The Protector (30 page)

Abdul left the room, headed for the lifts and pushed the call button. He had not been entirely straight with Stanza and wondered if the journalist had suspected his minor manipulations. It might well have been possible to find someone who knew how to make contact with a member of the Black Banner Brigade in Baghdad but Abdul had no desire to try. Neither was he sure of Stanza’s safety. Arabs did indeed respect the inviolability of a negotiations parley. But Abdul could not be certain whether that applied to the fanatical Takfiri who were the backbone of the Fallujah insurgency. Takfiri were the most dangerous individuals on the planet. Zarqawi and Bin Laden were Takfiri, an extreme faction of the Wahabi who were themselves extremists and, like the Taliban, believed that Muslims should live by the strictest rules of Islam. Abdul could only pray that those who were holding Lamont were more fiscally liberated. His focus now was truly on Fallujah. He believed the town was part of the path he had to take and that Allah was his guide. It was not difficult to understand why. Lamont was his salvation and everything that had happened since that night pushed him closer to it. His sister meeting Mallory at the hospital, Stanza, the destruction of Hassan were all signs. Stanza was the perfect means to establish Abdul’s contact with the Brigade and he suddenly had no doubt that the journalist would decide to make the journey.

The sound of a door shutting caused Abdul to look up and he saw Mallory heading from his room along the corridor. Abdul stepped out of view and when Mallory did not arrive at the lift he assumed that the man had taken the emergency stairs. Something about Mallory bothered Abdul but he could not put his finger on it. Perhaps it was nothing more than the mistrust Abdul believed they had for each other. The lift arrived, a porter walked out pushing a baggage trolley, and Abdul stepped inside and touched the ground-floor button. A moment later he stepped out into the lobby and marched briskly across it to the main entrance. If Mallory should call after him he would act as if he could not hear him.

Abdul walked out of the hotel entrance onto the road and maintained a brisk pace to the US checkpoint as he ran through his plans. His first task was to get hold of Muhammad, his cousin, if the man was still in Fallujah, which he prayed he was, and get him to remain there. Muhammad was a greedy man and would do anything for money. All Abdul would have to do would be to hint at the possible financial rewards of helping to release an American hostage and Muhammad would cheerfully take his chances with any American assault on his town. Abdul was sure of that.

Mallory walked out of the fourth-floor emergency stairwell door onto the landing and headed for Des’s office. He’d had a restless night thinking about his plans for Fallujah and had got out of bed at one point to pore over a map of the town and make notes. At dawn he telephoned his boss in London and arranged for his relief to come out to Baghdad as soon as possible. His boss called back shortly after to let him know that a guy called Johnson would be arriving in Amman in two days and would get into Baghdad the following afternoon to take over from Mallory. Mallory was committed one way or the other - Fallujah or home.

Mallory glanced over the rail and paused as he saw Abdul leaving the hotel. He wondered why Abdul had not contacted him and looked up at Stanza’s door. Then again, Abdul was Stanza’s fixer and it was really nothing to do with Mallory unless they wanted to go somewhere.

Mallory walked on, knocked on Des’s door and on hearing a muffled ‘Come in’ pushed it open.

Des was at his desk concentrating on his computer monitor and looked up for a second as Mallory entered the room. ‘’Ello, me ol’ cock, ’ow are yer?’

‘Not so bad,’ Mallory said, falling tiredly into the armchair.

Des concentrated on hitting a couple of keys and when he was satisfied they’d had the desired effect he pulled off his glasses to rub his eyes. ‘Cuppa?’

‘I’m fine, thanks. How’s everything?’ Mallory asked, getting on with the formalities.

‘Can’t complain.’ Des sat back in his chair and exhaled heavily. ‘We ain’t lost anyone this week so it’s nay s’ bad.’

‘Anything more on Fallujah?’

‘What, about the Yanks goin’ in?’

‘Anything, really. Your man still embedding, is he?’

‘Not sure now.’ Then Des lowered his voice like a real gossip. ‘I think ’e’s ’ad a touch of the old cold feet about it. ’E’s from a small radio network in Oklahoma and I think he’s only finally got around to asking ’imself why ’e’s riskin’ ’is arse to send news over there when ’e can sit back ’ere in t’ ’otel and pull it off wires.’

That was not what Mallory wanted to hear. His plan had been designed around the embed.

‘Can’t blame ’im, really,’ Des went on. ‘So many bloody rumours goin’ around about what the Yanks are plannin’ on doin’ to the town and when they’re goin’ in and the resistance an’ all.Yer don’t know what to believe.’

‘Have you still secured his embed?’

‘Aye. ’E’s still got a spot if ’e wants it. But I’m pretty certain ’e ain’t goin’.’

‘When is it for?’

‘We’re on standby. Some journalists ’ave already gone in, some of the big networks, a couple from each. If there’s too many o’ the boogers runnin’ aroun’ they’ll be gettin’ in the way of the Marines. Sounds a bit of a gang-fock media circus but there yer go. Are yer all right?’ Des asked, his classic bulging-eyed grin appearing as if by a switch. ‘Look a bit tired, lad. Not sleeping well?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Tell me,’ Des said, leaning forward, his voice lowering once again in a conspiratorial manner. ‘Who were that lovely little thing you ’ad ’ere t’ other day? Eh?’

‘When was that?’ Mallory asked, feigning ignorance.

‘When was that, ’e says,’ Des echoed with a chuckle. ‘During rocket attack. In lobby. Little beauty, she were.’

‘Oh,’ Mallory said. ‘She’s the sister of one of our locals. She’d popped in to see him and I just happened to be on my way out when the boom-boom hit.’

‘Know her well, do yer?’

‘Nah. Just enough to say hello.’

‘Just enough to say hello? You don’t say too much when she stays over, then. I like that. All action.’

‘What do you mean?’ Mallory asked, looking Des in the eye.

Des winked at him. ‘Can’t get one past Des, me ol’ cock. Jedel, our night watchman, saw ’er leave your room in the wee hours. ’Ay. Me ’at’s off to yer. If yer can gerrit, go for it. Just watch yersel’, though, laddy. They’ll slit yer throat aroun’ ’ere if yer dip yer wick in the wrong crease. Know what I mean?’

‘Don’t read too much into it, Des, me old cock. There was a lockdown, remember. She had to stay somewhere.’

‘Well, just watch yersel’, that’s all, like I said. If Jedel knows then every bastard does.’

It was a concern to Mallory but he had other problems at that moment. ‘Des . . . Let me ask you something. Getting back to the embed. If your man doesn’t take that spot would you mind if I did?’

‘Lookin’ for a slot for your bloke then, are yer?’

‘It’s for me,’ Mallory said.

Des raised his eyebrows. ‘
You?
As in yersel’?’

‘Yes.’

‘’Ave I missed summat?’

‘My relief arrives in a couple days and . . . well . . . I’d like to see the fight.’

‘You want to go to Fallujah on yer time off?’ Des asked with continuing incredulity.

‘If you don’t fill the slot.’

‘You’ve been ’ere too long, me old cock.You need to get ’ome, ’ave a few ales and a bit o’ tatty. When yer’ve got the taste back then call me and tell me yer’d rather be in that shit-’ole op road.’

Mallory stared at him blankly in reply.

‘You serious?’ Des asked.

‘Yep.’

‘Why, fer God’s sake?’

‘Like I said. I’d like to see the fight.’

Des shrugged and shook his head. ‘OK. If yer that focken’ mad I’ll put yer name down and I’ll give yer a shout when the call comes in.You got a press pass? They won’t let you on chopper unless yer press.’

‘I’ve got a pass.’

‘OK. It’s a thirty-minute standby.’

‘I’m ready to go,’ Mallory said. ‘Oh. One other thing.You got a spare room? I hand mine over to my relief when he gets in.’

‘Anything else I can do fer yer?’ Des said sarcastically.

‘Just in case I’m still on standby.’

Des sighed.‘Dougal is heading up to Arbil tomorrow for a couple of weeks. You can use ’is room.’

‘Thanks, Des. Much appreciate it,’ Mallory said, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll catch you later, then.’

‘Yer not trying to be a reporter, are yer?’ Des asked.

Mallory wondered if that might not be such a bad cover story. Des would tell just about everyone and it was better than being thought of as simply a mad bastard. ‘Well, truth is I’m going to take a camera. Might be able to sell some pics.’

‘Mad sod,’ Des said as he put his glasses back on. ‘Don’t become one of that lot. You know what they say about media, don’t yer? Responsible for ’alf the world’s problems and all of its ignorance.’

‘Photos tell the truth,’ Mallory said, defending his cover although he would agree with Des at any other time.

‘Do they fock,’ Des said. ‘It’s not what the media tell or show anyway, it’s what they don’t tell and show that’s the problem.’

‘Well, it’s more for the crack than anything else,’ Mallory said, heading for the door. ‘Catch you later.’

Des watched Mallory until he was out of sight before focusing on his computer monitor. ‘Mad bastard,’ he said, his mouth twisting in concentration as he stabbed at one of the keys, none too confident of its effect.

Mallory leaned on the rail and looked down into the lobby as he gathered his thoughts. All he could do now was wait and hope that the embed happened. It would see him to the outskirts of Fallujah in a US helicopter and then with the usual chaos of battle he would slip away from the media gang and head for the cemetery. It had been a long time getting to this stage and, as expected, a tingling of apprehension had arrived with it.

Tasneen entered his thoughts, followed by Des’s comments about her being in his room. He would rather no one knew but it was not a major drama. Their conversation the evening before had set him thinking of her until he’d fallen asleep. It had begun with Abdul, of course, but once Mallory had reported how well her brother had done on his first day they had moved on to other matters. They’d ended up not only talking about cycling holidays but practically agreeing to plan a tour of France together one day. It had been bizarre in many ways and Mallory wondered if they were truly hitting it off or just living some kind of fantasy. He had an urge to call her but decided to put it off for the moment. His retrieval mission was, with luck, about to begin and his concerns for its success as well as for his own survival were gnawing at him.

The plan’s biggest flaw was that it depended heavily on factors over which he had no control. There were essentially three main phases to his mission: the move to Fallujah; the move to the cache; the extraction back to Baghdad. The embed with the US Marines would cover phase one but the problem there was where precisely that would put him on the map.The Marines had many options for taking the town and Mallory needed to be in the right place on the outskirts before his move in. The Marines might decide to form up on one side of the town and push through on a broad front, herding the enemy back into ambush positions. Or they might drive a wedge through the centre of the town and then continue to subdivide it into pockets to prevent the enemy from regrouping and coordinating their defences. Another option would be to press in from all sides, bulldozing the enemy into a central point while artillery and air power concentrated fire into an ever-shrinking area.Then again, they might just bomb the town flat for several days before walking in to see what was left.Whatever the method, Mallory needed to be in a position to get to the cemetery as soon as it was overrun.

Mallory headed back to his room to pack. Des could call him to move at any time and he needed to be able to just snatch up his gear and go. It was entirely possible that within a few days he could be heading back to the UK with a bag full of cash. It was a nice thought and one that Mallory tried to keep in the forefront of his mind. But it kept on getting overtaken by a feeling that something was going to go terribly wrong.

12

The Betrayal

Abdul cleared the last hotel checkpoint and headed towards Sadoon Street where he hoped to find a taxi. A horn beeped and he looked across the road to see Kareem’s car pull over and stop. The window opened and Kareem leaned out. ‘Abdul! Come here!’ he shouted.

Abdul would have liked to avoid the man but he was too close to walk away and ignore him for no reason.

‘Are you going home?’ Kareem asked as Abdul approached.

‘Yes, but I can get a taxi.’

‘Get in. I will take you.’

‘No, truly. That’s OK,’ Abdul said.

‘Please. It is my job and I insist.’

‘You are very kind but I can get a taxi.’

‘Please, it is no problem for me. I would rather drive you than have you wait for a taxi.’

Abdul was sincere and was not indulging in the Arab propensity for extreme politeness. But Kareem clearly took his resistance as simply good manners and, determined to give Abdul a ride, was not backing down.

‘Are you sure?’ Abdul finally asked, giving up after deciding there was no harm in it. He wanted to be alone but would have to wait until Kareem dropped him off.

‘I insist. It would be my pleasure,’ Kareem said, smiling thinly.

Abdul walked around to the passenger side and climbed in. ‘You are very kind,’ he said.

Kareem carried out a multi-point turn in traffic to head back the way he had come. ‘Al Mansour?’ he asked.

‘Thank you.’ Abdul nodded.

They drove in silence until they reached the Jumhuriyah bridge, Kareem glancing at Abdul every now and then as if trying to think of something to say. ‘How are you enjoying the job?’ he finally asked.

‘It seems very nice.’

‘You have been very useful. Finding the house. Jake was very pleased.’

‘Yes. That was lucky.’

‘You knew Mallory from before, of course?’ Kareem glanced at Abdul for a reaction.

‘No.’

‘Oh?’ Kareem sounded surprised. ‘But I thought he hired you because you were friends.’

‘I did not know him before I arrived.’

‘You mean before the hospital.’

Abdul did not understand. ‘Hospital?’

‘I first saw you at the hospital talking to Mallory.’

Abdul did not remember seeing Kareem that day. ‘That was the first time I met him.’

‘Ah . . . Then the woman you were with . . . she knew Mallory.’

‘She is my sister.’

‘Then that explains it.’

Abdul wondered what it explained but not enough to ask.

‘You live with your sister?’

‘That’s right,’ Abdul said, becoming irritated with the cross-examination.

‘So she has known Mallory for a long time, then,’ Kareem persisted.

Abdul glanced at him, wondering what was up with the man. ‘No,’ he said.

Kareem looked surprised. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Why are you asking me? I know my own sister.’

Kareem sighed as if something was weighing heavily on his mind. ‘I am confused, then. That is all. So you were at the Sheraton when she was with Mallory?’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘The day of the rocket attack.Your sister was at the hotel.’

‘I know. She was with a friend. A girlfriend,’ Abdul said, annoyed with this fat Shi’a sticking his nose into his affairs.

‘I am sorry, but the woman I saw you with at the hospital was at the hotel with Mallory and not another girl.’

Abdul stared at Kareem, his eyes narrowing.

‘I saw her go into the restaurant with Mallory,’ Kareem went on. ‘Then the rockets hit. I would have asked you how she was after the attack, but later I heard she was fine.’ Kareem glanced at Abdul long enough to see the other man’s stare burning into him.

‘What are you trying to say?’ Abdul asked coldly.

‘This is very difficult, you understand,’ Kareem said.

‘Tell me.’

Kareem was having doubts about taking the subject any further. His purpose for revealing what he knew was straightforwardly malicious. He enjoyed gossip and even though the implications of his information were dire only now did he appreciate the full gravity of it. ‘I am only saying this because I am more your brother than I am Mallory’s. You are Sunni but you are also Muslim and Arab. That is important to me.’

‘I asked you what you are trying to say,’ Abdul said softly but firmly.

The horn of the car behind honked and Kareem moved over to let the driver pass. ‘A woman left Mallory’s apartment early the next morning, after the rocket attack. She was seen by Jedel, a security guard at the hotel.’

‘My sister?’ Abdul asked.

Kareem shrugged nervously.

‘And how can you be certain it was her? Did you see her?’

‘No.The description was the same, though.’ Kareem suddenly feared he had underestimated the other man who had more of an aura of power about him than he had first suspected. ‘You are right. People should not jump to conclusions. This is a serious accusation . . . You would have known if your sister had not come home that night, of course,’ Kareem said, glancing at Abdul who was looking ahead. ‘I am sorry. Forget all that I have said.’

They did not speak for the rest of the journey and when Kareem stopped the car outside Abdul’s apartment block the one-handed young man climbed out and walked away without saying another word.

Abdul walked up the stairs, opened his front door, stepped inside, closed the door behind him and remained rooted to the spot, horrified. The news had rocked him. It was possible the hotel security guard had lied or Kareem had made it up but Abdul knew in his heart that it was true. His sister had lied to him. Tasneen had spent the night with Mallory, a white man, an infidel.

Abdul sat on the couch as his stump began to throb slightly. But this was too serious an issue for him to be distracted even by this reminder of his mutilation. His sister, the most important person in his life, had betrayed him, the family, their name, their heritage, and Allah. She had defiled herself. Not only had she been with a man out of wedlock but it had been Mallory, a man he did not trust. Abdul realised that what he sensed about Mallory’s attitude to him, what he took for suspicion, was something far worse. Mallory had been laughing at him.

Abdul rested his head on his hand and closed his eyes tightly as the torment swirled like a storm around him. He had thought that he knew Tasneen better than anyone but now it seemed he did not know her at all. She was everything to him: she was perfection. Now he could barely comprehend how in one short space of time she had destroyed their entire past together. She had lied from the beginning about Mallory and therefore every second, from the moment of their meeting on, had been a lie.Voices in his head began to chant, a single cry at first.Then others joined in, voices of his family but not just those of his father and mother. It was a collective cry from generations of his line. He was head of the family: his was the last remaining name on earth to represent them and they were calling to him from a thousand graves and over a thousand years, gathered in chorus, baying for justice, punishment. Tasneen must pay, they cried. She must pay. They both must pay!

Abdul got to his feet, went into the bathroom, turned on the tap and vigorously splashed his face with cold water. But the voices did not relent. Retribution, they clamoured. Revenge was the cry, and then he heard faint music, an Arabic song that he recognised. It was his cellular phone ringing in his pocket.

He pulled it out and looked at the display. Stanza. Abdul did not want to talk to anyone at that moment and he let it ring on. When it went quiet he walked back into the living room and considered what to do. The phone came to life once again and he checked the screen. It was Stanza again. Abdul knew the man well enough already to know he would call until Abdul answered. He pushed the receive button and put the phone to his ear. ‘Yes?’

‘Abdul?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve decided to go - to Fallujah.’

Abdul should have told him that he could not discuss it at the moment but the draw of the town suddenly grew in his mind to equal the overriding obsession of his sibling problem.

‘Did you hear me, Abdul?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve just heard from a reliable source that the Americans may be attacking in under a week. I want to be out of Fallujah before the offensive begins.’

‘I have not yet talked with my cousin,’ Abdul said.

‘Well, do it now, and let me know.’

‘OK . . . I will.’

‘Is everything all right?’ Stanza asked, sensing an oddness about Abdul.

‘All is fine.’

‘I’ll wait for your call, then,’ Stanza said and ended the conversation.

Abdul lowered the phone and stared at the flower-pattern carpet as if in a trance. Going out of town would give him time to think, which he needed to do. Grave decisions had to be made. It would be best if he was not in the apartment when Tasneen returned. Masking his feelings would be difficult if he had to face her so soon.

Abdul scrolled through the numbers on his phone and hit the call button. A moment later it picked up. ‘Muhammad. It’s Abdul, your cousin.Tasneen’s brother,’ he added.

Muhammad was besotted with Tasneen which was another reason he would be eager to help. He sounded pleased to hear from Abdul and after the initial pleasantries asked about his sister.Tasneen detested the man but Abdul lied that she had asked after Muhammad’s health and sent her regards. Muhammad expressed his strong feelings for her, as usual, and at the first opportunity Abdul declared he was coming to visit. The announcement, as expected, gave Muhammad pause and Abdul went on to explain how he needed his cousin’s help - and that it involved money. Muhammad was now all ears. Abdul explained about the American hostage and the newspaper journalist, emphasising the funds available to pay those who assisted in the endeavour. As Abdul had expected, Muhammad was entirely at his service.

The first thing Abdul asked for was an accurate and reliable route into Fallujah. Muhammad offered several. Abdul chose the one closest to the route he knew - he’d been to Fallujah only once since the war. The town was forty minutes west of Baghdad by motorway in normal traffic and the back roads would more than double the time, depending on any obstacles encountered. Muhammad warned of an American checkpoint on the motorway that could be avoided by heading north a mile before it at Abu Ghraib.The route would then take them along country lanes and eventually lead into the town from the north.The Americans had Fallujah pretty much surrounded but there were gaps in the encirclement with which Muhammad was familiar. Muhammad warned Abdul, however, that their problem was not so much the Americans as the insurgents and sympathetic villagers who had set up their own checkpoints inside and outside the American cordon. These checkpoints were not coordinated - they were run by local thugs monitoring their own patches. Most of the hard-line insurgents were in the town itself, preparing defences for the battle. Abdul should be prepared to bribe his way through these checkpoints but Muhammad was uncertain about the wisdom of attempting the journey with a white man. Still, a western reporter might be allowed in. Some insurgents would want the battle to be recorded from a point of view other than the American military’s but others might kidnap the journalist simply because he was a westerner. Abdul told his cousin that he would call if he needed more advice and after Muhammad wished him luck he disconnected the call.

Abdul hit a couple more buttons on his phone and a few seconds later Stanza picked up. ‘We go tonight,’ Abdul said.

‘Tonight!’ Stanza echoed, surprised by Abdul’s speed.

‘Going at night will be best.’

Stanza pulled himself together and silently reassured himself that he could cancel at any moment. ‘OK. How will we get there?’

‘My car.’

‘You want me to drive?’ Stanza asked, his voice rising.

‘I can drive. Or you can if you prefer.’

There was another long pause before Stanza spoke. ‘What time were you thinking of leaving?’

‘We should leave soon after dark.’

‘OK. Come to my room. I don’t want to be hanging around outside.’ A beep indicated that Stanza had cut the call and Abdul checked the phone to make sure.

Abdul took a moment to think what he might need to take with him and pared it down to just a pistol and money. He needed to get fuel for the car - he could quickly get the small mechanical problem it had fixed - but other than that his cousin would take care of all their needs in Fallujah. The rest was up to Abdul and his wits. It was Allah’s mission but He used mortal tools to achieve His aims and if they were not up to it then He would allow them to fall.

Abdul went into his room, opened his wardrobe and removed the box that contained his pistol. He pocketed the gun and went back into the living room where he opened a drawer in the side of the coffee table and took out a notepad and pen. He needed to let Tasneen know that he would not be home for several days, otherwise she would be worried and look for him. He would also have to tell her he was going out of the city or she would wonder why he could not come home.

He considered telephoning her and then dismissed the idea in favour of the note. If he spoke to her he would have to deal with a myriad of questions but worse than that his anger might reveal itself and Abdul did not want to deal with the problem of her relationship with Mallory until his return. The ramifications of that issue crowded his mind and the pain of accepting that his relationship with his beloved sister was at an end was like a burning knife in his heart.

But Abdul warned himself not to linger on the past. His religion, tradition and a thousand ghosts would not allow it: Tasneen and Abdul’s lives were inconsequential when compared with the greater scheme of things. He could not begin to fathom why she had done such a thing - but then, there could never be an explanation that would satisfy him. There was no acceptable explanation why she had gone alone to a man’s private room. Staying the night put it beyond all reason. Death was a more acceptable option than dishonouring herself and her family. She was a Muslim, an Arab, an Iraqi. What made it even more horrendous, if that was possible, was who she had done this foul deed with. Had he been an Arab and a Muslim Abdul would still have wanted revenge. But to defile herself with an infidel - with Mallory, an Englishman - was beyond comprehension.