Two big brass trays were brought in, each covered by a cloth. Ahmed said, ‘Ah, Mr Tozier: I believe we have a friend in common. I see no reason why you and Mr Metcalfe should not have a chat later—after you have eaten.’
‘I’d be pleased to see Tom Metcalfe again,’ said Tozier.
‘I thought you would.’ Ahmed turned away, and then paused. ‘Oh, gentlemen, there is just one other thing. My father needs certain information. Now, who can give it to him?’ He studied Warren with a half smile on his lips. ‘I don’t think Mr Warren could be persuaded very easily—and
Mr Tozier even less so. I regarded you carefully last time we met.’
His gaze switched to Follet. ‘Now, you are an American, Mr Follet.’
‘Yeah,’ said Follet. ‘Next time you see the American consul tell him I’d like to see him.’
‘A commendable spirit,’ observed Ahmed, and sighed. ‘I fear you may be as obstinate as your friends. My father wishes to…er…talk to you himself, but he is an old man and in need of sleep at this late hour. So you are fortunate in that you have a few more hours.’ With that he went, followed by his bodyguard, and the door slammed.
Tozier indicated the paraffin lamp on one of the trays. ‘He was kind enough to leave that.’
Follet lifted a cloth. ‘It’s hot food.’
Tozier took the cloth from the other tray. ‘I suppose we might as well eat. It’s not too bad—cous-cous and chicken with coffee afterwards.’
Follet gnawed on a leg of chicken, then looked at it in disgust, ‘This one must have been an athlete.’
Warren picked up a plate. ‘Where do you reckon we are?’
‘Somewhere up near the Turkish border,’ said Follet. ‘As near as I can reckon. Not far from the Iranian border, either.’
‘In the Kurdish heartland,’ commented Tozier. ‘That might mean something—or nothing.’ He frowned. ‘Do you remember what Ahmed was blowing off about back in Iran, Nick? About the Kurdish political situation? What was that name he mentioned? It was someone who had the Iraqi army tied up in knots.’
‘Barzani,’ said Warren. ‘Mullah Mustapha Barzani.’
‘That’s the man. Ahmed said he had an army. I wonder if this crowd is part of it.’
‘It could be. I don’t see how it helps us.’
‘God helps those who help themselves,’ said Follet practically. Still holding the chicken leg, he got up, took the candle, and began to explore the further reaches of the cave. His voice came hollowly. ‘Not much here.’
‘What do you expect in a jail?’ asked Tozier. ‘All the same, it’s a good idea to see what resources we have. What’s in that box you’re sitting on, Nick?’
‘It’s empty.’
‘And I’m sitting on fertilizer,’ said Tozier in disgust. ‘Anything else, Johnny?’
‘Not much. More empty boxes; some automotive spare parts—all rusty, half a can of diesel oil; a hell of a lot of nuts and bolts; a couple of sacks of straw—that’s about all.’
Tozier sighed. Follet came back, put down the candle, then picked up the lamp and shook it close to his ear. ‘There’s some kerosene in here and there’s that straw over there—maybe we can do something with that.’
‘You can’t burn a cave to the ground, Johnny. We’d just asphyxiate ourselves.’ Tozier went to the door. ‘This is going to take some shifting—it must be four inches thick.’ He cocked his head on one side. ‘There’s someone coming. Watch it.’ He retreated from the door and sat down.
It opened and the man called Metcalfe came in. He was brushing himself down and turned his head as the door thudded behind him. ‘Then he looked at Tozier and said without smiling, ‘Hello, Andy; long time no see.’
‘Hello, Tom.’
Metcalfe came forward and held out his hand, and Tozier grasped it. ‘What in hell are you doing here?’
‘That’s a long story,’ said Tozier. ‘This is Nick Warren—Johnny Follet.’
‘If I said, “Pleased to meet you,” I’d be wrong,’ said Metcalfe wryly. He looked Warren up and down with a keen eye, then glanced at Tozier. ‘Here on business, Andy?’
‘Sort of. We didn’t come willingly.’
‘I saw the boys hustling you in—I couldn’t believe my eyes. It’s not like you to be nabbed as easily as that.’
‘Take the weight off your feet, Tom,’ said Tozier. ‘Which will you have—the fertilizer or the box?’
‘Yeah, stay and visit with us for a while,’ said Follet.
‘I’ll have the box,’ said Metcalfe delicately. ‘You’re a Yank, aren’t you?’
Follet burlesqued a southern accent. ‘Them’s fightin’ words where ah comes from. Ah may have bin bawn in Arizony but ma pappy’s from Jawjah.’
Metcalfe looked at him thoughtfully for a long time. ‘I’m glad to see high spirits—you’re going to need them. You look as though you’ve seen service.’
‘A long time ago,’ said Follet. ‘Korea.’
‘Ah,’ said Metcalfe. He grinned and his teeth gleamed white against his sunburnt face. ‘A legitimate type. And you Warren?’
‘I’m a doctor.’
‘So! And what’s a doctor doing wandering about Kurdistan with a bad type like Andy Tozier?’
Tozier pulled at his ear. ‘Are you in employment at the moment, Tom?’
‘Just wrapping something up,’ said Metcalfe.
‘In command?’
Metcalfe looked blank. ‘In command!’ His brow cleared and he laughed. ‘You mean—am I training these boys? Andy, this crowd could teach us a thing or two—they’ve been fighting for the last thirty-five years. I’ve just brought a consignment in, that’s all. I’m leaving in a couple of days.’
‘A consignment of what?’
‘What the blazes do you think? Arms, of course. What else would this lot need?’ He smiled. ‘I’m supposed to be asking the questions, not you. That’s what old Fahrwaz sent me in here for. Ahmed didn’t like it—he wanted to carve you up immediately, but the old boy thought I might solve
his problem without him going to extreme lengths.’ His face was serious. ‘You’re in a really bad spot this time, Andy.’
‘What does he want to know?’ asked Warren.
Metcalfe looked up. ‘Everything there is to know. You seem to have upset him somehow, but he didn’t go into that with me. He thought that since I know Andy here, I might get your confidence.’ He shook his head. ‘You’ve come down in the world if you’re working for a film company, Andy. So I think it’s a cover—and so does Fahrwaz.’
‘And what does Barzani think?’ asked Tozier.
‘Barzani!’ said Metcalfe in surprise. ‘How in hell do I know what Barzani thinks?’ Suddenly he slapped his knee. ‘Did you really think that Fahrwaz was one of Barzani’s men? That’s really funny.’
‘I’m laughing my goddam head off,’ said Follet sourly.
‘It’s time for a lesson in Kurdish politics,’ said Metcalfe didactically. ‘Fahrwaz used to be with Barzani—they were together when the Russkies tried to set up the Mehabad Kurdish Republic in Iran back in 1946. They even went into exile together when it collapsed. They were great chums. Then Barzani came here to Iraq, built up a following, and has been knocking hell out of the Iraqis ever since.’
‘And Fahrwaz?’
‘Ah, he’s one of the
Pej Merga,’
said Metcalfe as though that was a full explanation.
‘The self-sacrificing,’ translated Tozier thoughtfully. ‘So?’
‘The
Pej Merga
was the hard core that Barzani could always rely on, but not any more—not since he started to dicker with President Bakr on the basis of an autonomous Kurdish province in Iran. Fahrwaz is a hawk and he thinks the Iraqis will renege on the deal, and he may be right. More importantly, he and most of the
Pej Merga
want none of a Kurdish Republic
in Iran.
They don’t want Kurdistan to be split between Iraq, Iran and Turkey—they want a unified Kurdish nation and no half measures.’
‘Something like the Irish problem,’ observed Tozier. ‘With Fahrwaz and the
Pej Merga
doing the IRA bit.’
‘You’ve got the picture. Fahrwaz regards Barzani as a traitor to the Kurdish nation for even listening to Bakr, but Barzani commands respect—he was fighting the Iraqis for years when Fahrwaz was sitting on his rump in Iran. If Barzani makes a deal with the Iraqis then Fahrwaz is out on a limb. That’s why he’s stock-piling arms as fast as he can.’
‘And you’re supplying them,’ said Warren. ‘What do you believe in?’
Metcalfe shrugged. ‘The Kurds have been given a rough deal for centuries,’ he said. ‘If Barzani does a deal with the Iraqis and it goes sour, then the Kurds will need some insurance. I’m supplying it. Bakr came to power by a coup d’état and his regime isn’t all sweetness and light. I can see Fahrwaz’s point of view.’ He rubbed his jaw. ‘Not that I like him—he’s a bit too fanatical for my taste.’
‘Where is he getting his support—his money?’
‘I don’t know.’ Metcalfe grinned. ‘As long as I’m paid I don’t care where the money comes from.’
‘I think you might,’ said Tozier softly. ‘How did you bring in the arms?’
‘You know better than to ask a question like that. A trade secret, old boy.’
‘What are you taking out of here?’
‘Nothing,’ said Metcalfe in surprise. ‘I get paid through a Beirut bank. You don’t think I wander through the Middle East with my pockets full of gold. I’m not that stupid.’
‘I think you’d better tell him all about it, Nick,’ said Tozier. ‘It’s all falling into place, isn’t it?’
‘I’d like to know something first,’ said Warren. ‘Who contacted you originally on this arms deal? Who suggested it would be a good idea to take a load of guns to Fahrwaz? Who supplied them?’
Metcalfe smiled and glanced at Tozier. ‘Your friend is too nosy for his own good. That also comes under the heading of trade secrets.’
‘It wouldn’t be Jeanette Delorme?’ suggested Warren.
Metcalfe’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead. ‘You seem to know quite a lot. No wonder Fahrwaz is getting worried.’
‘
You
ought to be getting worried,’ said Tozier. ‘When I asked you if you were taking anything out I had dope in mind.’
Metcalfe went very still. ‘And what gave you that idea?’ he said in a tight voice.
‘Because there’s a ton of pure morphine around here somewhere,’ said Warren. ‘Because Fahrwaz is running drugs to pay for his revolution. Because the Delorme woman is supplying the arms to pay for the drugs, and she’s sitting in Beirut right now waiting to ship a consignment of heroin to the States.’
There were harsh lines on Metcalfe’s face. ‘I don’t know that I believe this.’
‘Oh, grow up, Tom,’ said Tozier. ‘We cleaned up Fahrwaz’s place in Iran. I personally destroyed ten tons of opium—blew it to hell. He’s in it up to his scrawny old neck.’
Metcalfe stood up slowly. ‘I have your word on this, Andy?’
‘For what it’s worth,’ said Tozier. ‘You know me, Tom.’
‘I don’t like being used,’ said Metcalfe in a choked voice. ‘Jeanette knows I don’t like drugs. If she’s implicated me in this I’ll kill the bitch—I swear it.’ He swung on Warren. ‘How much morphine did you say?’
‘About a ton. My guess is that they’ll convert it to heroin before shipment. If that amount of heroin gets on the illegal market in one lump I don’t like to think of the consequences.’
‘A ton,’ whispered Metcalfe incredulously.
‘It could have been double that,’ said Tozier. ‘But we wrecked the laboratory. Your lady-friend has been busy getting everything sewn up. This is one of the biggest smuggling operations of all time.’
Metcalfe thought about it. ‘I don’t think the stuff’s here,’ he said slowly. ‘Just after I arrived a string of camels came in. There was a hell of a lot of palaver about them—all very mysterious. Everyone was kept away while the load was transferred into a truck. It left this morning.’
‘So what are you going to do, Tom?’ asked Tozier casually.
‘A good question.’ Metcalfe took a deep breath. ‘The first thing is to get you out of here—and that’s going to take a miracle.’ He smiled wryly. ‘No wonder Fahrwaz is all steamed up.’
‘Can you get any weapons in to us? I’d feel better with a gun in my hand.’
Metcalfe shook his head. ‘They don’t trust me that much. I was searched when I came in here. There are a couple of guards outside all the time.’
Tozier stuck out his finger. ‘We’ve got to get through that door—guards or no guards.’ He stood up with a quick movement and the sack of fertilizer fell over against his leg. Impatiently he booted it away, and then stopped and gazed at it. Abstractedly he said, ‘Could you find us a few bits of coal, Tom?’
‘Coal in Kurdistan!’ said Metcalfe derisively. He followed the line of Tozier’s gaze, then bent down to read the inscription on the sack. ‘Oh, I see—the Mwanza trick.’ He straightened up. ‘Would charcoal do?’
‘I don’t see why not—we don’t need much. How much oil is there in that can you found, Johnny?’
‘About a quart. Why?’
‘We’re going to blow that door off its hinges. We’ll need a detonator, Tom. If you nip down to the Land-Rovers you’ll
find that one has a clock and the others hasn’t. Unscrew the clock and bring it with you with the charcoal.’
‘How do you expect me to smuggle a clock in here?’
‘You’ll find a way. Get going, Tom.’
Metcalfe knocked on the door and was let out. As it closed behind him Warren said, ‘Do you think he’s…safe?’
‘For us—yes,’ said Tozier. ‘For Fahrwaz, no. I know Tom Metcalfe very well. He goes off pop if he even hears people talk about drugs. If we get out of this I’ll feel bloody sorry for the Delorme woman—he’ll crucify her.’ He bent down and started to open the sack of fertilizer.
Follet said flatly, ‘You’re going to blow that door open with fertilizer. You did say that—or am I going nuts?’
‘I said it,’ said Tozier. ‘Tom and I were in the Congo. We were just outside a place called Mwanza and the opposition had blown down a cliff so it blocked the road and we couldn’t get our trucks through. We were low on ammunition and had no blasting explosives, but we had a secret weapon—a South African called van Niekerk who used to be a miner on the Witwatersrand.’
He put his hand in the sack and lifted out a handful of the white powder. ‘This is agricultural fertilizer—ammonium nitrate—good for putting nitrogen into the soil. But van Niekerk knew a bit more. If you take a hundred pounds of this, six pints of fuel oil, two pounds of coal dust, and mix it all together then you get the equivalent of forty per cent blasting gelignite. I’ve never forgotten that. Van Niekerk scared the pants off me—he brewed the stuff in a concrete mixer.’