The Protector

by Duncan Falconer

  ‘So what are you trying to tell me? That I have no right to try and free an American from captivity? You think that’s gonna fly? Tell me some more. I’d love to write that story.’

  The man took a final draw from his cigarette and tossed the glowing butt to the ground. ‘I have a responsibility for your safety, Jake. It’s not true that I can’t stop you. But I respect your freedom. I’d just like you to respect our efforts to maintain national security.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me. How the fuck does this affect national security?’

  There was an uneasy silence for a moment until Asterman eventually spoke. ‘What if I told you I could block the ransom money?’

  ‘I’d say you were full of shit. If they cut his head off that would put the knife in your hands.’

  There was another long silence.

  ‘You gonna stop me or not?’ Stanza asked.

  ‘Like I said, Jake. I respect your freedom . . . Gonna be a tough drive, though.’ Asterman looked over at Abdul, his gaze falling on the young man’s stump. ‘Off the record, Jake. One American to another. That’s a mean road you’re gonna have to take. A lotta tougher folk than you have tried it and failed.’

  The sound of footsteps crunching the gravel caused the spooks to turn instantly.The one by the open door raised his M4 assault rifle as another climbed out of the front passenger side, a pistol in his hand.

  Mallory walked past the Mercedes, his small backpack over his shoulder. ‘Evening,’ he said to Asterman as he carried on across to Abdul.‘Keys,’ he said, holding out his hand.

  Abdul had remained perfectly still throughout the exchange, unable to understand the game being played and concerned that the American official was going to stop them going to Fallujah. Mallory’s arrival caused Abdul’s heart to race and he lowered his head, unable to look the man in the eyes for fear that his own stare might reveal his hatred. He dropped the car keys into Mallory’s outstretched hand.

  Asterman looked from Mallory back to Stanza and sighed deeply. ‘You know what happened to Pierre Dusard, John Santez, Mike Kominsky, Paul Jerome, Natasha Kemp, all media freelancers who went into Fallujah a week ago?’

  Stanza stared coldly back at Asterman, suspecting that he could guess the answer.

  ‘Neither do we. And we know more than most.’ Asterman walked back to his open door and climbed in. His men did the same. The Mercedes’s engine and headlights came to life again and after the heavy doors had closed it reversed a short distance, pulled a slow, tight turn and cruised out of the car park.

  When Stanza looked over at Mallory his security adviser was staring back at him coldly. ‘Are you gonna tell me I can’t go too?’ Stanza asked. ‘Because if you do I’ll tell you the same thing I told him.’

  Mallory had been jogging past the end of the car park heading towards the checkpoint, when he’d seen Stanza in the headlights of the Mercedes some distance away, just before they went out. He’d heard most of the conversation, unable to tear himself away, and when he realised Stanza was going to stick with his plan to go to Fallujah it seemed that the only thing he could do was join the journalist and Abdul. Travelling with them legitimised his trip to Fallujah - he was responsible for their security, after all. It was still crazy but now that it was probably too late to catch his embed he was left with the same choice as before but with a different way of achieving it. He chose to go for it.

  ‘Get in the car,’ Mallory said to them both.

  Abdul climbed in the back as Mallory sat behind the wheel. Stanza remained standing outside. ‘Are you getting in or not?’ Mallory called out, starting the engine.

  Stanza leaned down to look at Mallory. Several things were playing on the reporter’s mind, but eventually he climbed in and closed the door. Mallory put the car in drive and they headed out through the checkpoints.

  After the last chicane the car turned along the potholed road that led to Sadoon Street and they crawled along, steering left and right to avoid the worst of the hazards. Before they reached the main road where traffic was passing in both directions Stanza held up his hand. ‘Stop the car,’ he said.

  Mallory glanced at him. ‘What, here?’

  ‘I said stop the car.’

  ‘This is not a good place—’

  ‘STOP THE GODDAMNED CAR!’ Stanza shouted at the top of his voice.

  Mallory was angered by the sheer petulance of the command but the man was clearly upset about something. He brought the car to a halt.

  Stanza clenched his jaw. ‘What the fuck is GOING ON?’ he shouted before turning in his seat to look at Abdul. ‘You ever see that guy before?’

  Abdul shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Tell me something. What the fuck are you doing here? Huh? Why are you here?’

  ‘You asked me that already,’ Abdul said.

  ‘A sense of fucking purpose? Bullshit! A chicken-shit kid like you wants to go with me to the most dangerous goddamned town in the goddamned world because you’re feeling left out of things?’

  Mallory stared ahead, knowing that his turn was surely coming.

  Abdul remained calm.‘I will not die for you if that’s what you think. I believe in what we are doing.’

  Stanza stared at the young man for a few seconds, unable to decide if his reply was in any way convincing. Then he turned to Mallory. ‘And what the hell is your excuse? Huh? You have more chance of getting whacked than I do. At least I have some value as a journalist if we get caught. They’ll label you CIA and slice your goddamned head off in a heartbeat . . . Well?’

  ‘You’ll think my reason is stupid.’

  ‘No kidding. Why should you be the only person in this car with an intelligent reason for going to that shit-hole? . . . No, please tell me. I’d like to hear anyway.’

  ‘Well. The truth is . . . I’d like to see the fighting. I missed most of the war and to be honest this might be my last chance to see a full-on battle.’

  ‘You want to go and watch the battle?! Christ, now I really am worried . . . Do you know why I’m going?’

  ‘Lamont . . . I heard most of the conversation between you and the spook and I can figure out the rest.’

  ‘What were you doing in the car park?’ Stanza asked, suddenly wondering.

  ‘I saw you both leaving the hotel and I was curious.’

  ‘And you just happened to have your backpack with you.’

  ‘If you were going out I was going too.You two’ve been sneaking around devising some kind of conspiracy,’ Mallory said, starting to raise his voice.‘I’m the one who should be pissed off here. I’m in charge of security and you two planned a trip to Fallujah without even consulting me.’

  ‘And you can’t figure out why?’

  ‘Damn right! I would’ve said no.’

  ‘Then what the hell are we doing now?’

  Mallory exhaled as he lost the edge of his feigned anger. ‘I decided that what you were doing was . . . well, a pretty good thing. Maybe you should do it or at least try. And I couldn’t just sit back in the hotel room and let you go alone.’

  Stanza looked ahead quizzically, then glanced between Mallory and Abdul again before facing the front.‘I don’t know what to think any more. But something stinks about this whole thing. You. Him.’

  Mallory decided to shut up and let Stanza work his way through it. The man was indecisive but now it looked as if the decision to go was all down to him. Mallory could only wonder how he’d got into this position.

  Abdul remained quietly in the darkness of the back of the car, unsure of what to make of the pair of them.

  Mallory studied the darker shadows around them. The lone car with its engine running and lights on would eventually attract attention, not only from bad guys but from any army or police who happened to be in the area.

  ‘I’m not sure if I have the strength to say that we should go any more,’ Stanza finally said. ‘If you leave it up to me I think I’ll say go back to the hotel.’

  Mallory shifted i
n his seat, wondering how he could manipulate Stanza’s uncertainty. ‘Why don’t we just head out of Baghdad, assessing the situation as we go? We don’t need to take stupid risks if we play it right. If it starts to look dodgy we abort and come home.’

  Stanza looked at Mallory. ‘You want to go that bad?’

  ‘Stanza,’ Mallory began, sounding tired of him. ‘I don’t care if you want to go back to the hotel. It’s fine with me. But I bought into your mission to try and save Lamont. I think it’s a noble idea and I have not been on a noble mission for quite some time now. So why don’t you just run through all the reasons you wanted to go to Fallujah in the first place - quietly in your head, if you don’t mind - and if they no longer work for you then let’s turn around. But do me a favour. Make your decision fast because I don’t want to sit in this street like a fucking target for a moment longer. And if it’s a yes, I don’t want to hear you whingeing to go home half a mile up the road. I run the road trip until we start the negotiations and then it’s all yours.’

  They sat in silence for a moment. Stanza shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right . . . Asterman spooked me,’ he said.

  ‘That’s what he was trying to do,’ Mallory said.

  ‘I’ll leave it up to you. You’re the security expert. If you think we should go then we’ll go.’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Mallory said as he put the car in gear. The bat was back in his hands and he had already decided what he would do with it despite the constant doubts. The car crawled out of a water-filled pothole and bumped its way to the end of the road. Mallory paused at the junction for a gap in the traffic and quickly cut across the oncoming lane to join the handful of cars heading north.

  13

  Into the Breach

  Mallory adjusted the rear-view mirror: he watched it as much as he looked ahead - his normal technique whenever he pulled away in a vehicle. This time his concern was more acute than ever. His usual plan in the event that they picked up a tail was to head for the nearest US checkpoint. But on this night they were heading out of Baghdad, away from nearby safe locations, and picking up a couple of bandits would create problems. It was impossible to detect a follower quickly if the driver behind had any level of skill. The trick was to find a distinguishing feature of any suspect vehicle that would be easily recognisable further into the journey.

  Stanza picked up on Mallory’s vigilance. ‘You think he might follow us?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘That jerk Asterman.’

  ‘I can’t think why.’

  ‘Because we might lead him to Stanmore.’

  ‘Who?’

  Stanza sighed. ‘Lamont’s real name . . . It doesn’t matter right now.’

  Mallory nodded. The details held little more than a mild interest to him. ‘Asterman won’t follow. If he gets too far from the safety of the Green Zone he’ll attract more attention in that armoured Merc than we will in this piece of shit . . . No offence meant, Abdul.’

  Abdul ignored the comment and Mallory glanced at him in the mirror as he steered around the Jumhuriyah roundabout and onto the bridge.

  ‘Abdul knows a route into Fallujah,’ Stanza offered.

  ‘Abdul?’ Mallory said, looking for a response to Stanza’s comment.

  ‘You are heading for the ten motorway?’ Abdul asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Take the ten and I will tell you where to turn off.’

  Mallory checked the lights in the rear-view mirror again to see that the configuration had changed. He memorised the new image and settled down as they left the bridge and turned right at the Assassins’ Gate towards Haifa Street.

  ‘Don’t take Haifa,’ Abdul said calmly.

  ‘I wasn’t going to,’ Mallory said. Haifa Street was probably the most dangerous stretch of residential road in Baghdad after the BIAP. US convoys could expect some sort of attack every time they went down it. Mallory took the next turn left at the Al Mansour Hotel, cut across town towards the disused Baghdad Airfield that was now a US military camp and headed east on the main surface streets to the entrance of the ten motorway.Traffic was light and after they mounted the access ramp a glance in the rear-view mirror revealed that they were alone.

  The black surface of the motorway stretched ahead of them with only a sprinkling of tiny red and white lights along it. Ten minutes later they passed a sign for Abu Ghraib and Abdul sat forward in his seat as if suddenly taking an interest in the journey. ‘That’s the prison,’ he said and they all looked to the right at the long, brightly lit and ominous wall topped with razor wire and sentry towers. The car passed through an underpass and Mallory noted they were now the only vehicle on the road in either direction.

  ‘Mobile phones don’t work beyond here,’ Abdul said, referring to the poor signal reception. ‘The first American checkpoint is about a mile further on. We must turn off soon.’

  ‘What do we turn off onto?’ Mallory asked.‘A road, track, what?’

  ‘A track through a gap in the barriers,’ Abdul said, peering into the distance in an effort to find it.‘There!’ he suddenly called out, pointing to the near side.

  Mallory slammed on the brakes and the car’s tyres screeched loudly. Before it came to a stop Mallory slammed it into reverse and the occupants jerked forwards as the vehicle accelerated backwards, snaking from side to side as Mallory avoided the crash barriers. They passed the gap, Mallory applied the brakes - with less of a screech this time - threw the lever into drive, which caused a crunching sound, and the car shunted forward. He turned off the road and down a steep bumpy embankment after which the ground levelled out again. The headlights exposed deep tyre tracks in the sand and Mallory followed them into the blackness.

  ‘How far along this track?’ Mallory asked, deciding to get all the information he could from Abdul ahead of time to avoid any more emergency stops.

  ‘You will come to a road soon. We go left.’

  The sandy track was awkward to drive along at any great speed with several soft patches that threatened to suck them to a standstill if Mallory got too slow. He maintained the vehicle’s momentum to push them through and after half a mile they mounted a solid bank and bounced over an edge onto a narrow tarmac road. Mallory braked hard as he turned the wheel in an effort to keep all four tyres on the road. He had only partial success. But the verge was firm and eventually he managed to steer back onto the tarmac and accelerate away.

  ‘What’s next?’ Mallory asked, peering ahead along a straight dark road that the headlights failed to illuminate adequately. Open countryside was on either side of them, with clumps of bushes and trees lining the road.

  ‘Stay on this road for a few miles,’ Abdul said.

  ‘And then what?’ Mallory persisted.

  ‘We pass through some villages and then we come to a river, which we will follow.’

  ‘What about the US military?’ Stanza asked.

  ‘What about them?’ Abdul asked.

  ‘For Christ’s sake. Where are they?’ Stanza asked excitedly.

  Mallory glanced at the journalist, wondering exactly how strung out he was.

  ‘I do not know where the Americans are,’ Abdul said. ‘They could be anywhere . . . They are not your only problem, though.’

  ‘Don’t you just love the way he says “your problem” and not “ours”?’ Stanza mumbled.

  Several squat angular shapes appeared up ahead and a moment later a dull orange glow became evident inside some of them. It was a small mud-brick hamlet of dilapidated dwellings, several with benzene lamps but with no other sign of life other than a corral of aimless-looking cows and goats. The car’s headlights swept across the animals as it passed through the village.

  Mallory was maintaining a pace that would only just allow him time to react safely if something appeared in the headlights. He took a moment to run through in his mind the technicalities of a handbrake turn. He’d done one only once before - for a laugh when he’d been a young Marine out with
some of the lads.

  A T-junction appeared eventually and Abdul instructed Mallory to take the left turn. The other minor roads they had been on since leaving the motorway had been quite straight but this one snaked tightly. Mallory soon realised they were following the line of a small river mostly hidden behind a lush bank of trees and bushes. They shadowed the waterway for several miles before eventually moving away from it and straightening up again. A fork in the road appeared and Mallory slowed, expecting Abdul to give him directions but none came. He turned to see Abdul looking ahead, a confused expression on his face.

  ‘Well?’ Mallory asked.

  Abdul’s expression did not change.

  Stanza looked around at him. ‘Which way?’

  ‘We should come to a crossroads after the river,’ Abdul said.

  ‘Which way did your cousin say to go at the crossroads? ’ Mallory asked.

  ‘Across.’

  They stared at the junction for a moment.

  ‘What came after the crossroads?’ Mallory asked, breaking the silence.

  ‘A fork.’

  Mallory sighed in frustration. ‘Which way at the fork?’

  ‘Left,’ Abdul said, suddenly irritated that Mallory assumed he had got the crossroads and the fork mixed up. ‘My cousin told me a crossroads was first.’

  Mallory made an executive decision and accelerated into the left-hand road. ‘What came after the fork?’

  ‘Another crossroads.’

  They drove along the winding road into increasing darkness that the car’s headlights struggled to penetrate. All eyes were glued to the beam as a faint glow on the horizon hinted at a town ahead.

  Stanza clasped his clammy hands together, his breathing quicker than normal. Since leaving the city he’d more than once had the urge to slam the dashboard and demand that Mallory turn around and head back to the hotel. The fear of running smack-bang into death at any second grew with every bend in the road - he felt as if he was playing some insane game of Russian roulette. But he could not say what kept him from giving in to his fears. It was not embarrassment, nor the dim hope of getting the story of his life, nor the chance of saving Stanmore’s life. What kept Stanza from cracking wide open was the connection he had made with his old self. It was not all that long ago that Stanza would look forward in an odd kind of way to dangers such as the race riots he had experienced. This mission to Fallujah was far more dangerous, of course, but the buzz was similar and he needed to find that part of himself again.