Eddie closed the door and turned, to see Nina standing in the centre of the room with an unhappy look on her face. ‘Eddie?’ she said quietly.
‘What?’
‘I’m not okay.’
He embraced her, holding her tightly. She was trembling faintly from the day’s ordeal. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s over.’
Her voice cracked. ‘It isn’t, though.’
‘What do you mean?’
She drew back slightly to look into his eyes. ‘I didn’t tell you earlier – I almost did, but something stopped me. I’ve only just realised what.’
‘Tell me what?’
‘I’ve been having … nightmares. Well, one nightmare, singular – always the same thing. How Macy died. She was …’ A choked sob. ‘She was murdered, right in front of me, and there was nothing I could do. And I see it every night, every single night, when I go to sleep. So I hadn’t forgotten Macy. I couldn’t. It was just that … every time I wrote anything about her, or read back through what I’d written, I saw her die, all over again. So I cut, and I cut, and I cut, until … she was almost gone. It was the only way I could keep working.’
He hugged her again. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’
‘Because I thought I could work it out on my own. But I couldn’t. I was …’ A deep breath. ‘You were right. I was in denial. And it took being kidnapped by a frickin’ Nazi for me to realise it!’
‘Funny how things work out,’ said Eddie.
‘Yeah, I know. Of all the ways to get closure!’
‘You think this’ll stop the nightmares?’
A small, sad shake of her head. ‘No. I wish it could, but … no. Just talking it out like this won’t be enough. Not nearly enough. I’ll need a professional – a shrink.’ She sighed. ‘Oh God. Just what I need, telling all my problems to a total stranger.’
‘You can tell ’em to me too, whenever you need to,’ Eddie reminded her. ‘I’m not saying I’m on a par with Sigmund Freud, but I know what it feels like to lose someone.’
‘I know you do. Thanks. And I’m sorry for blowing up at you.’
‘What’re husbands for?’ They smiled at each other, then he struggled to contain a yawn of exhaustion. ‘God, I’m knackered.’
‘It’s been a long day,’ Nina agreed. A thoughtful moment, then: ‘But you know something?’
‘What?’
‘I think I might sleep just a little bit better tonight.’ She managed a genuine smile. ‘Come on,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘Let’s go to bed.’
On the street outside, a young man with dusty blond hair looked up at the apartment building, seeing Eddie draw the curtains in one of the windows. Had the Englishman noticed him, he would have felt a sense of recognition, after a moment remembering where he had seen him before: on the street at the Feast of San Gennaro, the man he had mistaken for Kroll as he chased after Nina’s abductor. But following his unexpected close encounter with one of the people he was tailing, the watcher was taking care to remain unobtrusive.
He regarded the closed drapes for a moment, then took out a phone and called a number. It took a few seconds for the international call to connect. ‘Yes?’ an American man replied. His voice was stern, controlled, yet with a hint of impatience.
‘Prophet, it’s Berman. Dr Wilde is back at her apartment. She seems unharmed. Her husband’s with her.’
‘Do you know who kidnapped her?’
‘Somebody with a grudge against her from an IHA operation, as far as I’ve been able to find out,’ the young man told him. ‘Whoever he was, he’s dead now.’
‘Good. We need her to find the angels – at least, our associate thinks she’s the best person to locate them. And considering that he’s got a grudge against her, that makes me believe he’s right.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Maintain surveillance for now. Once everything is ready, we’ll move in. It might take a few weeks, but Mr Irton will contact you when we’re set.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Berman, but the other man had already disconnected. The dismissal did not bother him in the slightest. He put away the phone, watching the apartment window until the light went out, then headed off into the night.
The adventures of Nina Wilde & Eddie Chase continue in
Out November 2015
Keep reading for an exclusive extract
Prologue
Southern Iraq
The half-moon cast a feeble light over the desolate sand-swept plain. The region had been marshland not long ago, but war had changed that. Not directly; the islands spattering the expanse between the great rivers of the Tigris and the Euphrates had not been destroyed by shells and explosives. Instead spite had drained it, the dictator Saddam Hussein taking his revenge upon the Ma’dan people for daring to rise against him following the Gulf War. Dams and spillways had reduced the wetlands to a dustbowl, forcing the inhabitants to leave in order to survive.
That destruction was, ironically, making the mission of the trio of CIA operatives crossing the bleak landscape considerably easier. The no-fly zone established over southern Iraq gave the United States and its allies total freedom to operate, and the agents had parachuted to the Euphrates’ northern bank earlier that night, their ultimate objective the toppling of the Iraqi leader. Had the marshes not been drained, they would have been forced to make a circuitous journey by boat, dragging it over reed-covered embankments whenever the water became too shallow to traverse. Instead, they had been able to drive the battered Toyota 4×4 waiting at their insertion point almost in a straight line across the lowlands.
‘Not far now,’ said the team’s leader, Michael Rosemont, as he checked a hand-held GPS unit. ‘Two miles.’
The driver, Gabe Arnold, peered ahead through his night-vision goggles. He was driving without headlights to keep them hidden from potential observers. ‘I can see the lake.’
‘Any sign of Kerim and his people?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Might have known these Arabs would be late,’ said the third man, from behind them. Ezekiel Cross was using a small flashlight to check a map, focusing it on an almost perfectly circular patch of pale blue marked Umm al Binni. ‘Nobody in this part of the world can even do anything as basic as keep time. Savages.’
Rosemont let out a weary huff, but let the remark pass. ‘How close is the nearest Iraqi unit, Easy?’ he asked instead.
‘Based on today’s intel, about nine klicks to the north-east. Near the Tigris.’ Cross’s pale grey eyes flicked towards his superior. ‘And I’d prefer not to be called that.’
‘Okay, Cross,’ Rosemont replied with a small shake of his head. Arnold suppressed a grin. ‘Any other units nearby?’
‘There’s another fifteen klicks north of here. Forces have been building up there over the past week.’
‘They know Uncle Sam’s gonna come for ’em sooner or later,’ said Arnold.
Cross made an impatient sound. ‘We should have flattened the entire country the day after 9/11.’
‘Iraq didn’t attack us,’ Rosemont pointed out.
‘They’re supporting al-Qaeda. And they’re building weapons of mass destruction. To me, that justifies any action necessary to stop them.’
‘Well, that’s what we’re waiting on the UN to confirm, ain’t it?’ Arnold said. ‘Got to give ’em a chance to give up their WMDs before we put the hammer down.’
‘The United Nations!’ Cross spat. ‘We should kick them out of our country. As if New York isn’t enough of a pit of degeneracy already, we let a gang of foreign socialists and atheists squat there telling us what to do!’
‘Uh-huh.’ Rosemont had only known the Virginian for a few days, but that had been long enough to learn to tune out the agent’s frequent rants about anything he considered an ungodly affront to his values – which, it seemed, was everything in the modern world. He turned his attention back to the driver. ‘Still no sign of Kerim?’
‘Nothing – no, wait
,’ replied Arnold, suddenly alert. ‘I see a light.’
Cross immediately flicked off the flashlight, dropping the off-roader’s interior into darkness. Rosemont narrowed his eyes and stared ahead. ‘Where?’
‘Twelve o’clock.’
‘Is it them?’ said Cross, wary.
The CIA leader picked out a tiny point of orange against the darkness. ‘It’s them. Right where they’re supposed to be.’
‘On schedule, too,’ added Arnold. ‘Guess they can keep time after all, huh?’ Cross glowered at him.
The lake came into clearer view as the Toyota crested a low rise, a black disc against the moonlit wash covering the plain. Arnold surveyed it through his goggles. ‘Man, that’s weird. It looks like a crater or something.’
‘That’s the theory,’ Rosemont told him. ‘They think a meteorite made it a few thousand years ago; that’s what the background data on the region said, anyhow. The lake used to be a lot bigger, but nobody knew that was at the bottom until Saddam drained the marshes.’ His tone turned businesslike. ‘Okay, this is it. I’ll do the talking, get the intel off Kerim. You two ready the weapons for transfer.’ He turned to regard the cases stacked in the Toyota’s cargo bed.
‘And after?’ Cross asked.
‘Depends on what Kerim tells me. If he’s got new information about the Iraqi defences, then we call it in and maybe go see for ourselves if HQ needs us to. If he doesn’t, we give the Marsh Arab rebels their weapons and prep them for our invasion.’
‘Assuming the UN doesn’t try to stop us,’ said Cross scathingly.
‘Hey, hey,’ Arnold cut in. ‘There’s something by the lake. Looks like a building, some ruins.’
Rosemont peered ahead, but there was not enough light to reveal any detail on the shore. ‘There wasn’t anything marked on the maps.’
‘It’s in the water. Musta been exposed when the lake dried up.’
‘Are Kerim and his people by it?’
‘No, they’re maybe two hundred metres away.’
‘It’s not our problem, then.’ Rosemont raised the M4 carbine on his lap and clicked off the safety. Cross did the same with his own weapon. They were meeting friendlies, but those at the sharp end of intelligence work in the CIA’s Special Activities Division preferred to be ready for any eventuality.
Arnold brought the Toyota in. The point of orange light was revealed as a small campfire, figures standing around the dancing flames. All were armed, the fire’s glow also reflecting dully off assorted Kalashnikov rifles. To Rosemont’s relief, none were pointed at the approaching vehicle.
Yet.
The 4×4 halted. The men around the fire stood watching, waiting for its occupants to make the first move. ‘All right,’ said Rosemont. ‘I’ll go meet them.’
The CIA commander opened the door and stepped out. The action brought a response, some of the Ma’dan raising their guns. He took a deep breath. ‘Kerim! Is Kerim here?’
Mutterings in Arabic, then a man stepped forward. ‘I am Kerim. You are Michael?’
‘Yes.’
Kerim waved him closer. The Ma’dan leader was in his early thirties, but a hard life in the marshes had added a decade of wear to his face. ‘Michael, hello,’ he said, before embracing the American and kissing him on both cheeks.
‘Call me Mike,’ Rosemont said with a smile.
The Arab returned it. ‘It is very good to see you … Mike. We have waited a long time for this day. When you come to kill Saddam’ – a spitting sound, echoed by the others as they heard the hated dictator’s name – ‘we will fight beside you. But his soldiers, they have tanks, helicopters. These are no good.’ He held up his dented AK-47. ‘We need more.’
‘You’ll have more.’ Rosemont signalled to the two men in the Toyota. ‘Bring ’em their toys!’
‘You’ve got the intel?’ asked Cross as he got out.
‘Show of good faith. Come on.’
Cross was aggrieved by the change of plan, but he went with Arnold to the truck’s rear. Each took out a crate and crunched through dead reeds to bring it to the group. ‘This fire’ll be visible for miles,’ the Virginian complained. ‘Stupid making it out in the open, real stupid.’
Kerim bristled. Rosemont shot Cross an irritated look, but knew he was right. ‘You should put this out now we’re here,’ he told the Ma’dan leader. Kerim gave an order, and one of his men kicked dirt over the little pyre. ‘Why didn’t you set up in those ruins?’
The suggestion seemed to unsettle his contact. ‘That is … not a good place,’ said Kerim, glancing almost nervously towards the waterlogged structure. ‘If it had been up to us, we would not have chosen to meet you here.’
‘Why not?’ asked Arnold, setting down his case.
‘It is a place of death. Even before the water fell, all the marsh tribes stayed away from it. It is said that …’ He hesitated. ‘That the end of the world will begin there. Allah, praise be unto him, will send out His angels to burn the earth.’
‘You mean God,’ snapped Cross.
Kerim was momentarily confused. ‘Allah is God, yes. But it is a place we fear.’
With the fire extinguished, the ragged ruins were discernible in the moon’s pallid light. They were not large, the outer buildings and walls having crumbled, but it seemed to Rosemont that the squat central structure had remained mostly intact. How long had it been submerged? Centuries, millennia? There was something indefinably ancient about it.
Not that it mattered. His only concerns were of the present. ‘Well, here’s something that’ll make Saddam fear you,’ he said, switching on a flashlight and opening one of the crates.
Its contents produced sounds of awe and excitement from the Ma’dan. Rosemont lifted out an olive-drab tube. ‘This is an M72 LAW rocket – LAW stands for light anti-tank weapon. We’ll show you how to use them, but if you can fire a rifle, you can fire one of these. We’ve also brought a couple thousand rounds of AK ammunition.’
‘That is good. That is very good!’ Kerim beamed at the CIA agent, then translated for the other Ma’dan.
‘I guess they’re happy,’ said Arnold on seeing the enthusiastic response.
‘Guess so,’ Rosemont replied. ‘Okay, Kerim, we need your intel on Saddam’s local troops before—’
A cry of alarm made everyone whirl. The Marsh Arabs whipped up their rifles, scattering into the patches of dried-up reeds. ‘What’s going on?’ Cross demanded, raising his own gun.
‘Down, down!’ Kerim called. ‘The light, turn it off!’
Rosemont snapped off the torch and ducked. ‘What is it?’
‘Listen!’ He pointed across the lake. ‘A helicopter!’
The CIA operatives fell silent. Over the faint sigh of the wind, a new sound became audible: a deep percussive rumble. The chop of heavy-duty rotor blades.
Growing louder.
‘Dammit, it’s a Hind!’ said Arnold, recognising the distinctive thrum of a Soviet-made Mil Mi-24 gunship. ‘What the hell’s it doing here? We’re in the no-fly zone – why haven’t our guys shot it down?’
‘We first saw it two days ago,’ said Kerim. ‘It flies low, very low.’
‘So it gets lost in the ground clutter,’ said Arnold. ‘Clever.’
‘More like lucky,’ Cross corrected. ‘Our AWACS should still pick it up.’
‘We’ve got some new intel, then,’ Rosemont said with a wry smile. ‘They need to point their radar in this direction.’
Arnold tried to locate the approaching gunship. ‘Speaking of direction, is it comin’ in ours?’
‘Can’t tell. Get the NVGs from the truck … Shit!’ A horrible realisation hit Rosemont. ‘The truck, we’ve got to move it! If they see it—’
‘On it!’ cried Arnold, sprinting for the Toyota. ‘I’ll hide it in the ruins.’
‘They might still see its tracks,’ warned Cross.
‘We’ll have to chance it,’ Rosemont told him. ‘Kerim! Get your men into cover over there.’ He pointed towar
ds the remains of the building.
The Ma’dan leader did not take well to being given orders. ‘No! We will not go into that place!’
‘Superstition might get you killed.’
‘The helicopter will not see us if we hide in the reeds,’ Kerim insisted.
‘Let them stay,’ said Cross dismissively. ‘We need to move.’
‘Agreed,’ said Rosemont, putting the LAW back into its case. The Toyota’s engine started, then sand kicked from its tyres as Arnold swung it towards the ruins. ‘Come on.’
Gear jolting on their equipment webbing, they ran after the 4×4, leaving the Marsh Arabs behind. It took almost half a minute over the uneven ground to reach cover, the outer edge of the ruins marked by the jagged base of a pillar sticking up from the sands like a broken tooth. By now, Arnold had stopped the Toyota beside the main structure, its wheels in the water. He jumped out. ‘Where’s the chopper?’
Rosemont looked over a wall. He couldn’t see the helicopter itself, but caught the flash of its navigation lights. A reflection told him that it was less than thirty feet above the water. A couple of seconds later, the lights flared again, revealing that while the Hind wasn’t heading straight at them, it would make landfall a couple of hundred metres beyond Kerim’s position.
‘If it’s got its nav lights on, they don’t know we’re here,’ said Cross. ‘They’d have gone dark if they were on an attack run.’
‘Yeah, but they gotta be using night vision to fly that low without a spotlight,’ Arnold warned. ‘They might still see us.’
The helicopter neared the shore, the roar of its engines getting louder. Tension rose amongst the three men. The Hind was travelling in a straight line; if it suddenly slowed or altered course, they would know they had been spotted.
The gunship’s thunder reached a crescendo …
And passed. It crossed the shore and continued across the barren plain, a gritty whirlwind rising in its wake.
Arnold blew out a relieved whistle. ‘God damn. That was close.’
The Last Survivor (A Wilde/Chase Short Story) Page 8
