Authors: Parker Bilal
She avoided his gaze. Her eyes were deep shadows in the dark.
‘I can’t,’ she said.
‘You’re not safe with him.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘What happens when he tires of you? Think about the boy.’
‘I am thinking about him,’ she hissed angrily. Her head dropped and for a moment she was still. ‘Hadi is the only thing I think about.’
‘Come with us now. I’m sure there’s another way.’
‘Why is this so important to you?’ she asked. ‘Why do you care?’
He wanted to say something, something that would appease her anger, that would convince her that she was making a terrible mistake, but he couldn’t. He wanted to tell her that it had something to do with another mistake, one that he had made years ago, the consequences of which he had to live with every day. But the truth was that he had no answers, not even for himself. Bilquis nodded to herself as if this was what she had expected. She stood up and drew the gown more tightly around her. Makana massaged his wrists to get the blood flowing again.
‘He’ll make you pay for this.’
‘We’ll be gone before he finds out.’
Makana caught her wrist as she turned to go. ‘If he finds out, he’ll kill you.’
She pulled herself free. ‘You must go now.’
They moved through the kitchen and along the corridor past the archway that gave onto the main living area. Through it Makana could see two of the guards sitting at the dining table playing cards. Beyond, through the glass, he could see two others smoking on the terrace as they stood guard. Bilquis pointed down the corridor.
‘At the end you go down a set of steps to a doorway,’ she whispered. ‘It’s not locked. It’ll bring you straight out onto the hill track. Turn left and follow it down. Be quiet and move quickly.’
‘I . . .’
She cut him off by placing a hand over his mouth. In the dim light he looked into her eyes, searching for something he was no longer sure he had ever seen. She took her hand away slowly.
‘If things had been different,’ she whispered, ‘who knows?’
Then she turned and was gone.
Makana led Sindbad along the corridor and down the short flight of steps to the outer door. As she said, it wasn’t locked, only bolted from the inside. Makana pulled back the bolt and urged Sindbad out ahead of him. As he stepped out he could see the stars over the town and a thin strip of street lights along the road. He was drawing the door quietly to behind him when he felt a gun barrel pressed to the back of his neck. A hand grasped his shoulder and spun him round, pushing him hard up against the wall. In the moonlight he recognised the blond American, the one with the beard who resembled General Custer. Randy Hagen. He held a finger to his lips and Makana could see no reason to object. They were all there, four shadows, silent in the dark. They were heavily armed and communicated only by hand signals.
Out of the corner of his eye Makana saw Kane approaching. He signalled for Hagen and the Iraqi, Faisal, to go round to the front of the house. Then he addressed the youngest member of the group, a man in his twenties with a scruffy beard, his head shaved to a bristle. This had to be Jansen, the last member of Kane’s group.
‘Keep an eye on these two, kid. Either of them makes a move, shoot them.’
Jansen prodded Makana in the side with the barrel of his gun. They moved back inside, following Kane up the steps and along the corridor. At the archway leading into the main living area, Kane signalled and Jansen pressed Makana against the wall, the gun to his neck.
Perhaps Samari’s arrogance was such that he had never believed Kane would be able to find him, or else he expected to be gone before he turned up. In either case the Iraqis were caught napping. Makana counted nine silenced shots. A moment or two later, Makana and Sindbad were dragged into the living area to find the lights on and everyone assembled, the living and the dead. Makana recognised the guard who had held a gun on him that morning when he had arrived. He was face down on the steps leading down to the front door, his shirt pockmarked with bullet holes. The one with an arm in a sling lay in a heap beneath a bloody smear on the wall by the sofa where Samari sat with his head bowed. Hagen and Faisal came in through the front door. The two men on duty out there were face down on the terrace. The only people missing were Bilquis and her son, Hadi.
Kane strolled about the room with a theatrical air, enjoying his moment. He was dressed all in black, cargo pants and a vest over a black T-shirt, a black bandanna tied over his head. A compact machine pistol was slung over one shoulder while a chrome-plated automatic rested in a holster on the other. He gave orders to search the villa, then he turned to address Samari.
‘You are one difficult animal to rope, I’ll give you that.’ Training his weapon on Makana and Sindbad, Kane signalled to Jansen, who hauled Samari to his feet, bound his hands, and dragged him to the centre of the room. ‘Search him good.’
Jansen tossed a knife across. Kane weighed the
kaiken
in his hand.
‘So this is what you used on Raul? Nice piece.’ He tested the blade with his thumb.
‘What do you want from me?’ Samari was staring at the side of Kane’s face.
‘I’ll come to that. You just have to be patient.’ Kane moved past Samari towards Makana.
‘How did you find us?’ Makana asked.
Kane beamed. ‘Well, the wonders of modern technology and all that.’ He reached into his vest and produced a little device. ‘It’s called a lo-jack tracker. Easy to follow as a trail of breadcrumbs. Yesterday when you were all in the tailor’s shop I managed to slip it underneath one of those nice BMWs out there.’
‘How?’ Makana asked. ‘The cars were occupied at all times. There was a driver in each one.’
‘I didn’t say it was easy, but it was certainly not difficult. You wear a disguise. You find the blind spots in the mirrors.’ Kane leaned over Makana, the
kaiken
in one hand. ‘You know, I am a little disappointed in you. I thought we had a deal.’
‘You shouldn’t have killed Kasabian like that.’
‘You could have been a very rich man. But that’s the thing, some people just don’t know what’s good for them. Just like Kasabian. I don’t like it when people lie to me, but he could simply have told me how to find this place.’
‘He didn’t know.’
‘I’d like to believe you, I really would, but the thing is I’ve just about lost faith in there being anybody in this part of the world who knows how to tell the truth.’
Makana turned as he heard Samari start to swear. His face had drained of blood.
‘It can’t be.’
The Iraqi was staring straight at Kane.
‘You’re dead.’
A look of satisfaction came over Kane, as if this was a moment he had been anticipating for a long time.
‘You’re not Kane,’ Samari whispered. ‘I know you, and your name is not Kane.’
‘Somebody once said there are no second acts in American lives,’ Kane smiled. ‘And maybe that’s true. All I know is that in the land of opportunity everyone gets a chance to reinvent themselves.’
Samari must have panicked, because he made a move to get past Jansen, who neatly sidestepped and clubbed him with the butt of his machine pistol. Samari fell to the floor.
‘Now that’s a disappointing development, and not a good one from your point of view.’ Kane circled Samari where he lay sprawled on his side, one hand clutching his head. He looked over at Makana and grinned. ‘Perhaps I should explain. Let me see. Well, we have to go all the way back to February 1991, Kuwait City. Saddam is under delusions of grandeur. He thinks he’s invincible, that the United States will never touch him. So he has invaded his next-door neighbour, a country that he believes should by rights belong to him. The Kuwaitis flee, taking themselves off to London and Paris to sit out the war in luxury. Of course there isn’t enough time for them to take all of their valuable possessions with them, so they leave most of it behind, thinking they’ll be back in a couple of weeks. Wrong.
‘Meanwhile a crack unit of the Iraqi Republican Guard is roaming the city, relieving the wealthy Kuwaitis of their incalculable riches. They break into numerous private art collections and gather up a fabulous haul of pearls, diamonds and gold, not to mention priceless works of art the world hasn’t seen for decades. Nobody has any idea of what these vaults contain, except the owners of course, who are far away and helpless. The only problem is that the Iraqis are losing the war. Operation Desert Storm is moving in fast. Land forces are on the outskirts of the city and the airspace is controlled by coalition fighter planes. There is nowhere to run.’
Samari sat up and shook his head to clear it. Kane continued with his story.
‘As you can imagine, quite a situation. You’ve got your hands on one of the greatest hauls of war booty since the Nazis rolled into Paris. More wealth than King Midas, but no way out. The road to Baghdad is a death trap. A turkey shoot. The airport is under siege. The port is sealed off. The oil wells are on fire. And then’ – Kane spun on his heels and paced across the floor – ‘then you had a stroke of luck. Why don’t you tell us what happened?’
‘We ran into you,’ murmured Samari.
‘That’s right, Colonel. You remember that.’
‘I remember,’ nodded Samari, his head lolling.
‘You thought you were going to die, didn’t you? When you saw the Bradley closing in, you thought the end had come.’
‘Yes. Yes.’ Samari was gasping and coughing. ‘The end.’
‘And you would have died, wouldn’t you? Out there in the desert. Without our help.’
‘We would be dead.’
‘But you didn’t die. You were saved.’ Kane patted Samari on the shoulder. ‘I saved you.’ He was grinning now. Samari looked unsure of himself.
‘You saved us.’
‘If it wasn’t for us, you’d be dead and none of this would ever have happened. Right?’
‘Right.’
Kane was still smiling. Samari tried to smile back. He seemed to think it was expected of him. Kane began to chuckle and Samari followed suit. In a few moments they were both laughing like lunatics.
Then, abruptly, Kane struck Samari across the face with the barrel of his gun. When he straightened up, Samari’s mouth was bloody. He spat out a tooth.
‘I’m glad you remember,’ Kane said soberly. ‘I can think of a few guys who would be glad to know that you haven’t forgotten them. Hinks and Mason, for example. Those names mean anything to you?’
Samari whimpered. Kane signalled to Hagen and Jansen, who dragged Samari to his feet. A rope was thrown up over the railings of the gallery and clipped to the plastic tie around Samari’s wrists.
‘Two fine men. Charlie Hinks was a driver and Tommy Mason was my gunner. Remember them?’
Samari wailed as they hauled him into the air until his feet no longer touched the ground. The thin band of plastic cut into his skin and he groaned, gritting his teeth against the pain. Kane swung the machine pistol behind his back and pulled the shiny automatic out of his holster and held it up.
‘Do you know what this fine piece of weaponry is?’
‘Desert Eagle, 50-calibre,’ Samari whined.
‘So you know what a bullet this size can do to a man’s leg, right? The doctors won’t find any pieces to put back together.’ He swung the gun from one leg to the other. ‘Which knee would you rather do without?’
‘Please, you don’t have to do this,’ Samari murmured. ‘We can make a deal.’
‘A deal?’ Kane arched his eyebrows. ‘Really? What did you have in mind?’
‘There is enough to make all of us rich.’
‘Did you say rich?’
‘Yes, yes,’ muttered Samari.
‘Paintings? Is that what you’re talking about?’
‘Paintings, works of art, antiquities. Diamonds. Lots of diamonds. Rubies, pearls. Gold bullion. I have it all. I give it to you.’
‘Sounds like you’re a rich man. Where is all of this stuff?’
‘I have it, all loaded up into a truck, ready to ship out.’ Samari was spitting blood.
‘You’re forgetting one thing,’ Kane smiled. ‘I trusted you once before.’
The guard lying on the floor beside Makana chose this moment to groan. He wasn’t dead after all. Kane seemed to welcome the distraction.
‘Hey, a volunteer!’
Without moving, without bothering to look, Kane swung the automatic and pulled the trigger. The man’s body jerked once at the impact and he was silent. The shot was deafening in the narrow space, and when he looked again Makana saw a hole in the man’s chest big enough to bury a fist in.
‘Not pretty.’ Kane shook his head. He moved closer to Samari and rested the barrel of the pistol against his cheek. ‘You don’t seem to understand. I didn’t come here to make a deal. I came to kill you and take everything you’ve got.’ Samari murmured something that was drowned out when Kane fired again. The bullet seared a furrow across the side of Samari’s face and took off most of his right ear. He gave a screech of pain.
There was a shout and Faisal appeared on the upper floor dragging Bilquis along behind him. Her eyes were wide with fear and she held her son in her arms. The boy was crying. Dressed in pyjamas, Hadi was small for his age and obviously terrified. She was trying to comfort him, though clearly he could sense his mother’s fear and clutched fiercely at her. Faisal herded her towards the stairs, prodding her in the back with the barrel of his gun.