Honour Among Thieves (34 page)

‘I’ll
be coming back on my own,’ said Riffat. ‘Mr Bernstrom will be returning to
America.’

Pedersson
nodded and watched the two men climb into their car before he walked slowly
back to his office. The phone on his desk was ringing.

He
picked it up, said, ‘Bertil Pedersson speaking,’ and listened to the caller’s request.
He placed the receiver on his desk and ran to the window, but the car was
already out of sight. He returned to the phone. ‘I am so sorry, Mr Al Obaydi,’
said Pedersson, ‘the two gentlemen who came to see the safe have just this
moment left, but Mr Riffat will be returning this afternoon to take her away.
Shall I let him know you called?’

Al
Obaydi put the phone down in Baghdad, and began to consider the implications of
what had started out as a routine call.

As
Deputy Ambassador to the UN, it was his responsibility to keep the sanctions
list up to date. He had hoped to pass on the file within a week to his
as-yet-unappointed successor.

In
the past two days, despite phones that didn’t connect and civil servants who
were never at their desks -and even when they were, were too terrified to
answer the most basic questions – he was almost in a position to complete the
first draft of his report.

The
problem areas had been: agricultural machinery, half of which the UN Sanctions
Committee took for granted was military equipment under another name; hospital
supplies, including pharmaceuticals, on which the UN accepted most of their
requests; and food, which they were allowed to purchase – although most of the
produce that came across the border seemed to disappear on the black market
long before it reached the Baghdad housewife.

A
fourth list was headed ‘miscellaneous items’, and included among these was a
massive safe which, when Al Obaydi checked its measurements, turned out to be
almost the size of the room he was presently working in. The safe, an internal
report confirmed, had been ordered before the planned liberation of the
Nineteenth Province, and was now sitting in a warehouse in Kalmar, waiting to
be collected. Al Obaydi’s boss at the UN had confessed privately that he was
surprised that the Sanctions Committee had lifted the embargo on the safe, but
this did not deter him from assuring the Foreign Minister that they had only
done so as a result of his linstaking negotiating skills.

Al
Obaydi sat at his laden desk for some time, considering what his next move
should be. He wrote a short list of headings on the notepad in front of him:

1
M.o.I.

2
State Security 3 Deputy Foreign Minister 4 Kalmar Al Obaydi glanced at the
first heading, M.o.I. He had remained in contact with a fellow student from
London University days who had risen to Permanent Secretary status at the
Ministry of Industry. Al Obaydi felt his old friend would be able to supply the
information he required without suspecting his real motive.

He
dialled the Permanent Secretary’s private number, and was delighted to find
that someone was at his desk.

‘Nadhim,
it’s Hamid Al Obaydi.’ ‘Hamid, I heard you were back from New York. The rumour
is that you’ve got what remains of our embassy in Paris. But one can never be
sure about rumours in this city.’

‘For
once, they’re accurate,’ Al Obaydi told his friend. ‘Congratulations. So, what
can I do for you, Your Excellency?’

Al
Obaydi was amused that Nadhim was the first person to address him by his new
title, even if he was being sarcastic. ‘UN sanctions.’

‘And
you claim you’re my friend?’ ‘No, it’s just a routine check. I’ve got to tie up
any loose ends for my successor. Everything’s in order as far as I can tell,
except I’m unable to find out much about a gigantic safe that was made for us
in Sweden. I know we’ve paid for it, but I can’t discover what is happening
about its delivery.’

‘Not
this department, Hamid. The responsibility was taken out of our hands about a
year ago after the file was marked “High Command”, which usually means for the
President’s personal use.’

‘But
someone must be responsible for a movement order from Kalmar to Baghdad,’ said
Al Obaydi.

‘All
I know is that I was instructed to pass the file on to our UN office in Geneva,
as we don’t have an embassy in Oslo. I’m surprised you didn’t know that, Hamid.
More your department than mine, I would have thought.’

‘Then
I’ll have to get in touch with Geneva and find out what they’re doing about
it,’ said Al Obaydi, not adding that New York and Geneva rarely informed each
other of anything they were up to. ‘Thanks for your help, Nadhim.’

‘Any
time. Good luck in Paris, Hamid. I’m told the women are fabulous, and despite
what you hear, they like Arabs.’

Al
Obaydi put the phone down and stared at the list on his pad. He took even
longer deciding if he should make the second call.

The
correct course of action with the information he now possessed would be to
contact Geneva, alert the Ambassador of his suspicions and let Saddam’s
half-brother once again take the praise for something he himself had done the
work on. He checked his watch. It was midday in Switzerland. He asked his
secretary to get Barazan Al-Tikriti on the phone, knowing she would log every
call. He waited for several minutes before a voice came on the line.

“Can
I speak to the Ambassador?’ he asked politely.

‘He’s
in a meeting, sir,’ came back the inevitable reply, ‘Shall I disturb him?’

‘No,
no, don’t bother. But would you let him know that Hamid Al Obaydi called from
Baghdad, and ask him if he would be kind enough to return my call.’

‘Yes,
sir,’ said the voice, and Al Obaydi replaced the phone. He had carried out the
correct procedure.

He
opened the sanctions file on his desk and scribbled on the bottom of his
report: ‘The Ministry of Industry have sent the file concerning this item
direct to Geneva. I phoned our Ambassador there, but was unable to make contact
with him. Therefore, I cannot make any progress from this end until he returns
my call. Hamid Al Obaydi.’

Al
Obaydi considered his next move extremely carefully. If he decided to do
anything, his actions must once again appear on the surface to be routine, and
well within his accepted brief. Any slight deviation from the norm in a city
that fed on rumour and paranoia, and it would be him who would end up dangling
from a rope, not Saddam’s half-brother.

Al
Obaydi looked down at the second heading on his notepad. He buzzed his
secretary and asked her to get General Saba’awi Al-Hassan, Head of State
Security, on the line. The post was one that had been held by three different
people in the last seven months. The General was available immediately, there
being more Generals than Ambassadors in the Iraqi regime.

‘Ambassador,
good morning. I’ve been meaning to call you. We ought to have a talk before you
take up your new appointment in Paris.’

‘My
thoughts exactly,’ said Al Obaydi. ‘I have no idea who we still have
representing us in Europe. It’s been a long time since I served in that part of
the world.’

‘We’re
a bit thin on the ground, to be honest. Most of our best people have been
expelled, including the so-called students whom we’ve always been able to rely
on in the past. Still, not a subject to be discussed over the phone. When would
you like me to come and see you?’ ‘Are vou free between four and five this
afternoon?’

There
was a pause before the General said, ‘I could be with you around four, but
would have to be back in my office by five. Do you think that will give us enough
time?’

‘I
feel sure you’ll be able to brief me fully in that period, General.’ Al Obaydi
put the phone down on another routine call.

He
stared at the third name on the list, one he feared might prove a little harder
to bluff.

He
spent the next few minutes rehearsing his questions before dialling an internal
number. A Miss Saib answered the phone.

‘Is
there a particular subject you wish to raise with the Deputy Foreign Minister?’
she asked.

‘No,’
replied Al Obaydi, ‘I’m phoning at his specific request. I’m due for a little
leave at the end of the week, and the Deputy Foreign Minister made it clear he
wished to brief me before I take up my new post in Paris.’

‘I’ll
come back to you with a time as soon as I’ve had a chance to discuss your
request with the Minister,’ Miss Saib promised.

Al
Obaydi replaced the phone. Nothing to raise any suspicions there. He looked
back at his pad and added a question mark, two arrows and another word to his
list.

Kalmar
<— ? —» Geneva Some time in the next forty-eight hours, he was going to have
to decide which direction he should take.

The
first question Kratz put to Scott on the journey from Kalmar to Stockholm was
the significance of the numbers 0-4-0-7-9-3. Scott snapped out of a daydream
where he was rescuing Hannah on a white charger, and returned to the real
world, which looked a lot less promising.

‘The
fourth of July,’ he responded. ‘What better day could Saddam select to
humiliate the American people, not to mention a new President.’

‘So
now at least we know when our deadline is,’ said Kratz.

‘Yes,
but we’ve only been left with eleven days,’ replied Scott. ‘One way or the
other.’

‘Still,
we’ve got Madame Bertha,’ said Kratz, trying to lighten the mood.

‘True,’
said Scott. ‘And where do you intend to take her on her first date?’

‘All
the way,’ said Kratz. ‘That is to say, Jordan, which is where I’m expecting you
to join up with us again. In fact, my full team is already in Stockholm waiting
to pick her up before they begin the journey to Baghdad. All the paperwork has
been sorted out for us by Langley, so there should be no hold-ups on the way.
Our first problem will be crossing the Jordanian border, but as we have all the
requisite documents demanded by the UN, a few extra dollars supplied to the
right customs official should ensure that his stamping hand lands firmly on the
correct page of all our passports.’

‘How
much time have you allocated for the journey to Jordan?’ Scott asked,
remembering his own tight schedule.

‘Six
or seven days, eight at the outside. I’ve got a six-man team, all with
considerable field experience. None of them will have to drive for more than
four hours at a time without then getting sixteen hours’ rest. That way there
will be no need to stop at any point, other than to fill up with petrol.’ They
passed a sign indicating ten kilometres to Stockholm.

‘So
I’ve got a week,’ said Scott.

‘Yes,
and we must hope that that’s enough time for Bill O’Reilly to complete a
perfect new copy of the Declaration,’ said Kratz.

‘It
ought to be a lot easier for him a second time,’ said Scott. ‘Especially as
every one of his requests was dealt with within hours of his asking. They even
flew over nine shades of black ink from London on Concorde the next morning.’

‘I
wish we could put Madame Bertha on Concorde.’

Scott
laughed. ‘Tell me more about your back-up team.’

‘The
best I’ve ever had,’ said Kratz. ‘All of them have had front-line experience in
several official and unofficial wars. Five Israelis and one Kurd.’

Scott
raised an eyebrow.

‘Few
people realise,’ continued Kratz, ‘that Mossad has an Arab section, not large
in numbers, but once we’ve trained them, only the Gurkhas make better killers.
The test will be if you can spot which one he is.’

‘How
many are coming over the border with us?’

‘Only
two. We can’t afford to make it look like an army. One engineer and a driver.
At least, that’s how they’ll be described on the manifest, but they only have
one job description as far as I’m concerned, and that’s to get you into Baghdad
and back out with the Declaration in the shortest possible time.’

Scott
looked straight ahead of him. ‘And Hannah?’ he and simply.

“That
would be a bonus if we got lucky, but it’s not part of my brief. I consider the
chances of your even seeing her are remote,’ he said as they passed a ‘Welcome
to Stockholm’ sign.

Scott
began thumping Bertha’s bible up and down on his knees. ‘Careful with that,’
said Kratz. ‘It still needs to be translated, otherwise you won’t know how to
go about a proper introduction to the lady. After all, it will only be your
palm and your voice she’ll be opening her heart to.’ Scott glanced down at the
108-page book and wondered how long it would take him to master its secrets,
even after it had been translated into English.

Kratz
suddenly swung right without warning and drove down a deserted street that ran
parallel to a disused railway line. All Scott could see ahead of him was a
tunnel that looked as if it led nowhere.

When
he was a hundred yards from the entrance, Kratz checked in his rear-view mirror
to see if anyone was following them. Satisfied they were alone, he flashed his
headlights three times. A second later, from what appeared to be the other end
of a black hole, he received the same response. He slowed down and drove into
the tunnel without his lights on. All Scott could now see was a torch
indicating where they should pull up.