The Protector

by Duncan Falconer

  ‘Shut up,’ Stanza yelled as anger fused with his fear. ‘I need to talk to him,’ Stanza said to Abdul. ‘I need to talk to Stanmore . . . Lamont.That’s the proof I want that he’s alive. Let me talk to him and then I’ll get the money.’ Stanza’s desperation was clear - and distinctly unappealing. Abdul relayed what Stanza had said. The first Arab replied and left the room before Abdul could translate. The murderous-looking Arab remained a moment longer to stare at the white men with his hollow black eyes, his hand tight around the stock of his machine-gun. A voice called from the hallway and he walked out of the room, leaving a miasma of tension and fear in his wake.

  The four men stood in silence as Abdul closed the door.

  ‘Was that a yes or a no?’ Stanza asked.

  ‘He said you are fools who have come here to die.’

  ‘Great job, Stanza,’ Mallory said.

  ‘That’s it?’ Stanza asked Abdul. ‘What about Stanmore? Do we get to see him? Does that guy want the money? I don’t get it. How have we left things?’

  Muhammad said something which led to a heated exchange between him and Abdul. Then they calmed down and seemed to agree on something. ‘They will talk further with us,’ Abdul said.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Stanza asked.

  ‘That was the first negotiation,’ Abdul said. ‘We can talk more later.’

  ‘How the hell do you know that?’ Stanza asked, raising his voice. ‘You said the man told us we were dead.’

  ‘That is why I know,’ Abdul said. ‘You are not dead. That is his way of saying you can talk more later.’

  ‘Jesus fuckin’ Christ. When later?’ Stanza asked.

  ‘That I do not know,’ Abdul said.

  ‘We don’t have time for this,’ Stanza said.

  ‘You are in a hurry but they are not,’ Abdul pointed out. ‘They are preparing for a battle.’

  ‘All the more reason to get on with this,’ Stanza said.

  ‘I am only the translator,’ Abdul reminded him, for the first time revealing some of his own anxiety. Abdul had been racked by fear since meeting the two Arab men, especially the murderous one. Muhammad had taken him to a house a few blocks away where a dozen or so fighters were digging a deep hole in the floor of the living room. Muhammad told Abdul there were many such excavations in the town but he did not know what they were for.

  An hour had passed before the leader arrived and when Abdul saw the murderous one with him he was consumed with fear that the beast would recognise him. It was the demon in human form from the house in Dora where Hassan and the others had delivered Lamont the night they’d kidnapped him. Until that moment Abdul had forgotten the face that had peered in through the car window as they’d waited. When the beast looked at Abdul with those distinctive black eyes it was as if he was looking into his very soul and could see everything. Abdul could not hold his gaze and prayed that the man had forgotten him. The slightest suspicion would result in the immediate elimination of Abdul and his cousin. Infiltration and betrayal were the insurgents’ greatest fear and they treated suspects with brutal finality. It seemed that every time Abdul glanced at the man he was looking back at him, the cold malevolent expression unvarying as if nothing existed behind those eyes but hate and a desire for violence.

  Stanza exhaled loudly as he walked across the room. ‘What now?’ he asked, pausing to look at Abdul.

  Abdul shrugged. ‘We wait . . . They are busy preparing defences. Perhaps tomorrow Muhammad and I will go and see them again,’ Abdul said, repeating his suggestion to his cousin who shrugged as a reply.

  Stanza sighed as he came to terms with his predicament and slumped down onto a cushion.

  Silence descended on the group for a while until it was broken by Muhammad. ‘He asks if you want food,’ Abdul said.

  ‘Why not?’ Stanza said, only half interested.

  Abdul nodded to Muhammad who replied with a hand gesture.

  ‘He needs money,’ Abdul said.

  Stanza reached into a pocket and took out a bundle of notes, a mixture of dollars and dinars. Muhammad took the offering, checked it, appeared satisfied and left the room.

  Mallory took stock of their situation as he watched Stanza lower his head into his hands. He wondered if it wasn’t time to get on with his own mission. But before he could take a single step towards the cemetery there were several obvious matters that needed to be checked out.

  Mallory went to the doorway that led to the garage, decided it was the right time, pushed back the curtain and quietly slipped out of the room.

  14

  Rendezvous with Death

  Mallory opened the door to the garage, shone his flashlight around, found the light switch and flicked it up and down a couple of times without luck. He sat on the edge of a table covered in junk, turned off his flashlight and used the darkness as an aid to concentration.

  The first and most obvious problem involved in leaving the house would be having to trudge through a town bustling with insurgents who were preparing for a major assault by the US Marine Corps. Mallory’s first option was to wait for the attack to begin and then stay under cover until it had rolled over and past him.That might involve surrendering to the Americans at some stage, which would with luck mean that he’d be told to stay put. But they might transfer him outside the town, which would not do at all. Another problem with waiting for the assault was that it might not happen for days yet or possibly weeks. Still, Mallory reckoned that he could let Stanza head back to the city with Abdul. He felt confident he could strike some kind of deal with Muhammad to lie low in his house, although he did not trust the man an inch. If he ever found out about the money Mallory might well have a problem.

  His other option was to head for the cemetery as soon as possible. He could do it if he had a local guide, someone who could communicate with anyone they bumped into, a scout who could move ahead and clear the way for him.The only person available who could possibly do that was Abdul.

  It made good sense. Abdul was in a weird mood, or so it seemed, but money was a great facilitator and Mallory had no doubt that ten or twenty thousand dollars would bring him alongside nicely.

  The second option was the most attractive and Mallory got to his feet walked back down the corridor and into the living room.

  Stanza was in the same position, still holding his head in his hands. Abdul was at the sink, staring into space while holding a glass of water to his lips. Mallory’s appearance appeared to set Abdul in motion again and he emptied the water down his throat.

  Mallory waited for Abdul to look at him again and beckoned him over. Abdul glanced at Stanza who remained staring at the floor. Mallory stepped back through the curtain and Abdul followed along the corridor to the garage.

  When Abdul stepped into the garage Mallory closed the door behind him and shone the torch in his face. ‘Do you mind talking in the dark - I want to save my batteries?’

  ‘No,’ Abdul replied, wondering what this was all about.

  Mallory turned off the light and the room went completely dark.‘I need to ask you something - something private.’

  Abdul remained silent.

  ‘I have something very valuable hidden not far from here and I need your help to get it.’

  Abdul found this most bizarre. He had been expecting something along the lines of questions regarding their mission in Fallujah but this was entirely unexpected. ‘Valuable?’ he asked, unsure if he’d understood the English correctly.

  ‘Money,’ Mallory said, getting to the point.

  Abdul blinked in the darkness. ‘I don’t understand you.’

  Mallory took a deep breath. He did indeed have a lot to explain. ‘I have a box of money, US dollars, buried in a hole in the ground not far from here. I was here a year ago, during the war. I was a soldier and I found this box. I could not take it with me so I buried it and now I want to get it.’

  This made immediate and perfect sense to Abdul. ‘How much?’ he asked.

  ‘A lo
t.’ Mallory wondered if he should reveal the amount, then quickly decided against it. ‘I’ll give you a portion of it,’ he said. ‘How about ten thousand dollars?’

  Abdul’s thoughts began to shoot in several directions at once and he decided that he needed time and space to sort them out. ‘Where is this money?’ he asked.

  ‘In a cemetery.’

  ‘Buried?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How do you know it is still there?’

  ‘I don’t . . . There is only one way to find out.’

  ‘Why have you asked me to help?’

  ‘I need you to get me through the town. A guide. A simple job for a lot of money,’ Mallory said, hoping that would be the case.

  Abdul broke into a thin smile that Mallory could not see. Allah did indeed move in mysterious ways. Here was the answer to his prayers. And the cemetery was a delicious irony. He needed to know nothing else. ‘When do you want to go?’

  ‘Now.’

  Abdul accepted the risks that could come with meeting insurgents but his confidence had improved since he’d been out in the town already. ‘I will help you,’ he said.

  Mallory flicked on his flashlight and aimed it at Abdul for a second. ‘We’ll need a shovel.’

  They followed the beam around the dilapidated room as it illuminated an assortment of junk. Abdul saw something, walked over to the pile and withdrew a spade from it. ‘Will this do?’

  ‘Perfect,’ Mallory said, taking it from him. ‘A bag would also be useful. A strong, fairly large one.’

  Abdul wondered how much money there was.

  Mallory moved the beam to another pile of odds and ends. Abdul picked up a filthy canvas bag, fine dust filling the air as he opened it up and tested the handles for strength.

  ‘That’ll do,’ Mallory said.

  As Abdul handed the bag to Mallory his gaze caught something in the brief torchlight.

  Mallory went to the garage door to open it.

  Abdul crouched to feel for the object.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Mallory said.

  ‘Coming,’ Abdul said. ‘Fixing my shoe.’

  Mallory cracked open the door, checked that the narrow backstreet was empty and slipped outside.

  Abdul found what he was looking for and picked it up. It was a cast-iron hammer with a nasty-looking spike on the reverse head.The shaft was bound in string for an improved grip. Abdul swung it down to assess its suitability. If brought down firmly enough a single blow using the spike would penetrate a skull with ease. He tucked it into his belt and headed for the door.

  Abdul walked over to Mallory who was looking at an electronic device in his hand. ‘What is that?’ he asked.

  ‘GPS,’ Mallory said as he scrolled through a list of waypoints and stopped on the one marked RENDEZVOUS. He hit the accept button and a moment later an arrow appeared on the screen, along with several information windows. ‘Seven hundred and fifty-seven metres as the crow flies . . . in that direction,’ he said, pointing. Mallory looked at Abdul. ‘Don’t suppose you know a cemetery in that direction?’

  ‘I don’t know Fallujah that well.’

  ‘Lead on, then. That way. You go forward, check if it’s safe, then I’ll join you. We’ll keep doing that until we reach the cemetery. OK?’

  Abdul nodded and headed off. Mallory put an arm through the carrying straps of the bag that had the shovel in it, pulled them over his shoulder and followed Abdul at a distance.

  The sky had grown lighter, most of the cloud from earlier having cleared. The two men kept to the right side of the street where the shadows were thicker, hugging the building line as closely as possible. Abdul paused at the end of the first row of houses, all of which appeared to be empty, and Mallory stepped into a doorway out of sight.

  Abdul remained still for a time, checking in all directions while Mallory kept him in view. Just as Mallory was beginning to wonder if Abdul had had second thoughts the Arab set off without looking back and turned right and out of sight. Mallory carried on to the corner, peered around it and saw Abdul walking away up the street. Mallory checked behind him, turned the corner and walked briskly along, maintaining his distance from Abdul. They were in another residential street packed with run-down homes.

  A pair of headlights appeared up ahead. Abdul ducked out of sight and Mallory skipped over a low wall outside a front door and got down behind it.

  The vehicle passed.

  When Mallory got to his feet and looked over the wall Abdul was already out of his hiding place and looking back in Mallory’s direction as if impatient to get going.

  Mallory stepped onto the street as Abdul headed off to the end of the row of houses and stopped at the corner. Mallory checked his GPS and broke into a jog. By the time Abdul looked back Mallory was just behind him.

  Ahead was a broad boulevard and the arrow on the GPS indicated they needed to cross it diagonally. The boulevard had three lanes either side of a meridian and several vehicles, their headlights on, were gathered some distance away outside a mosque.

  ‘That way,’ Mallory said, indicating across the boulevard and away from the cars.

  ‘Should I run?’ Abdul asked.

  ‘Walk casually,’ Mallory said.‘We’ll go together, OK?’

  Mallory walked out from the shadows onto the boulevard with Abdul by his side. They stepped off the pavement onto the road and headed towards the central meridian. As they reached it a shout came from behind them and the hairs stood up on the back of Mallory’s neck. There was another yell, followed by a shot and both men broke into a sprint. A burst of automatic gunfire rang out. It seemed abnormally loud. Several bullets ricocheted off the road nearby as they leaped across the last section of road and onto the pavement. But they were still exposed and some distance from the nearest corner. More bullets, one of them a bright-orange tracer round, slammed into the wall beside them and as they reached the corner Mallory grabbed hold of Abdul and pulled him around it as a couple more slugs cut through the air, dangerously close. The two men did not stop and ran for all they were worth.

  Mallory was ahead and, spotting an alleyway across the street, changed direction towards it. ‘This way!’ he shouted.

  Mallory came to a skidding halt inside the alleyway entrance and urged Abdul ahead. As they emerged from the other end into what looked like a square he nudged the young Arab more to the left.

  As they reached the entrance to another street Mallory took hold of Abdul’s jacket and steered him into a dark doorway.

  They panted heavily and Mallory checked back the way they had come before reviewing his GPS display. ‘We must be near the cemetery,’ he gasped. ‘It has to be behind those buildings. Come on.’

  They headed up the street to a gap between the buildings on the other side of the road and a few metres further on stopped at a low wall. Beyond were the jagged silhouettes of tilted stones looking like rows of broken teeth, along with black flags on angled sticks. Mallory did not recognise the place but he remembered that he had approached it from a different direction the last time. He sensed Abdul close behind him and without further hesitation he unslung the bag, tucked it under his arm, hopped over the wall and moved in among the tombs at a slight crouch. He paused by a headstone a few metres in and cloaked the glow from the GPS while he checked the direction. After he moved off, a quick look behind him showed Abdul mimicking his caution.

  Mallory slowed as the GPS indicated that the cache was only metres away. He searched around for anything that he might recognise. He was about to learn the answer to one of the greatest worries that had been on his mind since leaving England: had the stash been discovered or not? He held his breath in anticipation.

  Mallory realised he was standing on the path that was lower than the surrounding ground level, the path in which he had dug the hole. Then his stare practically lasered into the exact spot where the box was buried. It was undisturbed and more natural-looking than when he had left it. That did not mean, though, that someone hadn’t d
ug it up the day after he’d buried it and he double-checked the GPS, which confirmed their arrival at RENDEZVOUS. He turned it off, its job finally done, and pocketed it.

  Mallory looked behind at Abdul who was crouching by a headstone. ‘It’s here,’ he said as he removed the shovel from the bag and, without wasting a second more, rested its blade on the spot beneath which he believed the box lay.

  Mallory placed his foot on the shoulder of the shovel and was about to push down on it when a familiar sound stopped him. He looked to the night sky as the thud of a helicopter’s rotor blades beat the air somewhere above.With its navigation lights off the chopper was virtually invisible.

  After a few seconds Mallory went back to his task, pushing the shovel into the ground that yielded easily.

  Abdul stood on the grave directly behind Mallory, which made him a head taller, and watched as the Englishman got into a digging rhythm. He slipped his hand inside his jacket, felt for the hammer tucked into his belt, slid it out and held it against his side with his stump while he took a firm hold of the grip with his hand. It felt good, not too long or too heavy, and he rested it against his thigh, pressing it into his flesh to make sure that the spike was facing behind him. Mallory was moving in unpredictable patterns, making it risky to attempt a blow, and Abdul told himself to be patient.The ideal moment would present itself soon enough.The point of the weighty spike was sharp and one good whack would stun Mallory enough for Abdul to deliver another that would penetrate his skull, drive into the fleshy brain and kill him. Allah was such a thoughtful god. He had not only provided the perfect tool for the job, silent and final, but He had also arranged for Mallory to have his back to Abdul, distracted by his greed.

  Mallory struck something metal with the spade and he dropped to his knees to feel around in the hole. A grin spread across his face as his fingers touched the box: at that moment he knew his money was there. No one would have reburied the box if they had emptied it. ‘We’ve hit the mother-lode,’ he said softly, turning his head to look up at Abdul.