by Chris Ryan
‘He started offering me money for research, for myself, anything I wanted. I didn’t know who he was at first, but I found out pretty quickly. He’s a Kurd as well, but a bad one. The Kurds hate Saddam. He gassed our people back in the eighties, and has slaughtered hundreds of thousands of us to keep us in our place. Salek didn’t care about any of that. He just cared about the money he was being paid to do the regime’s dirty work.’
‘So why the hell did you take it?’ said Nick.
‘My family.’
‘You don’t trade one family for another,’ said Nick.
Wilmington turned round to look at him, taking his eyes off the road. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘And have you ever been in the position where you had to make that choice?’
‘Keep your eyes on the bloody road,’ snapped Jed. The Renault drew dangerously close to a truck that had braked ahead of it. A man was climbing out of it, and all around horns were starting to blast as the traffic ground to yet another halt.
‘Just tell us what happened,’ said Jed.
‘That first visit, I turned down their money, said I wasn’t interested,’ said Wilmington, his voice strained and croaky as he stuttered through the words. ‘I’m a scientist, I can live simply, and I’m perfectly well paid by the university. Salek came back. He’s a mercenary, basically. He started out in the army, and he was one of the few Kurds who was willing to work with Saddam. He helped suppress his own people, then he became one of Saddam’s fixers, trading in oil and arms around the world. He came to me and said they had taken my sister prisoner. My cousins as well, and their children. They were going to be tortured to death unless I cooperated with them.’
Wilmington paused, steering the Renault out into an open stretch of road. ‘I didn’t have any choice,’ he said slowly. ‘I had to do what they said.’
‘You should have gone to the police,’ said Nick. ‘Or the intelligence services. They could have helped you.’
Wilmington shook his head. ‘What are they going to do?’ he said, his tone touched with anger. ‘They can protect me in Cambridge – if they believe me, that is. They can’t protect my family in Iraq.’
‘So you told them about Sarah?’ said Jed.
‘Like I said, I had no choice,’ said Wilmington. ‘They started off by wanting weapons research. Saddam was desperate to build a nuclear bomb, and his men thought I might be able to help them. Then they got wind of the work we were doing on cold fusion in the laboratory. They realised how important it was, and they wanted it. Once Sarah made her breakthrough, Salek was all over me. He wanted Sarah in Iraq, and he wanted her work.’
Jed glanced round. He could see the dark waves of anger cross Nick’s face. ‘You took her out of the country?’ he said.
‘Salek arranged it all,’ said Wilmington. ‘We took her to what was supposed to be a meeting, then she was put in a van and driven to a private airfield in Norfolk. She was smuggled on to a plane that was registered to a Saudi businessman, and it was given permission to take off by air-traffic control – customs checks at those tiny airports are pretty light. The plane landed in Jordan and she was brought into Iraq by car. Then she was taken to the research facility to complete her work. I was brought out for a day. She knew what she was being made to do, and she was very angry about it. But at the same time there was nothing she could do. If she didn’t work with them, they would kill her.’
‘So what the hell was she doing in the cells?’ said Nick.
Wilmington sighed. You could see the strain in the man’s eyes, and hear it in his voice. He’s tired, thought Jed. And afraid. That’s a bad combination. A man like that could lose hope. And then he’d be no use to us at all.
‘She’d been working in the facility in Baghdad for two weeks without being able to replicate the experimental work she’d done in Cambridge. I was back at my house. Six days ago, Salek came for me and brought me over here. He insisted that she needed help. I had no choice. When I got here, she seemed nervous, afraid. I tried to reassure her. I told her that all she needed to do was give the Iraqis the experiment, let them see it, and have the proof that it worked, and she was free to leave the country. She was reluctant, didn’t seem to believe me. So they took both of us off to the palace. They guessed that there was going to be a strike on the plant, and they didn’t want Sarah to be killed: we escaped just seconds before the missile came in. They kept us there for thirty-six hours. At first I thought we were going to be roughed up. They wouldn’t hesitate to torture us if they thought it would give them the results they need more quickly. But I think they just threw us in the cells because it was the safest place they could think of while the city was under attack.’
‘Then the bastards took her?’ said Nick.
Wilmington nodded. ‘Yesterday, a couple of soldiers came into the cells and led her away. I shouted at them to tell me what was happening, but they paid no attention. I think that’s why they left me there, because I was no more use to them, and because I was objecting to what was happening to Sarah.’ He paused, slamming his fist on to the horn as a truck slowed up ahead of them. ‘But she’s in Tikrit, I’m certain of it. The finest scientific facility in Iraq is here, and if she is anywhere, this is where the Iraqis will bring her. I just hope she’s all right.’
‘I thought you said the Iraqis need her alive,’ said Nick. He was leaning forward, his mouth just a fraction of an inch from Wilmington’s ear. ‘They need her to complete the experiment.’
‘So long as they think she’s cooperating and making progress, she’ll be OK,’ said Wilmington. ‘But these are desperate times. The war has already started, and may only last a few days. If she can’t give them what they want …’ He paused, then shrugged. ‘Well, they may dispose of her.’
‘Then we better get a bloody move on,’ Nick snapped.
It was dark now, and Jed could see they were approaching the outskirts of Tikrit. He checked his watch. Ten thirty, local time. It had taken more than seven hours to cover just two hundred miles. ‘Be careful,’ said Wilmington, as the road sign ahead of them declared they were just ten kilometres from the city. ‘It won’t be like Baghdad. Up here, everyone is a Saddam loyalist. They’ll fight for the regime until the bitter end. The police and army will still be functioning. If they catch us, we’re all dead men.’
‘It’s not death that bothers us,’ said Nick. ‘It’s failure. Keep bloody driving.’
Jed glanced at Wilmington. He could see the sweat forming on his forehead, and he could see how clammy and sticky his hands were on the wheel of the car. The Renault was edging forward in heavy traffic. Two kilometres from the town centre, Wilmington dropped down on to a slip road, then swung right. They were now driving through a residential area, with neat rows of houses on either side of the street. Compared to Baghdad, it struck Jed as relatively calm and ordered. There was no sign of the missile strikes that had been raining down on the capital. You couldn’t hear the drone of the fighters or bombers in the night sky. There were even a few people out and about. Close to the main highway, you could see the first wave of refugees from the south starting to build themselves makeshift camps, but once you got into the heart of Tikrit, you could easily forget this was a country at war at all. There’s still life in these people, thought Jed. It’s not over yet.
‘You know where you’re going?’ said Jed.
Wilmington nodded.
In the back seat, Nick had pulled out his knife. He was leaning forward, flashing the sharpened blade in front of Wilmington’s throat. ‘Just don’t try anything clever,’ he said. ‘You try leading us into a trap, we’ll kill you.’
Jed then jammed his pistol into Wilmington’s thigh: he could feel it all right, but no one outside the car would see it. ‘One false move and I’ll blow your balls off,’ he snarled.
Wilmington slowed down the Renault as he approached some wasteland outside the city. They had passed two military convoys on their journey through the city, but neither of them had paid them much attention. T
hey had moved through the residential area into a set of streets dominated by workshops, admin blocks, and then, as they drove out of the city through the remote wasteland, a forbidding concrete building with a thick wall of barbed wire all around it. There were no street lights, and as the Renault pulled up, the building was shrouded in darkness. A few lights were escaping from the third and fourth floors of the six-storey building, but otherwise there wasn’t even a moon to guide you. ‘Here,’ said Wilmington. ‘The main Iraqi weapons lab. If Saddam really does have any weapons of mass destruction, that’s where they are.’
Jed climbed out of the car. His limbs were stiff from the drive, and he could feel the cold night air chilling his skin. He looked at the pale light shining down on the barbed wire. Could she be in there, he wondered. In all honesty, Jed had no idea. For the first time, he was starting to wonder if Sarah might be dead. No, he told himself, pushing the thought out of his mind. Don’t even think that.
‘You’ve been in there?’ he hissed.
Wilmington nodded.
‘How do we get in?’
Wilmington stared at Jed like he was mad. ‘It’s the main weapons lab for the whole country,’ he said. ‘You’ll never get in there.’
‘We’re going in,’ said Nick, putting a hand firmly on Wilmington’s shoulder. ‘And you’re coming with us.’
THIRTY
It was past midnight now. Nick and Jed were crouched behind a wall, a couple of hundred yards away from the laboratory building. The lab was set in its own patch of wasteland, at least half a mile from the rest of the city, with one main road leading up to it, and a couple of smaller roads leading from its side and back into the town. Wilmington was a hundred yards behind them, dumped with the rest of their kit, apart from the AK-47s and the grenades. The building was heavily fortified, with the wall of barbed wire, and what looked like at least a couple of dozen soldiers. It was impossible to tell how many from the outside. They had waited for two hours before they saw one man go into the building, watching as his papers were thoroughly checked. There was no chance of going through the front entrance without being captured, even if they were disguised as Iraqis. If they were going to get inside, they would have to fight their way in. After walking through the streets on the perimeter of the building for almost half an hour, they spotted the resting tank crew. ‘That’s how we get in,’ said Nick instantly. ‘Nobody stops a T-55 and asks for its papers. You could park one of these buggers in Oxford Street and not even get a ticket.’
The tank crew was clustered by the side of their vehicle, half a mile from the lab. One man was squatting on the ground beside it, brewing himself up a cup of sticky coffee on a gas burner. Another was cleaning his AK-47. The third was having a kip, his body stretched out on the ground, close to the thick, black treads of the Russian-built T-55.
‘Reckon you can take them?’ whispered Nick.
Jed nodded. ‘Sitting ducks,’ he said.
Nick grabbed his shoulder. ‘There are no sitting ducks, Jed,’ he growled. ‘I’ve been in more fights than you have, and I can tell you, the most dangerous enemy any soldier ever faces is his own overconfidence. Any man with a gun in his hand can kill you.’
‘I can take them,’ hissed Jed angrily.
‘OK, OK,’ said Nick. ‘Just wait until they’re drowsy, ready to kip. That’s when they’ll be at their most vulnerable.’
Jed nodded grimly and bit his lip.
Nick shrugged. ‘Not that I give a toss whether you get killed or not,’ he said. ‘I just might need some help in breaking Sarah out.’
As he focused on the three soldiers, Jed could see one of them switch off the gas burner, and drink the last of his coffee. He got up, and walked behind the tank for a piss. Nick looked at Jed. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s take them.’
The plan was simple, as old as warfare itself: charge them, guns blazing. There were no buildings close by, so no one should hear the attack, and if they went in hard enough they could finish them before they could radio for help. It was two against three, but one of them was asleep, and none of them was expecting an attack. As far as they knew they were several hundred miles from the front, and no doubt glad of it. The odds were with the attackers.
Jed started running, his feet hitting the ground hard. He was closing swiftly on his target, the AK-47 jutting from his chest like a sword. He remained silent, except for the tread of his boots on the tarmac. Four hundred yards, he judged. Three hundred and fifty. At two hundred yards, he’d open up with the machine gun. With any luck, the buggers will all be dead before we get within a hundred yards of them.
His pulse was beating hard, and he could feel his heart thumping inside his chest. As he kept moving, he could hear the sound of his boots echoing off the wall in the distance. Ahead, he could see the soldier who’d been drinking coffee look up towards him. He could see the expression on the man’s face. At first interested, as if he was wondering why a man was running at him. Then afraid.
Two hundred and fifty yards, Jed told himself. Fifty more …
The man had jumped to his feet. He was shouting something, first towards Jed, then towards his two mates. Ten yards to his right, he could see Nick also running in the direction of the tank, his AK-47 thrust in front of him. He wasn’t keeping pace, Jed noted. Second by second, he was falling a fraction behind. I’m the sod who’s going to have to take the brunt of this attack.
A second passed, then another. Two hundred and twenty yards …
The soldier was reaching for his gun. Jed slammed his finger hard into the trigger of the AK-47. The gun exploded into a rapid burst of fire, the bullets screeching through the empty night air. As he looked ahead, Jed knew he’d fired too soon. The bullets were pinging off the skin of the tank, or smashing uselessly into the tarmac. But he’d bought himself a few more fractions of a second, while the man looked up and tried to understand what was happening.
‘Get the bugger behind the tank,’ Jed snapped at Nick.
He could see him veering off towards the right. He moved steadily forward, his breath shortening as he’d pushed himself as fast as he could. Two hundred yards, a hundred and ninety …
The man was reaching down for his own gun. It was in his hands now. His fingers were grasping for the trigger, but his hands were shaking. The fear has already gripped him, thought Jed. His training’s forgotten. The poor sod no longer knows how to fight.
Jed kept firing, ripping a lethal blast of bullets in the direction of his opponent. The bullets were smashing into the ground, but then he could hear the satisfyingly gentle sound of steel ripping into flesh. The man spun round as one bullet after another smashed into him. One had taken out a chunk of his chest, another had ripped open his face. Another set of bullets shredded his lungs, and in the next instant he had slumped to the ground, blood oozing from a dozen different holes in his body.
A hundred yards, Jed noted with grim satisfaction. On target …
The guy sleeping was now alert. He’d leapt to his feet, and was scrabbling around for his gun. Jed had changed direction, veering slightly to the left as he closed in on the tank. The AK-47 was spraying bullets in the direction of the second man. Seventy-five yards, noted Jed. Fifty … then you’ll be dead. The soldier already knew he wasn’t going to get to his gun in time. With the desperate will to live of a man who knew he was already done for, he was trying to bury himself underneath the heavy tracks of the T-55. Jed pointed the AK-47 right at him, letting off a rapid burst of fire. The bullets smashed into his legs as he tried to get himself beneath the protective skin of the tank. He was howling in agony as the metal shredded the arteries, and within seconds it was clear he was already numbed with pain and shock, unable to move another muscle. Jed arrived by the tank, panting and exhausted, with sweat seeping from every pore of his skin. He looked down at the man. Poor bastard, he thought grimly. The blood was oozing out of him, but he wasn’t yet dead. Jed knelt down and, placing the gun into the side of his neck, fired one bullet. The soldi
er was dead.
As Jed walked swiftly around the tank, he saw Nick standing next to the third soldier. The guy hadn’t even had time to finish taking a piss. He was standing, immobilised by fear, holding on to his dick. ‘Min fadlik,’ he kept saying, the words trembling on his lips. ‘Min fadlik.’
Please, thought Jed. I’m getting used to that phrase. The guy is begging for his life.
‘What’s keeping you?’ said Jed roughly.
‘What shall I do with him?’ said Nick tersely.
Jed shrugged. ‘Kill the bugger,’ he said.
He looked at the man. He was tall, over six foot, and no more than twenty-one or twenty-two. His black hair was slicked down over his head, and though his brown eyes were strong and determined, you could tell how scared he was. ‘We could just tie him up,’ said Nick.
Jed glanced at him. It’s been a while, he thought. Nick hasn’t been in the forces for a decade. He’s forgotten that callous brutality is the first trick of our trade. ‘I said, kill him.’
Nick was turning his AK-47 towards the man. ‘Min fadlik,’ he repeated, his voice starting to break into a sob. Nick’s finger was hovering on the trigger. ‘We’re not sodding murderers,’ he growled. ‘At least we weren’t in my day.’
‘Want me to do it?’ said Jed, turning his own gun on the man.
Nick paused. ‘Yes, you do it,’ he said.
The soldier was glancing anxiously from man to man. His eyes were swivelling like a frightened dog. Sod it, thought Jed. Put the bastard out of his misery. He squeezed the trigger hard on the AK-47, holding the gun rock steady as a rapid burst of fire exploded from its barrel. The bullet ripped through the man’s chest, shredding his lungs and heart in a fraction of a second. The blood spilt from him, and some words were about to form on his lips, but the air had already emptied out of him, and he was unable to speak. As his legs crumpled beneath him, he crashed into an ugly mess on the ground.