The Burning Gates

by Parker Bilal

  ‘Your view of history is a little selective,’ said Makana. ‘You forget the repression, the prisons and torture chambers, the gassing of the Kurds, draining the marshes. Anyone who was suspected of not being loyal was killed or thrown into prison.’

  ‘You disapprove.’ Samari smiled as though indulging a feeble relative. The long scar rigidly divided his face into two uneven halves. ‘You think we need more idealism and justice. Well, let me tell you, we are not ready for democracy. You cannot end centuries of feudalism at the stroke of a pen. We are tribal. We don’t understand the idea of voting for someone who is not one of us, not of our family, or clan, or tribe.’

  ‘Tell it to the Americans.’

  Samari laughed. ‘You think the Americans are in Iraq to spread freedom and equality, to bring us the light of democracy? Don’t be stupid. They want oil to drive their cars, water for Israel and land to control the region. Democracy is just a formality, a game they are asking us to play. Saddam’s big mistake was defying them, firing missiles into Israel. I’ll always admire him for his courage and despise him for his foolish vanity. You cannot defy a giant.’

  There was a sound from above as the wounded guard appeared on the upstairs gallery. He held a pair of field glasses in his good hand.

  ‘The CSF are withdrawing.’

  ‘Very good,’ Samari nodded, turning to Makana. ‘You’ve done well. It looks like I shall let you live.’

  ‘What about Kane?’

  Samari shrugged. ‘If he appears my men will deal with him. Yesterday he had the advantage. He took us by surprise. I have his measure now. The next time we will be ready.’

  Samari pushed his hands into his pockets. For a man who had a price on his head and a group of professional soldiers after him, he looked relaxed. He snapped his fingers and the guard upstairs disappeared back through the doorway behind him. Samari strolled over to the wide glass window that looked down over the high wall and the long drop down into the valley. The house was in shadow, but the valley was bright with afternoon sunlight. At this distance the town looked like a toy model. A moving dot marked the passage of a vehicle along one of the roads. It was quiet. Marwan and his men were out of sight. The only tourists around would be up at the monastery looking at the burning bush, or whatever they had found to mark the spot.

  ‘I shall miss this place,’ Samari was saying. ‘You can feel there is something special about it, a spirit from the times of the prophets.’

  ‘What is it about men of violence that they yearn to be seen as wise and knowledgeable?’

  Samari snorted his disbelief. A movement caused him to turn.

  ‘Ah, here she is.’

  Makana turned to see Bilquis standing on the upper-floor gallery. She was dressed in a way he had never seen before. A pair of blue jeans and a white blouse. Expensive, fashionable. She looked elegant and modern in a way that surprised him. She descended the spiral staircase and went over to sit down on the leather sofa vacated by Samari.

  ‘So you decided to come after all?’ she asked. She wore make-up, a layer of powder on her face that lightened her skin colour, and blue eye shadow along with a dark lipstick. Makana wasn’t sure who he was looking at.

  Bilquis reached across the table, helping herself to a cigarette from the silver case which she lit with the gold lighter. She seemed entirely at ease, completely familiar with her surroundings.

  ‘I was worried. I assumed you had been taken by force.’

  Her eyes narrowed as she blew a plume of smoke in his direction.

  ‘Your son?’

  ‘Upstairs, sleeping.’

  Makana wondered where this new-found confidence had come from. She sat back on the sofa, crossing her legs, her feet neatly fitted into a pair of shoes with slender gold straps. Samari moved around behind the sofa to rest his hands on her shoulders.

  ‘I made Bilquis an offer, which she has accepted.’

  ‘An offer?’ asked Makana, glancing at her. Bilquis didn’t meet his eyes.

  ‘As soon as the mechanic has finished we shall fly out of here,’ Samari explained.

  ‘Fly where?’

  Samari made a throwaway gesture, as if it hardly mattered. ‘Beirut, or Libya, maybe the Gulf for a time. Just until things blow over.’

  ‘What about Kane?’

  ‘I pay my men for that. No need for me to stay here and wait for him.’

  ‘You’re going with him?’ Makana asked.

  ‘What did you expect?’ Bilquis regarded him coolly.

  ‘Don’t be cruel to him, habibti, he came all this way to rescue you.’

  Makana saw that he had misjudged the situation. Bilquis wasn’t in need of rescuing. That moment had passed. He had effectively had his chance and had failed to take it. Instead of helping her to claim the reward he had tried to talk her out of it. Now she had made her move.

  There was a knock at the front door and the mechanic appeared. Samari went over and stepped out onto the terrace, sliding the door to behind him.

  ‘What has he promised you?’

  Her eyes flickered towards his. ‘A new life in a new world.’

  ‘Of course he has.’ Makana lit a cigarette and glanced over at the terrace where Samari and the mechanic were still talking. He could see now that it wasn’t overalls but some kind of jumpsuit, like the kind pilots wore. He wondered where it was possible to land a plane around here.

  ‘And the reward?’

  ‘I’m reconsidering.’ Bilquis leaned forward. A whiff of expensive perfume floated across the room. ‘This way I have something at least.’

  ‘You’ll always be at his mercy.’

  ‘What choice do I have?’ Bilquis glanced towards the door, her voice low and urgent. ‘It’s not as if you have anything better to offer. Scraping by on the change you make?’

  She was right, of course. Compared with the life of luxury Samari was offering, what did he have? She stared at him for a moment longer and then stubbed out her cigarette and got to her feet. Without another word she left the room. Makana watched her climbing the stairs as Samari returned, followed by the guards, who ushered Sindbad in ahead of them.

  ‘I’m afraid that until our departure we are going to have to take some precautions.’

  Makana got to his feet and looked at Sindbad.

  ‘Sorry about this.’

  ‘Maalish, ya basha.’ Sindbad seemed to take it in his stride.

  The archway under the stairs led into a corridor that brought them to a large open kitchen where a man was busy chopping vegetables. In the far corner there was a storeroom sealed off by a heavy wooden door. Makana hesitated.

  ‘Wait a minute.’

  The guard prodded him in the back with the barrel of his M16.

  Samari was apologetic. ‘We can’t risk having you wandering around. I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘At least let Sindbad go. You only need me as insurance.’

  ‘I’m sorry, that would be imprudent.’

  Sindbad and Makana were told to sit on the floor with their backs to a metal pillar in the middle of the room. Their hands were bound behind them with chains and padlocks. The door was closed and Makana leaned back against the pillar.

  ‘Did you see the American out there?’

  ‘No, ya basha. No sign of him.’

  Makana hoped that Cassidy would remain out of sight. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, glad of the silence. There was enough to think about.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  As afternoon turned into evening and the light coming through the tiny window faded, Makana listened to the sound of Sindbad snoring to himself on the other side of the iron pillar. He wondered how close Kane and his men were and when they would make their move. There was no doubt in his mind that they would be coming. How or when he did not know, but soon, he was sure of that.

  ‘Ya Allah,’ yawned Sindbad as he came awake. ‘Why do they have to keep us next to the kitchen? It’s torture. Can you smell that? What do you think
it is?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Makana, although he had to admit that after five hours he too was beginning to feel hungry.

  ‘I could smell aubergines frying, I swear it.’

  ‘You were dreaming. Go back to sleep.’

  ‘Do you think they will feed us?’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it.’

  Sindbad slumped back into a dismayed silence. The rattle of pots and pans from next door was a distraction. Makana was trying to hear what else was going on. Several times he had heard the sound of the gates being opened and a heavy vehicle going out. A van of some kind, or a small truck. A while later it could be heard returning. Then the sound of men being ordered around. The truck passed by their little window, which indicated that the track twisted round and descended behind the house. Makana was wondering how Samari planned to make his getaway. He was sure now that the man in the jumpsuit who had spoken to Samari was a pilot or flight mechanic. The only airports Makana could think of were down on the coast, at Taba or Sharm el-Sheikh, at least an hour away by road. Would they make for there, or was there an airstrip close by?

  To take his mind off the issue of food Sindbad had turned his attention to the chains that bound them. He rattled and heaved.

  ‘Save your strength.’

  ‘Don’t worry, ya basha, I’ll just give it a try.’

  It looked like a hopeless case, but Makana didn’t have the heart to tell him. Sindbad strained and struggled until sweat beads popped from his forehead but to no avail. He finally slumped back.

  ‘I haven’t eaten all day. Now, if I wasn’t working on an empty stomach, it would be another matter.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Makana. But the truth was that he was worried. If Kane arrived and found them chained up they would make very easy victims.

  The hours went by and the house grew quiet. The noises from the kitchen died away until there was only the hum of the refriger­­­ator. Outside, through the high window, Makana could hear the cry of some kind of nocturnal predator, an owl perhaps, warming up for the evening’s hunt. That was when he heard footsteps. The door opened to silhouette the last person in the world he expected to see. Bilquis. Dressed in a silk gown, she knelt beside him, fumbling with a set of keys.

  ‘Don’t make a sound. You have to go now. The guards won’t notice if you leave by the back way. Follow the track down. Eventually it will bring you to town. Wait there until we have gone.’

  ‘Come with us,’ Makana said.

  She avoided his gaze. Her eyes were deep shadows in the dark.

  ‘I can’t,’ she said.

  ‘You’re not safe with him.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘What happens when he tires of you? Think about the boy.’

  ‘I am thinking about him,’ she hissed angrily. Her head dropped and for a moment she was still. ‘Hadi is the only thing I think about.’

  ‘Come with us now. I’m sure there’s another way.’

  ‘Why is this so important to you?’ she asked. ‘Why do you care?’

  He wanted to say something, something that would appease her anger, that would convince her that she was making a ter­­­rible mistake, but he couldn’t. He wanted to tell her that it had something to do with another mistake, one that he had made years ago, the consequences of which he had to live with every day. But the truth was that he had no answers, not even for himself. Bilquis nodded to herself as if this was what she had expected. She stood up and drew the gown more tightly around her. Makana massaged his wrists to get the blood flowing again.

  ‘He’ll make you pay for this.’

  ‘We’ll be gone before he finds out.’

  Makana caught her wrist as she turned to go. ‘If he finds out, he’ll kill you.’

  She pulled herself free. ‘You must go now.’

  They moved through the kitchen and along the corridor past the archway that gave onto the main living area. Through it Makana could see two of the guards sitting at the dining table playing cards. Beyond, through the glass, he could see two others smoking on the terrace as they stood guard. Bilquis pointed down the corridor.

  ‘At the end you go down a set of steps to a doorway,’ she whispered. ‘It’s not locked. It’ll bring you straight out onto the hill track. Turn left and follow it down. Be quiet and move quickly.’

  ‘I . . .’

  She cut him off by placing a hand over his mouth. In the dim light he looked into her eyes, searching for something he was no longer sure he had ever seen. She took her hand away slowly.

  ‘If things had been different,’ she whispered, ‘who knows?’

  Then she turned and was gone.

  Makana led Sindbad along the corridor and down the short flight of steps to the outer door. As she said, it wasn’t locked, only bolted from the inside. Makana pulled back the bolt and urged Sindbad out ahead of him. As he stepped out he could see the stars over the town and a thin strip of street lights along the road. He was drawing the door quietly to behind him when he felt a gun barrel pressed to the back of his neck. A hand grasped his shoulder and spun him round, pushing him hard up against the wall. In the moonlight he recognised the blond American, the one with the beard who resembled General Custer. Randy Hagen. He held a finger to his lips and Makana could see no reason to object. They were all there, four shadows, silent in the dark. They were heavily armed and communicated only by hand signals.

  Out of the corner of his eye Makana saw Kane approaching. He signalled for Hagen and the Iraqi, Faisal, to go round to the front of the house. Then he addressed the youngest member of the group, a man in his twenties with a scruffy beard, his head shaved to a bristle. This had to be Jansen, the last member of Kane’s group.

  ‘Keep an eye on these two, kid. Either of them makes a move, shoot them.’

  Jansen prodded Makana in the side with the barrel of his gun. They moved back inside, following Kane up the steps and along the corridor. At the archway leading into the main living area, Kane signalled and Jansen pressed Makana against the wall, the gun to his neck.

  Perhaps Samari’s arrogance was such that he had never believed Kane would be able to find him, or else he expected to be gone before he turned up. In either case the Iraqis were caught napping. Makana counted nine silenced shots. A moment or two later, Makana and Sindbad were dragged into the living area to find the lights on and everyone assembled, the living and the dead. Makana recognised the guard who had held a gun on him that morning when he had arrived. He was face down on the steps leading down to the front door, his shirt pockmarked with bullet holes. The one with an arm in a sling lay in a heap beneath a bloody smear on the wall by the sofa where Samari sat with his head bowed. Hagen and Faisal came in through the front door. The two men on duty out there were face down on the terrace. The only people missing were Bilquis and her son, Hadi.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Kane strolled about the room with a theatrical air, enjoying his moment. He was dressed all in black, cargo pants and a vest over a black T-shirt, a black bandanna tied over his head. A compact machine pistol was slung over one shoulder while a chrome-plated automatic rested in a holster on the other. He gave orders to search the villa, then he turned to address Samari.

  ‘You are one difficult animal to rope, I’ll give you that.’ Training his weapon on Makana and Sindbad, Kane signalled to Jansen, who hauled Samari to his feet, bound his hands, and dragged him to the centre of the room. ‘Search him good.’

  Jansen tossed a knife across. Kane weighed the kaiken in his hand.

  ‘So this is what you used on Raul? Nice piece.’ He tested the blade with his thumb.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ Samari was staring at the side of Kane’s face.

  ‘I’ll come to that. You just have to be patient.’ Kane moved past Samari towards Makana.

  ‘How did you find us?’ Makana asked.

  Kane beamed. ‘Well, the wonders of modern technology and all that.’ He reached into his ves
t and produced a little device. ‘It’s called a lo-jack tracker. Easy to follow as a trail of breadcrumbs. Yesterday when you were all in the tailor’s shop I managed to slip it underneath one of those nice BMWs out there.’

  ‘How?’ Makana asked. ‘The cars were occupied at all times. There was a driver in each one.’

  ‘I didn’t say it was easy, but it was certainly not difficult. You wear a disguise. You find the blind spots in the mirrors.’ Kane leaned over Makana, the kaiken in one hand. ‘You know, I am a little disappointed in you. I thought we had a deal.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have killed Kasabian like that.’

  ‘You could have been a very rich man. But that’s the thing, some people just don’t know what’s good for them. Just like Kasabian. I don’t like it when people lie to me, but he could simply have told me how to find this place.’

  ‘He didn’t know.’

  ‘I’d like to believe you, I really would, but the thing is I’ve just about lost faith in there being anybody in this part of the world who knows how to tell the truth.’

  Makana turned as he heard Samari start to swear. His face had drained of blood.

  ‘It can’t be.’

  The Iraqi was staring straight at Kane.

  ‘You’re dead.’

  A look of satisfaction came over Kane, as if this was a moment he had been anticipating for a long time.

  ‘You’re not Kane,’ Samari whispered. ‘I know you, and your name is not Kane.’

  ‘Somebody once said there are no second acts in American lives,’ Kane smiled. ‘And maybe that’s true. All I know is that in the land of opportunity everyone gets a chance to reinvent themselves.’

  Samari must have panicked, because he made a move to get past Jansen, who neatly sidestepped and clubbed him with the butt of his machine pistol. Samari fell to the floor.

  ‘Now that’s a disappointing development, and not a good one from your point of view.’ Kane circled Samari where he lay sprawled on his side, one hand clutching his head. He looked over at Makana and grinned. ‘Perhaps I should explain. Let me see. Well, we have to go all the way back to February 1991, Kuwait City. Saddam is under delusions of grandeur. He thinks he’s invincible, that the United States will never touch him. So he has invaded his next-door neighbour, a country that he believes should by rights belong to him. The Kuwaitis flee, taking themselves off to London and Paris to sit out the war in luxury. Of course there isn’t enough time for them to take all of their valuable possessions with them, so they leave most of it behind, thinking they’ll be back in a couple of weeks. Wrong.