by J Randall
“I bet he does. Why is Six here?” by which she meant MI6, British Intelligence.
“Percy owed a favor to your Mr. Terrance. I was doing a little work in Syria for the Berliner Zeitung and was asked to repay the favor. I have your equipment in Baghdad. We can make a quick stop on the return trip and check it out.”
“That will work. What are your plans?”
“I hand over the equipment and highstep it back to Damascus. Glad to be of service, but afraid it’s a limited deal.”
“Not a problem, Peter. It is Peter, isn’t it? I appreciate the assistance.”
“Actually it is Peter. Hoffmann was my great grandfather, a migrant out of the fatherland before the big war—World War I as he used to tell it.”
They both continued to watch the road as they left the city behind and drove into the land often called ‘The Cradle of Civilization’—Mesopotamia, the Greek for ‘between the rivers,’ the mighty Euphrates and the Tigris.
The fertile soil, seldom watered by the region’s sparse rain, was nourished by a canal system that enabled the farmers to reap rich crop harvests by their labors.
Their documents were in order and they were allowed to proceed without hindrance through the two military checkpoints they passed on the way. Soon they reached the ruins of Babylon, whose hanging gardens had once been one of the Seven Wonders of the World. In the distance they could see the palace that Saddam Hussein had had built for himself on an artificial mound overlooking the ruins.
* * *
Gloria took three rolls of film and purchased a badly written book on the history of Babylon before they left the ruins for Baghdad.
They saw no recognizable vehicles following them, so they relaxed their instinctive guard a notch.
“How long have you been in Damascus, Peter?”
“It seems like a lifetime, but actually I’ve been there only three months. My cover’s beginning to run a little thin and I don’t expect to be there much longer.”
Peter trained his magnetic blue eyes on Gloria. “And you, how long do you expect to be in Baghdad?”
She looked back at him through her black contacts. “My reservation’s for two weeks, but it should be resolved before that.”
CHAPTER 49: SAFE HOUSE
PETER STEERED THE FORD down a quiet residential street and drove through the open gate of a gravel driveway that led to a house hidden behind trees and shrubbery.
Gloria got out and examined the surrounding yard. She could barely see any of the neighboring properties through the abundant flora in the yard around the sprawling single-storied house.
“Whose house?”
“It’s one of many residences owned by a senior member of the Baath party, who rented it to a colonel in the Republican Guard, who subleased it to the governor of one of the provinces, who rented it to a wealthy merchant in Baghdad.”
“Would you say that’s confusing?”
“I would and that’s what makes it a perfect safehouse. The payment’s substantial and in US dollars, which keeps the local gentry happy and the house secure.”
“Will I have any difficulty operating out of here?”
“As a French correspondent, yes, but as an Arab I don’t think you’ll attract undo attention. The merchant has a penchant for young girls. His reason for renting it.”
Gloria smiled. “I probably wouldn’t pass for a young girl, but in a black chador my wrinkles won’t be so obvious.”
Peter raised an eyebrow at the comment then led the way into the house and closed and locked the door behind them. Then he led her to a windowless room in the interior of the house.
Gloria watched him slide a key from his pocket and unlock a heavy wooden sideboard, revealing an assortment of weapons and ammunition.
“Here you’ll find some standard as well as some specialized pieces. There’s this 9mm Sig-Sauer pistol. It holds an eight-round magazine. This is a Colt M-4 assault carbine. It’s mounted with a 4X scope and QD sound suppressor and it holds a thirty-round magazine. This one’s a Heckler & Koch MP53. It’s chambered for the standard NATO 5.56mm round and also holds a thirty-round magazine. This beauty’s a favorite of mine, a Draganov self-loading sniper rifle with scope and silencer.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Of course, there’s a decent supply of ammunition. And you’ll find an assortment of odds and ends. Knives and garrotes. Smoke and flash-bang grenades. Trip flares. Et cetera.”
Peter grinned without any mirth. “I hope there’s something here to your liking.”
Gloria returned the grim humor. “It’ll have to do.”
He stepped to a locked wardrobe and opened it. In it hung an assortment of military clothing and equipment, including binoculars, spotting scopes and night vision devices.
“This concludes the Peter Hoffmann Army surplus tour.”
“I really am impressed. It must have taken a good deal of time to put all of this together. I assume you’re going to show me how to deactivate the C-4 charges in the cabinets. I would hate to destroy your toys and myself by mistake.”
“Of course. We wouldn’t like them to fall into the hands of a bad guy. The triggering mechanism isn’t electrical, unfortunately. Baghdad suffers sporadic rolling blackouts, making strom, as we say in German, unreliable. It’s chemical and it’s activated when the top of the sideboard or the door of the wardrobe is opened. The movement of the chemical switch sets off the detonator, taking out the intruder and leveling most of the house.”
Peter saw that he had Gloria’s full attention. “To unlock either of the cabinets, turn the key 360 degrees to the right then 360 to the left and push the lock forward until it unlocks.
“To lock it,” he said, demonstrating with the door of the wardrobe, “you close the door, the lock pops back out and you reverse the sequence—360 left then 360 right…Would you like to try it with the sideboard?”
Gloria nodded knowingly. “I appreciate your trust in me.”
She closed and locked the sideboard. “I believe that was a lesson I won’t forget.”
“No more than once anyway.”
Peter checked his watch. “I think it’s time for us to make our appearance at the hotel. I really must be getting back to Damascus. I prepaid the hired car for two weeks and left the second driver blank. All you have to do is fill it in and you should have no problems if stopped by a local gendarme.”
* * *
Peter parked the Ford in the hotel parking lot and handed the keys to Gloria.
“Mademoiselle Caruthers, I vish you vell in your future endeavors. But I’m afraid I must take my leave. My schedule has me back in Syria Wednesday. If I’m to be there tomorrow, time is running late. Adieu.”
Bowing in perfect Prussian fashion, he right-faced and with an exaggerated goose step left the lot.
With an amused smile on her face, Gloria watched until he walked around the corner, then she made her way to the hotel.
She recognized the dark-skinned clerk with a large black mole near his temple who had checked her in the previous night.
“Miss Caruthers, I hope your Tuesday is well.”
“Oui, I visited the ruins of Babylon today. My readers in France will enjoy the article…Is it possible to get film developed?”
“I make arrangements for you, but it may be not so cheap.”
She handed him three rolls of film and a ten-dollar bill. “This is for your trouble. Have the cost put on my hotel bill. Le Figaro is paying, if you understand what I mean.”
Gloria knew a little bakshish would make a guest a rare commodity to be treated well.
He smiled and displayed a wide gap between two upper front teeth. “Of course. Will there be something more?”
Gloria could imagine him rubbing his hands in gleeful anticipation, if Arabs did that sort of thing.
“I’ll be driving north tomorrow, to the city of Hatra. I plan to visit the excavation and take pictures of the temples. I expect I’ll be gone for two or three days
, but of course I’ll be keeping the room here.”
She handed him twenty dollars. “Do you see a problem?”
He could hardly speak, owing to the flexion of his smile. “No! Of course not! Your room will await your return. I wish you a good journey.”
She smiled pleasantly at the clerk, thanked him then went to her room to shower before dinner.
She wondered how they would cook the mutton tonight.
And what they would name it.
CHAPTER 50: “THE COUSIN FROM ISRAEL”
THE GROUP OF MEN who had had tea and made small talk in Hilal’s house the day before included Medhat, Nasif and his sons—Alam, Nabil and Omed—and their newly arrived cousin Sabah. Hilal had left earlier in the morning to check on the status of his plane.
Sabah asked, “What can you tell me of Mr. Holden?”—more to put his cousins at ease than to learn anything. “Does he seem like a reasonable man who will help us?”
Medhat nodded. “His main interest seems to be the cleric. I believe he wants to avenge his inspectors.”
“What did this cleric do to the inspectors?” Sabah also wanted to find out whether his cousins knew anything of the truth.
“The cleric kidnapped the inspectors and held them prisoner. Until they escaped.”
“How was the cleric able to do this? Did he injure or kill any of them?”
Medhat took a sip of tea. “That we don’t know. Bill is willing to help the tribe reclaim the medallion if we help him get the cleric.”
Sabah realized from Medhat’s using the short form of the American’s name that the chief of the UN inspectors had made a favorable impression on his cousins.
Sabah wanted to guide their actions, but do it subtly. “Perhaps we should contact him and set up another meeting.”
“Indeed we shall,” said Medhat, “after Hilal returns from the air base. I believe we have enough of the tribe in Baghdad to work out a plan.”
Sabah, an Arab born in Israel, was in a dilemma. His parents—who had remained in Israel and not fled like their Palestinian neighbors when it was established by UN Resolution—had taught him that the blood of the family and the tribe would withstand the ravages of time. But when his parents died in a car crash when he was ten, the Mossad provided for his education and eventual recruitment into the organization. It was his adopted family.
He would help to find the medallion, but pity on anyone interfering with his search for the nerve agent. He would destroy the agent if it couldn’t be recovered, regardless of the cost in lives, including his own.
Hilal returned at three in the afternoon.
Omed asked the cousins’ first question when the pilot entered the room. “Hilal, did you get your plane fixed?”
“The mechanics need to replace a fuel line,” he replied with a wink. “I’m afraid I’ll have to put up with your questions for a couple of more days.”
“Two days for a fuel line—are the times that bad?” asked Sabah.
Hilal’s forehead wrinkled as he stared into Sabah’s gray eyes. “We don’t have the luxury of the Americans subsidizing our Air Force as you have in Israel.”
“Forgive me, cousin, I didn’t intend to insult you. I suppose I have become too soft in my thinking.”
Sabah’s apology eased the tension in the room and Medhat tried to reduce it further. “Cousins, the conflicts of our adopted countries aren’t why we’re here today. Let’s set them aside while we work for the honor of our tribe.”
He wrapped his arms around the shoulders of Hilal and Sabah and they nodded in agreement, but he sensed in the physical reserve of their bodies that they still distrusted each other.
“I think it’s time to contact Bill. If we’re not ready now, we’ll never be ready.”
CHAPTER 51: MEETING IN RUINS
“HOLDEN SPEAKING.”
The duty officer had notified Bill that he had a phone call. But the man on the line wouldn’t leave his name. “Just tell Mr. Holden I have a ten-gallon Stetson for him.”
“Bill, this is Medhat. I’d like to arrange a meeting for tomorrow, if that’s convenient for you?”
“Yes, I think something can be arranged…But I do have one small problem.”
“What’s that?”
“I guess I really pissed the cleric off today. He has at least eight people watching the compound. I’m not sure how many more are hidden down the road.”
“What did you do to the cleric?”
“I returned something that belonged to a recently deceased colleague of his…Can I get back with you?”
Bill glanced at his watch. “In an hour?”
“Okay. Use the number I gave you yesterday—it’s a mobile phone.”
“Got it.”
Bill hung up the phone and asked the duty officer, “Have you seen Jerry Perry today?”
“He and Smitty were working on the helicopter earlier and may still be there. Why? Has there been an accident?”
“No, nothing requiring a med evac. Just a few things I need to go over with him.
“If you get more calls and they mention a Stetson, come and get me.”
Bill left the communications center and stopped by the recreation room and canteen before continuing to the flight pad. As he neared the white UN helicopter, he could see two men on top of it.
“How’s it going, Jerry? Problem with the bird?”
Jerry said a few words to the crew chief and climbed down the maintenance ladder. He pulled a rag out of his mechanic’s coveralls and wiped oil off his hands as he sauntered up to the Chief of Inspectors.
“No, she’s running fine, but if we don’t continually check and replace the oils and lubricants, the sand won’t forgive it. I thought you’d be on holiday. In fact, I heard you were in New York.”
“I was there for a few days, but missed the wide open spaces of the desert.”
Bill shifted his gaze to Smitty then back to Jerry. “Am I keeping you from work or can you spare a few minutes?”
“Smitty has everything under control. He was just teaching me the finer points of engine maintenance. What’s on your mind?”
“Remember the man we missed by a couple of days at the cave?”
Jerry studied Bill’s expression for a moment. “The cleric, right?”
“That’s the one. After he left the cave he went to Saudi Arabia for a few days…Well, he’s back in town.”
“You mean here in Baghdad? He must have big balls to come back after what he did.”
Bill nodded. “Turns out some good guys are after him for a different reason. I met with them yesterday and we sort of agreed to pool our resources and see this incident through to a happy ending.”
Jerry’s eyes went to the helicopter then back to Bill. “Are the bird and my services part of the resources?”
“No, but I could use a favor. I need to have another meeting, but it seems I pissed the cleric off and now he has half of his congregation watching the compound. That makes it kind of hard for me to use ground transportation without being seen when I drive out.”
“When’s your meeting?”
“Tomorrow. We haven’t set a time or a place. Where do you go when you need to get in some flight time?”
“We normally keep away from the military bases unless we’re on a medical evacuation. The Iraqis won’t harass us, but they get a little pissed when we fly over their installions. To be honest, we try to get a view of some of the historical sites.”
“Is there a place close by, where you could drop a man off and pick him up an hour later without attracting too much attention? The people I’m meeting will be driving out of Baghdad and I don’t want them on the road for an extended period of time.”
“Have you ever been to Babylon?”
“If you mean the city with the famous hanging gardens, I’ve heard about it. How far from here?”
Jerry lifted an arm and arched it toward the south. “A little over ninety kilometers, just a short flight and a little over an hour b
y car. There’s a spot near the ruins where I could drop someone off without them being seen.”
“Didn’t Saddam build one of his palaces there?”
“Yeah, in the late ’80s.”
“Will it present a problem? I mean, flying there.”
“No. As with the inspectors, the military tends to vanish when the UN bird’s in the vicinity.”
“I need to telephone someone and see what I can arrange. Where will you be, in say an hour?”
“Try the rec room.”
“Thanks. I’ll get back with you.”
Bill marched to his room and used his satellite phone to talk to Medhat. Hilal knew his way around the ruins and they quickly agreed to meet the following day at 1400 hours, when the tourist shops would be closed.
Jerry consented to lift off at 1300, which would put Bill at Babylon before the meeting.
* * *
The next day as the helicopter flew out of Baghdad, Bill glanced at the flowing Tigris below…Its path twisted and turned like the body of a huge green serpent seeking to escape the clutches of Iraq…Eventually, after flowing more than four hundred kilometers, it would meet its sister the Euphrates south of Baghdad.
The helicopter turned west and Bill’s earphones crackled.
“We drop you off in five minutes.”
“I hear you, buddy, I appreciate the ride. I’ll be at the drop off an hour from now. Hope to see you.”
“Roger.” Jerry lowered the helicopter to the ground, the rotors kicking up dust and sand that made it nearly impossible to see where they were.
Bill jumped into the turbulence and closed the door. Holding his kaffiyeh in place with one hand and shielding his eyes with the other, he trotted a short distance away and waited for the storm to subside.
As the noise of the engines receded and the biting sand settled, he leaned his head back and followed the UN helicopter until it became a speck of dust.
The ruins of Babylon lay between him and the Euphrates River. He adjusted his kaffiyeh and ascended the incline.