The Protector (18 page)

Her embarrassment increased.

‘Which way are you going?’ Mallory asked.

‘I live outside the Green Zone.’

‘Yes, you said. Which gate do you leave through?’

‘The convention centre.’

‘Oh,’ Mallory said, looking disappointed and releasing the car. ‘OK.’

‘Where do you need to get to?’

‘I’m heading for the Assassins’ Gate,’ he said.

‘That’s not a problem. I can drop you.’

‘You sure?’

‘Of course. It’s not a big detour.’

Mallory hurried around to the passenger side, opened the door and climbed in. ‘You’re very kind,’ he said as he closed the door.

Tasneen set off and they drove in silence, both feeling awkward travelling together, something neither of them had expected to be doing.

‘It’s cold,’ Mallory said, in the absence of anything more interesting to say.

‘Yes. But not as cold right now as where you come from.’

‘That’s the truth. Still, the desert can be so hot in the day and so cold at night. I couldn’t believe it when I first got here. I didn’t think of bringing a pully.Then I was stuck outside one evening and I was so cold that I was shivering.’

‘You should go up north,’ she said. ‘We get snow in the mountains this time of year.’

‘You ever been skiing?’ Mallory asked.

‘I would
love
to go skiing,’ Tasneen replied with childish enthusiasm. ‘I love to watch it on TV. Not racing but just skiing for fun.’

‘Well, your luck’s in. I happen to be an ace skiing instructor.’

‘Ace?’

‘The best. OK, perhaps not the best, but I’m good. Well, I can handle a novice like you, at any rate. I’ll teach you for free, how’s that?’

Tasneen slowed at a junction, made a right turn, and accelerated on. Mallory felt an idiot, making such a pointless offer, and her silence was proof of it.

‘You would probably be shocked if I called you one day and asked for my lesson,’ Tasneen said. She wasn’t sure why she had opted to continue the fantasy but sharing it with another person was excitingly different.

Mallory glanced at her, pleased that she had carried on the game. ‘Shocked? I’d be stunned.’

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘Because I haven’t even given you my phone number.’

Tasneen broke into a delightful laugh.

‘Where’s your car?’ she asked as she slowed. The Assassins’ Gate checkpoint was still some distance away but the first set of barriers was already visible in the beams of her headlights and it was dangerous to stop a car close to them, even more so at night.

‘Drop me here. I can walk,’ said Mallory.

Tasneen could not see any vehicles on the approach road to the checkpoint. ‘Where’s your car?’ she asked.

‘At the Sheraton.’

‘The Sheraton Hotel?’

‘That’s where I live.’

‘Yes, but you can’t walk there from here.’

‘I’m not going to. I’m going to jog,’ Mallory said. It wasn’t so bad. The foot of the bridge was practically outside the Assassins’ Gate. It was a long bridge, exposed, but once on the other side he could drop down onto the tree-covered embankment.

‘Run?’ Tasneen said, her voice a tone higher. ‘But what if someone tries to attack you? You are a westerner. You look like one, even in the dark.’

‘I’ll jump into the river,’ he said. It was meant to sound flippant even though it wasn’t.

She carried on driving. ‘You are mad,’ she said as she closed on the first unmanned concrete-barrier chicane.

‘You’d better stop,’ he said.

‘Not now. They might shoot at us.’

‘Then drop me on the street.’

They carried on, obeying a sign that demanded they reduce speed to five mph.

‘You’re crazy,’ Tasneen said, turning off her headlights as they approached some soldiers behind a low blast wall.

She was right, of course. Mallory had put himself in an awkward situation and none of his solutions were particularly smart. What a man will do to spend even a few minutes with a beautiful woman . . .

They passed through the Assassins’ Gate, an ornate affair but smaller than Marble Arch. It was damaged in places where a shell had struck it during the war: tiles had buckled or fallen away to expose the wire framework beneath.

They cruised between several high blast walls and over a line of road claws towards several more soldiers standing beside a bunker. Tasneen was waved through and the car left the safety of the Zone.

‘Anywhere here will do,’ Mallory said.

But Tasneen did not slow down. Instead, she speeded up the gentle incline that was the start of the broad four-lane bridge.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked, realising her intentions.

‘You’re
not
walking at this time of night,’ she said in the domineering tone she used with her brother.

‘But now it’s dangerous for
you
.’

‘No more dangerous than when I go home every night.’

‘But you don’t go this way.’

‘I think I know Baghdad better than you.’

‘I’m not sure that I agree with you.’

‘You know it from your work point of view. I know it as an Iraqi who lives here. It’s different for me.’

‘But I’m a westerner in your car,’ Mallory said as they reached the crest of the bridge, the buildings on the other side now looming large. The tallest of them was abandoned and in darkness, shell holes that had been punched into it during the war visible even at night. An American soldier had told Mallory that it had been a YMCA and had not been an intended target. But during the battle for the city Iraqi snipers had made use of it to cover the bridge and so American tanks had come forward and taken care of them.

Tasneen reached behind her seat, pulled out a headscarf and dropped it onto his lap. ‘Put that on,’ she ordered.

Mallory inspected the purple and yellow scarf, put it over his head and, making light of it, wrapped it around his face in a gesture of feminine flair.

Tasneen was unable to hide her grin.

‘This is still unnecessarily dangerous for you,’ he said.

‘It’s done now. You’ll be home in a few minutes.’

They headed down the other side of the bridge towards a large roundabout.

‘Don’t take Sadoon Street,’ Mallory said. ‘Continue around the roundabout and go under the bridge.’

‘Why? Sadoon Street goes straight to your hotel.’

‘Don’t argue,’ he said, firmly but gently. ‘I know this area better than you.’ The roundabout was a block away from a street known for its criminals, particularly drug dealers. Car-jacking was common in the city and the roundabout had a reputation as a stake-out point for such activity.

Tasneen passed the Sadoon Street exit and continued around the circle. A couple of cars were on the roundabout and Mallory scrutinised them.

Tasneen decided that Mallory could be quite domineering - but then, he was being protective at that moment. Pressure revealed a person’s true self and in these new circumstances he remained as polite and calm as he had been in the hospital.

But Tasneen would be the first to admit that she had little experience of men, having really only known two in her life - her father and her brother. Her father had liked to appear tough but beneath the stern looks and the occasional raised voice he had not been. Abdul was a pussy cat whose temper flared at times, although now she would have to say she no longer knew him. Mallory did not appear to be like either of them. She had conversed more with him in a single period than with any other man in her life, including her brother and father. That was very odd, made even more bizarre because he was a foreigner and she had only just met him. In her culture, if a man from outside her family spent that amount of time with her it would be practically a marriage proposal, one reason why Tasneen had avoided such situations all her adult life. Mallory was safe from that standpoint. But if that was why she had begun talking with him it did not explain why she had stopped her car when she’d seen him in the street. Tasneen now had to question how well she knew herself.

‘Go straight,’ Mallory said as he twisted in his seat to see the other cars continue around without following Tasneen’s vehicle.

Tasneen followed his instructions and turned along a quiet shadowy street, the buildings on both sides seemingly abandoned.

‘Left,’ Mallory said as they reached a T-junction.

A sign in English on one of the dilapidated buildings declared it to be the headquarters of the Iraqi Communist party. The windows and main entrance were draped in barbed wire with wind-blown trash stuck to its barbs.They passed beneath the bridge they had just crossed through a dank and rubbish-strewn cavern, and when they emerged on the other side the river glistened on their right. Battered three-storey buildings were packed tightly together on the left. The road was separated from the river by a parched green area dotted with trees, the remnants of a public park.

Mallory kept watch to their rear until he was satisfied that they had not been followed.Then he switched his attention to the poorly lit empty road ahead.When they had gone half a mile from the bridge he told Tasneen to pull over.

‘The hotel is still a long way,’ she said. She did not slow down.

‘Pull over, please,’ Mallory said insistently. Tasneen was evidently on the stubborn side, he decided, even if her obstinacy was well intentioned. ‘The Baghdad Hotel is coming up and they’re a little trigger-happy around the checkpoint,’ he explained. The Baghdad Hotel was rumoured to be the operational HQ of the CIA outside the Green Zone and if it wasn’t it certainly housed a lot of heavily armed Americans with local guards supplemented by PSDs running the checkpoint.

Tasneen obeyed and brought the car to a stop against the kerb. A floodlight came on a few hundred yards ahead, illuminating a barrier surrounded by blast walls. A figure stepped onto the street and into the light to make himself visible.

‘Turn your headlights off,’ Mallory said.

Tasneen turned them off but left the engine running.

‘I’ll get out here,’ he said as he removed the scarf from around his head and turned to look at her. ‘Thanks.’

‘Not a problem,’ she replied, taking the scarf from his hand.

‘Which way will you go home?’ he asked.

‘Back the way we came.You know where the zoo is?’

‘Yes.’

‘I live near there.’

Mallory could picture the route to the park were the zoo was. It wasn’t very far and didn’t pass through any bad areas but he wished he didn’t have to let her drive home alone. There was nothing he could do about it and he sighed as he opened the door. ‘I need to know that you get home safely,’ he said firmly. ‘Can I have your mobile phone number?’

Tasneen considered the request for a moment, then reached behind the seat for her handbag.

‘I have a notebook and pen,’ he said, reaching into his breast pocket.

She gave up trying to lift her large handbag around the seat and held out her hand. He placed the pen and notebook on her palm and she turned on the interior light, scribbled down the number and handed the notebook back to him.

‘Would you rather call me?’ Mallory asked, wondering if he had been too forward.

‘You can call. It’s OK.’

Tasneen’s eyes were illuminated by the dim bulb in the ceiling and her beauty struck him again. He wanted to kiss her soft lips but he knew that if he tried she would take off like a startled dove. He turned off the light, plunging them into darkness.

‘Drive safely,’ he said.

‘Yes, daddy,’ she replied.

‘I really appreciate the lift. And . . . can I say, this has been my most enjoyable day in Iraq. In fact, the nicest day I can remember in a long time.’

Tasneen looked away but she nodded. ‘I enjoyed myself, too.’

‘Do a U-turn and head back the way you came to the roundabout.’

‘I know how to get home,’ she said. ‘But thank you for your concern.’

Mallory wanted some kind of physical contact with her before she left and he offered her his hand. She took it and he held onto her fingers for longer than was polite. But she did not pull her hand away.

Mallory released her, climbed out of the car, closed the door and stepped away as the car moved off. It pulled a tight turn in the road, its headlights came on and Tasneen waved as she sped off up the road.

Mallory watched the car until its red tail lights had dipped under the bridge and the vehicle had turned the corner beyond and was out of sight. He glanced around the dark rubbish-strewn lifeless street as the wind picked up for a few seconds to blow an empty plastic bag and a sheet of newspaper into the air. He walked towards the floodlit checkpoint.

Mallory kept to the centre of the road to remain visible to the guards, took out his identification pouch and hung it around his neck.

As he approached the first of the chicane barriers a couple of young Iraqi guards in scruffy civilian clothes and armed with AK47s stepped into the light to watch him. He showed them his empty hands as he closed in and put on a warm smile as he entered the lit area.

‘
Salom alycom
,’ he called out.

‘
Alycom salom
,’ one of the men replied dryly.

Mallory raised his badge. The man inspected it briefly before offering him entry.

‘
Shukran
,’ Mallory said in thanks and headed past half a dozen more guards who were smoking and talking around a glowing brazier.

Mallory nodded, some responded, and he walked on down the road, lined by towering blast walls, that ran past the back of the Baghdad Hotel. He reached the end of the block, passed through another barrier and walked towards the first checkpoint, manned by Iraqis, for the Palestine and Sheraton Hotel complex.

He repeated the safety procedures, was ushered through and headed for the main checkpoint to the complex manned by US soldiers.‘How’s it going, guys?’ he said, recognising one of the Americans.

‘How you doin’?’ the soldier replied. ‘You havin’ fun tonight?’

‘Yeah. Checking out the local nightclubs,’ Mallory quipped.

‘Guess you can afford it,’ the soldier smirked.

Mallory maintained an ongoing banter with a couple of the soldiers about relative wages: western private-security guards could earn ten times as much as a soldier. Another source of envy was the freedom that PSDs seemed to enjoy moving around as civilians. Mallory had been approached by several soldiers asking how to get a job as a PSD if they left the army but Mallory couldn’t in all conscience recommend most of the tasks the PSDs were employed to perform. Much of what they had to do was running convoys through bandit country where many had met their end, caught up in explosive ambushes and fierce gun battles. The media heard about few of these incidents - the US Army didn’t publicise their discoveries when they came across the remnants of western PSD convoys that had been wiped out and the companies that hired the men didn’t advertise their losses because it was bad for business. Many of these companies were in any case not of a high standard: they sent their teams out in lightly armed soft-skin vehicles without sound intelligence or back-up into places where coalition soldiers would not even venture without heavy air support.