The Contract Man

by A P Bateman

  “So what are you and our friend here getting so uptight about?” King asked pointedly.

  “He knows where the Faisal brothers are hiding out. He knows, but he won’t tell me.”

  King smiled wryly. “Can you blame him? He doesn’t know who he can trust.” He looked at her then shook his head. “Take your sunglasses off, he can’t see your eyes, he has no idea how sincere you really are,” he paused, as she followed his instructions. “Good. Now, apologise to him, and ask if we can get a message to the Faisal brothers. Tell him to say that; Mister English has returned and that he will be waiting for them in the village. Go on, tell him!” King turned around and looked at the dilapidated houses, which had clearly taken a hammering from small arms fire. He wasn’t looking at the Kurd, but he could tell that the mood had already softened and that Juliet Kalver was making some progress with the stubborn man. He turned around to smile at Rocky, who had lowered the rifle barrel and was now talking to her more calmly.

  After many smiles and even more handshakes, the Kurd left, agreeing to give the message to the Faisal brothers but he made it clear that he could not promise that either of the two men would return to Kalsagir. It was agreed that both Juliet and King would remain in the village until dark, but if the Faisal brothers had not shown their faces by then, it could be assumed that they were not going to show at all.

  Juliet Kalver returned to the pickup and drove it behind a row of buildings, while King set off to find a suitable waiting place.

  King walked through the entrance of the small, deserted hotel and leant against the wooden veranda rail. He looked out across the square, and saw Juliet appear from around a large, stone building, carrying a bulky hold-all over her shoulder. King studied her as she approached. She was fairly tall, and her figure was not only slim, but indicated that she was extremely fit, to judge by the way that her tight-fitting T-shirt showed off her abdominal muscles as she walked. He tried to guess her age, but could only come up with mid to late thirties. Her eyes looked older though, hard and cruel. He could not help thinking that she was perhaps a little more attractive when she wore her dark sunglasses.

  “Found somewhere?” she shouted as she drew near. The thick New York accent carried loudly and King could not help cringing as he felt their presence being advertised.

  He waited for her to reach the wooden veranda, then nodded. “Yes. If we take one of the rooms upstairs, there’s a fire escape that we can use if we have to.It drops down to a row of flat roofs.”

  “Perfect.” She leapt up the four wooden steps, then dropped the hold-all onto the wooden decking. “You can look after that.” She brushed past him, then turned. “There should be enough equipment in there for you to do the job, there’s also a little food for us both.”

  King bent down and picked up the bag, then followed her into the foyer and up the first flight of stairs. “Keep going, third floor, second room on the left.”

  She jogged up the flight of stairs, her shapely legs and rear just inches from King, who followed closely. Perhaps closer than he had to. She kept walking, then paused at the second door on the left-hand side of the narrow corridor. “This one?”

  “Yes,” King nodded. “Ladies first.”

  “You can cut that shit out! I’m firm for feminism.”

  “Except when it comes to carrying a heavy bag up two flights of stairs,” King smiled as she opened the door, then stood back for him to enter first. “Then all that women’s rights bullshit goes out of the window.”

  “Of course,” She smiled. “What do you expect? I’m a woman, I’ve got double standards to maintain…”

  King dropped the bag to the wooden floorboards, then paced over to the window and peered into the bright sunlight. The view extended over the single storey buildings and out into the overgrown fields beyond. The farmland had long since reverted to desert and the harshness natural to these parts, and King could tell at a glance that farming had not been high among Kurdish priorities for quite some time.

  “Sandwich?”

  King turned around and looked at the woman, who was holding out a foil wrapped package for him. He nodded gratefully, very much aware that it was some time since he had eaten. “Thanks.” He took the package from her and unwrapped it enthusiastically.

  “Just canned corned beef and mustard in long-life pita bread, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s fine, I’d eat anything. My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”

  The pair ate in silence, King perched on the edge of the bed, Kalver in the single wooden chair in the corner of the room. King finished his sandwich, washed it down with some bottled water, then bent forwards and pulled the hold-all towards him. He unzipped the fastening, and peered warily inside.

  “It’s all right, nothing’s going to bite you!” Juliet laughed through her mouthful, then smiled. “Just a couple of weapons and ammunition, as well as a secure burst feed radio and interlocking aerials.”

  “What for?” King had used burst or squirt radios before. They recorded the message you made, then compressed it into a short message that anybody listening for could not decipher. It would literally sound like a blip. The recipient would then lengthen the message before listening to it.

  “My control wants to know when the Faisal brothers are dead.”

  King turned back to the contents of the bag impassively. He picked up the first weapon, a 9mm Uzi machine pistol, unloaded but directly underneath were three thirty round magazines, each loaded with full metal jacketed ammunition. It wasn’t ideal. The trouble with the Uzi was it spat out bullets and was not very accurate, nor did it have an effective range much beyond one hundred metres. It was not his first choice. He placed the Uzi and the three magazines on the bed, then picked up the Israeli made 5.56 mm Galil ARM rifle with folding shoulder stock. “Where the Hell did this come from? A bit unusual to have two Israeli weapons in Iraq.” He placed the assault rifle on the bed, then picked up the five loaded magazines.

  “Apparently the Israelis tried a bit of a coup during the early stages of the Gulf War, a team of Special Forces soldiers and Mossad agents performed a raid, but as they were not privy to the allies’ plans, they ran into a bit of a fix. A team of US Navy Seals, who were performing sabotage missions in the area, gunned them down thinking they were Iraqi soldiers,” she paused. “The Israeli government denied any knowledge but of course they would, the whole allied operation relied upon them keeping out of the conflict to ensure cooperation from Arab states.”

  King nodded and returned his attention to the bag. He reached in for the last of the weapons, a 9 mm Browning HP35 semi-automatic pistol. King checked over the weapon, pulling back the slide to inspect the empty breach, then inserted a loaded magazine and made the weapon ready. He applied the safety and tucked the pistol into his jacket breast pocket and picked up the Galil rifle. It was a good weapon, more or less a copy of the Kalashnikov AK47 assault rifle, which had impressed the Israeli Army after witnessing it in the hands of Arab armies during the 1967 Arab War. Israel had copied the tried and tested AK47 closely, but had chambered the Galil for the smaller 5.56 mm NATO round and made small improvements on the AK47’s sights, creating probably one of the world’s most effective, sturdy and reliable assault rifles.

  King glanced at the radio and the bundle of interlocking aerial segments, then pushed the bag back towards Juliet with his foot. “Why the insistence on sending a message?” he asked, looking at her closely. “Earlier, before you went to talk to Rocky, you said you were leaving.” King watched her reaction, then smiled wryly. “You're not just leaving, are you? The CIA are shutting down the entire operation. Am I right? The decision to close the operation down was made a while ago, wasn’t it?”

  Juliet Kalver stared at him, her expression impassive. “You ask far too many questions for somebody in your profession…”

  “I’m just sweeping up for you...” King sighed. “My people think that I’m sorting out a situation that has become tainted, when your people ar
e really using me for damage limitation. If I am captured, or if Operation New Dawn becomes public knowledge, then there is a convenient British angle on the whole affair.”

  “I don’t make policies.”

  “I know,” King stated harshly. “You just follow orders, you made that perfectly clear earlier. The Faisal brothers are not being silenced because of a dumb mistake on my part, they’ve just outlived their usefulness to the United States, and know too much.”

  Kalver got up and paced to the window. She arched her back and stretched as she watched the deserted street below. “You should be used to it by now.” She turned and looked at him, her features softening slightly. “It’s all a game. So what do you do now? Contact London, tell them the American’s have out maneuvered them?” She laughed. “Isn’t the first time, sure as Hell won’t be the last…” King thought for a moment. Kalver filled the silence. “You’ll create a shit storm. Muscles will be flexed, we’ll win and MI6 will have to do the job anyway. You’re in place, the targets are near and you’ve got equipment and a ride to a safe crossing I know on the border.” She walked towards him. Her hips swayed a little. Her combats were tightly belted at the waist, her snug fitting vest top tucked in, showing off her slim waist. King noticed her figure, not for the first time, but with a little interest. It went against his feelings of dislike for her. “Just one more job and you’ll be back in Turkey tomorrow night …”

  He watched her as she walked over to him. She bent over and picked up the Uzi. King noticed her breasts touch together fleetingly. He could see she wore nothing under her vest. She stood up straight and dropped the weapon onto the chair beside the bed.

  “I’ve been out here a while,” she said. “Death all around, horrible decisions to make. Nobody to talk to. Except the Kurds, but they’re just assets. To be honest, they’ve barely evolved since the middle ages…”

  “Why did you go in for a posting like this?”

  She scoffed. “I thought I could heal myself,” she paused. “My husband died on an operation. I mourned, took leave, went back to work on a desk and in the field. Everywhere I looked I had reminders of him.” She sat down on the bed and looked at him. “It’s weird. You miss them terribly when they go, but…”

  King felt a flutter in his chest. He had loved and lost, knew the emotions. “But what?”

  “The need doesn’t go,” she paused, stared at her feet then back into his eyes. “I miss him, but still need to be loved… I still need comfort and to be close to somebody…”

  King knew, had lain awake at night conflicted by missing the person and desiring another body. The feeling of betrayal it left was sickening, though sometimes a frustrating barrier he wanted to lift. “I know,” he said. He nodded. “I’ve lost someone too…”

  She stared at him. Her eyes almost boring into his own. She pushed herself up and at him. For a moment he started to defend himself, bringing his hand behind her head and catching hold of her ponytail. His other hand caught her throat, but by now she was kissing him and he kissed back, releasing his grip. Their tongues were frantic, exploring each other’s mouths. She caught hold of his hand and moved it to cup her breast at the same time she reached down and felt him, rubbed him and gasped as he responded to her touch. They felt each other, tested the other’s response as they tore at the other’s clothes. Kalver pushed King backwards onto the bed, straddled him and pulled her vest over her head, dropping it to the floor. King ripped off his shirt, reached up and pulled her down onto his chest, kissing her once more, feeling her bare breasts against his skin. Both were lost in the moment, their pasts temporarily forgotten, neither having ever felt so alive.

  49

  Juliet Kalver rolled onto her side, her back to him, her legs tucked up in the fetal position. She was breathing heavily, her hips rising and falling steadily. King rolled onto his back, his breathing equally as heavy. He wiped perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand, looked across at her. They had been completely uninhibited, had been in sync with the other’s needs and climaxed in unison. They had gone from a mutual loathing to passionate tenderness in an instant, satisfying each other as if they had been lovers for years. He reached out and placed his left hand on her hip, allowed it to follow her curve and rest on the edge of her buttock. She flinched away, swung her legs over the bed and picked up her clothes.

  “We’ve got a job to do,” she said without looking at him. She walked off in the direction of the bathroom, clutching the bundle of clothing and covering her naked breasts. King noticed the tears on her cheeks. He suspected that they both may feel guilt afterwards, although he hadn’t bargained on so soon. He actually felt good in himself. Relieved. It had been a long time and he enjoyed the closeness and tenderness, the satisfaction. Clearly Juliet Kalver hadn’t found herself in the same place.

  Hearing the sound of a vehicle outside, King got off the bed and peered out of the window down onto the street below. An old, battered Land Rover pickup thundered into the deserted village and swung in a wide arc, before coming to a sudden halt outside the row of derelict shops opposite the hotel. The dust cloud wafted in the wake of the vehicle, then gently dispersed in the light wind blowing between the empty houses. King recognised it as the Faisal brother’s, where he had sat next to the young boy as he died and plotted his route out of Iraq just over a week ago.

  The man Kalver had referred to as Rocky jumped from the rear of the vehicle and walked to the front passenger door where he nodded to the man in the front seat, who was scanning the buildings in front of him. He looked up at Rocky, then opened the door and stepped onto the dusty ground. He was tall, with deliberately slow, somewhat calculating movements, as he slung the AK47 assault rifle over his shoulder to let the weapon hang casually from its sling.

  As the two men surveyed the empty streets, the Land Rover’s wheels spun briefly on the loose earth before the driver maneuvered the vehicle rapidly across the deserted square, then disappeared behind the row of empty buildings to the left.

  King watched the two men in the square below. He glanced at Kalver, who was now dressed and avoided eye contact. “Do you want to greet them?” he paused, turning his attention back to the two men in the street. “Akmed and your friend Rocky. It looks as if Shameel has gone to hide their vehicle.”

  “The Faisal brothers were told that you were waiting for them,” she paused, almost uninterested in their arrival. “You’d best go down to meet them, I don’t want them getting all jumpy now, do I?”

  King sighed, turned from the window and crossed to the door. He paused briefly beside the bed, then picked up the Browning pistol and tucked it into his waistband. The Galil was fitted with a sling, and although he preferred not to use one a covert operation or in combat, as the sling clips often rattle and give your position away, he inserted a magazine, made the weapon ready and slung it over his shoulder. “What about Rocky?”

  “He’s operation sensitive,” Kalver said sharply. “He needs eliminating.”

  “Really? Nobody mentioned that in my brief... What do you think this is… kill two, get one free?” King paused. “You’ve got everything worked out here…”

  “That’s the best way. MI6 may well make it up as they go along, but the CIA generally see the bigger picture.”

  “Right,” King said, somewhat dubiously.

  “Doing it now, are you?” Juliet Kalver took out a piece of gum and put it in her mouth. King thought her somewhat cruel looking mouth looked sensual as she chewed. It seemed to soften her features. “Might be better if we wait until dark.”

  King stared at her. “What the Hell difference would that make?” He shook his head in bewilderment. “No. I’m not doing it now, I just feel a little safer with a weapon, that’s all.” He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

  The woman was getting to him. She had displayed nothing but contempt for him since he had arrived, albeit crashing to the ground and needing her help. Now, moments after throwing h
erself at him, giving herself completely, of being tender, caring, considerate to his needs and desires, she was hard to like once more. Now it was back to business. King respected that, but her switch in character confused and infuriated him.

  He hurried light-footed down the wide staircase, making little noise as he rapidly descended to the deserted foyer. He could see from the gripper fixings that the staircase had once been carpeted, but had been hastily ripped up. In fact, much of the fixtures and fittings were absent throughout the foyer. He could see Akmed Faisal outside, his back towards him, as he talked to Rocky, who was standing in the dusty street below. He walked silently across the foyer, then stopped at the glazed double doors and watched the two men. He listened, only picking up the few words he knew, but could make out the gist of the conversation all the same. The two men were concerned that both he and the American woman had left. King caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, then noticed the large frame of Shameel Faisal walking across the square. The man walked somewhat nonchalantly towards his two companions, his AK47 held casually in his right hand.

  As he observed the three Kurds from the anonymity of his position, King had a sudden change of mind. Taking them out at this range would be easy, especially with all three clearly off guard. He didn’t want to do it, but that was why he was here. He could always say no and leave the service, but his sense of duty to his country and the fact that he saw his work now as penance for his past life meant that he had no choice but to do what was ordered. He flicked off the pistol’s safety catch, then slipped his finger carefully through the guard and rested it gently on the sensitive trigger. He kept his eyes on the three men outside. Rocky and Akmed had their backs to him and Shameel was staring down the street at the row of buildings on the outskirts of the village. King’s breathing slowed and his right arm tensed, as he raised the weapon. He would have to be quick, if he fired on Shameel first, then he should have enough time to take out Akmed and Rocky as they turned around in the confusion. Thirteen rounds in the pistol, twenty feet to his targets. Should he use the rifle? Almost certainly, but they would hear him unsling it – those damned sling clips - also the safety made a desperately loud click as it was flicked downwards. King calculated quickly. Shameel would only need one shot. He would be aimed for, he would take itin the head. Double tap for Akmed, he was closest, best to get him down next. Rocky would have the most time to react and King had already seen that Rocky was twitchy and alert. Whether the Kurd could react in the two seconds that it would take to down the two brothers must remain to be seen. King studied the man’s poise and stance, the way his weapon hung carelessly from his shoulder and knew that he could make the third target as easily as the first and second. This was his worst assignment. He loathed himself at this point. He steadied his aim, then tensed. His senses were honed to perfection, the apprehension of the moment always brought them out.