Killsong

by Mark Mannock

  “When we get back to the embassy, I’m going to pull Kaitlin aside,” I said. “I can’t help but feel she has something she wants to tell me.”

  “I’ll run interference with the ever-present Brooks,” suggested Greatrex. “I’ll make sure you get a few moments of quiet time together.”

  Perhaps a little light sarcasm there.

  We returned to the embassy compound, dismissed our very patient bodyguard, and returned to our rooms to gather what we needed. Fifteen minutes later we were in the courtyard, with the rest of the touring group standing beside two buses that were due to take us to the Al-Faw Palace. No helicopter gunships needed for this trip, but there were armored vehicles in front and to the rear of the buses.

  I’d looked around for Kaitlin but couldn’t see her anywhere. I assumed she had gone to the palace early to begin arrangements. There seemed to be a bit of a kerfuffle among one group; I noticed both Robbie West and Elliot Brooks were among them. I thought it odd that Brooks was here, but Kaitlin wasn’t. I then dismissed my observation as premature.

  It wasn’t.

  Robbie came over to where Greatrex and I were standing with the rest of our band. He looked upset.

  “What’s wrong, Robbie?” asked Greatrex. “You look like you’ve lost your favorite guitar.”

  “It’s not good. It’s not good at all,” said Robbie, not hysterical but clearly worried. “It’s Kaitlin. No one has seen her or heard from her since last night—no one in the road crew, none of the entertainers, and none of our military friends. Her bed wasn’t slept in. Kaitlin Reed has simply disappeared.”

  I looked at Greatrex. He looked at me. No words were needed. This changed everything.

  Someone doesn’t just disappear from within a US embassy without creating a substantial “situation.” We were all told to return to our rooms and members of the Marine Corps Embassy Security Group would be along to interview each of us. The only concession they made to the fact we had a show to do was they agreed to interview the crew first, so they could then travel to the Al-Faw Palace and begin preparing for the performance. The people in charge had determined that the show would go on tonight. Too many dignitaries to disappoint. I also noticed that Marine guards were placed in every corridor of our apartment complex. Kaitlin’s disappearance was being taken seriously.

  I sat alone in my room while Greatrex was being interviewed. I was worried. Once I’d kicked myself a thousand times for not catching up with Kaitlin sooner, I began going through alternative scenarios in my head. Had someone arranged for Kaitlin to disappear? Had she found something out that she shouldn’t have and made herself scarce to stay safe? Had she disappeared as part of Giles Winter’s plan? Was she involved with his plan? This was all endlessly frustrating. I needed more facts. I realized I also needed to talk to Elliot Brooks; he was the last person seen with Kaitlin, and that brought him to the top of the suspect list. I had to be careful, however; you can’t rough up a member of a respected organization like the USO just because you don’t like them.

  I was also aware that the security people would question Brooks very closely. They would suspect him for the same reasons I did. The difference was that they did not know the Giles Winter situation, which underscored this whole thing, and I couldn’t tell them without endangering the lives of Leyla and Amira and possibly now Kaitlin. This was an extremely complicated mess.

  Although the authorities were well resourced and extremely competent, the more I thought about it the more I realized there was a good chance it was going to fall to Jack Greatrex and me to sort through this maze. I didn’t fancy our odds at all. We were getting in deeper and deeper in something way out of our league, and now another life may be at stake if things went wrong.

  When my turn came, I was interviewed by a very sincere Marine security guard of around thirty years of age. Master Gunnery Sergeant Bernard Holstein seemed to take his job very seriously. I liked that. I told the gunny everything I knew about Kaitlin’s movements. I told him I had worked with her before, and I told him Kaitlin was working closely with Brooks. I even told him of my military background. He seemed quite surprised at that and asked me why I left the Marines.

  “Sorry, gunny, too complicated and not enough time,” was my response. “Maybe over a beer one day.” Nicholas Sharp avoiding hard questions.

  Of course, I told Gunnery Sergeant Bernard Holstein nothing about Giles Winter, or the threat that was hanging over Greatrex and my heads. He should know, but he couldn’t.

  After the interview I gathered my things for the second time that day and went downstairs to board the bus for the palace. I felt a little guilty about holding things back from those investigating Kaitlin’s disappearance, but I had no choice. I assumed Greatrex had done the same; he was already at the Al-Faw Palace. The one thing I was certain of was that Elliot Brooks and I were going to have a long heart-to-heart tonight, whether he wanted to or not.

  16

  Surrounded by water on all sides, the Al-Faw Palace was an incredible building by anyone’s standards. Built by Saddam Hussein, it was designed as a retreat for loyal members of Saddam’s political party. As our convoy ventured across the causeway to the palace, I couldn’t help but feel what a unique mixture of magnificent traditional Iraqi architecture and Saddam-style smoke and mirrors it was. It certainly cast an overpowering shadow over the artificial lakes surrounding it.

  As we alighted from the bus, Brooks was there giving directions and instructions. There was, of course, no sign of Kaitlin. We all ventured inside and were directed to a large room where we were due to perform. I looked around at the enormous stone pillars surrounded by two levels of balconies under an ornately decorated domed roof. This would be a memorable venue.

  We were being joined for this performance by the Britannia Royal Naval College Band for the more formal part of the evening’s proceedings; it was a coalition event after all. In the back of my mind lurked the worry that Giles Winter appeared to have some sort of connection with someone in the British contingent. I let it go, for now.

  I caught up with Greatrex. We checked over the gear and were then shown to our rooms for a shower and change. There wasn’t much chance to talk, but that would come.

  The formalities began with a small brass ensemble from the British band playing outside on the sprawling palace courtyard. The setting sun reflected a magical evening light over the waters. People of importance—some in uniform, some not—were scattered around in small groups. You wouldn’t think there was a trouble in the world.

  Greatrex and I stood with the other musicians in Robbie’s band, taking in the sight of it all. I nudged him, and we moved away from the main group to have a quiet conversation. After comparing our separate interviews with the Marine embassy security and confirming we had each given the same story, we moved on to more pressing matters.

  “We have to do something,” I said. “We can’t just let the Kaitlin thing go without trying to get a grasp on what’s happening here.”

  “Agreed, but what?”

  “For a start, I need to talk to Brooks. He was the last one seen with Kaitlin.”

  “All my antennas are telling me not to trust him, but we have no evidence that he’s done anything wrong.” Greatrex, the level-headed man.

  “You’re right, I know, but I still want to talk to him. It’s time to break down a few walls.”

  “Breaking walls is okay, just don’t break a person here. The last thing we need is to create a further incident.” Greatrex was getting anxious.

  “Point taken.”

  People were starting to move inside. As we caught up with our group and followed them into the hall, I said to Greatrex, “Straight after the show tonight, a quiet but intense chat, that’s all I want. Then we let things play out.”

  He nodded.

  Inside, the formalities got underway. Everyone seemed to be telling each other what a great contribution they were all making to the peace and prosperity of the people of Iraq. I couldn
’t help but quietly muse to myself that I couldn’t see too many of your average Iraqi people here tonight. Maybe politics is the same all over the world.

  Following the speeches, our British colleagues performed. They were very polished and impressive. I appreciated any genre of music if it was played well.

  The dignitaries ate at large circular tables placed around the room while a quartet of British musicians played jazz. I could hear them from our room backstage. A little later, as we were getting ready for our set, one of our crew members appeared at the door.

  “Nicholas, there’s a guy from the Naval College Band who says he’d like to have a word with you.”

  “Me? Sure, okay.” I couldn’t figure what a guy from the Naval band would want with me. I went into the corridor to find out.

  “Nicholas Sharp?” It was a question more than a statement. The man before me was in full white dress uniform. He was tall, well built, looked to be in his midtwenties. I couldn’t help but think of a younger, less weathered version of Daniel Craig.

  “Yes, what can I do for you?”

  He put out his hand. I shook it.

  “Musician Stephen Beckley, first trombone, Britannia Royal Naval College Band.”

  “I enjoyed your performance, Stephen. Great band.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He looked pleased. “I once performed with your mother, at the Royal Albert Hall. I was filling in with the London Philharmonic.”

  I was impressed.

  “It was a wonderful performance. She truly is an amazing pianist.”

  “Thank you, Stephen. Very kind of you to say so.” I was a little relieved that this was just turning out to be a visit from someone appreciative of my mother’s work. I don’t know what I expected. With all that was going on I was clearly living a bit too close to the edge.

  Musician Beckley must have seen me relax, because the look on his face changed to one of concern.

  “I’m sorry to do this to you, sir, but when one of the boys in our band told me you were here, I felt that I should talk to you.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Well yes, sir, I think there might be. Of course, it may be nothing.”

  I looked up and down the ornate and massive corridor to make sure we weren’t being overheard. Just precautionary.

  “Go on.”

  “Well, last night, it was quite late, I couldn’t sleep—you know, the heat and all that. We’re billeted at the British embassy in the International Zone, so I thought I’d step out for a short stroll. I was walking down between two buildings when I heard some voices. I thought it was a bit unusual at two in the morning, I didn’t say anything, but I did listen. Eavesdropped, I suppose.”

  Beckley hesitated, looking a little guilty.

  “I would have done the same.” Nicholas Sharp, encouraging.

  “Well, I think I heard three voices: a Brit, an American, and an American woman.”

  Alarm bells started to ring in my head.

  Beckley continued. “Well, it’s probably nothing, but I heard your name mentioned, Mr. Sharp, and I also thought one of the men referred to the woman as Kaitlin.”

  The alarm bells turned into sirens.

  “I wouldn’t have thought that much of it except that when we arrived here, at the palace, this afternoon, someone mentioned that you were playing. Of course, I recognized the name because of the connection with your mother. The other thing was that everyone was talking about your tour manager going missing last night. It didn’t bother me that much until I heard her name was Kaitlin.”

  I was standing there in stunned silence. Beckley took that as his cue to continue.

  “I thought I just had to mention this to you, so here I am.” He had finished.

  I needed to know more.

  “Did you hear much of what was being said?” I asked.

  “Not really, things were pretty muffled. I heard one of the men saying, ‘Keep away from Nicholas Sharp,’ and someone mentioned that it was a ‘dangerous situation.’”

  I must have looked a little pale because Stephen Beckley’s next words were, “Are you all right, Mr. Sharp?”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, “just thinking. Was there anything else you heard, anything unusual or something that didn’t seem to make sense?”

  “Not really … oh yes, maybe.”

  “What was it, Stephen?”

  “Well, I just thought it was odd that in the middle of a warm Iraqi summer, with everyone complaining about the heat, there was at least a couple of times they seemed to be talking about … well … ‘winter.’ Go figure.”

  “Go figure,” I eventually responded. The word “winter” was reverberating around my head, again. My stomach felt tight and heavy, but I needed more.

  “Now, Stephen, this may be quite important. At any stage did it seem to you that the woman you overheard as Kaitlin was being forced or coerced?”

  “No, sir, I don’t think so.”

  Damn. It seemed we had found Giles Winter’s mole. Damn, damn, damn!

  I must have let a couple of minutes’ silence slip by in the corridor as a myriad of thoughts spun round in my mind.

  “Are you sure you’re all right, Mr. Sharp?”

  Again, I found some words. “Yes, thank you, Stephen, and please call me Nicholas.”

  Stephen Beckley looked a little relieved that I had rejoined the world.

  “I’ll be going now, er, Nicholas. I just thought you would like to know what happened.”

  “Yes, thank you for being on the ball. Could I suggest you keep all this to yourself for now?”

  Beckley looked unsure.

  I went on, “That is unless you are specifically asked about it by a superior. I’m afraid I can’t really explain why at this stage.” That did the trick.

  My new friend looked confused but reluctantly agreed.

  “If you say so, sir.”

  Back to sir.

  Stephen Beckley turned to leave.

  “One more thing, Beckley.” I decided to take a more authoritative tone because I needed his silence, at least for now. I was finding my feet.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “If you ever decide to give up being a musician, perhaps you could consider a career in intelligence.”

  I turned and went back into my room. I desperately needed to talk to Greatrex.

  We were on stage within minutes after the conversation with Stephen Beckley. The show went smoothly, even if it was a bit of a blur to me. I had trouble concentrating on the music while I processed the information I had just received. It was not the kind of show a musician lived for anyway, at least not my kind of musician. Give me an enthusiastic, sweaty crowd over a bunch of stiffs any day.

  Greatrex was at the side of the stage, as he usually was when I was playing. As we finished and walked off, he approached me.

  “Okay, what’s wrong?”

  “You read me like the proverbial book,” I hadn’t had an opportunity to speak with him since the Beckley conversation. I pulled him aside backstage and filled him in.

  “This puts a whole new perspective on the situation,” he observed.

  “It’s glaringly obvious that Kaitlin Reed is Giles Winter’s inside person,” I responded. “I can’t see it any other way.”

  He nodded.

  “What about Brooks? Do we still talk to him?”

  “Probably no need to stir up that hornet’s nest for no purpose, at least not at this point,” I said despondently.

  Two hours later we were all back in our rooms at the US embassy. I was exhausted but couldn’t sleep. More questions than answers were haunting my semiconscious state. How did Kaitlin Reed, a professional tour manager who I had known for some time, become involved in all of this? Why did she become involved? What was her relationship to Giles Winter? Why did she disappear? There was going to be no coming back from that. Any emotional thoughts I had about Kaitlin seemed to disappear into the ether. As I drifted off into a reluctant sleep, my conscious world g
ave me no answers; perhaps my subconscious would do better. My last thoughts were of an expression an old military buddy had once used to describe life in war-torn Baghdad. “It’s all prayers and gunfire,” he had said. That seemed to be my world now: “all prayers and gunfire.”

  17

  We were all up early the next morning—early musician time, not military time. Our US Air Force helicopters were due to pick us up at ten for the flight to Camp Taji Joint Operations Base. As the first group, including Greatrex and myself, climbed aboard the now-familiar Pave Hawks, there appeared to be a heightened level of alertness among our military hosts. Whether it was that rocket attacks were still known to happen along our nineteen-mile route to Taji, or it was related to Kaitlin’s disappearance, I was unsure.

  The helicopter gunners scanned the ground below as we flew over the sea of low, flat brown rooftops interrupted only by the occasional higher, more modern structure. We looked down on the Tigris River. In the distance was last night’s venue, the Al-Faw Palace. Below us the gigantic Swords of Qadisiyah appeared like the hands of a defiant giant rising out of the ground.

  Before long, and fortunately without event, we saw the sea of runways, low-slung military buildings, and dry desert landscape that was the Camp Taji Base. Our pilots were experts, and we descended to a textbook landing. As per normal, Elliot Brooks was first on the ground and giving instructions. He may have been off our radar, but I still didn’t like him. We were asked to group up in a bunch while the helicopters took off to pick up more of our team. Brooks then introduced us to Marine First Lieutenant Eric Lazlov. Lazlov was to oversee our security while we were on the base and he had a few things to say.

  “Welcome to Camp Taj,” he began. “We appreciate you coming all this way and hope you have an enjoyable stay with us. It is, of course, important that we keep you safe and secure while you are here. To that end, I must ask that you move around the base only in groups, and only with members of our security personnel accompanying you.”

  Lazlov scanned the group of us as he spoke. For a second his eyes seemed to halt on me, before moving on. I may have imagined it.