The Imam of the Cave

by J Randall

  If anything bothered him, it was the fact that his actions had made little difference to the outcome.

  He climbed out of bed and unlocked the cabinet. Seeing the case reassured him that the rifle hadn’t been a dream too.

  He climbed back into bed and slept soundly the rest of Thursday night.

  CHAPTER 56: USE AND BE USED

  WALTER TERRANCE was on his way back to his office after his latest meeting with the Israeli envoy. Their earlier confrontation, as he thought of it, had been forgotten and the rapport with Ambassador Yanai was as if nothing had ever happened.

  On this occasion Levi had called personally and invited him to stop by for a few minutes.

  Usually Walter would have Amanda make an excuse before he replied to an envoy’s call, but not this time. He realized he was enjoying the sugar the man was dispensing, but he also knew the Ambassador was a master of manipulation and there would be a price to pay for it.

  He got back to his office foyer just as Amanda was hanging up the phone.

  “The UNSCOM Executive Chairman would like to see you.”

  “When?”

  “He said, and I quote, ‘As soon as he returns to the office.’”

  “Thank you, Amanda. Did it sound urgent?”

  “I wouldn’t say urgent in the sense there’s a crisis. I believe he was leaving and wanted to talk to you before he got away.”

  “You know where I’ll be then.” Walter hurried out of the office.

  He darted into the UNSCOM suite and was ushered immediately into Samuel Bittermann’s office.

  “Walter, thank you for coming on short notice. I have a meeting with the Secretary General in ten minutes, but I wanted to inform you that William Holden called this morning.”

  “Has he met the Israeli? Levi just mentioned that their man’s in Baghdad.”

  “They’ve met, though the man didn’t identify himself as more than a member of a tribe that has an interest in the cleric.”

  Walter looked puzzled. “Why would they have an interest in the cleric?”

  “It appears he has an heirloom that belongs to them. Their members are scattered throughout the Middle East. Four or five from Saudi Arabia are in Baghdad now.”

  “Do you think Bill will try to use them?”

  “I asked William the same question. He said it’s a double edged sword. They’ll help him, but also use him at the same time. He isn’t sure what they’ll do after they get their heirloom back.”

  “The Israeli may be a member of this tribe, but he’s there to recover the nerve agent.”

  “I told William about your meeting with Levi. He said he would watch his back.”

  Bittermann placed the last item into his briefcase and snapped it closed. “I wish I had listened to you when you wanted to send one of your people—the situation may prove difficult.”

  “Perhaps we would be better off letting the tribe and the Israelis do the work for us.”

  “That might solve one problem, but it could propagate another.”

  Walter touched his mustache. “What other?”

  “The government in Israel hasn’t embraced a peaceful solution to the Palestinian issues. There’s consternation in the Arab League. I’m afraid Israel may feel cornered and react hastily if a solution isn’t found. Which could be another explanation for their desire to get their hands on the nerve agent quickly.”

  “Why would they need the agent—unless, of course, the process for making it has been lost? Do you really believe they would use it…or manufacture more if they could?”

  “I’m not sure. Perhaps they simply intend to destroy it to keep it out of the hands of an enemy, real or perceived. There are many scenarios and that’s why we can’t just walk away. I must be going, Walter. The Secretary General doesn’t appreciate tardiness.”

  “Yes, sir. I appreciate the update.”

  For a moment during their meeting Walter had been tempted to mention that one of his people was in Baghdad, but he decided to keep it to himself.

  Now he needed to talk to Gloria when he got back to his office.

  * * *

  He punched in the number and waited as the signal made the uplink connection to the satellite and was forwarded to a receiving station.

  When the signal reached Gloria’s telephone, he knew she would answer if she could talk freely.

  “Yes,” Gloria said.

  “I’m looking at the East River—can you talk?”

  The prearranged signal told Gloria who it was. Both telephones had scrambling devices, but they would keep their time online short in case they were being monitored.

  “I’m at home. Everything’s quiet. The weather has cooled since the sun set. Do you have some news for me?”

  “I do. The Israeli’s in Baghdad and Bill has met him. Apparently he’s a member of a tribe that’s searching for a lost heirloom they believe the cleric has. Bill and these tribe people have come to an accommodation—at least until the tribe gets its heirloom back…and Bill gets the cleric. The Israeli may have a different agenda…”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I still want you to look over Bill’s shoulder and try to keep him out of trouble. Our man Holden is no John Wayne.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No. Just keep in touch—we don’t talk often enough.”

  Gloria rang off and spoke into the disconnected phone, “Walter you’re a great administrator, but when it comes to field operations, you sure don’t know your backside from a hole in the ground.”

  She had learned quite a lot since arriving in Baghdad, but had no intention of sharing it with New York.

  As Walter was fond of saying, Too much information can be dangerous.

  CHAPTER 57: “DO NOT THROW THE ARROW

  WHICH WILL RETURN AGAINST YOU”

  –KURDISH PROVERB

  THE THIRD SITE on Bill’s list the next morning was suspected of being a factory for the production of mustard gas.

  The UN had found canisters of the gas in one of the two buildings at the site, which was within two kilometers of an Iraqi army garrison where new recruits were indoctrinated into the rigors of mandatory military service.

  Bill got out of his Land Cruiser and unlocked the first building. He stepped inside and paused for a moment to see if there were any obvious signs of tampering.

  The dust and sand that had settled on everything that didn’t move remained undisturbed. There were no footprints or signs of a broom having been swept across the floor to hide the intrusion of an unauthorized guest.

  He checked the building’s sensors and satisfied himself that they were operational, then he repeated the procedure in the next building.

  As with the first building and the other two he had inspected so far this morning, everything was as it should be.

  He stepped out of the second building and was startled to see two very large Iraqi soldiers standing next to the Land Cruiser. They were dressed in green fatigues and black berets.

  Bill locked the door and headed toward the soldiers. In Arabic he asked, “Can I help you?”

  “You can help us, UN—you can go home,” the bigger of the two men said.

  Thinking that the man was referring to the BMVC compound, Bill replied, “I’ll be going home after I complete my inspections.”

  “No,” the second soldier said from the other side of the jeep, “we do not need your inspections—you can go home now.” There was a distinct sound of malice in his voice.

  Bill was concerned about the Iraqis’ apparent renewal of interest in where and what the UN did. Two years earlier, the Iraqis’ harassment and their contravention of UN Resolution 687 had stopped only after a few well placed US cruise missiles made a point.

  “Okay, I’m heading back to the BMVC compound.”

  “No, you go home,” the larger and nearer man said then spit on the ground. “We don’t need you blue hats in our country. This is not your country and you are not welcome here.�
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  Bill stepped cautiously around the man and opened the door of the Land Cruiser.

  He was stowing his satchel behind the seat when he sensed more than saw a fist hurling toward his head.

  He jerked his head aside and diverted a roundhouse that would otherwise have knocked him out or disabled him. The blow glanced off the side of his head, shooting a jarring pain to the roots of his teeth.

  Biting his tongue and drawing blood to overcome the pain threatening to drop him to the ground, Bill swung a right and connected with his adversary’s diaphragm, knocking the wind out of him. The man immediately dropped to his knees.

  Moving away from the downed man, Bill shook his head to clear the sparks exploding in front of his eyes.

  The second man saw his friend on his knees and came around quickly, dancing from foot to foot as if he had had formal training in the art of boxing. Keeping both arms up for protection, he snaked his punches, rocking Bill’s head backwards as they connected.

  Then Bill got in a good jab of his own and forced his opponent to feint and parry more cautiously.

  The way they were circling each other, John L. Sullivan and James Corbett would have admired the two fighters—until the Iraqi discarded Queensberry’s rules and kicked sand into Bill’s eyes.

  Even with sand in his eyes, Bill landed a stinging left and right combination that displaced the man’s beret and rocked him backwards and hurt not only the man’s jaw, but also Bill’s knuckles.

  Bill wiped away some of the sand clinging to his sweaty face—drenched more from the exertion than from the heat at eleven in the morning—and charged his foe.

  The other man had finally regained his confidence. He bowled his beefy body into Bill’s back and knocked him to the ground.

  The big man leaned over Bill and drew back his ham hock of a fist to batter Bill’s head into the dirt.

  Bill snapped a booted foot into the man’s groin and was immediately rewarded with the satisfaction of hearing the man howl with pain.

  The smaller Iraqi, also hearing the howl and now seeing his friend roll back and forth on the ground in agony, rushed forward and kicked Bill in the head—in the same spot as the roundhouse that led off the fight.

  Bill hardly felt anything, he lapsed into unconsciousness so quickly.

  * * *

  Still before noon, the Land Cruiser pulled up in front of the compound and came to a screeching stop. The driver jumped out and climbed into the car that had been following.

  Before duty officer Chuck Finney could get a good look at the car it had sped away into the traffic.

  Chuck knew that the Toyota was the one Bill had checked out earlier. His heart was pounding as he ran out through the gate.

  He gulped when he saw Bill lying on the rear seat with his face splattered with blood. Chuck thought Bill seemed conscious at least.

  He jumped into the driver’s seat and put the still running Toyota into gear. He raced into the compound and parked next to the dispensary.

  “Can I get some help out here?” he shouted.

  Dr. Berry Winslow heard someone call for help and rushed out to the Toyota, where Chuck was now getting an arm around Bill in the back seat.

  Berry went into the back seat through the other door and took Bill’s other arm over his shoulder.

  “I’m okay.” Bill had indeed regained consciousness. “It looks worse than it is.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that, Mr. Holden.” Whenever Berry addressed someone in his official capacity as a doctor, it was always ‘Mister.’

  Berry helped Bill into the dispensary and had him sit on one of the examining tables while he carefully washed the blood from his face with gauze dipped in alcohol.

  Bill winced, but said nothing.

  “You’re right, it looks worse than it is. Just a small cut above your eye, but it bled enough to give anyone a start.”

  Berry poised his hands to suture the wound. “This may sting a little…There, you’re as good as new, with the exception of that knot on the side of your head. What hit you?”

  “I slipped on some loose gravel. Took a nose dive.”

  “You must have fallen on a ring lying on the ground. I can see where it left an imprint right here.” Berry touched a swollen area that was turning dark yellow.

  “Ouch!” Bill exclaimed. “What the hell are you doing, Berry, testing whether my nerve endings got damaged in the fall?”

  “You’ll be okay, Bill. Lean over the table and lower your khakis.”

  Bill complied and Berry administered a tetanus shot.

  “I recommend you remain in bed for a couple of days and use ice to reduce the swelling. If that’s too regimented for you, I suggest you postpone any scheduled boxing matches you may have planned for at least a week.”

  “Thanks, Berry. My calendar’s fight free for a month.”

  Bill pulled up his pants.

  Berry handed Bill a small plastic container of pills. “These will dull the throbbing if you have trouble sleeping.”

  Bill unscrewed the plastic cap, popped two pills into his mouth and washed them down with the glass of water Berry handed him.

  “Thanks again, Berry, you’re a life saver.” Bill stepped gingerly out of the dispensary.

  Chuck Finney, who had been shooed out of the dispensary, was waiting. “Bill, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Chuck—just a bump on the head.”

  “You had me worried—all that blood. Who the hell was driving your jeep?”

  “It was a good Samaritan fulfilling his daily obligation.”

  “He sure didn’t hang around to get thanked.”

  “I guess he was afraid he might be seen by someone he didn’t want to see him. Anyway, everything’s fine. Thanks, Chuck, I appreciate your help.”

  Bill reached into his shirt pocket and handed Chuck a piece of paper. “Here are the places I plan to visit tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure you’re up to it, Bill? Maybe you ought to rest for a couple of days. Your inspectors are drifting back in from their vacations. You could take one or two of them with you.”

  “I’ll be okay after a good night’s sleep. I’ll visit just two of the four sites on my list—that ought to make the good doctor happy.”

  Chuck ran a hand through his red hair uncertainly. “If you say so. I’ll leave instructions to have your vehicle ready.”

  Bill walked slowly to his room and took a long, hot shower, washing away the sand, dirt and remaining blood.

  He didn’t know who the good Samaritan was, but he was thankful he arrived when he did. He had floated in and out of consciousness and he vaguely remembered someone yelling at the two soldiers who had invited him to dance.

  He recalled being tossed into the back of a vehicle, then nothing until Chuck helped him get out.

  If the Republican Guard were changing their tactics, they had done it with a bang.

  But why would they drive him back to the compound?

  There were too many questions and his head hurt too much to put much thought into what the answers might be.

  He put on a clean pair of boxer shorts, adjusted the air conditioner up as high as it would go then instantly fell asleep on his bed.

  CHAPTER 58: MILITARY INITIATIVE

  “DON’T YOU COMPREHEND what you’ve done?” the major yelled at the lieutenant and the senior sergeant standing at attention in front of his desk.

  “Sir, we haven’t done…”

  “Shut up and don’t say anything until I’m finished,” said the major, cutting off the lieutenant’s defense.

  As soon as he had got wind of what had happened, a tick had begun to jump in his right eye. It was now hammering out of control as his blood pressure rose.

  Major Dari was the Commanding Officer of Training Battalion Alpha, Second District Induction Center in Baghdad. The battalion was responsible for initial military training of newly drafted soldiers.

  “Those two men fall under your area of responsibili
ty, Lieutenant. Am I correct or not?…Well?”

  “Yes, sir.” The lieutenant’s green fatigue shirt clung to his heaving chest as he tried to gain control of his breathing. The sweat streaming from his armpits darkened the sides of the shirt until it was the color of moss washed up by the Tigris when it flooded.

  “I could understand the lieutenant screwing up, Sergeant, but we pay you to make sure he doesn’t.”

  The senior sergeant stood perfectly still. He stared at a spot on the wall sixty centimeters above the major’s head and listened, but he didn’t make a sound. He wouldn’t look into the major’s menacing, heavy lidded, dark brown eyes, with their raccoon circles from lack of sleep, if he didn’t have to.

  “When they learn of this at district headquarters, how long do you think it will take them to assemble a firing squad?” demanded Major Dari.

  “I don’t know,” said the lieutenant, causing the sergeant to wince.

  “Did I say you could talk?” the major screamed.

  The lieutenant remained quiet, much to the sergeant’s relief.

  “Sergeant, where are the two men?”

  “Sir, I had them locked up in a holding cell at the school, under armed guard.”

  “I’m glad to see someone is using some common sense, though it might not be enough to save our skins. Did you question them?”

  “Yes, sir,” the sergeant replied, not offering further comments.

  “What did they say?”

  “Sir, they claim they overheard two officers discussing the UN inspectors and how things would be much easier for everyone if they weren’t in Iraq. From this they got the idea that if they could help expedite the process they might get a reward or even a promotion.”

  “So they took it upon themselves to force the UN inspection teams out of Iraq. Incredible! Who found them?”

  “I did, sir,” said the sergeant. “I was inspecting the barracks and asked for the drill instructors. One of the recruits said they had left to investigate a white vehicle at the deserted factory. When I got there I found the UN man on the ground unconscious. They had given him a beating, but it looked like he had given them one too.”