‘This is a sort of no man’s land between the two countries. The border’s not well defined. See those tents over there?’

  He saw a few rows of black tents and noticed people moving in and out of them or just standing and staring back at him. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘They’re people in some kind of purgatory, waiting to get into one country or the other. In times of conflict, or rather worse conflict, thousands of people gather here, or in places like these. It’s been going on for decades now throughout the Middle East. Now let’s see when this convoy is setting off.’

  After an hour sitting in the line of vehicles that snaked towards the Iraqi checkpoint the time came to hand over their passports to the Iraqi guards. Then Dan realised that there was a contingent of US Military personnel working alongside the Iraqis.

  ‘Oh hell we’re not gonna be able to pay our way through here!’ said Dan.

  ‘Let’s hope I can get through as a journalist,’ said Gerry. She handed over her passport in the name of Emily Stevens and her various credentials as a journalist; unfortunately they were all dated from the year of the invasion.

  ‘Please come to the office,’ the Iraqi official asked politely. As they walked off to the office leaving their vehicle empty in the line they heard a chorus of protests from the cars behind theirs, the drivers and passengers eager to be on their way.

  Inside the cabin Gerry explained in her most polite Arabic that she had not worked as a newsprint journalist for a few years, but she had been working for the BBC as a television news producer. An American officer arrived half way through her explanation and frowned at her passport.

  ‘Can you just explain that briefly to me ma’am?’ he asked. He listened to her explanation and then looked at Dan. ‘And who are you sir?’

  ‘This is my husband,’ Gerry declared, grabbing Dan by the arm. ‘We’ve only been married a couple of weeks which is why we have different names.’

  ‘And what do you do then?’

  ‘I’m a graphic designer and an artist,’ said Dan in his best British accent. The cacophony of car horns from outside grew louder.

  ‘Ok, you can go through I guess,’ said the officer. ‘You know it’s dangerous.’

  ‘Of course!’ said Gerry and gave him a huge devil-may-care grin as she hurried back outside.

  ‘Five hundred and fifty kilometres; that’s about erm…two hundred, no three hundred and fifty miles,’ Brad announced as they passed a road sign that showed that they were on their way to Baghdad. He inspected the map. ‘We follow the A1 highway and go past a place called Rutba. Then it’s a long way until the next town Ramadi. That’s only about seventy miles west of Baghdad. Next there’s Habbaniyah then Fallujah and after that it’s Baghdad airport out to the west of the city. If the road stays as a good as this and we keep this speed up we can be there in about five hours!’

  ‘I don’t know if this highway goes the whole way,’ said Gerry, or if stretches were blown up in the war and not repaired yet. I don’t think we can make it as far as Ramadi. We may need to get some petrol in Rutba,’ said Gerry, and apparently there are still US army people there.’

  Dan stared out over the barren sun-baked desert strewn with rocks and occasional patches of stunted desert plants. ‘It’s a bit of a wasteland out here.’ He turned to Gerry who was frowning at the vehicle in front. ‘What is it? You’re very quiet.’

  ‘I just thought it was a little strange how they let us across the border like that.’

  ‘Hey; that’s the first break we’ve had…let’s run with it shall we?’ said Dan. ‘I wish we had some weapons, though.’

  ‘There’s a gun under your seat.’

  ‘What?’ he fumbled underneath and found a Browning 9mm
pistol.

  ‘Where the hell did that come from? I had a search earlier.’

  ‘It was hidden in the back inside the spare wheel.’

  ‘That was a lucky find!’

  ‘Not really; I’ve known Adnan a long time.’

  Dan nodded and subjected the weapon to a careful inspection before replacing it.

  ‘General! We may have caught a break. Two people travelling under UK passports crossed the border into Iraq from Jordan. One of them was using the name Emily Stevens, and that’s a known alias used by Geraldine Tate.’

  ‘How were they travelling?’

  ‘In an SUV, but they don’t have a record of the licence plate.’

  Bruckner frowned but did not express his annoyance aloud. ‘Ok, good work. Pass the details on to my team. And can we get a drone up to take a look for their vehicle. He was about to call Hugh Fielding with the news when he had a sudden thought. ‘Do we have the vehicle details of that guy Adnan Marafi?’

  ‘Hold on sir…yes, we have that.’

  ‘Good! Pass that on as a strong possible.’

  ‘Yessir. Do you want the drone armed?’

  Bruckner pursed his lips, and then shook his head. ‘No, I want to see where they go.’

  The convoy pulled off the highway and took the local road towards Ar Rutba. The town was entirely surrounded by a high fence and American military personnel were manning the gateway.

  ‘They’ve obviously had a lot of security problems here,’ said Gerry. ‘I really didn’t want to go through another ID check, but we…’

  ‘Benzine, benzine!’ shouted a teenage boy, struggling towards their vehicle under the weight of two twenty litre jerry cans of fuel.

  ‘Great!’ said Gerry, ‘just what we need!’ She began to negotiate a price in Arabic with the lad while Dan ran over some puns on the name Gerry and jerry can which he wisely kept to himself. After the refuelling operation was complete she paid the agreed sum and then pulled an old canvas sheet out of the back of the car and then opened a rear door. ‘Hold this up like that would you?’

  ‘Whatever for?’ he asked as he took it from her.

  ‘So I can take a piss behind it, since you ask. I might be a highly trained agent but remember I’m also a girl so I need to squat down. And don’t watch me!’

  The convoy set off again after about half an hour. Dan took over the driving and Gerry stared out as they passed a herd of goats grazing incongruously beside a wrecked Iraqi armoured personnel carrier and shortly afterwards a few men leading some camels. Gerry watched them as they passed them by and then said ‘Next stop Baghdad.’

  They had no way of knowing that as the convoy had pulled away a jeep without any military markings but manned by three US army rangers had pulled out and was now trailing the convoy. One of the men was talking to Neil Samms on a satellite telephone as he and Vince Parker flew towards Baghdad airport.

  As they approached Ramadi the desert plants grew more vigorously and there were clusters of palm trees to relieve the monotony of the landscape. They stopped outside the town where the vehicles were fuelled and the drivers and passengers could stretch their legs. When they passed Habbaniyah the land changed abruptly as they drove through the wetlands on the banks of the Euphrates River. Soon they were passing Fallujah, just over ten miles from Baghdad, where they saw burnt out battle tanks and wrecked buses and trucks. Helicopters swooped overhead inspecting the convoy. ‘I hope they’re not searching for us,’ said Gerry.

  ‘Just routine patrols,’ said Dan.

  A line of tall buildings appeared as they crested a rise in the ground. ‘Look, there’s Baghdad!’ After they passed the airport the traffic began to build up and the convoy split. The city scape was filled with trees, tall buildings, some in good order and others with holes torn through them. Everywhere there were tower cranes hanging over construction or reconstruction sites. Mad traffic came from all directions; drivers hooting, weaving in and out, accelerating, slamming on brakes, shouting and gesturing and showing a reckless disregard for the rules of the road. Dan drove the vehicle to a halt beside a ruined office building with a heap of rubble in front of it and gave a deep sigh. ‘Well here we are. Now we just need to find our way to the house.’

  ‘I can’t see the street on the map,’ said Gerry, ‘but here’s Khulfalfa Street and here’s Mutannabi Street and the museum, so it must be in this area.’

  ‘Well if we can’t find it we can always ask for directions.’

  ‘That will be a blow to your male pride then,’ said Gerry with a grin.

  ‘Yeah I know! You’ll have to do the talking while I hang my head in shame.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  ‘That’s got to be it!’ said Dan.

  ‘Where? Which one?’

  ‘Over there. Remember Rashid said that the wall had been blown down and he had mended it with concrete blocks but could only get blue paint.’

  ‘You’re right, and that seems to be an Arabic number twelve by that broken bell push.’

  They climbed out of the car and walked over to the gate. ‘Give me a boost and I’ll have a look over,’ Gerry suggested.

  She grabbed hold of the top of the gate and peered over. ‘The front door’s just as he described. I’m going to climb over.’

  ‘Are you sure? Maybe we should come back tomo…ok, you’re over.’

  ‘Ow!’ said Gerry from the other side.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I just banged my ankle on something. Hold on, I think I can unbolt it.’ The door creaked open on its hinges. ‘Welcome to the Hamsin’s,’ said Gerry with a grin as Dan walked through and peered about.

  ‘I don’t know how welcome we are.’ Suddenly he was struck by the fact they were close to their objective. He gave her a big hug. ‘Hey we’re here! So where do we find it?’

  She gave him a quick kiss. ‘We just have to measure out the distance from the south west corner and then you just have to dig it up. Simple.’

  ‘Oh I have to do the digging do I?’

  ‘Of course; digging is men’s work, but I’ll take over when you get tired.’

  ‘Thanks. Now which is the south west? The sun’s setting in that direction so it must be that one.’

  ‘It’s the one closest to the mosque as well. You can see the minaret over that corner.’

  ‘Ok. Did you remember to bring a shovel?’

  ‘No, but maybe there’s one around somewhere. After all they had to use one to bury it.’

  ‘That was years ago Gerry, we’ll be lucky to find…hey look there’s some kind of storage shed there.’

  They both ran over towards it and found an old rusty padlock on a clasp. Dan rattled it and pulled at it. ‘It’s locked but the wood looks a bit rotten; maybe…’

  ‘Mind out the way,’ commanded Gerry, who had picked up a large rock. Dan stepped back while she hammered at the padlock. It fell clear. She pulled open the door and seized hold of a shovel that was propped against the side. She handed it over with a grin. ‘Here you are; you can make yourself useful at last. Hey, here’s a tape measure as well!’ In high spirits she ran over to the corner. ‘Take the end. Now it’s five metres from that corner along the wall to the east.’

  ‘Yup, that’s here, said Dan.

  ‘Ok, now it’s one metre at right angles.’

  Gerry measured off the distance and picked up a stone and drew in the sandy soil. She looked up at Dan with a smile. ‘There we are; X marks the spot; let’s start digging!’

  Dan plunged the blade of the shovel into the soil and levered up some soil. He dug the shovel in again; the handle broke off at the blade. ‘Fuck!’ he said, the wood’s rotted.’

  ‘Never mind, I remember seeing a building site in the next street,’ said Gerry. ‘I’ll run over and see if I can find a shovel. You wait here and preserve your strength.’

  In high spirits Gerry began to run down the road, and then decided she would attract too much attention by running. She pulled her abaya around her
and walked around the corner. There was the building site where a house was being repaired. She stepped through a gap in the wall and looked around. She saw a tarpaulin weighted down with rocks and she pulled up a corner. Yes, there was a shovel that seemed to be in good condition. She held it in front of her and gathered the abaya around it and began to shuffle awkwardly along the street. After a few paces she lost patience and decided that she might as well just carry it as if a local woman might handle a shovel as a matter of course and she paced confidently round the corner with the shovel swinging in one hand.

  ‘Are you back already?’ Dan asked as he heard the gate creak open. The next thing he knew was bright flash, a hideous impact in his chest which made him cry out in agony and he collapsed to the floor. He tried to shout out a warning to Gerry but the effort of drawing breath made him gasp and then he coughed up some blood. He closed his eyes but then told himself he must stay awake and when he opened them again he saw Vince Parker staring down at him, and he felt a bitter regret as he slipped into unconsciousness..

  Gerry froze on hearing Dan cry out. Then she ran back to the Hamsin house and saw that the gate was now wide open. With a deepening sense of anguish she ran around the back and saw a dumpster beside the wall. She climbed on top of it as quietly as possible and drew the shovel up after her. Peering carefully over the wall she suppressed a moan of despair as she saw Dan lying motionless on the ground. Then round the corner of the house walked a familiar figure with a silenced gun in one hand. Clenching her teeth to stop herself screaming in anger she waited until he was closer and then in one swift movement she stood on top of the wall and jumped down at him.

  Parker caught sight of her as she loomed over him. He whirled round and fired off a shot that tore a gash along her lower ribs before her foot slammed into his chest. Somehow Gerry managed to retain her stance as she landed on one foot. Parker was on the ground in front of her. He tried to bring the gun up but she whacked the spade against his arm and he felt his fingers go numb. Then he saw the savage, merciless rage in her face and the edge of the shovel flashing in the setting sun as she raised it above her head. He closed his eyes as the blade swung down and tried to jerk his head aside. His final thought was that she would not miss.