The Mortal Maze

by Ian Richardson

  Adnan leaves the room and a servant appears a few minutes later with coffee, dates and pastries.

  Pete is baffled by Jackson’s rejection of the reception room for the filming. “What’s wrong with you, Jacko? This room is fucking brilliant. I could get some fabulous shots here. Better than filming in another bloody boring office.”

  The stress is beginning to show with Jackson. “Shut the fuck up, Pete. I want the film to be done in his office. End of fucking story! Do you fucking understand?”

  Pete is taken aback by this outburst. “Christ mate, calm down will you! If you want it filmed in the fucking boring office, I will film it in the fucking boring office. Okay?”

  “Yes, okay. Sorry. Let’s leave it at that,” says Jackson, realising that he is in danger of losing his grip.

  The next hour is spent mostly in silence, waiting for Adnan to return with the minister’s answer. Jackson needs to recover the bug from Pete’s kit. He asks Pete if he can have a play with his still camera. “Sure,” says Pete, engrossed in a game on his mobile phone, “help yourself.” Jackson goes to the kit bag, takes the camera, examining it in the same way he would if he were planning to buy it, while at the same time, discreetly recovering the bug and transferring it to a pocket in his jacket.

  The wait goes on and with the passing of every minute, Jackson becomes more fearful that the plan to secrete the bug will come to nothing.

  The silence is finally broken with the brief return of Adnan to announce that the minister has agreed to be filmed in his office, but there will be a wait of another hour or so. “I’ll send in some more coffee,” he announces as he departs again.

  There is a sigh of relief from Jackson and a groan of frustration from Pete. “God, I hope this bloody interview is worth the trouble!” he exclaims. “I suppose you know that the Arab high-ups always make the media wait. It’s so that they can pretend that they’re so fucking important that they really don’t need you. I bet he’s not busy at all. He’s probably entertaining some hot sheila on his couch.”

  “You’re probably right, Pete,” he admits, allowing himself his first smile since arriving.

  “Well, there you go, Jacko. It’s all part of the power game these jumped up bastards like to play.”

  ******

  Another two hours pass before Adnan calls them into the minister’s spacious, ostentatious office to set up their equipment for the interview. “The minister will be along in five minutes. Will the interview be in English or Arabic?” asks Adnan.

  “Mostly English, but I may repeat a few key questions in Arabic for our Arabic Service colleagues,” Jackson responds.

  “Good, the minister has excellent English. He was educated at Harvard, you know.”

  “Yes, I heard that,” Jackson lies, “and I believe that he excelled as a student.”

  Pete completes his set-up of the camera and lighting. Adnan goes to the door and calls to an unseen person that Jackson is now ready for the minister. After an appropriate pause, Khaled Mohamed sweeps in wearing a dark blue suit with an open-necked shirt. Jackson goes to shake his hand, but the minister goes straight to his desk and sits down.

  “What is it you want to ask me?” he enquires without preamble.

  “Well, Minister, I thought I should concentrate on your much-praised work raising Central Arabia’s commercial profile, not just in the Middle East, but in the United States and Europe.”

  The minister nods approval. Pete clips a microphone on the minister’s suit lapel.

  The interview gets under way and Jackson encourages the minister to boast about his plans for the country. He avoids asking any provocative questions and after 15 minutes wraps up the exchange with fulsome thanks to the Minister for sparing so much of his valuable time.

  Khaled Mohamed gets up from his desk, takes off his clip mike, and announces that he has an important meeting to attend. Jackson hastily urges him to stay put.

  “If you could spare us just a couple more minutes, Minister. My colleague, Mr Fox, needs to take some still photographs of you for our files and for publicity purposes.”

  “Yes, alright,” agrees Khaled Mohamed, “but make it quick!”

  Jackson turns to Pete. “I think a couple of quick shots of the minister at his desk, then perhaps you can take some more with him standing over there beside the national flag.” He points to the flag hanging prominently in a corner of the room. He turns to Adnan. “And if you wouldn’t mind, perhaps you could straighten the flag a little so that it looks exactly right for the photo.” Adnan fusses with the flag, even though he thinks it is fine as it is.

  Pete takes the photographs as instructed at the desk, then when the minister moves over to pose beside the flag, Jackson lifts the kit bag onto the minister’s desk and ostentatiously begins to pack various bits of kit into it.

  Just as Pete is about to begin shooting the photos, Jackson suggests the flag still needs a little straightening. The minister, Adnan and Pete all turn to look at the flag. Jackson fakes a loud sneeze and pushes the kit bag off the desk, causing it to crash loudly to the floor, spilling its contents.

  Jackson offers profuse apologies. “Terribly sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Just continue with the photographs while I tidy up,” he says, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and blowing his nose unnecessarily.

  Pete goes back to taking the photographs while Jackson gathers up the bits and pieces scattered on the floor around the desk. He gets down on his knees under the desk and attaches the magnetic bug to a convenient metal plate well out of sight. He then crawls out triumphantly waving a small clamp from the tripod.

  “Ah got it! That’s the last little bit,” he announces and drops it into the kit bag.

  ******

  Jackson and Pete stand outside the government buildings, waiting for Yassin to collect them.

  “Bloody hell, Jacko, that was all a bit undignified wasn’t it,” says Pete, “our star correspondent crawling around a government minister’s floor on his knees. You looked a right drongo! I wish I’d been able to take some pics. They’d love those back in London.”

  Jackson is so relieved that he had been able to plant the bug that he is no longer irritated by Pete’s derision.

  “Yeah. Must have looked pretty funny,” he concedes. “I don’t know where that sneeze came from. Just as well it didn’t happen in the middle of the interview.”

  Yassin pulls up in the BBC car and Jackson and Pete continue their conversation as they take their seats and are driven back to the bureau.

  “What did you think of the interview, Pete?”

  “Why are you asking me that? You know it was bloody boring – just as I predicted. I mean, you made no attempt to try to pin him to the wall, no matter how much obvious bullshit he was shovelling.”

  “Yeah. I know, but I’m playing a long game with this chap.”

  “What the fuck does that mean, mate?”

  “Sometimes you just have to think beyond the immediate moment. Anyway, we’ll have some reasonable clips for the business show on BBC World. They’re always desperate for stuff and have expressed interest. And in a day or so I’ll phone his office and tell him how pleased everyone was with the interview.”

  Pete is going through the still photographs he has just taken. “What do you want me to do with these, Jacko?”

  “Oh, just stick them in our library with the full uncut video in case they’re needed some time.”

  Jackson gets out his mobile and dials Thomas Fulham. The call is picked up immediately and Jackson gets straight to the point. “Just to let you know that your delivery was made okay.” He listens. “Yes, I thought you’d be pleased.” He listens again. “Oh really! That’s funny. I wonder if we’ll be invited for farewell drinks, haha? Anyway, I’ll see you soon, eh.”

  Pete is playing a game on his mobile while half-listening to Jackson’s enigmatic call.

  “Who was that?” he asks.

  “Just a mate who’s over here for a while. He knows pe
ople in the British Embassy and says he’s been told that Stumpy Shortwood is being recalled to London.”

  “Ah, the tedious old bugger won’t like that.”

  “Oh, the pain is being eased for him. He’s being appointed to the House of Lords.”

  “What a joke! Still, the House of Ponces will be a natural home for Stumpy,” says Pete as he goes back to his electronic game.

  ******

  Jackson is in high spirits by the time he arrives back at the bureau. He excitedly tells Samira the news about Stumpy Shortwood, but she already knows.

  “I’ve just had a call from Andrew Costello at the American Embassy,” she says. “He was most amused and was anxious to be the first to tell Mack the news.”

  “Oh right,” says Jackson, disappointed that he had been scooped by the American ambassador. “Where’s Mack.”

  “Gone to the bank, I think.”

  “Did Costello have anything more to say?”

  “No. Nothing really. I think he was using the call as an excuse to proposition me.”

  “In what way?”

  “Oh, he gave me loads of nonsense about how intelligent and interesting and beautiful I was and how nice it would be if we could meet from time to time. As a starter, he suggested a game of tennis on the courts in the embassy compound.”

  “Aha! Did you accept?”

  “Well sort of. I told him it was a wonderful idea and I suggested that when my husband got back from his contract in Lebanon we join him and Mrs Ambassador for a game of doubles.”

  “How did he react to that?”

  Samira laughs. “For some reason, he became less enthusiastic about pursuing our friendship.”

  “You’re a clever woman,” Jackson tells her. “By the way, when am I going to meet this husband of yours?”

  “Soon, I think. Nigel’s contract ends in a couple of months and I’m hoping that he can then get a job with one of the engineering companies back here. I’m a bit fed up with him being away so much.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  ******

  Pete and Farouk load the Khaled Mohamed interview onto the editing machine and Jackson goes over to see what can be extracted from it for an offer to London.

  Samira’s phone rings and she answers it. “BBC Armibar. Samira Lang speaking.” She listens for a few moments then shouts “Where are you?!” She listens again with growing alarm. “Just stay calm. The boys will be with you shortly.”

  She hangs up the phone and shouts across the room: “Quick. Get down to the Old Market Square. Mack’s in trouble.”

  “What sort of trouble?”

  “I don’t know. He’s been hurt. There was gunfire and it was hard to hear him.”

  Jackson turns to Pete and Yassin. “Shit! Let’s go!” Farouk offers to go with them, but is told to stay behind to prepare for a possible major story.

  CHAPTER 14

  The BBC car runs the red lights as it speeds towards the old part of the city and Market Square. Jackson is trying to raise Mack on his mobile, but the line keeps dropping out. The vehicle pulls up on the edge of the normally-crowded square, now empty apart from a group of soldiers exchanging gunfire with unseen people in a four-storey building above an open-fronted shop selling oranges.

  Jackson finally gets Mack’s mobile to answer. “What’s happened? Where are you?” he shouts.

  Jackson struggles to hear Mack’s answer above the shooting, but he eventually establishes that Mack is lying wounded on the floor of the orange shop. Pete, who has been filming the gun battle, zooms in on the shop in the hope of seeing Mack. He can’t.

  “Tell Mack to wave something so that I can see where he is,” Pete shouts at Jackson. Jackson relays the message and a short while later Pete triumphantly announces that he can see a blue plastic bag being waved above a low rack of oranges.

  Jackson grabs the camera and takes a look for himself. “Ah yes, I can just see him.” He hands his phone to Pete. “Tell Mack that I’m on my way.”

  “You’re nuts, it’s too dangerous.”

  “We can’t leave him there!”

  Pete goes to the back of the 4x4, grabs a flak jacket and offers it to Jackson.

  “Sorry, too cumbersome. I’m better off without it.”

  By now, a couple of soldiers are lying on the ground, either dead or wounded, while the rest of them have taken cover behind market stalls that were, until a short time ago, busily offering a variety of wares to eager customers. An armoured army truck arrives with reinforcements.

  Jackson crouches down as he runs along the front of a parade of shops lining the square, hoping that the soldiers will be focusing their attention on the gunmen they have holed up. Then, about four doors away from the orange shop, he drops to the ground and crawls along on his belly. All the while, Pete is watching Jackson’s progress though his camera and shouting the information to Mack.

  The gun battle intensifies, forcing Jackson to take cover in a small coffee shop with its front door still open. Inside he sees a terrified man crouched down behind the counter.

  “Can I get out the back?” Jackson asks in Arabic

  The man shakes his head. “It’s locked.”

  Jackson crawls towards the entrance and snatches a look outside. He spots a narrow gap between the coffee shop and the adjacent building. He dashes down it and is now out of sight of the soldiers. He finds himself in a narrow dusty access lane running behind the shops. He identifies the orange shop from all the empty boxes stacked behind it.

  The back entrance is locked. He tries several times to force it open, finally taking a run at it and kicking it with all his strength. The door bursts open and Jackson can see Mack lying on his back on the floor in a pool of blood and among a heap of oranges. One hand is holding his mobile to one ear; the other is pressing down on his wound.

  Jackson grabs Mack’s phone and shouts above the noise of the continuing gunfire. “I’ve reached him Pete. See if you can get the car down the lane behind the shops.” Jackson hands the phone back to Mack and drags him a couple of metres towards the rear exit where they can’t be seen by the soldiers.

  “Thanks, laddie,” mumbles Mack. “I can’t stop the bleeding from my fucking leg.”

  “I’ll fix that,” reassures Jackson, as he finds a knife on a nearby work bench and slashes open Mack’s right trouser leg. He can now see a bullet wound through the lower part of Mack’s thigh. He pulls off the tie he wore to the interview and uses it as a tourniquet around Mack’s upper thigh.

  “God, that hurts,” moans Mack.

  “Stop complaining you silly old bugger. It’s either that or you bleed to death.”

  Jackson runs out the back door and can see the BBC 4x4 turn into the narrow access lane and ease its way towards him. He waves frantically and Yassin acknowledges him by flashing his headlights.

  Jackson goes back inside the shop and tells Mack that help is on its way. He takes Mack’s free hand and tries with limited success to drag him to the back door. There are two enormous explosions in quick succession in the rooms above the shop. The building shudders, and plaster and dust crash down on Mack and Jackson.

  “Fuck! They must be using grenades,” shouts Jackson, as he intensifies his efforts to drag his boss out the back door. There is another explosion in the room above them. This time it blows a hole in the ceiling and knocks Jackson to the ground. A timber beam crashes down and pins them both to the floor. Mack cries out in pain. Jackson, although not hurt, can’t move because he is partly caught beneath Mack.

  Pete and Yassin burst through the back door and scramble through the debris. They attempt to lift the beam pinning Mack and Jackson, but it is too heavy. There is another burst of gunfire and another grenade explodes in the rooms above them, showering them with more dust and plaster.

  The situation is now desperate, but help arrives. Omar Abbas and Jane Kubinski with their Al-Jazeera and CNN crews, have learned of Mack’s plight. Eight sets of hands raise the beam sufficiently for J
ackson to scramble free, then drag Mack after him.

  Pete, Yassin and Omar carry Mack out into the lane as the battle continues and the front of the building is rapidly reduced to rubble. Mack is struggling to stay conscious as he is eased into the back seat of the Range Rover.

  “You’ll be okay, boss” shouts Jackson as he gets into the back seat and puts the seat belt around Mack to keep him upright. Yassin revs the car, ready to get Mack to hospital. Pete decides he will stay behind with Omar and Jane and resume filming.

  ******

  The BBC car pulls up outside the Emergencies entrance to Armibar Central Hospital. A medical team with a trolley is waiting, having been phoned ahead by Jackson.

  Mack drifts in and out of consciousness as he is lifted onto the trolley. “Do you know his blood type?” a female nurse asks Jackson in Arabic.

  “I’ve just been onto our office manager and she says he’s O positive,” he replies. “I’m the same group.”

  “It’s my group, too,” says Yassin.

  “That’s good news,” declares an Asian doctor who has joined them, “we’ve a blood shortage after the mosque attack. A nurse will take you to our transfusion unit, while I operate on your colleague to stop the bleeding.”

  The doctor briefly identifies himself as Mr Than, a surgeon from Myanmar. He points at Jackson and Yassin, still covered in dirt and bits of plaster from the explosions. “The nurse will give you some sterile clothing before you go into the transfusion unit. I think you’d better have a quick shower as well.”

  Mack is wheeled away on the trolley while Jackson and Yassin are escorted to the transfusion unit by a nurse.

  Jackson phones Pete. “We’re at the hospital. Do you know your blood type?” He listens then turns to the nurse. “Type A+?” The nurse shakes her head. “Sorry, Pete, no good, I’m afraid, so you might as well return to the bureau and feed what you’ve got back to London. We’re going to be here for a while I reckon.”

  Jackson gives Samira another call. “Mack’s going to be okay, we think, but there is a shortage of blood. What type are you?” He listens. “Sorry, Type A is no good. What about Farouk?” He hangs on while Samira checks. She comes back on the line and tells him that Farouk is also Type A. “Bugger!” he says, “Yassin and I will just have to give a little bit extra.”