The Imam of the Cave

by J Randall

  Gloria found an empty taxi and asked the driver to take her to the market in the central district.

  As her panic had been hidden behind her black chador and dark contact lenses, so was her relief at driving away from the Mosque.

  Her nerves settled and she meandered through the stalls of the open air market. The Arabic of some of the vendors she spoke with was poorer than her own.

  Some of them asked what city she came from.

  “Al Basrah,” she lied often.

  She enjoyed the conversational practice and picked up some nuances of the Baghdad dialect.

  She paid the vendor for the food and beverages she would need during the next couple of days and made her way out of the market and into the first taxi that stopped.

  She gave the driver an address near the bus stop where her outing had begun.

  Gloria stood at the open gate in front of the safehouse. She studied the ground for shoe or tire tracks then edged cautiously forward, stopping every couple of feet and listening.

  Hearing nothing but her own breathing, she continued until she reached the front door. Satisfied that the grounds were vacant, she unlocked the door and slipped in.

  She crept from room to room and checked the tripwires. None had been disturbed.

  She let out a quiet sigh of relief. A professional would have known how to circumvent such traps, but she knew that if the house had been compromised, the secret police would have been waiting for her.

  As she put her purchases into the refrigerator, the hunger she had ignored during the day’s reconnaissance spoke out in a rumble from her stomach. She opened a bottle of mineral water and took a long drink, then lit her second cigarette of the day.

  Having quenched her physical needs for sustenance and quelled the rumbling, she washed the plates and utensils using cold water and put them away.

  She carried the plastic bottle of mineral water into the interior room containing the sideboard and wardrobe and sat down on a cloth-upholstered chair. The tan and green date palm embroidered in the design was faded and the seat cushion was beginning to fray at the seams.

  Gloria set the bottle on a cork coaster on the small lamp table next to the chair, lit a cigarette and recollected the day’s events.

  From the few words she had overheard at the mosque, it appeared that the hunter was being hunted, making the situation far more complex. Tracking a big cat on a hunt, you would follow him cautiously until you cornered him, but it could be too late when you realized it was the pride you faced.

  She felt the satellite phone vibrate on her belt.

  “Yes, I’m at the safehouse. Interesting day. I visited the mosque and almost ran into the cleric.” She described what she had seen and heard…“Yes, those were his exact words …You still want me to keep my presence in Baghdad quiet?…Yes, I understand…I’ll call tomorrow if I don’t hear from you first.”

  Gloria set the phone on the table and spent the next hour taking a detailed inventory of her arsenal.

  CHAPTER 54: STANDOFF

  “YES, BILL, I UNDERSTAND…No, our cousins report that the cleric remains in the mosque…I’ll contact you if I hear anything…You also. Good-bye.”

  Medhat put down the phone and brought his cousins up to date. “That was Bill. He says that the people watching the compound have left.”

  Hilal was surprised. “Perhaps they’re keeping watch from a distance.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, Bill seems to think that he can resume checking some of the places that are close to Baghdad.”

  Sabah’s eyes narrowed. “Hilal, do you know where these places are?”

  “I know of a few in the city. We have a detailed list at the airfield—a list of places we were warned not to go near.”

  “Could you get the list?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “We don’t have a good feel for what Holden’s people are doing in Iraq. Visiting a few of the places they go to might give us some ideas.”

  Medhat clapped his hands. “Excellent, cousin! If we’re going to sit and wait, we might as well see some of Baghdad.”

  * * *

  Hilal got back from the airfield in the late afternoon.

  Sabah stood up as soon as Hilal walked through the door. “Did you get the list?”

  Hilal laid a folder on the table and ignored the question.

  “I’ve overheard some disturbing news that a couple of majors were talking about. The police made one of their daily roundups of people who don’t produce their identity cards quick enough and one of the men they took to the station had been watching the UN for the clerics.”

  Sabah was annoyed at not getting an answer. “The police are always picking someone up.”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t take much to cause a flap as the rumors filter up. Once it reaches the Baath Party headquarters, every mosque in Baghdad, then Iraq, will be monitored by the secret police…and probably the military. Time is running out.”

  “Did you get the list?” Sabah asked a second time.

  Hilal opened the folder, took the list out and laid it on the table.

  “This includes every place in Iraq where the UN might show up and the military is to avoid. I’ve narrowed it down to places within ten kilometers of the center of Baghdad and that leaves us with twenty-three.”

  Medhat looked at the list, but had no idea where any of them were. “That’s quite a few.”

  Hilal slid the list into the folder. “Most of them are near the city, though I haven’t been in the precincts of four of them. Getting there won’t be a problem.”

  Sabah looked displeased with his Iraqi cousin’s recommending which areas to visit, but his unfamiliarity with Baghdad left him no choice. He would have a better appreciation for the situation after they completed the tour.

  He stared at Medhat. “Did he say how many of his people would be going out?”

  “No, but I believe that most are still away from Baghdad.”

  Hilal betrayed some jitters. “Nasif, I don’t think we should take your Mercedes. You have documentation to be in Iraq as tradesmen, but the police don’t always look kindly on outsiders. We can take my Ford, but it will hold at most four of us.”

  Hilal seemed to direct his next comment to Medhat alone, as though seeming to make a point of ignoring Sabah. “We should leave no later than six in the morning. The sites we’ll visit aren’t far, but they are many…May I use your cell phone?”

  “Of course, cousin.” Medhat handed him the phone.

  Hilal punched the numbers for the UN compound and asked the duty officer if he could speak to Mr. Holden. “It’s about a ten-gallon Stetson.”

  He waited ten minutes until someone came on the line.

  “This is Holden.”

  “Bill, this is Hilal. I have some additional tidings for you.”

  “What is it, Hilal?”

  Hilal told Bill what he had learned.

  “Thanks, Hilal…We’ve got to make something happen soon. Before the military jumps into the middle of things.”

  “We’ll continue to watch the mosque. There’s nothing else we can do. I’ll call you if we learn anything.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Hilal drove through neighborhoods where they were least likely to meet a police or military roadblock—through streets and alleys whose apartment buildings, constructed on the foundations of a previous generation’s labor, were inhabited by poorer Iraqis and had very few shops.

  Since he was in the Air Force, his identification papers were in order, but if they were stopped there might be a problem for the two Saudis and especially for the Israeli, who he assumed had false identification.

  Medhat and Nasif, sitting in the back seat, were curious about the buildings they visited and asked Hilal why the UN continued to examine them.

  Hilal said he didn’t know what interest the UN had in any particular one. And he wasn’t at all acquainted with the first places they visited or even with their general areas.


  “I’m familiar with the rest of the places and our visits will go more quickly.”

  Sabah remained quiet, but Hilal could see the intense scrutiny to which his cousin from Israel subjected each location and its buildings, as though he were committing them to memory.

  Medhat asked, “Do you think there’s sufficient time to visit them all today?”

  “There should be, if we aren’t stopped for a police check. Police activity around Baghdad has increased recently. Military activity too.”

  “Then perhaps, cousin,” said Sabah, “you should make sure we don’t come across a roadblock.”

  The tone of Sabah’s voice grated on Hilal’s nerves, but he said nothing.

  Fifteen minutes later, the luck or blessing of Allah seemed suddenly to vanish.

  Hilal drove into a narrow street and saw two motorcycle policemen standing on the side of the road checking the driver of a rusting Opel they must have just stopped.

  He slowed the Ford so he could turn around.

  “Don’t stop the car!” Sabah commanded. “Keep moving. If they wave us over, stop as if nothing is wrong.”

  Medhat and Nasif peered intently over the shoulders of their cousins in the front seat.

  The Ford continued forward and it appeared that they would be allowed to pass through the checkpoint, when the younger policeman, wearing a green police tunic and a white motorcycle helmet, lifted his white baton and signaled them to pull over.

  “Let me see your papers,” he demanded arrogantly.

  “Of course, officer.” Hilal collected his cousins’ documents and handed them to the policeman. “Is there a problem?”

  “There will be if your documents aren’t in order.”

  The second policeman dismissed the Opel—much to the relief of its driver, who quickly sped away—then joined his colleague and they withdrew to their motorcycles to look through the documents.

  The cousins were becoming more and more nervous, with the exception of Sabah, who was intently observing the policemen.

  “Why are they taking so long?” asked Nasif.

  “Your documentation is Saudi Arabian,” said Hilal. “They are always suspicious of foreigners…Sabah, I noticed your papers were Iraqi. I hope they’re up to date.”

  “Don’t bother yourself over my documents. They’re in order.”

  The two policemen talked animatedly for ten minutes before they returned to the car, one standing on each side.

  “There’s a problem with your documents,” said the younger one to Hilal. “You’ll have to come with me to the station.”

  “What problem, officer? I’m a lieutenant in the Air Force and don’t have time to waste at your police station.”

  “Of course, Lieutenant, you may go, but we must confirm the identities of the two men from Saudi Arabia.”

  “What nonsense is this? I’ll vouch for them. They’re in Iraq purchasing wares for their shop in Saudi Arabia. We have enough problems exporting our products without your adding to them.”

  The older policeman intervened. “I’m sorry, but we have our orders. They will accompany us!”

  Sabah had sat quietly witnessing the encounter, which was turning into a heated confrontation. “Officer, if I may have a moment of your time, I think we can settle this matter quietly.”

  The senior policeman nodded his head, so Sabah got out of the car and followed the men for a short distance.

  “Is he going to try and bribe them?” Nasif asked.

  Hilal glanced at his cousin in the rearview mirror. “I’m not sure, but whatever it is, I hope it works. If you’re taken to their headquarters, you could be there for days.”

  The three men watched but couldn’t hear a word being said.

  Sabah pulled a wallet out of his pocket and opened it, revealing a thick sheaf of currency. The face of the younger policeman became animated and he angrily raised his baton to strike the impudent offender.

  But the blow never landed.

  The cousins heard two muffled thuds and watched in horror as both officers fell to the ground, a crimson stain spreading across each man’s tunic.

  Sabah cast his eyes up and down the street then strode briskly back and got into the front seat. “Hilal, I suggest you put the car in gear and drive. There’s no one on the street at the moment, but that can change quickly.”

  The cousins were solemn during the rest of their visits, but no one mentioned the incident.

  They visited all of the UN sites on the list—as Hilal had predicted they would be able to do—then returned at nightfall to the sanctuary of his house.

  The cousins felt numb from the day’s events—or at least Hilal, Medhat and Nasif did. What had been intended as an outing to get a feel for what the UN was doing ended up with two dead men and an unpleasant foreboding.

  After dinner the men retired to the living room and took seats around an oval wooden table, where Shapira had left fresh tea before going home.

  Nasif was the first to speak. “Tell me, Alam, what news did you learn of our cousins?”

  “Cousin Mahmoud called. He and his eldest son are watching the mosque. He said the cleric remains inside, unless he comes out in a disguise…

  “An additional twelve cousins have reached the city. Five more arriving tomorrow. Nabil wrote down the telephone numbers where they can be reached.” He handed a sheet of paper to his father.

  The subdued conversations continued for a half-hour. Medhat yawned. “It’s getting late and I for one am not used to the hours we’ve been keeping. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get a good night’s rest.”

  The other Saudis agreed and left for bed.

  “Aren’t you tired, cousin?” Hilal asked Sabah.

  “With what happened today I feel the need for a long walk. Would you leave the back door unlocked for me?”

  “It will be open, but I suggest you avoid the main streets. The police have been known to pick people up, if for no other reason than to relieve their boredom.”

  Sabah went to a kiosk with a working telephone on a dark street and phoned a number in Baghdad, which was routed through three countries in the Middle East to a number in Tel Aviv.

  “Everything’s at a standstill here and may not get resolved quickly.”

  “We understand,” said the voice in Tel Aviv. “The cleric has ordered his followers to ignore the man at the compound. Check in each evening. We’ll provide you updates as we have them.”

  Impressed by the close watch that Tel Aviv seemed to have on the mosque, Sabah walked quietly back to the house to wait another day.

  CHAPTER 55: GIFT FROM LANGLEY

  AT THE KNOCK ON HIS DOOR Robert Tilden set his book down. The clock on his desk said two p.m.

  “Yeah, who is it?”

  “It’s me, Bill Holden.”

  Bob opened the door.“Come in. I don’t think you ever been in my room.”

  “No, I haven’t, but I wanted to stop by and have a quiet talk.”

  Bill noticed the posters of pyramids, the Acropolis and other ancient edifices he couldn’t name. “You have some nice pictures.”

  “Just posters…But I aim to visit ’em someday.”

  “I’m sure you will, Robert.”

  Bob eyed the commonplace OD (olive drab) case that Bill had carried into the room. “What you got there? Going fishing?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. I was planning a fishing trip, but it appears the bait may no longer be effective.”

  Bill set the box on the floor, opened the latches and lifted the lid.

  “Holy shit, where did you get that?”

  “It’s something special the boys at Langley picked up at the Quantico Marine Base. Then modified it. Know what it is?”

  “Hell, yes! The Corps taught me how to use it. That’s an M-40A1 sniper rifle.”

  “Think you can still use one?”

  Bob reached a hand toward the weapon and looked at Bill with raised eyebrows.

  Bill nodded.
r />   Picking up the rifle brought back memories Bob had forgotten from years earlier.

  “Yeah, I can still operate it, but I need to get the feel of it again. Anywhere I can set up a target and run a few rounds through it?”

  “Sure, right here on the compound.”

  “I don’t think the Iraqis would appreciate the noise.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Bill reached into the case, pulled out a black cylinder and handed it to Bob. “Bet you never had one of these.”

  Bob examined the cylinder then eyed the end of the barrel. “Sound suppressor, right?”

  “Made especially for this weapon. Pack it up—we’ll take it outside and see if we can find a spot where we won’t cause too much commotion.”

  * * *

  “Damn! this is one fine weapon!” Bob exclaimed after they returned to his room. “So…why’d you bring this by?”

  “I requested it when I thought there was a chance of approaching the cleric. I wanted you to cover my ass if things got out of hand. It appears the one thing that got out of hand was my eagerness and imagination. He’s going to sit in his mosque until Saddam figures out a way to get us out of Iraq…I’m calling it a day. Tomorrow I’m going out on a few inspections.”

  “Do you think that’s smart, Bill? Everybody almost is still on leave.”

  “If I sit in this compound another day, I’ll be climbing the walls.”

  “What about the cleric?”

  “I ask myself the same question and I keep getting the same answer. I mean no more to him than the inspectors he abducted. I’m an infidel, a nonbeliever, no more than a minor annoyance to his Islamic world.”

  “What about the rifle?”

  “It’s yours, Robert…At least for awhile. I think Langley will want it back. Maybe we’ll ship it out on the diplomatic flight next week.”

  Bill left and Bob broke the weapon down as he had been trained to do in the Corps, then cleaned it and applied a light coat of oil.

  He reassembled the rifle, secured it in its carrying case and locked it in a cabinet.

  Sleep came easily but he woke in the middle of the night dreaming he was back in Somalia seeing the men whose lives he had ended there. He wasn’t haunted by such memories—it was the job the Corps had given him and he had done it well.