After descending just one flight of stairs, he found himself on the ground floor. Ignoring the side door that led back into the hospital, he was about to push open the heavy stainless steel outer door when something caught his eye through the small picture window. An American soldier just outside the door! He froze, his heart racing. Pressing his back to the wall, he peered through the glass in the other direction. Another soldier!
Two soldiers, clearly monitoring the door. But why? Were they looking for him? Suddenly, a stairwell door opened above him. Voices. Talking. Unsure what to do, Adnan simply stood frozen in place.
Then he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, the men talking.
He had to make a decision.
Chapter Nineteen
Yarmouk Hospital, Baghdad, Iraq Saturday, April 15th 6:28 p.m.
“Signs of cranial hematoma?” McKay asked as the elevator doors opened to the second floor.
“Not at this time,” the Iraqi doctor responded in perfect English. A man of about 50, he stepped out of the elevator first, followed by Gonz and Heisman. McKay was last, honoring the Muslim custom that a woman must never walk parallel to, or in front of, a man. The doctor turned and waited for McKay, giving her a disgruntled look. “He is getting proper care, I assure you.”
“I don’t doubt that,” McKay answered politely, relieved to see very little activity on the floor. Just two nurses visible at a nurse’s station a good fifteen feet ahead.
“Good. Then I suggest you check on him, feel free to make suggestions if you see I have missed something, but then I must insist you leave.”
McKay could see Gonz was about to speak and shot him a look to back off. “I’m afraid not. He–”
“He is an Iraqi citizen. And he is my patient. I won’t authorize his release.”
“I understand your concern, but –”
“He is an interpreter, is that correct? Working for you in the Green Zone?”
“Yes.”
“Is that right?” The doctor scoffed. “Then tell me, why do you have armed soldiers at all the entrances right now?”
McKay was momentarily taken back, then quickly answered, “That is for your protection.”
“My –?”
“The hospital. The patients. Your staff.” The Iraqi doctor was clearly baffled and McKay continued. “You know of the missile attack in the Green Zone this afternoon?”
“Of course.”
“We think it was an attempt on his life.”
The Iraqi doctor shook his head. “No, no. I saw on the news. Everyone did. The soldiers that came out of the building were MPs. Military Police. This man was in custody and –”
“He was with the Military Police as they questioned a man. That man gave up important information about an impending attack. Against your new government. Our interpreter, he was about to translate when the missile hit.” McKay could see the doctor’s stern veneer crack slightly. She pressed on. “The insurgent? He’s dead. So, yes, we need this man back, to tell us what he knows. But I guarantee you, the longer he is here, the greater the danger to this entire hospital.”
Gonz smiled to himself, thinking he couldn’t have done better himself.
The Iraqi doctor still seemed unsure, but finally said, “Very well. This way.” He led the three CIA agents down a long corridor. He looked over his shoulder at McKay, “But we will ask. If he doesn’t want to go with you, he can stay. The choice will be his, agreed?”
“Agreed,” McKay answered, knowing she didn’t have a choice.
Minutes before, the voices in the stairwell had abruptly stopped as the men had exited one floor above Adnan. With the soldiers outside, Adnan had remained in the stairwell, unsure what to do. Suddenly the door above him squeaked opened, and once more he heard two men talking. Their voices grew louder, their feet clomping down the stairs, the sound echoing in the narrow concrete stairwell. They were close now. Adnan peeked through the door window. The soldiers hadn’t moved. He hurried back to the stairs and parked himself in the middle of the third stair from the bottom, his elbows on his knees, his head lowered.
“We can’t,” he heard one man say. “There is too much infection already.”
More movement from behind him. Then nothing. The men were directly behind him now. They had stopped. He waited. It took all the patience he could muster. Finally he heard, “Excuse me,” in Arabic. But Adnan remained frozen, unresponsive. A louder voice now, the other man, “Excuse us, please.”
Adnan looked up. He saw that one man was older, his face lined. He wore a dishdasha and keffiyeh, similar to Adnan’s attire. The other man was younger and wore a Western style business suit and tie. “I’m sorry,” Adnan muttered, rising to his feet.
“Are you well?” the younger man asked.
“My mother... the cancer has spread and...” He let his voice trail off, choking back a sob.
“I’m sorry.”
Adnan looked at the younger man. “You are a doctor, yes?”
“Yes.”
The two men took tentative steps toward the door. “Can you tell me, please? Cancer of the pancreas? How long?”
Clearly uncomfortable, the doctor said, “It’s hard to say...”
“Months? Maybe a couple months, yes?”
“Perhaps,” the doctor allowed.
Adnan quickly pushed the door open with his good arm, nodding for the men to exit. As they stepped outside, Adnan closely followed. A moment later, the older man abruptly stopped, clearly surprised by the sight of the U.S. soldiers.
“What’s going on?” the doctor asked softly.
“I don’t know,” his older companion said.
Turning to the doctor so his face was not clearly seen, Adnan continued, “They say it will be fast, but I worry about the pain. There will be pain, yes? More pain than now?”
The doctor ignored his questions, staring at the soldiers. “This is absurd.”
“What’s going on here, eh?” the older man demanded of the soldiers. “Why are you here?”
Adnan knew the soldiers probably didn’t speak a word of Arabic, but at least they were focused on the old man, not himself. Fearful of being recognized, he kept his face toward the young doctor and pressed on. “She shouldn’t have to be in pain, that is my worry.”
“What’s going on?” the older man asked in a belligerent voice, not moving.
“Go,” one of the soldiers said in English, gesturing with his rifle. “Get on now.”
But the older man wasn’t hearing any of it. He refused to move, saying, “Why are you here like this? What’s going on?”
“Let it go,” the doctor scolded him.
“Fuck,” one soldier muttered.
The older man suddenly grabbed Adnan by the shoulder. “You speak any English?”
“No,” Adnan answered, careful to look only at the ground.
“Let it go,” the doctor repeated, gently pushing the old man forward.
“Tell me,” Adnan said to the doctor as the group finally started to walk forward. “There will be pain? Lots of pain?”
“This is our country!” the old man barked as he pulled even with the soldiers. “Our country! Not Saddam’s! Not yours! Ours!”
“A lot of pain, yes?” Adnan reiterated.
“Yes,” the doctor answered dismissively, paying him little attention.
“You hear me!?” the old man ranted.
“There is medicine for that, yes?” Adnan asked as he kept a steady pace next to the doctor. “Pain medicine? I understand it comes from Turkey. The best pain medicine.” He could see from his peripheral vision that they were past the sentries now.
“I don’t understand,” the older man grumbled, looking over his shoulder. “Why are they here? What is the meaning of this?”
“Can the hospital get that pain medicine?” Adnan persisted. “She is my mother. I don’t want her in pain.”
“Stupid Americans,” the older man complained.
“
You can get the pain stuff, right?” Adnan asked, not letting it go.
“Yes, we can get her medication.”
“Thank you,” Adnan effused. “Thank you.” He let out a sigh of relief as they got further away from the soldiers.
The three walked in silence, the older man continuing to glance over his shoulder at the soldiers.
At the doorway to the ward, the doctor flipped on a light switch and overhead fluorescent lights flickered to life. Gonz anxiously stepped around the doctor, quickly scanning the beds. There were a total of twelve beds, only seven occupied. On the first cot lay a man with only one leg. A bloody bandaged stump where his other leg used to be. The reason for the others to be hospitalized wasn’t as clearly evident. A few of the patients began to stir, the lights obviously awakening them. The doctor headed down the aisle between the beds, then suddenly stopped. Gonz followed his look. An empty cot, but not neatly made like the others. This one had clearly been slept in, the blanket carelessly tossed aside. The doctor gave Gonz a stunned look.
“He’s gone,” Gonz declared to Heisman who had followed him into the room. He could see McKay standing at the threshold, mindful of Islamic customs and keeping a respectful distance from the sick men.
“I don’t understand...” the doctor muttered.
Gonz removed his radio from his belt. “All units, the bird has flown the coop. Repeat, the bird has flown the coop. Lock down all exits. No one enters or exits.” He turned to the doctor. “When was he last seen?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to check with the nurse.”
“Do it,” Gonz angrily retorted.
58 Kilometers Northwest of Ash Shatrah, Iraq Saturday, April 15th 9:03 p.m.
Ghaniyah struggled with the knotted rope, frantically trying to untie the tightly fastened line. The truck actually rocked slightly as she shifted her weight, digging her fingers between the knotted lines. She had seen Yusuf tie down the old overstuffed chair and chest with a rope while they were still at her aunt’s home. It had just never occurred to her that it would be so monstrously difficult to untie. Another problem was the darkness. There was only a partial moon in the night sky, but what little light it gave off was obscured by heavy clouds. Even though her eyes had adjusted to the dark shadows when she had first stepped outside, she was still fumbling in near pitch black conditions.
She stepped back to get a better angle and stumbled, her hands instinctively grabbing a hold of the rope to keep herself upright. But the knotted line suddenly gave way, and she landed on her rear end with a loud thump, still holding the rope in one hand. It took her a moment to realize the rope had come untied. She quickly scrambled to her feet and loosened the rope around the chest. A moment later, she lifted the lid.
As quickly as possible, she pulled out all her aunt’s clothes, tossing them by her feet. Finally she reached the fitted board Yusuf had inserted near the bottom of the chest. But much to her surprise, she couldn’t grab a hold of it. The edges were right up against the side walls of the chest. She couldn’t get a finger between the plank and the chest wall. In a near panic, she pushed down on one end, hoping the other end would tilt enough that she could slip her fingers through. But the panel didn’t give at all.
Feeling the sweat drip between her breasts, Ghaniyah desperately worked every edge of the wood, searching for a sliver of a gap. Nothing. She stood upright, her back aching. Breathing heavily, she told herself to think. There had to be a way to get the board out.
Suddenly the house door creaked open and the rancher stepped outside. Ghaniyah instantly ducked below the cab, her heart racing. Silently, she stretched herself out across the truck bed. Something sharp dug into one hip. Realizing it was her empty suitcase, which she had hoped to hide the poison in, she awkwardly pushed it aside. Now lying on top of her aunt’s strewn clothes, flat on the bed of truck, she tried to control her heaving breaths which sounded like thunder to her. She knew she was completely hidden from a casual glance. Unless the rancher peeked into the truck bed.
Her mind raced. Did he know she had crept out of the house? Had he checked her tiny room and found her missing? Then she remembered that she had left the chest lid propped open against the back of the truck cab. It would be plainly visible if he looked! Where was he? She couldn’t hear anything now except the thumping of her own heart beating wildly. Willing her mind to quiet, she strained to hear. Where had he gone?
Then, the sound of a match being struck. Just off to her right somewhere, surprising her. She hadn’t heard him approach from that direction. He was close. Very close. She heard the distinctive exhale of cigarette smoke and then smelled the tobacco. A moment later she heard him relieve himself on the hard dirt.
She made herself take long, slow breaths, the cigarette smoke drifting over her in waves. No choice but to wait. The rancher coughed a few times. After what seemed like hours, but she knew was only minutes, she heard a foot stomp on the ground a few times. He was putting out the cigarette. She could hear the door creak again, then it was quiet. She let out a sigh of relief, but continued to wait, lying still in the truck, waiting. But there were no other sounds. It was quiet again.
Slowly, she sat up, automatically adjusting the knife in her boot, which had shifted when she had dived into the truck bed and was painfully digging into her ankle bone. Feeling the knife, she had an idea. Suddenly excited, she withdrew the knife, anxiously tearing off the coarse paper towels around the blade. Crawling to the chest, she quickly forced the blade between the plank edge and the chest.
It worked! She steadily pulled the blade upward against the board. The plywood was lifting! She momentarily lost her grip and the board fell back into place. Unfazed, she promptly inserted the knife between the board and chest again. She pulled up. Slowly. A little more. Finally, she could fit her fingers between the board and the chest. Tipping the board to one side, she felt the bottom of the chest for the plastic bags of poison.
But the chest was empty.
Jadida, Iraq Saturday, April 15th 9:12 p.m.
Adnan had told Aref to keep the apartment lights off, not wanting to attract attention. He now sat on the sofa, his back to the large window above the couch, resting comfortably. Finally feeling safe, he started to relax.
After leaving the other two men a block away from the hospital, Adnan had quickly made his way to a small marketplace, now shut down for the night. It was just an hour until curfew and not many people were out. However, there had been some taxi drivers mulling about, solving the world’s problems by arguing loudly. He had asked one of the drivers to take him to Jadida.
Close to the pharmacy, he had spotted two soldiers parked in a Humvee across the street. That meant that his apartment, directly above the shop, was similarly out of bounds. Not surprising. The driver had then followed his directions, zig zagging through the quiet streets until they neared Aref’s apartment complex. Adnan had carefully peered into the dark night, but there were no signs of surveillance. He had gotten out, telling the driver he would be right back.
Aref had quickly agreed to pay the taxi bill, going to the car himself to pay the man. Adnan had been in the small bathroom when Aref came back inside. The older man had dozens of questions for him, but Adnan waved them off. He had asked if there was anything to eat, and Aref served him some lentil soup.
Now giving Adnan a concerned look, Aref said, “They didn’t let you go.”
Adnan shook his head. “No.”
“Why you? What did you do?”
Adnan gave him a tight smile. “I fell in love.”
Aref nodded, as if he understood, but Adnan knew he didn’t know about Ghaniyah. No one did. Except his sister Daneen and Thamer. And now the Americans. Aside from that, it was a secret. He found himself chuckling.
“What’s so funny?” Aref asked.
“Nothing.” Adnan waved him off and leaned back, closing his eyes.
“I have something to show you.” Aref scurried off to his closet, rummaged around a bit and then returned
with a large poster board. He held it up in front of Adnan. In the dim light coming through the window, Adnan saw the large scripted Arabic letters which read, “Make Iraq a government of the people, by the people and for the people.”
Disappointed that Adnan showed no reaction whatsoever, Aref explained. “‘Of the people, by the people, for the people.’ You know where that came from?”
Adnan shook his head, fatigue from the long day finally catching up with him. He struggled to keep his eyes open.
“An American president. I have it. The boy downstairs? He found it. On the Internet.” Aref went to a nearby cluttered desk, found the paper. “Abraham Lincoln. President of the United States during their civil war.” He glanced at Adnan. “They had a civil war. I didn’t know that. Did you know that?”
Adnan wearily shook his head no.
Aref went on. “Well, they did. Very bad. A lot of people died. But this is what that president said after a big battle. ‘Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth upon this continent, a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal...’”
Aref eagerly looked up to see the younger man’s response.
But Adnan was fast asleep.
Chapter Twenty
58 Kilometers Northwest of Ash Shatrah, Iraq Saturday, April 15th 9:14 p.m.
Ghaniyah double-checked the knots. She was certain she had secured the rope over the furniture just as Yusuf had done. Confident that nothing was out of place, she picked up her empty suitcase and climbed out of the truck. She stopped at the passenger side of the cab and opened the door. An overhead light came on, startling her, but she quickly opened the glove box. The work gloves were still there, along with some papers, just as she had seen when Yusuf had opened the glove compartment as they had pulled into the gas station. Ignoring the documents, Ghaniyah swiftly grabbed the two gloves, feeling them with her hands. One was definitely thicker than the other. She reached into the glove and pulled out the roll of cash.
Seven Days From Sunday (MP-5 CIA #1) Page 21