The Spoilers / Juggernaut

by Desmond Bagley

  At midnight the sound of the engine reverberated from the sides of a rocky gorge, and Warren eased himself up on one elbow to look ahead. The lights showed a rocky wall straight ahead and the driver hauled the Land-Rover into a ninety-degree turn and then did it again and again as the gorge twisted and narrowed. Suddenly they debouched into an open place where there were lights dotted about on a hillside and they stopped.

  The rear doors opened and, under the urged commands of the man with the gun, they crawled out. Dark figures crowded about them and there was a murmur of voices. Warren stretched thankfully, easing his cramped limbs, and looked about at the sheer encroaching hills. The sky above was bright with the full moon which showed how circumscribed by cliffs this little valley was.

  Tozier rubbed his thigh, looked up at the lights in the cliff side, and said sardonically, ‘Welcome to Shangri-la.’

  ‘Very well put,’ said Ahmed’s voice from the darkness. ‘And just as inaccessible, I assure you. This way, if you please.’

  And if I don’t please? thought Warren sourly, but made no attempt to put it to the test. They were hustled across the valley floor right to the bottom of a cliff where their feet found a narrow and precipitous path which wound its way up the cliff face. It was not very wide—just wide enough to be dangerous in the darkness, but probably able to take two men abreast in full daylight. It emerged on to a wider ledge halfway up the cliff, and he was able to see that the lights came from caves dotted along the cliff face.

  As they were marched along the ledge he peered into the caves, which were pretty well populated. At a rough estimate he thought that there could not be very much less than two hundred men in this community. He saw no women.

  They were brought to a halt in front of one of the larger caves. It was well illuminated and, as Ahmed went inside, Warren saw the tall figure of Sheikh Fahrwaz arise from a couch. Tozier gave a muffled exclamation and nudged him, ‘What is it?’ he whispered.

  Tozier was staring into the cave, and then Warren saw what had attracted his attention. Standing near Fahrwaz was a short, wiry, muscular man in European clothing. He lifted his hand in greeting at Ahmed’s approach and then stood by quietly as Ahmed talked to Fahrwaz. ‘I know that man,’ whispered Tozier.

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later—if I can. Ahmed’s coming back.’

  As Ahmed came out of the cave he made a sign and they were pushed further along the ledge and out of sight of Fahrwaz. They went about twenty yards and were stopped in front of a door let into the rock face. Someone opened it with much key-jangling, and Ahmed said, ‘I trust you won’t find the accommodation too uncomfortable. Food will be sent; we try not to starve our guests…unnecessarily.’

  Hands forced Warren through the doorway and he stumbled and fell, and then someone else fell on top of him. When they had sorted themselves out in the darkness the door had slammed and the key turned in the lock.

  Follet said breathily, ‘Pushy bastards, aren’t they?’

  Warren drew up his trouser-leg and felt his shin, encountering the stickiness of blood. A cigarette-fighter clicked and sparked a couple of times and then flared into light, casting grotesque shadows as Tozier held it up. The cave stretched back into the darkness and all was gloom in its furthest recesses. Warren saw some boxes and sacks stacked against one side but not much more because the light danced about and so did the shadows as Tozier moved about exploratively.

  ‘Ah!’ said Tozier with satisfaction. ‘This is what we want.’ The flame grew and brightened as he applied it to a stump of candle.

  Follet looked around. ‘This must be the lock-up,’ he said. ‘Store room too, by the look of it, but first a lock-up. Every military unit needs a lock-up—it’s a law of nature.’

  ‘Military!’ said Warren.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tozier. ‘It’s a military set-up. A bit rough and ready—guerrilla, I’d say—but definitely an army of sorts. Didn’t you see the guns?’ He set down the candle on a box.

  ‘This is something I didn’t expect,’ said Warren. ‘It doesn’t fit in with drugs.’

  ‘Neither does Metcalfe,’ said Tozier. ‘That’s the man who was with Fahrwaz. Now I really am puzzled. Metcalfe and guns I can understand—they go together like bacon and eggs. But Metcalfe and dope is bloody impossible.’

  ‘Why? Who is this man?’

  ‘Metcalfe is…well, he’s just Metcalfe. He’s as bent as they come, but there’s one thing he’s known for—he won’t have anything to do with drugs. He’s had plenty of opportunity, mark you, because he’s a smart boy, but he’s always turned down the chance—sometimes violently. It’s a sort of phobia with him.’

  Warren sat down on a box. ‘Tell me more.’

  Tozier prodded a paper sack and looked at the inscription on the side. It contained fertilizer. He pulled it up and sat on it. ‘He’s been in my game—that’s how I met him…’

  ‘As a mercenary?’

  Tozier nodded. ‘In the Congo. But he doesn’t stick to one trade; he’s game for anything—the crazier the better. I believe he was kicked out of South Africa because of a crooked deal in diamonds, and I know he was smuggling out of Tangier when it was an open port before the Moroccans took over.’

  ‘What was he smuggling?’

  Tozier shrugged. ‘Cigarettes to Spain; antibiotics—there was a shortage in those days; and I also heard he was smuggling guns to the Algerian rebels.’

  ‘Was he?’ said Warren with interest. ‘So was Jeanette Delorme.’

  ‘I heard a garbled story that he was mixed up in smuggling a hell of a lot of gold out of Italy, but nothing seemed to come of that. It didn’t make him much richer, anyway. I’m telling you all this to show what kind of a man he is. Anything goes, excepting one thing—drugs. And don’t ask me why because I don’t know.’

  ‘So why is he here?’

  ‘Because it’s military. He’s one of the best guerrilla leaders I know. He never was any great shakes in a formal military unit—he didn’t go in for the Blanco, bullshit and squarebashing—but with guerrillas he’s deadly. That’s my guess for what it’s worth. We know the Kurds are having a bash at the Iraqis—Ahmed told us. They’ve imported Metcalfe to help them out.’

  ‘And what about the drugs which he’s not supposed to like?’

  Tozier was silent for a while. ‘Maybe he doesn’t know about them.’

  Warren ruminated over that, wondering how it could be turned to advantage. He was just about to speak when the key clattered in the lock and the door swung open. A Kurd came in with a pistol ready in his hand and stationed himself with his back to the rock face. Ahmed followed. ‘I said we don’t starve our guests. Here is food. It may not be congenial to your European palates, but it is good food, none the less.’

  Two big brass trays were brought in, each covered by a cloth. Ahmed said, ‘Ah, Mr Tozier: I believe we have a friend in common. I see no reason why you and Mr Metcalfe should not have a chat later—after you have eaten.’

  ‘I’d be pleased to see Tom Metcalfe again,’ said Tozier.

  ‘I thought you would.’ Ahmed turned away, and then paused. ‘Oh, gentlemen, there is just one other thing. My father needs certain information. Now, who can give it to him?’ He studied Warren with a half smile on his lips. ‘I don’t think Mr Warren could be persuaded very easily—and Mr Tozier even less so. I regarded you carefully last time we met.’

  His gaze switched to Follet. ‘Now, you are an American, Mr Follet.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Follet. ‘Next time you see the American consul tell him I’d like to see him.’

  ‘A commendable spirit,’ observed Ahmed, and sighed. ‘I fear you may be as obstinate as your friends. My father wishes to…er…talk to you himself, but he is an old man and in need of sleep at this late hour. So you are fortunate in that you have a few more hours.’ With that he went, followed by his bodyguard, and the door slammed.

  Tozier indicated the paraffin lamp on one of the trays. ‘He wa
s kind enough to leave that.’

  Follet lifted a cloth. ‘It’s hot food.’

  Tozier took the cloth from the other tray. ‘I suppose we might as well eat. It’s not too bad—cous-cous and chicken with coffee afterwards.’

  Follet gnawed on a leg of chicken, then looked at it in disgust, ‘This one must have been an athlete.’

  Warren picked up a plate. ‘Where do you reckon we are?’

  ‘Somewhere up near the Turkish border,’ said Follet. ‘As near as I can reckon. Not far from the Iranian border, either.’

  ‘In the Kurdish heartland,’ commented Tozier. ‘That might mean something—or nothing.’ He frowned. ‘Do you remember what Ahmed was blowing off about back in Iran, Nick? About the Kurdish political situation? What was that name he mentioned? It was someone who had the Iraqi army tied up in knots.’

  ‘Barzani,’ said Warren. ‘Mullah Mustapha Barzani.’

  ‘That’s the man. Ahmed said he had an army. I wonder if this crowd is part of it.’

  ‘It could be. I don’t see how it helps us.’

  ‘God helps those who help themselves,’ said Follet practically. Still holding the chicken leg, he got up, took the candle, and began to explore the further reaches of the cave. His voice came hollowly. ‘Not much here.’

  ‘What do you expect in a jail?’ asked Tozier. ‘All the same, it’s a good idea to see what resources we have. What’s in that box you’re sitting on, Nick?’

  ‘It’s empty.’

  ‘And I’m sitting on fertilizer,’ said Tozier in disgust. ‘Anything else, Johnny?’

  ‘Not much. More empty boxes; some automotive spare parts—all rusty, half a can of diesel oil; a hell of a lot of nuts and bolts; a couple of sacks of straw—that’s about all.’

  Tozier sighed. Follet came back, put down the candle, then picked up the lamp and shook it close to his ear. ‘There’s some kerosene in here and there’s that straw over there—maybe we can do something with that.’

  ‘You can’t burn a cave to the ground, Johnny. We’d just asphyxiate ourselves.’ Tozier went to the door. ‘This is going to take some shifting—it must be four inches thick.’ He cocked his head on one side. ‘There’s someone coming. Watch it.’ He retreated from the door and sat down.

  It opened and the man called Metcalfe came in. He was brushing himself down and turned his head as the door thudded behind him. ‘Then he looked at Tozier and said without smiling, ‘Hello, Andy; long time no see.’

  ‘Hello, Tom.’

  Metcalfe came forward and held out his hand, and Tozier grasped it. ‘What in hell are you doing here?’

  ‘That’s a long story,’ said Tozier. ‘This is Nick Warren—Johnny Follet.’

  ‘If I said, “Pleased to meet you,” I’d be wrong,’ said Metcalfe wryly. He looked Warren up and down with a keen eye, then glanced at Tozier. ‘Here on business, Andy?’

  ‘Sort of. We didn’t come willingly.’

  ‘I saw the boys hustling you in—I couldn’t believe my eyes. It’s not like you to be nabbed as easily as that.’

  ‘Take the weight off your feet, Tom,’ said Tozier. ‘Which will you have—the fertilizer or the box?’

  ‘Yeah, stay and visit with us for a while,’ said Follet.

  ‘I’ll have the box,’ said Metcalfe delicately. ‘You’re a Yank, aren’t you?’

  Follet burlesqued a southern accent. ‘Them’s fightin’ words where ah comes from. Ah may have bin bawn in Arizony but ma pappy’s from Jawjah.’

  Metcalfe looked at him thoughtfully for a long time. ‘I’m glad to see high spirits—you’re going to need them. You look as though you’ve seen service.’

  ‘A long time ago,’ said Follet. ‘Korea.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Metcalfe. He grinned and his teeth gleamed white against his sunburnt face. ‘A legitimate type. And you Warren?’

  ‘I’m a doctor.’

  ‘So! And what’s a doctor doing wandering about Kurdistan with a bad type like Andy Tozier?’

  Tozier pulled at his ear. ‘Are you in employment at the moment, Tom?’

  ‘Just wrapping something up,’ said Metcalfe.

  ‘In command?’

  Metcalfe looked blank. ‘In command!’ His brow cleared and he laughed. ‘You mean—am I training these boys? Andy, this crowd could teach us a thing or two—they’ve been fighting for the last thirty-five years. I’ve just brought a consignment in, that’s all. I’m leaving in a couple of days.’

  ‘A consignment of what?’

  ‘What the blazes do you think? Arms, of course. What else would this lot need?’ He smiled. ‘I’m supposed to be asking the questions, not you. That’s what old Fahrwaz sent me in here for. Ahmed didn’t like it—he wanted to carve you up immediately, but the old boy thought I might solve his problem without him going to extreme lengths.’ His face was serious. ‘You’re in a really bad spot this time, Andy.’

  ‘What does he want to know?’ asked Warren.

  Metcalfe looked up. ‘Everything there is to know. You seem to have upset him somehow, but he didn’t go into that with me. He thought that since I know Andy here, I might get your confidence.’ He shook his head. ‘You’ve come down in the world if you’re working for a film company, Andy. So I think it’s a cover—and so does Fahrwaz.’

  ‘And what does Barzani think?’ asked Tozier.

  ‘Barzani!’ said Metcalfe in surprise. ‘How in hell do I know what Barzani thinks?’ Suddenly he slapped his knee. ‘Did you really think that Fahrwaz was one of Barzani’s men? That’s really funny.’

  ‘I’m laughing my goddam head off,’ said Follet sourly.

  ‘It’s time for a lesson in Kurdish politics,’ said Metcalfe didactically. ‘Fahrwaz used to be with Barzani—they were together when the Russkies tried to set up the Mehabad Kurdish Republic in Iran back in 1946. They even went into exile together when it collapsed. They were great chums. Then Barzani came here to Iraq, built up a following, and has been knocking hell out of the Iraqis ever since.’

  ‘And Fahrwaz?’

  ‘Ah, he’s one of the Pej Merga,’ said Metcalfe as though that was a full explanation.

  ‘The self-sacrificing,’ translated Tozier thoughtfully. ‘So?’

  ‘The Pej Merga was the hard core that Barzani could always rely on, but not any more—not since he started to dicker with President Bakr on the basis of an autonomous Kurdish province in Iran. Fahrwaz is a hawk and he thinks the Iraqis will renege on the deal, and he may be right. More importantly, he and most of the Pej Merga want none of a Kurdish Republic in Iran. They don’t want Kurdistan to be split between Iraq, Iran and Turkey—they want a unified Kurdish nation and no half measures.’

  ‘Something like the Irish problem,’ observed Tozier. ‘With Fahrwaz and the Pej Merga doing the IRA bit.’

  ‘You’ve got the picture. Fahrwaz regards Barzani as a traitor to the Kurdish nation for even listening to Bakr, but Barzani commands respect—he was fighting the Iraqis for years when Fahrwaz was sitting on his rump in Iran. If Barzani makes a deal with the Iraqis then Fahrwaz is out on a limb. That’s why he’s stock-piling arms as fast as he can.’

  ‘And you’re supplying them,’ said Warren. ‘What do you believe in?’

  Metcalfe shrugged. ‘The Kurds have been given a rough deal for centuries,’ he said. ‘If Barzani does a deal with the Iraqis and it goes sour, then the Kurds will need some insurance. I’m supplying it. Bakr came to power by a coup d’état and his regime isn’t all sweetness and light. I can see Fahrwaz’s point of view.’ He rubbed his jaw. ‘Not that I like him—he’s a bit too fanatical for my taste.’

  ‘Where is he getting his support—his money?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Metcalfe grinned. ‘As long as I’m paid I don’t care where the money comes from.’

  ‘I think you might,’ said Tozier softly. ‘How did you bring in the arms?’

  ‘You know better than to ask a question like that. A trade secret, old boy.’

&nb
sp; ‘What are you taking out of here?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Metcalfe in surprise. ‘I get paid through a Beirut bank. You don’t think I wander through the Middle East with my pockets full of gold. I’m not that stupid.’

  ‘I think you’d better tell him all about it, Nick,’ said Tozier. ‘It’s all falling into place, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’d like to know something first,’ said Warren. ‘Who contacted you originally on this arms deal? Who suggested it would be a good idea to take a load of guns to Fahrwaz? Who supplied them?’

  Metcalfe smiled and glanced at Tozier. ‘Your friend is too nosy for his own good. That also comes under the heading of trade secrets.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be Jeanette Delorme?’ suggested Warren.

  Metcalfe’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead. ‘You seem to know quite a lot. No wonder Fahrwaz is getting worried.’

  ‘You ought to be getting worried,’ said Tozier. ‘When I asked you if you were taking anything out I had dope in mind.’

  Metcalfe went very still. ‘And what gave you that idea?’ he said in a tight voice.

  ‘Because there’s a ton of pure morphine around here somewhere,’ said Warren. ‘Because Fahrwaz is running drugs to pay for his revolution. Because the Delorme woman is supplying the arms to pay for the drugs, and she’s sitting in Beirut right now waiting to ship a consignment of heroin to the States.’

  There were harsh lines on Metcalfe’s face. ‘I don’t know that I believe this.’

  ‘Oh, grow up, Tom,’ said Tozier. ‘We cleaned up Fahrwaz’s place in Iran. I personally destroyed ten tons of opium—blew it to hell. He’s in it up to his scrawny old neck.’

  Metcalfe stood up slowly. ‘I have your word on this, Andy?’

  ‘For what it’s worth,’ said Tozier. ‘You know me, Tom.’

  ‘I don’t like being used,’ said Metcalfe in a choked voice. ‘Jeanette knows I don’t like drugs. If she’s implicated me in this I’ll kill the bitch—I swear it.’ He swung on Warren. ‘How much morphine did you say?’