Abdul entered, closing the door behind him.
‘Want a coffee?’
‘No, thank you.’ It was less than twenty-four hours since his introduction to the team when he’d been so nervous but his self-confidence had soared since the previous night’s experience.
‘What have you got for me, then?’ Stanza asked.
‘I managed to track down someone involved with the kidnapping.’
‘You did?’ Stanza asked, his amazement followed immediately by suspicion. ‘How did you manage that, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘I was in the police, remember.’
‘And you tracked down the insurgents who kidnapped Lamont?’
‘No,’ Abdul said, shaking his head and wondering if Stanza was being facetious or just plain stupid. ‘Most kidnappings are not carried out by insurgents. They are done by criminals who then sell those they’ve kidnapped to insurgents. Many of these criminals are known to the police.’
Stanza nodded. That made sense. He wanted to ask why the police had not done anything if they knew who the kidnappers were but he chose not to go there, for the moment at least. ‘And this person can help us?’
‘No . . . But he pointed to where we can look.’ Abdul paused to align his thoughts. ‘If you want to make contact with those who now have Lamont we will have to go to Fallujah.’
‘Why?’ Stanza asked. ‘I take it you have a reason to believe that Lamont’s there.’
Abdul had thought about it long and hard and it was an obvious choice in the end. It had been obvious to Hassan and had been the man’s last thought before he died. Fallujah had become a popular location with kidnap gangs over the past year. The bodies of several beheaded western kidnap victims had been dumped outside the town. The place was also the headquarters for the Sunni rebellion. Many of the rebels were also criminals and, being a Sunni himself, Hassan would know them or at least know how to make contact. Abdul had no doubt that Lamont was there. ‘It is the Black Banner Brigade that has Lamont,’ Abdul said. ‘And they are based in Fallujah.’
‘But we only need to make contact with those who have him. Surely they have a representative in Baghdad?’
‘I agree. But I don’t know who to ask.’
‘This man you met. He actually told you that Lamont was in Fallujah?’
‘He made that suggestion.’
‘Did you ask him if he knew a Brigade contact in Baghdad?’
‘No.’
‘Then go back to him and ask.’
‘That is not possible. He has gone and will never return.’
Stanza wished he had been at the meeting and had taken control of it.‘What about others? This guy didn’t kidnap Lamont alone.’
Abdul shook his head. ‘It is very dangerous, even with money . . . Fallujah is the best chance you have. The Brigade controls Fallujah. The military and the police will not be able to find Lamont easily. The Brigade will do business. They paid money to get Lamont and they will sell him for a good profit. They are businessmen.’
Stanza sipped his coffee as he contemplated the prospect of going into the infamous town.‘How would we get hold of someone from the Brigade if we went there?’
‘I have a cousin who lives in Fallujah. He would find someone who knows. That will not be a big problem . . . You are offering money, yes?’
Stanza nodded. ‘How much would we need?’
‘My cousin will want some. Not much. A thousand or two. But the insurgents? I don’t know. A lot. This will be discussed at the first meeting.’
‘And what about our safety - or should I say mine. I’m the wrong colour, not to mention the wrong nationality.’
‘My skin or my religion will not save me from them either. We will have the rights of negotiators. This is something they will respect as businessmen,’ Abdul said, reflecting on Hassan’s comments on the business sense of the insurgents. ‘Before you are introduced, I or my cousin would get assurance that they will accept you as a negotiator.’
Stanza could see a distinct change in the young man since the day before. He was far more relaxed and self-assured. ‘So you would go to Fallujah and prepare the ground for me to go there at a later date?’
‘That is possible.’ Abdul contemplated the idea. ‘But if I set up a meeting for you soon after getting there I would have to come back for you. Perhaps they will have questions I cannot answer. They might not trust me or believe me. They will believe you because you are a white man. And moving in and out of Fallujah is not easy right now. I think it is best that we go there, do our first piece of business and leave.’
Stanza could see the argument but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. Stanza might be white enough to initiate negotiations but at some stage the deal’s bona fides would have to be confirmed even further. Verification would be required that the transaction was ultimately being conducted by Stanmore’s family. Stanza would like to see some evidence of that for himself.
He decided to play along for the moment, as if he were planning on going to Fallujah with Abdul, and in the meantime see how it panned out. ‘How would we get into Fallujah? The Americans have the town surrounded.’
‘I will call my cousin. He will know how to get past the Americans.’
‘That doesn’t sound reassuring. I mean, I’m sure your cousin is a capable guy but there’s an entire army out there.’
‘It is impossible to cover every inch of ground, even for the Americans. There will be ways in.’
‘You’re sure about that?’ Stanza could not control the constant doubts he had about Abdul.
‘You have read of many insurgents from all over, called by their masters to move into Fallujah for the great battle against the Americans. They arrive every day and bring many weapons with them and the Americans cannot stop them. I have also heard that many of the car bombs that are used in Baghdad still come from Fallujah.’
Stanza had read stories about that on the wires too. He had also heard it from official American military sources. The insurgents’ defences were being strengthened and weapons were arriving from Iran and Syria almost daily.‘OK . . . So we find a way in.Then what?’
‘Then we will find the Black Banner Brigade and begin negotiations.’Abdul shrugged as if nothing could be simpler.
Stanza felt that he was in danger of becoming infected with Abdul’s optimism and had to bring himself down to earth for a reality check. Nothing went that easily, especially in Iraq. ‘We would drive, I guess?’
‘Yes. But you cannot use your existing drivers.They are Shi’a.’
Stanza suspected that Kareem and Farris would refuse to go anyway. But as far as he was concerned the fewer people the better - which raised the question of Mallory. Judging by the way the guy treated a simple drive to the Green Zone convention centre a jaunt to Fallujah would be way out of the question. But that would mean going without him. Still, a single security guard wouldn’t be much help against an army of insurgents anyway and another white man could only increase the danger. Mallory probably wouldn’t go anyway. The best thing was simply not to tell him. ‘You’ve not discussed any of this with anyone else? The drivers? Mallory?’
‘Of course not.You said I was not to.’ Abdul hoped that Mallory would not be brought into it anyway. ‘What would you like?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What would you like me to do now?’Abdul watched Stanza, gauging him. The man looked doubtful about the operation and Abdul suddenly felt that he would choose not to go. The thought disappointed him and for the first time he found himself anxious for Stanza to act bravely. Abdul wanted very much to reverse the fortunes of Lamont but he had not realised until that moment that his heart was so very much in it.
Stanza went to the window in the hope of inspiration but all he could see was danger. ‘I’ll think about it. See what else you can find out about the route into the town, checkpoints, that sort of thing.’ Stanza needed more time to decide. His journalist side was shouting at him to get on
with it. But it was the self-preserving side of Stanza that was holding everything up. He was now fully confident that Abdul would arrange things if he was given the go-ahead but the thought of climbing into a car and driving to Fallujah filled Stanza with dread. His hand reached for his gunshot wound that had begun to itch.
‘I will call my cousin. Perhaps he can make contact with someone in the Brigade today.’
Abdul’s words only increased Stanza’s anxiety. ‘That would be great.’
‘I’ll call you later,’ Abdul said as he went to the door. Stanza continued staring out of the window without acknowledging Abdul’s parting words.
Abdul left the room, headed for the lifts and pushed the call button. He had not been entirely straight with Stanza and wondered if the journalist had suspected his minor manipulations. It might well have been possible to find someone who knew how to make contact with a member of the Black Banner Brigade in Baghdad but Abdul had no desire to try. Neither was he sure of Stanza’s safety. Arabs did indeed respect the inviolability of a negotiations parley. But Abdul could not be certain whether that applied to the fanatical Takfiri who were the backbone of the Fallujah insurgency. Takfiri were the most dangerous individuals on the planet. Zarqawi and Bin Laden were Takfiri, an extreme faction of the Wahabi who were themselves extremists and, like the Taliban, believed that Muslims should live by the strictest rules of Islam. Abdul could only pray that those who were holding Lamont were more fiscally liberated. His focus now was truly on Fallujah. He believed the town was part of the path he had to take and that Allah was his guide. It was not difficult to understand why. Lamont was his salvation and everything that had happened since that night pushed him closer to it. His sister meeting Mallory at the hospital, Stanza, the destruction of Hassan were all signs. Stanza was the perfect means to establish Abdul’s contact with the Brigade and he suddenly had no doubt that the journalist would decide to make the journey.
The sound of a door shutting caused Abdul to look up and he saw Mallory heading from his room along the corridor. Abdul stepped out of view and when Mallory did not arrive at the lift he assumed that the man had taken the emergency stairs. Something about Mallory bothered Abdul but he could not put his finger on it. Perhaps it was nothing more than the mistrust Abdul believed they had for each other. The lift arrived, a porter walked out pushing a baggage trolley, and Abdul stepped inside and touched the ground-floor button. A moment later he stepped out into the lobby and marched briskly across it to the main entrance. If Mallory should call after him he would act as if he could not hear him.
Abdul walked out of the hotel entrance onto the road and maintained a brisk pace to the US checkpoint as he ran through his plans. His first task was to get hold of Muhammad, his cousin, if the man was still in Fallujah, which he prayed he was, and get him to remain there. Muhammad was a greedy man and would do anything for money. All Abdul would have to do would be to hint at the possible financial rewards of helping to release an American hostage and Muhammad would cheerfully take his chances with any American assault on his town. Abdul was sure of that.
Mallory walked out of the fourth-floor emergency stairwell door onto the landing and headed for Des’s office. He’d had a restless night thinking about his plans for Fallujah and had got out of bed at one point to pore over a map of the town and make notes. At dawn he telephoned his boss in London and arranged for his relief to come out to Baghdad as soon as possible. His boss called back shortly after to let him know that a guy called Johnson would be arriving in Amman in two days and would get into Baghdad the following afternoon to take over from Mallory. Mallory was committed one way or the other - Fallujah or home.
Mallory glanced over the rail and paused as he saw Abdul leaving the hotel. He wondered why Abdul had not contacted him and looked up at Stanza’s door. Then again, Abdul was Stanza’s fixer and it was really nothing to do with Mallory unless they wanted to go somewhere.
Mallory walked on, knocked on Des’s door and on hearing a muffled ‘Come in’ pushed it open.
Des was at his desk concentrating on his computer monitor and looked up for a second as Mallory entered the room. ‘’Ello, me ol’ cock, ’ow are yer?’
‘Not so bad,’ Mallory said, falling tiredly into the armchair.
Des concentrated on hitting a couple of keys and when he was satisfied they’d had the desired effect he pulled off his glasses to rub his eyes. ‘Cuppa?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. How’s everything?’ Mallory asked, getting on with the formalities.
‘Can’t complain.’ Des sat back in his chair and exhaled heavily. ‘We ain’t lost anyone this week so it’s nay s’ bad.’
‘Anything more on Fallujah?’
‘What, about the Yanks goin’ in?’
‘Anything, really. Your man still embedding, is he?’
‘Not sure now.’ Then Des lowered his voice like a real gossip. ‘I think ’e’s ’ad a touch of the old cold feet about it. ’E’s from a small radio network in Oklahoma and I think he’s only finally got around to asking ’imself why ’e’s riskin’ ’is arse to send news over there when ’e can sit back ’ere in t’ ’otel and pull it off wires.’
That was not what Mallory wanted to hear. His plan had been designed around the embed.
‘Can’t blame ’im, really,’ Des went on. ‘So many bloody rumours goin’ around about what the Yanks are plannin’ on doin’ to the town and when they’re goin’ in and the resistance an’ all.Yer don’t know what to believe.’
‘Have you still secured his embed?’
‘Aye. ’E’s still got a spot if ’e wants it. But I’m pretty certain ’e ain’t goin’.’
‘When is it for?’
‘We’re on standby. Some journalists ’ave already gone in, some of the big networks, a couple from each. If there’s too many o’ the boogers runnin’ aroun’ they’ll be gettin’ in the way of the Marines. Sounds a bit of a gang-fock media circus but there yer go. Are yer all right?’ Des asked, his classic bulging-eyed grin appearing as if by a switch. ‘Look a bit tired, lad. Not sleeping well?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Tell me,’ Des said, leaning forward, his voice lowering once again in a conspiratorial manner. ‘Who were that lovely little thing you ’ad ’ere t’ other day? Eh?’
‘When was that?’ Mallory asked, feigning ignorance.
‘When was that, ’e says,’ Des echoed with a chuckle. ‘During rocket attack. In lobby. Little beauty, she were.’
‘Oh,’ Mallory said. ‘She’s the sister of one of our locals. She’d popped in to see him and I just happened to be on my way out when the boom-boom hit.’
‘Know her well, do yer?’
‘Nah. Just enough to say hello.’
‘Just enough to say hello? You don’t say too much when she stays over, then. I like that. All action.’
‘What do you mean?’ Mallory asked, looking Des in the eye.
Des winked at him. ‘Can’t get one past Des, me ol’ cock. Jedel, our night watchman, saw ’er leave your room in the wee hours. ’Ay. Me ’at’s off to yer. If yer can gerrit, go for it. Just watch yersel’, though, laddy. They’ll slit yer throat aroun’ ’ere if yer dip yer wick in the wrong crease. Know what I mean?’
‘Don’t read too much into it, Des, me old cock. There was a lockdown, remember. She had to stay somewhere.’
‘Well, just watch yersel’, that’s all, like I said. If Jedel knows then every bastard does.’
It was a concern to Mallory but he had other problems at that moment. ‘Des . . . Let me ask you something. Getting back to the embed. If your man doesn’t take that spot would you mind if I did?’
‘Lookin’ for a slot for your bloke then, are yer?’
‘It’s for me,’ Mallory said.
Des raised his eyebrows. ‘You? As in yersel’?’
‘Yes.’
‘’Ave I missed summat?’
‘My relief arrives in a couple days and . . . well . . . I’d like to see th
e fight.’
‘You want to go to Fallujah on yer time off?’ Des asked with continuing incredulity.
‘If you don’t fill the slot.’
‘You’ve been ’ere too long, me old cock.You need to get ’ome, ’ave a few ales and a bit o’ tatty. When yer’ve got the taste back then call me and tell me yer’d rather be in that shit-’ole op road.’
Mallory stared at him blankly in reply.
‘You serious?’ Des asked.
‘Yep.’
‘Why, fer God’s sake?’
‘Like I said. I’d like to see the fight.’
Des shrugged and shook his head. ‘OK. If yer that focken’ mad I’ll put yer name down and I’ll give yer a shout when the call comes in.You got a press pass? They won’t let you on chopper unless yer press.’
‘I’ve got a pass.’
‘OK. It’s a thirty-minute standby.’
‘I’m ready to go,’ Mallory said. ‘Oh. One other thing.You got a spare room? I hand mine over to my relief when he gets in.’
‘Anything else I can do fer yer?’ Des said sarcastically.
‘Just in case I’m still on standby.’
Des sighed.‘Dougal is heading up to Arbil tomorrow for a couple of weeks. You can use ’is room.’
‘Thanks, Des. Much appreciate it,’ Mallory said, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll catch you later, then.’
‘Yer not trying to be a reporter, are yer?’ Des asked.
Mallory wondered if that might not be such a bad cover story. Des would tell just about everyone and it was better than being thought of as simply a mad bastard. ‘Well, truth is I’m going to take a camera. Might be able to sell some pics.’
‘Mad sod,’ Des said as he put his glasses back on. ‘Don’t become one of that lot. You know what they say about media, don’t yer? Responsible for ’alf the world’s problems and all of its ignorance.’
‘Photos tell the truth,’ Mallory said, defending his cover although he would agree with Des at any other time.
‘Do they fock,’ Des said. ‘It’s not what the media tell or show anyway, it’s what they don’t tell and show that’s the problem.’
The Protector Page 28
