3 Great Thrillers

by Churton, Alex; Churton, Toby; Locke, John; Lustbader, Eric van; van Lustbader, Eric

‘Our qewwals – they are sacred musicians. They play daff. Daff is huge, round, like drum, but in hand.’

  ‘Tambourine?’

  ‘Tambour, yes.’

  ‘And the shebab – a flute?’

  ‘Flute. Yes! Good! This is our happiness.’

  ‘And I missed it.’

  Jolo shook his head. ‘This year, not very good year. There is sadness. Danger.’

  Gulé coughed. ‘Even in a war, there is time for joy.’ She disappeared inside, leaving the men sheltering from the rain beneath the stone archway at the entrance to the house.

  Ashe was about to compliment Jolo on the sweet-tasting brown tea when a man poked his turbaned head through the doorway. He looked at Ashe with solemn interest and scratched his beard. ‘Tobbiash. My father used to serve Ismail Beg. You know him?’

  Ashe shook his head.

  ‘Ismail Beg great man. Ismail Beg believe in schools. He make friends with Christians in Armenia. He try to help his people. He is liking English soldiers – and he love English aeroplanes. The English are often friends with Yezidis.’

  Jolo got up. ‘Now you meet Jiddan. He is Kochek.’

  ‘Ah! The dream genie.’

  The Kochek was shocked. ‘Me? Jinn? No! No! I Jiddan, yes. Jiddan.’ He gripped a bundle of rope attached to the black sash about his waist. ‘Jiddan – Kochek, not jinn.’

  The three men sat themselves down on a low wooden bench.

  ‘Why call Jiddan jinn, Tobbiash?’

  ‘A dream genie is a—’

  ‘A jinn who appears in a dream?’ The idea seemed perfectly natural to the Kochek.

  ‘Yes, yes, that would be it.’

  ‘Then you see me in your dream? I see you, Tobbiash, sir…’

  ‘Will you explain “Kochek” to me?’

  ‘Excuse…’ The Kochek went abruptly back inside.

  ‘What is Kochek?’ Jolo rubbed the soft black hairs on his chin. ‘Is very difficult, Tobbiash. There are many things you must live with Yezidis many years to understand. Even after many years, you do not understand all. I tell you, Tobbiash, I do not understand. We ask pirs: they are our holy men. Sometimes they explain. We have… oh, many ways, different men can explain things. These things are learnt in the heart. No books.’

  ‘I think you’ve put that beautifully, Jolo.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But what is a Kochek?’

  Ashe’s mind turned to Sarsaleh and to April Fools’. The fool is sacrificed – made a lord for the day, fooled into thinking himself important. The fool is the animal who is fed well, separated from the herd or flock, treated with care – until the day comes when his blood will decorate the doorway. The fool is like a blade of corn, before the scythe whips its arrogant crown off.

  These were the origins of the April Fool. Spring and harvest were directly linked – underground. First the gilded crown of corn, then the cutting. For a few blissful minutes Ashe forgot that he was a government agent close to a war zone.

  Jiddan returned, carrying a huge plate filled with food.

  ‘Look! He is like Gabriel!’ said Jolo.

  ‘The angel?’

  ‘When man die, Angel Gabriel carry ruh.’

  ‘Ruh?’

  ‘Spirit. When man die, angel carry spirit of good person to Paradise on tray.’

  ‘Or to hell, presumably.’

  The Yezidis looked shocked. ‘No hell.’

  ‘No hell?’

  ‘Fires all gone!’ asserted the Kochek. ‘Little child empty jar of tears – fires all gone!’

  ‘Now see, Englishman, we have kleycha! Dolma! Nan! Kaub! Khubbaz!’

  Ashe tried the dolma, popping the vine-leaf rissole into his mouth in one go, the better to savour its delicately spiced rice-and-meat stuffing.

  ‘Good!’

  The Yezidis smiled. ‘Try kleycha!’

  Ashe picked up what looked like a mince pie. ‘We eat these at Christmas!’

  ‘Yes, birth of Angel Jesus from Holy Mary.’

  ‘You…?’

  ‘Like Jesus? Of course! There is Syrian Orthodox church in village. There are Roman Christians in the Sheikhan, and American Baptist missionaries in Armenia. All kinds of Christians telling different stories. We say: we hear it all before. Disciples of Jesus know our country when no one knows England or America! Jesus was good angel, very beloved of God. He come to earth to tell people what is good life and about day of resurrection.’

  ‘You mean he’s a prophet?’

  ‘Many, many holy men are coming to Hakkari Mountains and to Sheikhan. Many holy men. But Jesus not buried like prophet, Tobbiash. If Jesus buried, every good person come to his mazar. No. Jesus angel. He fly, like bird, back to Khuda when Khuda tell him.

  ‘Jesus must do as he’s told.’

  54

  Sami al-Qasr stared at himself in Fiona Normanton’s bathroom mirror. Did he look like an evil man?

  He carefully applied the grey hairs to his face with theatrical glue; then the false irises, the thickened eyebrows, the silver earrings. He tried a selection of spectacles.

  It was a perfect day: a gentle breeze was blowing eastwards from Bodega Bay, all the way to the clear, bright contours of the Sierra Nevada.

  Leanne Gresham had turned the crimson Mercedes coupé off Highway 80 at Sacramento and was now speeding north in the direction of Yuba City, halfway to Paradise.

  Sherman Beck’s eyes lingered on Leanne’s copper-tone nails resting lightly on the steering wheel. They followed the line of her browny-green worsted jacket to her shoulders, where her hair danced like a young Jackie Kennedy’s. Beck admired her mature, sexy look. He admired the Egyptian-style gold necklace circling her graceful neck, the impeccable match of her copper-coloured blouse, open to the third intriguing button.

  She turned and smiled at him. He looked at her brown eyes, the finely plucked eyebrows and the pale-lilac eye shadow.

  ‘You ain’t so bad lookin’ yourself, Agent Beck.’

  ‘I’m sorry I was just…’

  ‘California dreamin’?’

  ‘Is it OK?’

  Leanne looked hard into his eyes, found something she trusted and smiled again. ‘Yeah. It’s OK.’

  Beck placed his hand just above her knee and gently squeezed.

  ‘You know, Sherman, I’m not sure this interview thing with al-Qasr has been properly thought through.’

  ‘I guess Kellner places a lot of faith in your intuition, Leanne. Anyhow, while you’re having your appointment with the evil doctor, our internal security people are gonna give his place a last sweep. Kellner’s agent reckoned he was still hiding stuff.’

  ‘D’you think al-Qasr suspects?’

  ‘I’d be surprised if he didn’t suspect something. But we’ve made it very clear to him that if he wants Israeli assassins kept from his door he’s got to accept the downside.’

  ‘Hmm… Maybe he doubts how long his protection’s gonna last.’

  ‘Yeah. We better move fast.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Leanne moved her right hand off the steering wheel and placed it gently on Beck’s. Beck felt something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

  She drew her slender fingers though her hair. ‘But I don’t see why he’s left the decision to me as to when or whether to bring al-Qasr in. It seems he can’t make up his own mind. That’s not good, Sherman.’

  Beck took a deep breath. ‘I guess he kinda wants affirmation. I guess he wants your support. He’s afraid if we bring him in too soon, we’ll lose good leads. But if we leave it too late… We gotta know who he’s been talkin’ to, and what he’s been saying. Personally, I gotta say I admire Kellner’s choice.’

  She squeezed his hand. ‘It’s a tough one. But I don’t feel like seeing al-Qasr today.’

  ‘What do you feel like?’

  She looked at her watch.

  The car skidded into a lay-by, next to an empty picnic site. She pulled the handbrake and turned, wide-eyed, to Beck. ‘Make a move.’<
br />
  His hand glided up her leg onto the silk of her blouse, over her breasts to cup her neck and bring it towards him. They kissed, excitedly, as nervous as first-timers. His heart beat faster, his hand touched her chest, unbuttoned her blouse clumsily, determinedly. He slid the blouse over her shoulder, revealing a classy black bra. He kissed her breastbone. Her skin reddened. She pulled her jacket off and grabbed Beck’s face, covering him with kisses.

  Beck’s hand followed the line of her hip and soon found itself beneath her skirt. Leanne’s breathing became passionate, heavy, free. Beck felt her leg, the fine silk stocking. His finger caught beneath the lacy suspender.

  A voice came over the short-wave radio. ‘ISF time check. Over.’

  Beck’s body fell back into his seat. ‘Take it, Leanne.’

  ‘That’s OK, honey, it’s over.’

  Beck laughed, resignedly. ‘Before it even began.’

  She grabbed the mike. ‘Beck and Leanne. Over.’

  55

  The Toyota pickup rumbled south down the Sacramento Valley. Al-Qasr looked at himself in the rear-view mirror. Who the hell was that? The shock and suppressed excitement made him laugh out loud. This was a damn sight better than staring at chromosomes and base sequences from one end of the day to the other, wondering all the time when he would be released. It had been hell. He hadn’t even realised how bad it had been. He felt like a slave whose shackles had been smashed.

  Al-Qasr put his foot down and giggled, exhilarated at his newfound liberty, careless of his life and everything else. He felt great. He didn’t notice the red light and ringing bells where the road crossed the Sacramento to Redding railroad at Marysville, north of Yuba City. He didn’t notice the railroad crossing barrier coming down in front of him.

  The pickup screamed as tyre rubber burned into the tarmac. The barrier hit the windscreen. Al-Qasr cried out as a great crack appeared in front of him. Shaken, he reversed the pickup into a long-distance truck that had edged up behind him. The incensed driver jumped from the cab to inspect the damage.

  Al-Qasr bit his lip and closed his eyes. Opening them he glimpsed a couple waiting on the other side of the tracks. Was the woman pointing at him? Who was that man staring? He knew that face. She was staring too. Leanne Gresham.

  The truck driver banged on al-Qasr’s nearside window, mouthing something al-Qasr couldn’t hear. A silver Amtrak passenger train rattled up the line. He wound his window down.

  ‘You’re sure as hell lucky this time, bud. What are you, some kinda religious nut?’

  ‘You’re confusing me with someone else.’ Al-Qasr looked to his glove compartment. One shot and… the police would be all over him.

  ‘Hey, fuckhead! I ain’t confusin’ you with nobody! I thought you’d wanna know this ain’t gonna cost you nuthin’.’

  ‘Delighted to hear it, sir. Is it money you want?’ Al-Qasr didn’t know what he was saying. The bells had stopped ringing. The barrier was opening, and she was still staring at him.

  ‘I don’t want yer fuckin’ money, man!’

  ‘OK, OK. I got the message. Now I’m in a hurry.’

  ‘So take your time at a fuckin’ crossing! Think of the next guy!’

  Al-Qasr slammed his foot on the clutch and rammed the pickup into first, trying not to look at the car coming towards him. He looked to the right to obscure his face.

  ‘I dunno what you mean, Leanne. I always thought those Hasidic Jews looked the same. I thought that was the idea. No vanity. You know, like a uniform. The homburg hat, the ringlets, the steel-rimmed glasses, overcoats. Still, I gotta say I never saw one in a Toyota pickup tryin’ to smash his way into a railroad crossing before.’

  ‘Well, there was something about him. I got the feeling he recognised me. I’m sure I’ve seen him before somewhere.’

  ‘Intuition?’

  ‘Yeah. Isn’t that why you said Lee Kellner wanted me to interview al-Qasr?’

  ‘Sure. And it’s an Arab suspect we’re lookin’ into, not a… Unless…’

  ‘Unless what?’

  ‘How did al-Qasr react when you spoke to him about today’s meeting?’

  ‘Charming as ever. Said it had been a long time and he had a lot to talk about.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘I said we were going to improve security around him, and could he bear having two agents around for a while. He was enthusiastic. Maybe too enthusiastic.’

  ‘We could get the FBI onto the guy in the pickup.’

  ‘Lee was emphatic, Sherman. Keep it internal.’

  The Mercedes rested in a large puddle beneath a dripping pine tree. The air was steamy, hot. Beck looked at Leanne. They kissed warmly.

  ‘Later, cowboy.’

  ‘So at last I get to meet the bio-wizard himself.’

  Beck helped Leanne avoid the puddle as she stepped out of the Merc. RIBOTech was almost deserted. Beck shook his head.

  ‘It’s Saturday, Sherman. Everyone’s gone to the game.’

  Gresham and Beck stepped towards the small reception area and pressed the buzzer. An old man in a light-blue uniform appeared behind the plate-glass windows. One hand gripped his reading glasses, the other gripped his side holster.

  ‘I see they put their best man on the job.’ Gresham nudged Beck, smiled at the man and showed her ID through the glass.

  He looked carefully at it, scratched his bald head, then went back to his desk and picked up a microphone. The croaky voice echoed about the entrance.

  ‘What’s your business, ma’am?’

  Beck looked to the grille below the buzzer. ‘CTC, officer. Check your book.’

  The old man fumbled with his daybook. ‘Your name, sir?’

  ‘Beck.’

  ‘Christian name?’

  ‘Sherman.’

  The guard pressed the entry button and the front door clicked.

  ‘Name’s Starbuck. Everyone calls me Cliff.’

  ‘How ya doin’, Cliff?’

  ‘OK. It’s customary to search visitors, Mr Beck. But in your case, I guess I’d be surprised if you weren’t carrying a piece. Frankly, I can’t see why you’ve come. There’s no one here except Mr Lowenfeld.’

  ‘What about Professor al-Qasr?’

  ‘I ain’t seen him since yesterday, sir.’

  Beck looked at Gresham. ‘Don’t tell me—’

  ‘The pickup?’

  Gresham checked the daybook. ‘Look here, Officer. Al-Qasr came in this morning at six-thirty.’

  ‘Ah right. Yeah, well I didn’t get here till seven. You’d have to ask the night-man. I let Mr Lowenfeld into Professor al-Qasr’s office at 7.30. He wasn’t there then.’

  ‘We’ll check, Officer.’

  ‘You know the way, ma’am?’

  Leanne nodded. ‘You keep an eye out, Mr Starbuck. Anyone arrive or leave while we’re upstairs, just give us the word.’

  ‘You betcha!’ Starbuck saluted.

  Beck hurried to join Leanne on the oak stairs to the first floor. ‘Needn’t panic yet, Leanne. We’re still ten minutes early.’

  Leanne Gresham did not look convinced. She knocked on the outer door of al-Qasr’s office. She tried the handle; it was open. They walked in.

  ‘Dr Lowenfeld! You there? Dr Lowenfeld!’ She turned to Beck. ‘You check the men’s room. And don’t be too long in there.’

  Gresham knocked on the laboratory doors, then ran her omni-pass through the security lock. The doors clicked open. ‘Dr Lowenfeld! Professor al-Qasr! Leanne Gresham here!’

  A shiver shot up her spine: a smell around al-Qasr’s desk.

  Behind it was a row of long cupboards around two feet high. She bent down under the desk; the smell seemed stronger. A hint of almonds.

  Gresham heard footsteps echoing loudly in the corridor.

  ‘That you, Sherman?’ She started pulling at the cupboard door. ‘That you?’

  The cupboard door scuffed open. God, that was bad! Must be the pipes.

  The lab doo
rs burst open. Gresham pulled at the cupboard.

  ‘Hold it there, Leanne! Don’t move!’

  Gresham let go of the cupboard door.

  ‘Get right away from there, Leanne!’

  ‘All right. All right. I seen a corpse before, Sherman.’

  ‘I’m talking about the wire.’

  ‘Wire?’

  ‘Booby-trapped.’

  ‘I didn’t see. I…’

  ‘Trick of the light, Leanne. I’ll call the disposal guys down at al-Qasr’s house.’

  ‘And I’ll get on to Kellner.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Authority to detain Hasidic Jews leaving San Francisco airport today.’

  ‘Still think it was him?’

  ‘Would we be forgiven if we did nothing?’

  56

  Gulé stood solemnly by the archway and waved the men off. The Snatch sped northwards out of the village. Everything felt good. The road was good, the fields were full of wet, wild flowers and the weather was glorious: not too hot, with a sweet, cooling breeze rolling down from the Hakkari Mountains.

  Major Richmond gave Ashe a sly smile. ‘Mystery tour, Toby. Do you mind changing gear for me?’

  ‘Amazing you can drive at all. It looked like your shoulder’d been torn off.’

  ‘Thank God for the Blue tracker. Took the main force.’

  ‘Who put you right?’

  ‘Czech field hospital. Fantastic people. Tore a patch off my backside. How’s your pneumothorax? Jolo told me the story.’

  ‘Pneumobollocks! My breathing’s fine. Never better. Vinny was talking out his arse, I reckon.’ Ashe suddenly became aware of Zappa’s absence. ‘Where is Vinny?’

  ‘That’s the bad news. Maybe he was protecting you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Vinny failed to report. No codes received on any channel. Vanished. We’re half expecting to see his face on some bloody video with an execution threat.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Nothing, so far. The kidnappers like to time their broadcasts for maximum impact. Even so, something usually leaks out.’