Light of the Sun: They always make a mistake and when they do, we kill them...

by David Costa

  Mohammad nodded, then stood then for some reason, he felt he should bow slightly before leaving the office.

  The door to the office opened once more, this time it was Kalil.

  ‘Are you ready for the girl?’

  ‘Give me five minutes then send her in.’

  ‘Was he what you are looking for?’

  The Arab knew Kalil couldn’t help himself asking, even though he would know it was wrong to do so.

  ‘He will be leaving you tomorrow and he cannot talk about what we discussed so do not ask him my friend. After I’ve spoken to this woman, we will have another cup of coffee and I’ll tell you what you need to know - no more no less. This you understand…. yes?’

  Kalil smiled. He knew he had just been rebuked in the nicest way for asking questions when he should have listened instead of speaking. He turned and went outside to find the next student.

  When she entered the office, the Arab realised the file on the table in front of him did not do her justice. Her photo showed eyes that were tired and wary of the world. Maybe because the photo was black and white the true deep darkness of her brown eyes did not show through. He knew from the file she was only twenty-five, but the world had treated her badly according to the written words, but he wanted to hear everything about her from her own lips. She wore the traditional headscarf of eastern Islamic women covering her hair and most of her face and when Abdullah invited her to sit and to remove the scarf, he could see the surprise in her eyes as she obeyed the command without protest. Islamic women were not used to being without headdress when in the company of a strange man, however since being at the camp she had begun to expect the unexpected and to obey commands.

  Abdullah smiled a smile of understanding, and this seemed to reassure her as she smiled back. She removed the headscarf to let her lush dark brown hair fall to almost cover her face but not enough to cover the three-inch scar on her left cheek, Abdullah noticed both.

  ‘Please relax, Shama, you are not in trouble, and even if you were, from what I’ve read in your file you could deal with any danger if you had too. Yes, I’ve read your file and I know a little about you, your past, and why you are here. But I would rather hear from your own lips the answer to my questions.’

  ‘Who are you, and why should I answer any questions?’ she replied sitting straight backed in the chair. He noticed how her breasts pressed outwardly upwards against the brown linen shirt.

  Again, the Arab smiled and spoke softly.

  ‘For now, please think of me as your teacher and just simply call me Teacher. This is not some interrogation test or exam for your training. As I said, all I want to know for now is, what is not in the file and the real you, so please relax and help me out if you can.’

  Now the woman nodded her agreement.

  ‘Thank you. Can we start with a little bit about your background? I know you are from Baghdad and your family sent you here for your protection. The file does not clearly state why you need protection, maybe you can explain?’

  Abdullah knew by her hesitation that talking of her past might cause her pain, he waited, letting her take her time to let her tell her story her way.

  ‘I know you speak your native Arabic, French, and English, so if you could answer in English that would be helpful.’ Abdullah wanted to see how good her English was. He was surprised just how good when she began to speak.

  ‘My father was a teacher of languages at Baghdad University. He taught me different languages for as long as I can remember, some I remembered better than others and this helped me when I applied to be a nurse at the city hospital.’

  ‘You are only twenty-five so you must have worked hard?’

  ‘Another thing my parents taught me; you can be whatever you want to be if you work hard enough. I studied clinical medicine dealing with everyday illness and I loved my work.’

  ‘And you had to give it all up because you killed a man?’

  ‘I killed an animal.’ She spat out the words with the flash of hate mixed with anger in her eyes.

  ‘Please forgive me but I need to know why. All it says in your file is that you killed a man, so you had to escape Baghdad. What really happened?’

  He waited as she took her time to answer, she moved from side to side in the chair and stared at the floor, before lifting her head to look him in the eyes. She began to speak slowly at first, getting faster the more her memory came back to her.

  ‘As I said I was a nurse in the hospital, and I dealt with many kinds of injury. I had been seeing one of the junior doctors for a few months. With Asher, it was nothing serious, but I liked him, he was kind and my parents approved. Unknown to me he had been secretly treating injured Hezbollah coming back from Syria. I did not know he was under surveillance by the security police, not until one day they came to arrest him at the hospital. The police inspector leading the arrest was a well-known brute. We had treated many of his poor victims, from beatings to knife wounds, inflicted by him in the cells at the central police station.’

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Kamil Burgah,’ before continuing she licked her lips and took a deep breath as if there was a bad taste in her mouth.

  ‘When he came to arrest my Asher, he beat him badly while his thugs held him up so he could punch him freely without Asher being able to defend himself. I tried to intervene, but Burgah slapped me on the face knocking me off my feet and before I could get to my feet, they had already taken him. When I went home, I told my parents what happened. My father told me not to get involved, as he knew of this Burgah, and how dangerous he could be. I was not happy, so I decided the next day I would go to the station and ask about Asher.’

  ‘You disobeyed your parents,’ the Arab was interested to hear how far she would go to disobey a direct order.

  ‘I know. I did not want to, but I thought it would do no harm to go to the station and ask about Asher; I had feelings for him, I cared for him.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘Burgah took me to his office. The bastard was smiling when he told me that unfortunately Asher had been shot dead while trying to escape. My head was spinning, I couldn’t believe it, I did not believe it. He just sat there smiling not caring, then he came around the desk and locked the door to the office. He told me his men knew not to disturb him when his door was locked. He looked at me as if I were a piece of juicy meat he wanted to eat. He asked me why I cared about this Asher, the traitor to Iraq. Was it because he was good in bed, and did my parents know I was a whore who slept around? Now I was too angry for words, I stood and tried to slap him across the face, but he grabbed my hand and forced me backwards across his desk. He was a big man overweight, and his breath smelt of stale tobacco. He pushed his full weight down on me and when I fell across the desk my hand found a long letter opener. I lifted it and tried to stab him, but he grabbed my hand and twisted it behind my back turning me around, and pushing me face down into the desk, he leant over me, and I could feel his whole body pressing down on me.’

  The Arab could see the pain in her eyes as she tried to continue. Once again, he spoke softly.

  ‘I know this memory is difficult for you, but you need to get it out, to tell me everything to cleanse your soul and spirit. I do not judge you.’

  Again, she took a deep breath before speaking, looking around the room then at the files on the desk before letting her eyes rest on the face of the Arab. She wanted to get everything out into the open and for once in a long time for some reason she believed in this man in front of her. There was something about him she felt she could trust.

  ‘I could feel him thrust his body against mine. I’d never been with a man before, but I knew what he was doing. To put it in simple terms, he was inside me raping me, and calling me bitch and whore as he did it. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth trying to think of Asher, my family anything other than what was happening. Soon it was over, I heard him breathe deeply and speak the words, ‘Yes, yes, you bitch yes.’ But it wa
s not over. As he stood, he sliced the sharp paper opener across my cheek. From being raped to feeling the pain and blood pour from my face I stood in shock. He threw the paper opener on the desk and told me to get out and if he ever saw me again, he would give me twice as bad, pass me around his men and mark the other cheek, as you would brand a cow. Then he made his mistake. He turned his back to me to unlock the door. He obviously thought that his little whore had had enough and would want out of there, but he was surprised when I said is that all you have big boy, can we do it face to face next time? The one thing about being a nurse that he should have remembered was that we know exactly where the human heart is in the body, no matter if it’s a good or evil one. I moved in close to him and I could see his eyes light up with surprise at what he thought I was going to do with him, but they were even more surprised when I shoved the paper knife deep into his heart the blade all the way into the handle. He tried to cry out, but I held my hand over his mouth as he fell to the floor dead in seconds.’

  ‘Why did you kill him? Why not report him?’

  ‘Who would believe my word against him? He made me feel scared, dirty, and he could blame me for inciting him to rape me? I could have been stoned to death, and he would have made sure that is how a Sharia Court would have found it against me. I thought about this afterwards; but not at the time, the anger in me just burst, yet I felt totally under control and justified. Since then, I have thought about it …. I know he got a quicker, cleaner death than the one I would give him now. Being a nurse, I knew how to test myself for infection or pregnancy and I was clear of both.’

  She had answered a question he had been thinking about.

  As she told her story Abdullah watched her face closely. He could see the strain the memory was bringing to her. A tear settled at the side of her eyes.

  ‘Let us stop there for a moment,’ said Abdullah.

  ‘Let us have some of Kalil’s fine coffee, then we can continue in a few moments.’

  All she could do was try to smile and nod her agreement.

  ‘Just black and strong for me,’ she said.

  ‘The way I like it,’ he said as he filled the two small cups.

  He thought he would change the subject of the conversation for a little while. The hot sun outside had started to go down on the hills in the distant horizon and the room had more shadow and had cooled slightly.

  ‘How long have you been in the camp?’ he asked even though he knew the answer from her file.

  ‘Three weeks.’

  ‘And from what I’ve read you’re a good student. Is there anything you enjoy more than any other in your training?’

  As she sipped the hot coffee slowly, she lifted her eyes to look at him to answer.

  ‘I enjoy it all, and I understand how each part fits together to get the best out of me. But if I was to say one thing, I enjoy more than any other, it would be the comradeship, how I’ve found people like myself who want something different for ourselves, and if that means we must fight for it, to kill for it, to die for it, then I will be ready and more prepared for the future with what I’m learning here.’

  The answer he heard was spoken with clarity and passion. These were exactly the things he was looking for in his students. He had heard enough to stop the interview there and then, but he wanted to hear the full story to be completely sure and to let her totally unburden herself to him so that she would feel a comradeship with him, as with no other.

  ‘Can we get back to your journey, the one that has brought you here? What happened after you killed this bastard as you called him? How did you escape; you were in a police station in the middle of Baghdad after all, how did you get to here?’

  There was that deep breath again before she started speaking. The wounds and memories still strong. He sat further back in his chair and watched her face once more taking the strain of thought.

  ‘He was dead on the floor without a sound, but with a lot of blood - much of it over me. My mind seemed to be clear and calm possibly from my years of training and being told to slow down and concentrate when I dealt with people in pain or when they had died. I remembered he had told me he always locked his door when he was with people like me, and his staff knew not to disturb him. Even though, I knew I wouldn’t have much time. Using tissues from his desk I wiped the blood off my dress, blouse, and hands as best I could, but the stain was still there, so I used a simple trick, I put my clothes on inside out. People don’t look to see if you’ve dressed backwards and with the time I had it seemed the best thing to do.

  I took his key and left, locking his door from the outside to give me more time. I walked through the building and straight home, and no one stopped me or seemed to notice. My parents were shocked and at first they wanted to go to the authorities and complain about Burgah and what he had done and the situation he had put me in, but my father eventually realised the danger we were all in if I stayed in Baghdad.’

  ‘I can understand that. Apart from him being a policeman did he have other connections?’

  ‘Connections?’ She laughed ‘You could say that. He was known throughout Baghdad as the jumper, as he moved seamlessly from one faction to another from Saddam’s Ba’ath Party through his security police, to the Americans as an interpreter and torturer, to a job as the city’s chief political hunter, and all along the way he made himself a small fortune. He was hated by the people of the city, and that included his own police officers who were genuine law enforcers.’

  ‘It sounds like you did the country a favour. Please, tell me more of how you’ve come to be here?’

  ‘That’s simple. My father’s brother is a member of Katib Hezbollah in Iraq, so within the hour my uncle drove me in his Jeep, and using roads he knew, he smuggled me to a small town across the border, the people there brought me here. I’d told my uncle and my parents I wanted to be a soldier of Jihad. Now I’m here answering questions from a strange man.’

  She sat back in her chair her story told or so she thought.

  ‘What happened to your parents when the authorities came looking for you which I’m sure they did?’

  ‘Yes, they came and took my parents in for questioning but all they could tell them was that they did not know where I was, which was the truth. As I said there was no love for Burgah, so they were released, and they’ve not been bothered since.’

  The Arab was satisfied. He closed the file, stood, and slowly walked around the desk sitting on it in front of her. Looking down he could see up close that despite the white scar on her tanned skin she was indeed beautiful with eyes that could persuade many a man to do what she asked and that was exactly what the Arab would need from her.

  ‘Thank you for taking the time to tell me your story it has been of great help to me. I may have a mission for you to undertake are you ready to do that without question?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. This will be your last night here. Tomorrow Kalil will bring you to another location. I will be there. You will be given a new identity and from now on you will know me as Teacher. You will speak to no one about this do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good, until tomorrow then. When you leave please ask Kalil to come in.’

  He watched her as she walked to the door and the way she moved brought stirrings of his own basic animal passion. Many Arab men would look at her with disgust because of their deep-seated religious beliefs, but Abdullah only saw a brave woman who would be useful in his fight against the real enemies - Israel and the West.

  The Arab instructed Kalil to have both students brought to his villa for three the next day. He instructed him not to ask them any questions and would only tell him they were needed for a mission of great importance. One day soon he’ll hear of it and know that he played a part in training his people well for the Jihad and Allah. They parted once more as friends and soldiers in the war to come.

  Chapter 7

  The main international airport in Malta is busy throughout the
year, but especially busy at the height of the tourist season from July to the end of September when the temperature on the island can start to fall and some heavy rainstorms from Africa can bring the island to a halt.

  When Reece had arrived at the airport, the sun was still warm and the clouds small and white. The arrivals area was still busy but not that busy, making it easy for Reece to pick out Matthew Simons as he came through the customs screens and into the exit area. Reece had sat in on some of Simons talks on the Middle East, its politics, wars, and terrorist organisations. He had a lot of time for Simons and respected the easy way he spoke to get his subject across, taking time after his talks to stay and answer any further questions from his class. Reece had been one of those who stayed and living in Malta not far from the North African coast, he had asked Simons specifically about the risk of terrorist attacks on the island. He had smiled when he replied that they were unlikely but not impossible. Islamic terrorist groups were always targeting the many holiday destinations frequented by British tourists who they considered soft targets for extreme large-scale violence such as the attack on the tourist beach and hotel in Tunisia in the tourist resort of Port El Kantaoui. Thirty-eight tourists, thirty of whom were British, were killed by one gunman. The one thing Reece knew from his life of fighting terrorism wherever he had worked was never to let your guard down and trust no one.

  ‘Matthew how are you?’ asked Reece.

  ‘Hi David, it’s great to see you. A bit flustered to tell you the truth. I’ve had little time to breathe since this morning. I was glad the flight took three and a half hours; it’s given me time to capture my thoughts and read the files I have for you.’

  ‘Well, let’s get going, my car’s outside. We can talk on the way to my place, and you can tell me all about why you’re here and how I’m going to be involved. You know the boss he likes to surprise me.’