by Ann Massey
“I’m sure the audience will be engrossed to hear what it’s like living in a war zone from someone with first-hand experience. You are going to talk about Syrian refugees being deported from Turkey back to a war from which they fled?”
“Yes, though it’ll be a pointless exercise ... it’s going to take more than speeches to get through to these people. The only thing the politicians are interested in is the effect an influx of refugees has on their nations’ economies.”
“Maybe the conflict in Syria will end soon?”
“You of all people must know it won’t.”
I was dismayed by the despondency in his voice. “You shouldn’t underestimate the difference you will make in those poor soul’s lives. I envy you ... I wish I was going with you.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“Oh Karim, please ... you know my situation. It’s senseless going over the same old ground.”
“You’re right ... sorry I bit off your head. I didn’t phone to quarrel with you ... quite the reverse. There’s a Meet and Greet for VIPs at the conclusion of the ceremony. I’m expected to be there. I know it’s short notice, but will you come with me as my guest?”
“Oh Karim ... I’d be honoured.”
“Good. I’ll get your name added to the list of invitees. Could you bring your passport to my place tomorrow morning around ten?”
“My passport! Seriously?”
“No one gets in who hasn’t been cleared ... the future King and Queen of England will be there.”
My stomach did flip flops even though the concept that someone is special by birth is contrary to my republican beliefs. When I had myself under control, I said, “Wouldn’t it be easier if I dropped my passport off at your office.”
“You’d never get through security.”
“Is it really that tight?”
“It has to be ... now I have to attend a heads of department meeting tomorrow morning ... it should be through by ten and I’ll slip home. But in case it runs over time, let yourself in. I’ll leave the key in the meter box.”
“Okay. I’ll pick up some croissants for brunch.”
“Great. See you tomorrow.”
Twenty-five
“That’s one bullet we’ve dodged.” The first meeting of the G20 was underway. The chief superintendent had been sure the Refugee Rights Action Network would cause a ruckus. But the summit had gone unnoticed by agitators. Charlie mopped his brow with his handkerchief and breathed a sigh of relief.
I didn’t dare say, but secretly I was disappointed. The adrenaline junkie in me had hoped to see some action. I took myself off to my suite. I was lying on the bed reading over the security arrangements for this evening’s event when Charlie burst in. “A riot’s broken out at the Yongah Hill Immigration Detention Centre, Mo. The guards are holed up in the manager’s station.”
“Christ. Has anyone been injured?”
“The manager said the entire staff is accounted for and safe.”
“Does he know what set them off?”
He shook his head. “No. There hasn’t been a disturbance between detainees and guards for weeks, but the Centre houses large numbers of extreme-risk foreign nationals ... clearly they’re using the G20 conference to get their grievances onto the world stage.”
“What’s the drill?”
“Twenty police officers and fifteen firefighters are on their way there. It’s over sixty miles from Perth. It’ll take them an hour to get there. The local force is monitoring the situation, but they don’t have the numbers. I’m taking the police chopper.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No. I need you here. Protecting the delegates is our number one priority. And with half of my officers deployed at the Detention Centre you’ll have to call on SOCOMD for backup.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to cancel?”
“The PM won’t hear of it ... he doesn’t want to lose face in front of world leaders.”
“He’ll lose more than face if anything happens to the Royals?”
“We don’t anticipate trouble. Bringing in a counter-terrorism team is purely a precaution. There’s nothing to connect a prison riot happening sixty miles away with tonight’s ceremony.”
“All the same if I were in your shoes...”
“As SOCOMD’s rep you are ... at least until I return.”
The responsibility hit me like a ton of bricks. I was still taking it in when Charlie said, ‘What eating you. Spit it out, man.”
“I just thought we should advise their Royal Highnesses and the delegates of the situation. They may want to pull out,” I eventually stammered out.
A flicker of irritation appeared on the chief superintendent’s face. “Do you think I came down in the last shower?”
I could sense that he was out of patience. I couldn’t blame him. It must be galling receiving obvious advice from a rank amateur. I smiled apologetically. “Has anyone pulled out?”
“No ... not yet anyhow.”
* * *
After he left, I organised back-up and then phoned General Lee to apprise him of the situation. The chief superintendent was ahead of me there too. “Leeke hopes to negotiate with the rioters. Ordinarily he’d have gone in hard but with the G20 focusing on refugees, storming the compound is a not an option,” said General Lee with an edge of grudging approval in his voice.
“Even so, it’s going to be a PR nightmare, Sir. There’s no way in hell we can keep a lid on it ... not once pix start appearing on Instagram and Facebook.”
“That’s not an issue. All social media companies have agreed to block posts in the name of national security. Have you arranged back-up for this thing at the hospital?” He sounded frustrated. I guessed like me, he hadn’t fully adjusted to a non-combat role.
“We’ve thirty commandos on the ground and Special Air Services have a helicopter on standby”.
“What have you done to limit media access?”
“Police have cordoned off the area ... no reporters will get within a bull’s roar of the hospital.”
The phone crackled. “Sorry you’re breaking up. What was that you said, Sir?”
I heard a drawn-in breath. “I said you can’t shut down a whole hospital. It has to be accessible.”
“The public will be able to gain entry via the Northern entrance.”
“Do you have directional signs in place?”
“Yes, Sir. Hospital administration took care of that.” Anticipating his next question I said, “Security Force personnel are guarding interior doors to all floors and the corridor leading to the function room.”
“Have the commandos been briefed on the plan of action?”
“The briefing takes place at Campbell Barracks at eleven hundred hours”.
Who’s conducting it?
“Me. I’m standing in for Chief Superintendent Leeke, Sir.”
“Hmm! That’s a big responsibility. Have you had any experience in providing military assistance to civilian law enforcement agencies?”
“No, but I’m fully conversant with the administrative plan,” I cut in quickly, keen to reassure him I was up to the job, “and in any case, Chief Superintendent Leeke intends returning once he’s assessed the situation and the readiness of his officers to control the riot.”
“How long will it take him to get back if he leaves now?”
“About twenty minutes.”
“Good. Call him up and tell him to fly straight to the Barracks. Then inform the CO to delay the briefing until he arrives.”
I felt like I’d been hit over the head with a baseball bat. My chance to prove myself as a field operative had been snatched from me. I took a steadying breath. “Do you want me to take over from the Chief Superintendent at the Detention Centre?”
“Leave it to the local police. Safeguarding the G20 participants is the top priority. I’ve a bad feeling about this. A riot on the opening day of the summit is too much of a coincidence. “Keep me fully briefed,” he snappe
d and slammed the phone down.
Twenty-six
I picked up my invitation to the Official Opening at the school and a tray of croissants from the local bakery on the way to Karim’s. No one answered when I pressed the bell. I popped down the tray on a handy table, opened the meter box, found the key and let myself in. I hoped Karim would show up soon. I planned to squander a fortune on an outfit. It wasn’t every day I rubbed shoulders with royalty.
A scribbled note on the breakfast bar invited me to help myself to coffee. Twenty minutes later, the phone rang. I picked up on the second ring, “Karim’s phone.”
No answer.
“Hello, hello.” All I heard was a click followed by a beep; the familiar precursor to a scam call. At home I’d have hung up, but this was Karim’s phone and so I waited. There was a second click. A male voice said, “The diversionary demonstration at Yongah Detention Centre has commenced.”
“What?”
I was answered by the hollow silence of a disconnected call.
I stared at the phone feeling uneasy. Surely, Karim wasn’t involved in a demonstration at the Detention Centre? The very idea was unthinkable. There had to be a rational explanation. This is what comes from spending so much time researching secret government agencies. I’m seeing conspiracies everywhere, I told myself as I hunted for a pen. I was scribbling the message on the back of the note Karim had left for me when I heard a key in the lock.
“Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you, Beth ... you won’t believe how frenetic it is back there.”
“I can imagine.” I took my passport out of the pocket of my anorak. “Make sure I get this back once Security is through with it. Fancy me meeting Kate and William.” I smiled with delight. “I still can’t believe it.”
Karim’s smile slipped. “I don’t know how to tell you...”
“Tell me what?”
“I can’t get you into the reception, after all. There isn’t sufficient time to run a check on you.”
I was shattered but I understood that attendees had to be vetted. In any event, I’d be at the opening ceremony. Being there for Annie was what mattered. I paused while I considered what to say, and decided on the truth. “I must admit I’m disappointed, but it can’t be helped.”
The tightness left Karim’s face. “Thank you for being so understanding, he said, nodding his head approvingly. “Most women would hit the roof.”
“I’ll take your word for that. Would you like something to eat?”
“I’d kill for a coffee.”
No sooner had we sat down at the table than the home phone rang. Karim leapt up to answer it. His side of the conversation consisted of a series of hmms, yeses, and okays. Finally, he said, “I’m on my way,” and slammed the phone down. “What’s this,” he asked, staring down at the note I’d scribbled.
“Oh I’m sorry ... you missed a call from the Detention Centre. Apparently, the refugees are demonstrating.”
“Did the caller leave a number?”
“No, and I didn’t get his name either. He rang off before I could ask him. Do you think we should phone the police?”
“There’s no need. The Warden will have contacted them. Calling me is nothing more than a courtesy ... no doubt on account of my association with the centre.”
Even though I hadn’t voiced my suspicions concerning his involvement, I felt a red flush creeping up my neck. “I suppose this is what happens when you lock men away for years,” I said, focusing instead on the injustice of a system that treated asylum seekers as criminals. “I hope no one is injured ... anything could happen in a riot.”
“Don’t worry you’re head over it ... it’s just a PR exercise.”
“I was right ... you are in it on it,” I said, my voice shrill with outrage.
His skin flushed the tell-tale murky maroon you get when you mix red with brown. “It’s not a riot in the real meaning of the word, Beth. Actually, it’s merely a protest staged to draw attention to the West’s greed for oil and their determination to do what it takes to get their hands on it without regard for the people they slaughter in this endless bloody war.”
“Oh Karim ... you’re too much of an idealist for your own good.”
“It seemed a good idea at the time,” he said with a sheepish grin.
I shook my head at him. “There’ll be repercussions. Can’t you call it off?”
“It’s too late.” He grabbed my hand. “I thought you’d be sympathetic. You’ve seen what it’s like at Yongah.”
“I do understand.” I squeezed his hand. “But why choose such a catastrophic way to express your feelings? Couldn’t you have written a letter to the editor of the paper or tweeted your disapproval.”
“Much good that would do. The G20 is an opportunity to put our case on the world stage.”
My heart twisted. “I sympathise with your intentions, I really do. But Karim, have you thought this through? Do you understand that if you’re convicted of inciting a riot at a place like Yongah, you could be stripped of your citizenship, imprisoned for years and then deported? We need to sit down and think calmly about this.”
For me, remaining calm was next to impossible. I collapsed on the closest chair. The reason the detainees at Yongah weren’t on Manus Island[23] with other refugees waiting for their applications to be processed, was because of crimes they’d committed in the countries from which they’d fled. According to what I’d heard on the News, most had links to ISIS. “If you were able to convince the ringleaders to call off the riot,” I said, my heart thudding like a tom-tom, “I’m sure it would count in your favour. You could blame your involvement on post traumatic stress. It’s obvious you weren’t well enough to start work and definitely not at a place where you’re in contact with children who’ve gone through similar ordeals to you. You’ll see the court will take your state of mind into consideration.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my state of mind!”
“But Karim, I’m sure you wouldn’t have got involved if you weren’t troubled.”
“Troubled!” He laughed harshly. “Of course I’m troubled. I’m troubled by the Western world’s oppression of the Middle East. I’m troubled by their determination to destroy Islam using the enormous military means at their disposal. It troubles me that my people are condemned as terrorists when they retaliate.”
“I didn’t know you felt that way ... you never mentioned any of this before.”
“Beth, I’ve changed. I’m no longer the callow optimist you knew at Hagadery.”
“I can see that. How could it be otherwise, Karim ... after what you’ve been through? I can’t bear thinking of you trapped in a bombed-out building, surrounded by the dead and dying ... not knowing if anyone would hear your cries...”
Karim interrupted me, “It wasn’t like that, Beth.”
“Oh!” I was suddenly nervous.
For a moment he looked deep into my eyes and then he hastily looked away. “I didn’t tell you the truth about what happened to me in Suruç.”
“Are you saying you lied? Are you telling me you weren’t in the hospital when it took a direct hit?”
A muscle twitched in his cheek. “I was there all right. But the truth is as far from what occurred as you can possibly get...” His voice trailed away and he sat with his head in his hands at the table groaning — whether it was with shame or horror, I couldn’t tell.
“You’ll feel better if you make a clean breast of it,” I told him matter-of-factly, though I was a bag of nerves.
At last he spoke. “The men who came to my rescue were ISIS fighters looking for medical supplies.” His lower lip began to tremble; he was obviously in a state.
“Go on,” I said firmly, although internally I was shaking.
“They dug me out from under the rubble. Then, because I was a doctor they took me with them. Some of their men had sustained terrible injuries in the conflict and none of the group had any medical training. I was with them for three months always on the run
, moving from hell-hole to hell-hole.”
“So let me get this straight ... you were kidnapped by ISIS guerrillas and forced to treat them?”
He lifted his chin. “Force didn’t come into it, Beth. I did what needed to be done. I’m a doctor and I was there.”
“You must have been scared out of your wits?”
“Scared?” He raised his voice. “Everyone over there is. You’ve no idea what it’s like in Syria.”
“They took you to Syria?”
He nodded. “It’s hell for the poor wretches living there,” he said with a faraway look in his eyes. “Half a million have been killed and millions driven from their homes, life after life destroyed in this endless bloody slaughter.”
I was determined to keep the conversation on track. I said, “Thank goodness you escaped. How did you get away from them?”
“It wasn’t a case of getting away from them; I understood where they were coming from and how powerless they felt.” He stared at me fiercely; the despondency of a moment ago had been displaced by raging fury. “Why do you think the West invaded Syria?”
“To destroy their chemical weapons program.”
“That’s Western propaganda. There are only two reasons they’re bombing the shit out of us and neither of them is our non-existent chemical weapons program.”
In that horrible moment I realised Karim identified with his captors. “What reasons?” I asked, doing my best to hide my shock from him.
“First off to get their hands on our oil. You must see that, Beth.”
I nodded. He wasn’t telling me anything I hadn’t heard before. My agreement seemed to calm him.
“Of course it does ... there’s no point in denying it. But Beth, the West, or rather Christendom, has an even more sinister purpose.”
“Oh ... what?”
“To destroy the Islamic faith of course ... in the same way that the Crusaders tried to during the Middle Ages.”
My mouth dropped open. But nothing came out of it. I didn’t trust myself to speak. But my lack of response went unnoticed by Karim. The floodgates were open. And like a besotted lover talking to a trusted friend about a secret affair, feelings too sickening to reveal came pouring out.
