The Protector (17 page)

‘Edible?’ Mallory asked.

‘It tastes as good as it looks,’ she said, grinning. He smiled back.

He stuck his plastic fork into a large slab of meat and began to saw at it with the knife. Before he was halfway through, the fork snapped. A piece of it went flying into the air and Tasneen broke into a giggle.

‘Excuse me,’ Mallory said, deadpan as he got to his feet. He went over to the stack of plastic cutlery, collected several packets and sat back down, placing them beside his plate.‘I think I’m going to need spares,’ he said as he undid one of the packets.‘Maybe I should double up,’ he added, opening another, placing two forks together and poking them into the meat. The experiment was a success and after sawing off a piece he put it in his mouth and pantomimed chewing it with difficulty, all much to Tasneen’s amusement. She placed her hand over her mouth to hide her broad grin.

‘You know,’ Mallory said, pausing to make an exaggerated effort to swallow, ‘they deliberately make the food bad in hospitals to take your mind off why you’re here.’

‘It works,’ she said. Her smile faded as she remembered why she was in fact there.

‘Life has to go on, though, doesn’t it?’ he said, trying to make light of the philosophy.

‘You’re right,’ she said as she tried a potato chip. ‘I don’t know your name.’

‘Sorry. Bernie,’ he said, wiping his hand on a napkin and holding it out to her.

She put her knife down, looked around at the others to see if they were looking, and shook hands.‘Tasneen,’ she said.

Mallory shook her hand lightly, enjoying the contact. ‘That’s a lovely name. I’ve never heard it before.’

She smiled a thank-you and went back to her meal. ‘It was my mother’s name, and her mother’s too.’

‘I take it you’re Iraqi?’ he asked.

‘Yes . . . I’m from Baghdad.’

‘Where did you learn English?’

‘At school. My father spoke it very well. He used to go to England when he was a young man.’

‘You speak it too well to have just spoken it in school.’

‘My father wanted us to learn English. My brother and I . . . the three of us, we would have conversations only in English sometimes.We watch a lot of English-language programmes and films on TV.’

‘What does your father do?’

Tasneen’s expression warned him of the bad news coming. ‘Both my parents died during the war.’

‘This last one?’

‘Yes,’

‘I’m sorry,’ Mallory said, putting his cutlery down, feeling it was impolite to eat at that moment.

‘What do
you
do?’Tasneen asked lightly as she picked at her food, not wanting to talk about herself any more.

Mallory’s instinct was to be cautious about his identity and personal details but then he reminded himself that she would not have been given a job at the Palace without being heavily vetted. ‘I’m a security adviser to media,’ he said, revealing more than he would to most but still remaining sufficiently vague.

‘Television?’

‘An American newspaper,’ he said, picking up his cutlery again and resuming his meal.

‘Is it one of your friends who has been injured?’

‘A journalist. I only just picked him up at the airport this afternoon.’

‘No, seriously?’ Tasneen asked, looking shocked.

Mallory studied her, curious about something. ‘I wasn’t sure at first but now I think your English sounds American at times.’

‘Well . . . I work with a lot of Americans. I’m a bit of a sponge for accents. By the time you and I finish speaking I’ll probably be talking with an English accent . . . So where do you stay? Here in the Green Zone?’

‘The Sheraton,’ he answered.

‘Isn’t it dangerous there?’

‘Where is it safe?’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ she mused. ‘But that place is a big target, isn’t it?’

‘There’s a lot of media and westerners there, plus a US Army detachment. I suppose it gets more than its fair share of attention . . . rockets and mortars.’ He shrugged. ‘We’ve been hit four times in the last couple of months.’

‘You’ve been in Iraq two months?’

‘Something like that.’

‘When are you going home?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll be here a while yet, I should think.’

‘Then you’ll go home?’ she asked.

It had always been a foregone conclusion with Mallory that as soon as he got his hands on the money he would be out of Iraq, never to return. But a primal force had suddenly come into play, one of the most basic known to man, over which he had little control. ‘It’s good to take a break, let someone else have a job. Then I’ll come back, no doubt.The work’s interesting,’ he said. It wasn’t a lie, at least. If he didn’t get the money this trip he would certainly be back.

They spoke for over an hour at the table, mostly about trivial things, hardly ever referring to the conflict. Tasneen was very interested in where Mallory lived in England and what everyday life was like for him, comparing it where she could with life in Iraq before the war.They were eventually interrupted by the server telling them that the canteen was closing and, realising they were the only customers left, they headed back to the waiting room where they continued their conversation.

This time, Mallory sat opposite Tasneen, their knees almost touching, both of them sitting forward more often than back. Mallory talked about his childhood and school and the events that had led to his decision to join the military while Tasneen described her childhood and life in Baghdad under Saddam. Mallory was charmed by how positive she was about everything, how she emphasised the good times while glossing over the threat under which she and her family had lived constantly. Both of them managed to avoid politics for the most part, mainly because neither had any great interest in the subject but also because it was too depressing a topic and would spoil the mood they both wanted to be in.

Mallory was fascinated with Tasneen’s knowledge of the culture and history of the West. He was amused by how that knowledge bore all the marks of having been derived from television and magazines, lacking the detail one might get from a first-hand visit. But it sparked an interest in him as he listened to her describe the topics with such enthusiasm. She knew more about historical and modern London than he did, for instance, specifically the sights and tourist traps. He was embarrassed by his own lack of knowledge about things that were available to him without hardly an effort. She was not interested in nightclubs, a sentiment he shared, and even though she did not drink she expressed a desire to have her first glass of wine in Athens, the cradle of European civilisation. So many things she talked about left Mallory wishing that he had studied history as well as geography and he made a promise to himself to do something about that at the first opportunity.

Neither of them had noticed the time fly by until a doctor appeared in the doorway, looking for Mallory.

‘You here with Jake Stanza?’ the doctor asked tiredly, looking as if he’d had a long day.

‘Yes,’ Mallory said, getting to his feet.

‘We’re gonna leave him where he is for the night,’

‘He OK?’ Mallory asked, suddenly realising that he had forgotten all about his client during the past couple of hours.

‘He’s fine,’ the doctor said. ‘He had a mild reaction to the anaesthetic so we’re gonna leave him on the monitor for the time being. You can come pick him up in the morning . . . You’re Miss Rahman, right?’ he said, turning his attention to Tasneen.

‘Yes,’ she said, standing and looking a little pensive.

The doctor’s experienced eye recognised her concern. He smiled gently to help put her at ease. ‘Abdul’s fine. It was a pretty long procedure for the both of us but it went well. He’s bushed so we’ll let him rest here for the night.’

‘Can I see him?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, we can arrange a five-minute visit, I guess. Why don’t you come with me now?’ he said, stepping back out into the hallway. ‘I’ll show you where he is and then I’m gonna get outta here myself.’

Tasneen followed the doctor into the corridor.

Mallory watched her as she headed out of the room, frustrated at the abruptness of her departure. But Tasneen stopped to look back at him in the doorway. Their sudden parting was curiously unpleasant for her too and she stared into the eyes of the man whose polite and interesting company had taken some of the edge off her problems for the past few hours.

She moved towards him, holding out her hand. ‘It was very nice to meet you,’ she said.

‘You too,’ Mallory said, taking her hand, enjoying the touch even more than before.

She broke the contact as she turned away and hurried to catch up with the doctor.

As Mallory watched Tasneen head towards the reception hall she turned quickly to look back at him, smiled, waved and continued on her way.

Mallory swallowed his disappointment and walked down to the corner and into the longer corridor that was practically empty now. He continued to a set of glass-panelled doors at the far end.

As he approached the exit he could see that it was dark outside, something he should have considered. He stepped out into the slightly chilly air, through the US Army pedestrian checkpoint manned by a male and female soldier who were dressed in full combat gear and onto the main road.

A couple of Hummvees cruised by with their headlights on, a soldier standing in each roof embrasure behind a belt-fed .50-calibre machine gun. Mallory looked up and down the road that was empty of other vehicles and pedestrians and as the patrol drove out of sight everything fell silent. It was not a good idea to hang around and, sighing philosophically, he closed the door on the romantic episode, turned his back on the hospital and walked on up the street.

Mallory took his mobile phone from his pocket and considered who he could call to ask for a ride back to the Sheraton.The hotel was only on the other side of the river, no more than a ten-minute drive using the nearest bridge, but the problem was the time of day. The dark hours brought out the criminal and insurgent population of the city in even greater numbers. But they were not the only dangers. The curfew was only an hour away, and the military and police patrols, though fewer at night, were more trigger-happy. Some PSD teams ventured out at night but the wiser ones did so only if it could not be avoided. Mallory himself had been out on several occasions after curfew, mostly to the convention centre on work-related trips, but these excursions had been undertaken only with great reluctance. The US military hierarchy was in the habit of holding press conferences in the evenings, the convention centre being situated inside the Green Zone, and they obviously had scant regard for the dangers faced by media crews who lived outside the zone.

Mallory scrolled through the phone numbers of a couple of PSD friends living in the Green Zone but after selecting one was reluctant to make the call. The odds were small that anyone was going out but that was not the only reason for his reluctance. The PSD guys would ask him how he’d ended up getting stuck in the Green Zone without a ride and frankly he would look like an amateur no matter what explanation he gave short of a pack of lies. He could ask to sleep over until morning but that would still leave his competency suspect. Reputation was everything in the security-adviser world and - something he had not overlooked - if he failed in his mission to retrieve the money from Fallujah he might find himself stuck in this business. The last option was to call one of his Iraqi fixers and ask them to meet him at the Assassins’ Gate less than a mile’s walk from the hospital. But Mallory would be asking him to take the risk of driving from his home to the hotel and back home again.

There was only one choice left short of walking back to the Sheraton, which would be a stupid and unprofessional risk, and that was to find somewhere in the Green Zone to lie down and wait the night out. But although the worst of Iraq’s winter months had passed the nights could still get bitterly cold. Neither was the Zone as secure as people assumed, despite the heavy military presence. Iraqis occupied several large residential areas within the Zone and there had been reports of lone westerners being attacked. Only recently Mallory had read an intelligence report of an American contractor assaulted by three Iraqis while out jogging in broad daylight.They had tried to get him into the boot of a car in an attempt to kidnap him but he had managed to fight them off and make a run for it. Every western company compound in the Zone was heavily guarded - and for good reason.

Mallory paused in the street with his hands on his hips and broke into a grin as he shook his head. ‘What a wanker,’ he said out loud. One cute babe and all his soldiering skills flew out the window.

A car’s headlights blinked on in the distance as it pulled away from the sidewalk and as it approached the other side of the road it began to slow. Mallory could not see the driver and his hand went to his butt pouch where his pistol was. The car was a small white Japanese job and as it came to a stop the driver’s window wound down. It was Tasneen. Mallory beamed as he crossed towards her.

‘Hi,’ she said as he rested his hands on the roof of the car and leaned down.

‘Hi,’ he echoed, unable to conceal his pleasure.

‘I’m glad I saw you,’ she said. ‘I felt bad about not being able to say goodbye.’

‘Yeah . . . I . . . I really enjoyed talking with you.’

She smiled broadly but at the same time felt embarrassed by her forwardness.

A vehicle appeared, heading towards them. It was another Hummvee and Mallory hugged the side of the car as it passed closely by, the driver no doubt making the point that Mallory was standing in a stupid position on the road.

‘How was your brother?’ Mallory asked, resuming his stance.

‘I didn’t get to speak to him. He was asleep. But he looked fine. Peaceful. That’s the only time he does, when he’s asleep. The rest of the time he’s either grumpy or in a trance.’

‘Can’t be easy, losing a hand.’

Another Hummvee approached and Mallory hugged the car again to let it pass.

He leaned back down and looked at Tasneen, unsure how to say what he wanted to. ‘I feel like I could talk to you all night . . . I mean . . . you know . . . ’