The Protector (27 page)

Stanza glanced around the room, half-hoping that a clue would present itself to him. Abdul’s analysis had made sense.

Mallory went to the door to look down the stairs. ‘We’ve been here too long,’ he said.

He headed down the stairs while Stanza went to the doorway before pausing to look back into the room. The ghosts seemed to touch him this time and he shivered. Then he followed Mallory.

Mallory stepped out of the house and saw Abdul climbing into Farris’s car. Stanza walked out behind him and closed the door. ‘I want to drive back with Abdul,’ Stanza said.

Being detached from his client wasn’t the way Mallory liked to operate but he let it go. He could feel Stanza was close to clashing with him on the security-versus-work issue. ‘If you have a problem you must get into this car as soon as you can.’

‘Sure,’ Stanza said as he opened the rear door of Farris’s car and climbed in.

‘Sure,’ Mallory echoed. He got into Kareem’s car.

As Farris pulled into the street and accelerated away Stanza stared at the back of Abdul’s head, wondering how best to tackle him. Stanza had been impressed with Abdul’s assessment of Lamont’s relationship with the murdered woman but at the same time he felt it was too insightful. Stanza leaned forward in his seat. ‘Abdul?’

Abdul half-looked around.

‘That was interesting, what you said. Can you add to it? Or perhaps you know someone who can.’

‘I was speaking as a policeman.’

In Stanza’s experience there were several reasons why a person would not elaborate on something that they knew to be important. Fear, whether of retribution or of being implicated. Protecting someone. Holding out for personal gain. And then there was the bullshitter. Stanza had dealt with all of them but he could not say which applied to Abdul - probably not the last one.‘Something I said upset you back there . . . Abdul?’

Abdul made a point of looking at Farris. ‘Can we talk later?’

Stanza read the glance and sat back. ‘Sure.’

Abdul did not trust the drivers because he did not know them. But most of all he welcomed the break from further questioning. As for the house, he was glad he had visited it. But as he contemplated the possible divine purpose behind it a sudden throbbing in his wound took over everything else on his mind. He closed his eyes in an effort to control the pain.

Traffic was heavy and forty minutes later they rolled into the hotel complex. Mallory climbed out with his heavy holdall and watched Stanza and Abdul walk away from Farris’s car to have a private conversation.

‘I’ll give you a call if I need you again today,’ Mallory said to Kareem.

‘What about . . . ’ Kareem said, finishing the sentence with a jut of his chin towards Abdul.

‘Not today,’ Mallory said, wondering if he would have a moment with Tasneen when she came by to get her brother.

Kareem said something to Farris who gave Mallory a wave. Both men climbed back into their cars and drove out of the car park.

Mallory thought about waiting for Stanza, decided against it and headed for the hotel. Their conversation had nothing to do with him, anyway. It was hot and he fancied a cold shower and a cup of tea.

Stanza was standing close to Abdul and talking in a quiet yet determined manner. ‘If we’re going to be a team we have to help each other. If there is something about this story that is a problem for you let’s talk about it. One of my most important responsibilities is to protect my sources and certainly members of my team. I wouldn’t do anything to put anyone in jeopardy. Do you trust me as far as that goes? We plan to stay here for a long time . . . Abdul?’

‘I understand,’ Abdul said. ‘It’s just that . . . lives are under threat, in danger. Not just me. I’m afraid, not for me but for others.’

‘I understand that,’ Stanza said, looking around to ensure they were still alone, pausing as he spotted a couple of Iraqi guards some distance away, standing around smoking and chatting. ‘Walk with me,’ he said and they followed the towering blast wall towards the other end of the car park that was deserted. As they left the shade of the eucalyptus trees the sun touched them and the temperature increased notably.

‘What I’m about to tell you I’ve told no one,’ Stanza said, pulling the top of his shirt open to let some air in. ‘I’m telling you because I believe I can trust you. The other reason I’m telling you is that I want
you
to trust
me
. . . We’re not just doing a story on Lamont,’ Stanza went on, deciding to keep the American’s real name to himself for the moment. ‘We’re going to negotiate his release, or at least try to.’ Stanza had deliberated for some time before deciding to confide this much in Abdul. He needed help from a local and his instincts told him that Abdul was the man. Even if Abdul was connected to the insurgents in some way, that was precisely who Stanza was trying to get in touch with. ‘Does that shock you?’ Stanza asked.

Abdul’s mind was beginning to spin at the consequences of such an undertaking. ‘It . . . it is a shock, as you say. But also dangerous.’

It was indeed, and stimulating too, Stanza suddenly thought. ‘What do you think about finding the people who kidnapped Lamont and asking for a meeting to discuss a ransom?’

The image of Hassan and the others appeared. But it was not Hassan to whom Abdul would need to talk. He would know the identities of those who’d ordered - and paid for - the American’s kidnapping.

‘How would we go about that?’ Stanza asked. ‘In theory, at least. Is it possible?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘We couldn’t involve anyone else. No one official.’ The US government’s policy of non-negotiation with hostage-takers, hijackers and the like was well documented. But it was not against the law for a private individual to do it. ‘If we could at least try and make a start. I don’t expect it to be easy but . . . What do you think?’

Abdul was thinking about Hassan. The idea of approaching his erstwhile boss filled him with dread. It seemed that he had not become fearless after all. Abdul might now be enjoying the comfort of Allah but Hassan was still a tool of the devil. Hassan could contact those who had bought Lamont, it was his business to. But why would he want to? ‘It would be very dangerous,’ Abdul repeated, more to himself than to Stanza.

‘But would it be possible? Can’t we take it in small steps? A feasibility study? What would your first step be?’ Stanza was pushing the matter because he was not meeting the resistance he had expected. Whether Abdul could manage such a thing was something to worry about later.

Abdul took hold of his stump that had started to throb again. Stanza was right. Abdul could take a small step. Test the ground. Money was the key to Hassan, though. ‘Would you pay for the information?’

‘Pay? Pay who?’ Stanza was unprepared for talk of money.

‘Palms will need to be oiled.You are asking people to put themselves at risk. People who owe you nothing.’

Stanza understood. But journalists like him rarely paid for information. In any case, his budget was small and he only had enough dollars to pay the local staff’s wages, plus the hotel bills and expenses. ‘How much?’ he asked.

‘Not for me,’ Abdul said. ‘But if I found a person with information he will want money. How much I do not know. I am not experienced in these matters.’

Neither was Stanza but the point was he didn’t have any money anyway. He could rustle up a few thousand dollars, more if he withheld the wages until he got a resupply from the
Herald
. He would have to get permission from Patterson, of course, who would in turn have to get it from old man Stanmore. They had not even discussed the size of the ransom yet. The paper wasn’t ready. Stanza would be moving ahead unsupported. An immediate conversation with Patterson was required. ‘Can you find out how much we might be talking about? For information and such?’

‘Maybe.’

‘OK. We’ll take it a step at a time. See what we need to do to make contact with the kidnappers. Let’s not put ourselves at risk. Call me the minute you have anything,’ Stanza said before walking away.

If one’s fate was always in Allah’s hands, then Abdul could not imagine what was in store for him further along the path. But, thinking positively, it would be wonderful if he could achieve something with this Lamont business. Here was a chance to redeem himself, partly at least. Perhaps the idea was not as wild as it first appeared. Meeting Hassan - the only way into the maze that he could think of - was a terrible prospect, of course. But if there was money involved that would interest Hassan more than anything.

This was the most ambitious undertaking of Abdul’s life. But, most important, it was very much an adult mission.

As Abdul stepped off towards the checkpoint he straightened his back and pushed out his chin. This was indeed the start of a remarkable journey.

10

The Lion’s Den

Tasneen stepped into her apartment, closed the door behind her and bolted it. As she pulled off her jacket a sound came from the kitchen. ‘Is that you, Abdul?’ she called out, her breath catching as she became suddenly nervous.

Abdul popped his head around the kitchen doorway. ‘Hi,’ he said. His smile was unusually broad.

Tasneen’s unease was immediately replaced by a different concern. He was supposed to have called her when he was ready to be picked up. She put down her jacket, dropped her keys into her handbag and placed it on the small table by the door. ‘How was it?’

When Abdul did not answer she walked to the kitchen doorway. He was cutting a sandwich, using his handless forearm to keep it in place while he sliced through the bread with his good hand. Her instant reaction was to take over but as she reached out he shifted his body to block her and continued sawing. ‘I can do it,’ he said, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

Tasneen folded her arms and leaned against the door frame, glad to see him showing some independence. ‘Well? Are you going to answer me?’

He cut through the sandwich and brushed the crumbs from his stump. ‘I was concentrating on not cutting any more of my arm off.’

She grinned. ‘You had a good day, then.’

‘I have never had a day quite like it,’ Abdul said, taking a large bite out of the sandwich as he offered her the other half.

Tasneen shook her head. ‘Sounds exciting . . . What did you do?’

He walked past her into the living room while trying to keep the pieces of lamb and tomato from falling out from between the slices of bread. ‘We did journalist things,’ he said as he sat on the couch, his mouth full of food.

‘Tell me. I want to know.’

Abdul swallowed the mouthful before he had chewed it completely. ‘We investigated a story.’

‘So . . . what’s your job?’

‘I don’t think I have a title. I do things the white guys can’t do. I talk to Iraqis, find locations, stuff like that.’

‘Sounds like fun,’ she said.

‘Not exactly how I would describe it.’

‘You said you hadn’t had a day like it.’

‘It was different.’

‘So tell me what you
didn’t
like about it, then.’

He sighed. ‘OK, OK . . . You and your cross-reference analysing . . . It’s just, well, not what I expected.’

She studied him patiently. His moods were so difficult to understand these days. It was as if she didn’t really know him at all any more.

He appeared about to reveal something deep, then winked at her.

Tasneen gave up, rolling her eyes. ‘If you don’t want to tell me, fine. You like the job, kind of. At least you don’t hate it. And since it was the first day it could get better, or worse . . . What about the others? The Iraqis? Can you tell me how they were?’

‘They don’t like me.They’re suspicious.They’re not very bright, either . . . The journalist is strange. I have mixed feelings about him.’

‘In what way?’

Abdul shrugged.‘I don’t think I trust him. He’s hard to understand. I don’t think he is very experienced. He knows nothing about Arabs, that’s for sure.’

‘What about Bernie?’

‘He doesn’t like me or trust me.’

‘I don’t believe that,’ she said.

‘He’s hard to read, too. He seems impatient, as if he has other things more important to do.That - or he has no interest in being here.’

‘He wouldn’t have hired you if he did not like you.’

‘It doesn’t matter what he thinks, anyway. Stanza is the boss and Mallory will be gone soon.’

Tasneen did not allow her expression to change. ‘Oh? When?’

‘I don’t know. I heard the drivers talking. He’s been here longer than he should have, apparently.’

Mallory had told her that he would have to leave but also that he would be back. ‘Are you going to stay working with them?’ she asked as she picked up her jacket and handbag and carried them into her bedroom.

‘Sure . . . Why not?’ Abdul said as he sank into the couch, finished off his sandwich, wiped his hand on his lap and looked at his stump. The first thing he did every morning when he woke up was to check his hand to see if it had all been a dream. It was why every day began at a low point for him.

Abdul lowered his arm as he pondered his next step, dark images returning to his thoughts. Since leaving the hotel he had considered the best way to approach Hassan.The telephone was pointless since details could not be discussed over it and Hassan would not meet him unless he was told the purpose of the rendezvous. There was only one solution, not a particularly attractive one. But then, no part of the undertaking was particularly appealing.

‘Tasneen?’ he called out.

‘Yes?’ she answered from inside her room.

‘Can I use your car for a couple of hours?’

She appeared in her doorway. ‘My car? Why?’

‘Mine has a problem. I think it’s the fuel pump.’

‘I meant, why do you want a car?’

‘It’s not so difficult to drive with one hand. I used to do it all the time when I was using my phone.’

‘Where are you going?’ Tasneen asked, trying to sound matter-of-fact. But she was concerned for several reasons.

‘I have to work.’

‘Work?’

‘That’s why I was home early. My day is not yet over.’

‘What work?’ she asked, growing suspicious.

‘It’s confidential.’

‘Is that right?’

Abdul sighed. ‘I work for a newspaper. The stories are often confidential. Scoops.’ He could see the doubt in his sister’s eyes. ‘If you don’t want me to work for them then why did you get me the job?’

‘Don’t twist this around, Abdul. Why can’t I drive you to wherever it is you want to go?’

‘Because then you’d know what the job was.’

‘What about your drivers?’

‘The boss doesn’t want them to know, either. He hasn’t even told Mallory.’

Tasneen wondered if that was true.

‘Why do they all call him Mallory but you call him Bernie?’

Tasneen decided there was something dark about Abdul today. ‘How long will you be? Are you allowed to reveal that much?’

‘Why? Are you going out somewhere?’ he asked cheekily.

‘You don’t have the keys to the car yet,’ she parried.

Abdul conceded the point. ‘A couple of hours. No more . . . All I’m doing is going to see someone who might have some information for the journalist about a story he wants to do . . . Look, I’ll tell you a little but if you tell anyone else I could get fired . . . The news story is about an American hostage. He comes from the same town as the newspaper and so the journalist is very interested in him. OK? Now you have it.’

Tasneen didn’t know what to make of it. It sounded odd to her. But if her brother was lying he had suddenly become very good at it.

‘The problem is that I don’t know what time this person will get home so I will have to wait for him.’

‘So you could be late.’

‘I’m not a child!’ Abdul snapped, startling her. Immediately he regretted losing his temper, although he was not sorry for the sentiment behind the outburst.

Tasneen walked back into her room and a moment later emerged from it and tossed the car keys at him.

Abdul sighed again as he leaned back and looked up at the ceiling in silent prayer.

He got to his feet, went into his bedroom, opened up his wardrobe, reached in, took out a shoebox and put it on the bed. As an afterthought he pushed the door until it was almost shut, sat on the bed beside the box and opened it to reveal his pistol and spare magazine. Tasneen had found it on the floor of his car days after the incident. It still belonged to the police and Abdul was supposed to bring it in with him when he went to collect his final pay cheque. He pondered the wisdom of taking it with him. It had no part in his plan but it might be useful if things went wrong. He dithered over the pros and cons before finally allowing his male vanity to decide for him. He shoved the loaded magazine into the weapon, placed the gun in his jacket pocket, closed the box and put it back in the wardrobe. He checked his watch and then the window. It would be dark soon but it was still too early to go. However, the thought of hanging around the apartment with Tasneen made him uncomfortable so he pulled on his jacket and opened the door. ‘I’ll see you in a while,’ he called out as he walked to the front door. ‘I’ll call you if I’m going to be late.’

He closed the door behind him and a moment later was walking out of the apartment block to Tasneen’s car.

Abdul took his time getting the feel of the vehicle and practising his one-handed technique before starting the engine and slowly manoeuvring the car out of the parking space and around the block. The most difficult operation was turning the wheel quickly enough to steer around the tighter corners without crossing to the other side of the road. Once on the wider main streets his confidence increased and he joined the busy late-afternoon traffic.

He took his time, ignoring the usual fierce competition for gaps and lanes, allowing anyone who wanted to push in front of him, and headed due south towards Dora once he arrived at the roundabout beside the Baghdad radio tower. The control building at its base had been destroyed by a guided missile during the war. He crossed the BIAP highway near the great mosque and headed for the towering smokestacks on the edge of the infamous neighbourhood.

Abdul had been to Hassan’s house a couple of times although he’d never been inside it. The street was easy to find because of a prominent blue ceramic-tiled mosque at one end and a small produce shop almost directly across the road from the house itself.

The first phase of Abdul’s simple plan was to see if Hassan’s car was outside his house. It wouldn’t necessarily mean that Hassan was home if it was but he would knock on the door anyway. If the car was not there Abdul would wait. But that was the potentially tiresome part. When Hassan wasn’t working as a cop he was conducting his nefarious business dealings around the city and he could be out at all hours.

It was dark by the time Abdul arrived in Hassan’s neighbourhood. The area looked as bad as its reputation. Several streets around Abdul’s neighbourhood had a street light or two that worked most nights but Dora was in darkness except for the glow of benzene lamps from some of the houses.

The mosque loomed ahead, its colourful dome illuminated by a couple of light bulbs powered by a small generator. A cruise along Hassan’s street revealed only a couple of vehicles, neither of them his. Abdul carried on to the end of the street, circled around the block, pulled to a stop beside the kerb, from where he could see the house and turned off the car’s engine and headlights. He sat in the dark silence for a moment. He felt uncomfortable and, in case he was being watched from one of the unlit houses, he climbed out and walked down the street to the small store across from Hassan’s house.

The shop was a hovel of dust-covered tins, sweets and cigarettes. Abdul bought a packet of Marlboro Lights and headed back the way he had come. He considered walking past the car and continuing around the block but decided against it in case he was challenged. He climbed back in behind the wheel. If anyone came up and asked him what he was doing he would tell them the truth. Hassan was well known and respected - or feared - in the neighbourhood and Abdul might attract a measure of the same esteem if it was understood that he was an associate.

Abdul placed the packet of cigarettes on the dashboard, eased down into the seat and rested his head in a position that allowed him to watch the street.

He checked his watch, deciding to give Hassan until nine o’clock. But then, if the man did not arrive by then Abdul would have to come back another night if he was to pursue his plan. He would give the man until ten, or perhaps later. It didn’t really matter if he gave him until midnight. His final decision was to leave it to fate, to Allah. If it was His will that Abdul should make this connection then it would take place. But that was the big problem with fate, Abdul decided. In this case, for instance, it was up to him to choose the time until which he would wait. If Hassan arrived in that time it would be Allah’s will. But if Abdul decided to then extend the time limit was that then also extending it beyond the divine will? Everything was of course Allah’s will, but the outcome might be different if Abdul kept changing his mind.

Abdul decided that the best way had to be to stick to his guns. If he declared to fate well in advance that he was leaving at nine o’clock then that would be the time he should leave.

At a quarter to nine a car drove into the far end of the street and Abdul watched its headlights move slowly towards him. Before reaching the small shop the headlights pulled into the kerb, came to a stop and went out.

Abdul leaned forward in his seat, unable to make out if the car had stopped in front of Hassan’s house. Its interior light flickered on as a door opened and a figure climbed out. Abdul suddenly wondered what to do if there were other thugs - such as his dreaded team mates - with Hassan but as he peered into the darkness it did appear that the figure was alone. It disappeared into a house.

Abdul’s heart rate had increased, his nerves were tingling and a ripple of fear passed through him as he contemplated the next phase of his plan. A voice inside his head was suddenly arguing that the whole thing was pointless.

But he knew it was the voice of fear and not of reason that was nagging at him. He took several deep breaths, crushed the internal debate and went through a mental rehearsal of what he was going to say to Hassan. Abdul remembered the gun in his pocket. He thought about leaving it in the car in case Hassan decided to search him. The weapon would only make the man suspicious and perhaps even alarmed. But if Hassan did lose control Abdul would be defenceless. He took the pistol out of his pocket, cocked it as quietly as he could by gripping the top-slide between his knees and put it back.

He climbed out of the car and closed the door, making hardly a sound. He crossed the street towards Hassan’s house, his nerves tightening even more as he took several deep breaths in an effort to calm himself.