An Enemy Within (14 page)

‘That’s interesting,’ she said, happier.

‘What time’s your flight?’

‘Oh, not till just before midnight – the red-eye to New York.’

‘Wish I was coming with you,’ he said with a hint of melancholy. ‘How about we go for a bite in the city – I know a great little Italian. We’d have time to eat and I could still take you to catch your plane.’ He glanced at her expectantly.

‘Are you sure? I mean…’

‘I’ve never met anyone yet who likes eating on their own – unless you do?’

She laughed then. It was a tempting offer. ‘I don’t always say yes to strange men…’

*  *  *

They clung to each other, both of their bodies racked with sobs.

‘But what will become of us?’ Farrah said taking a deep breath. ‘The boys…’

‘We will be all right,’ Aban finally said, composing himself. ‘It is just the shock, the rebuff – it was not what I was expecting. You go up to bed and I shall bring you a drink in a little while.’

Farrah gave him a squeeze and went up the stairs. The sound of gunfire in the distance added to her unease. It was becoming a more regular occurrence.

Choosing her favourite china pot, he made her usual bedtime chamomile tea and took it up. ‘I’ll be along presently, just need to attend to something at my desk.’

He retreated to his study, moving swiftly over to the bookcase. By removing several volumes, he exposed a wooden panel, then a safe. Twisting the dial to the correct combination, he opened the door.

The contents were all too familiar; their wills, birth and marriage certificates, passports. He picked up several pieces of expensive gold jewellery and laid them aside. Farrah hardly ever wore it – especially not these days. In keeping with many Iraqi families, the collection was considered ‘final resort’ investment.

From the back of the compartment, he withdrew a large brown envelope, sealed with the official stamp of the Iraqi government. He noticed his hands shaking as he took it over to his desk and studied it, hesitant. It had been given to him two days before the invasion by a senior official in the government, a distant relative of Saddam, who feared he might not survive the invasion. The man wanted Aban, his trusted friend and colleague, to keep it safe and confidential.

Until now, he had been fearful of breaking the seal, lest someone else called for it. Aban had learned his friend’s depressing prophecy had become self-fulfilling. On reflection, Aban suspected the presage had simply been a sad, coded metaphor. The story had soon reached him that his colleague had steadfastly remained in his office. It was the first to be hit in the bombing.

The seal broken, a sheaf of papers and a computer disc spilled on to his desk. He inserted the disc into his machine and waited for it to play.

When it did, he could scarcely believe what he was seeing.

*  *  *

‘So, what’s your take on all this?’ she asked, guiding a forkful of shrimp and clam linguini into her mouth, savouring the crushed red peppers in the sauce; it was delicious.

He studied her for a second, wondered whether to be diplomatic, toe the usual army line. But, heck, that was not his style, even if he did keep his own counsel back at base. ‘I think we’ve created one helluva mess, a tragic mistake that’s going to take a mighty long time to sort out… you?’

‘Check that. What in God’s name were they all thinking?’

‘Well, maybe they launched this thing in God’s name but they sure as hell didn’t think that way about the consequences. Some of the stories the guys on active over the border tell me… Jeez.’

‘And you train them,’ she said passionately, a hint of condemnation within her voice.

‘Look, I joined up because I thought I could contribute, you know, do my bit in exchange for them teaching me to fly. I always figured I’d be willing to defend my country against an aggressor but, over there,’ he gestured with his fork, ‘it’s got me wondering just who are the aggressors.’

Then, there was a silence between them as they both ruminated on their pronouncements. He normally did not voice his opinions so vehemently. She was glad he had. It was as if they had both been swimming together under water, hand in hand, lost in the lucid buoyancy of mutual accord. Now, they had breached the surface and needed time to gulp for precious air.

‘Sorry to have sounded off, so…’ he eventually said almost apologetically, aware he had been lost in her thoughts as well as his own.

She smiled, looked into his eyes. ‘That’s exactly how I’d want it.’

At the airport, he insisted on waiting for her while she checked in, then he walked her to the departure gate.

‘Listen, this might sound crazy,’ he said stroking his chin selfconsciously, ‘but I just wanted to say that, well, I kinda’ feel as
though I’ve known you for ages – if that doesn’t sound too screwy. You think we’ll see each other again?’

‘You married?’

He looked surprised. ‘No,’ he said with a hint of indignation. ‘I wouldn’t have asked if I was.’

She kissed him on the cheek. ‘Maybe.’

Then she quickly turned and walked towards the gate.

‘I’ll email you,’ he shouted.

Just before she went through a set of double doors, the urge to look back proved too strong. He was still there, waving. She waved back. A lightness swept over her as she joined the other passengers waiting to board. He seemed a really nice guy and she would love to see him again.

It was just before her plane took off that a terrifying thought struck her, sending shock waves through her body. What if she allowed herself to fall for someone like Steve?

How the hell could she guarantee he wouldn’t be a heart-breaker, too?

11

Matt McDermott lay on his bunk, reading the Bible; the Book of Revelation: ‘And a star fell from the sky.’

Just lately he had been reading a lot of Revelation in the excerpts from his Scofield Study Bible. Placing great store in the book, it was his escape, an antidote to the increasing horrors on the outside of that wall and the seeds of doubt Alex had planted.

Two evenings past, he had suddenly felt a heavy, pervading dread envelop him as he walked across a moonlit parade ground; a physical feeling so strong inside him that, at one point, he was forced to stop and look around. He was convinced that he was surrounded by evil forces. And they were closing in.

Feeling drowsy, he lay the Bible open on his chest and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. A pair of smiling baby brown eyes loomed out of the darkness. Suddenly, his body began to tingle, as if an electrical charge coursed through his very being, his heart soon hammering away, so fast. Floating, a benign sense of wellbeing enveloped him where he was able to look down at himself, an eerie feeling he had never known. He could feel his eyelids fluttering but could not stop them.

Next, soaring, high up somewhere, the background a blur. A roaring sound blasted his ears. Along the line, he saw his Aunt Dorothy who had been dead at least ten years. She floated by, wistfully, without saying a word.

More frightening, he felt his body in a state of dull paralysis. He wanted to move his arms but seemed incapable of any action. Someone was pressing down on his legs. He could feel the weight of them on the bed but he was incapable of opening
his eyes. It was then that the Devil himself appeared. For a short terrifying moment in his mind’s eye, he could see Satan’s horns only inches from his face. From afar, he heard the sound of his own groaning as he tried to brush the Beast away. He wanted to kick out, but his body had given way to a hopeless inertia. Then, rigid, fists clenched, he was in a tunnel, flying towards a brilliant white light. He passed through it to a stunned, irrational consciousness.

Shaken and confused, several minutes passed before he was able to ease himself to a sitting position. With great effort, he slid his legs over the side of the bed, unable to stop himself trembling.

He struggled to comprehend what was happening. It was as if everything was beyond his control, his mind incapable of any rational thought. Within seconds, he was totally overwhelmed with a deep despair; so dark it consumed him, mercilessly.

He cried out to stop himself reaching for his Beretta 9 mm service revolver, but was powerless. His right hand seemed a separate entity as he watched it slide the pistol out of its holster.

Grunting involuntarily, he took out the Check-Mate 15-round magazine from his drawer, slowly snapping it into place, hearing the light click.
Was he still dreaming?

Sobbing now, shoulders shaking with grief and pity and self-loathing, images of the baby and its mother, the other women killed, flashed before him. Did they have children who were orphans? Parentless because of him?

Raising the Beretta, the barrel felt cold in his mouth. He flinched. One round was all it took. One round to salve his sins. One round for heavenly release.

He screwed his eyes. Tighter, tighter, tighter. Shutting everything out. The effort hurt him. Orange flashes streaked across his skull. He undid the safety catch, fingered the trigger. Now. Now. Now, a voice told him.
For God’s sake do it now
.

Rocking to and fro on the bed, strange whimpers oozed from
his lips. The sweat poured off him. His finger squeezed slowly on the trigger.

From the blackness, his mother’s face appeared, serene, loving. She smiled. Her lips moved: ‘My darling baby boy.’

Startled, he opened his eyes fully, expecting her to be there. ‘Mommy,’ he cried out.

He put the gun down. The tears ran down his face and soaked his neck. He buried his head in the pillow and let it all go, wailing like the day he was born.

*  *  *

For days afterwards, his nerves danced wantonly with his emotions. Teasing him and turning him in every direction, he tried his utmost to hold himself together. Once, he very nearly lost his composure in front of his men, just about rescuing himself from the brink at the last moment.

Then, on an almost-perfect spring morning, the torment ended. He came up with a measured reasoning; God had surely been testing him. It was Satan who had urged him to pull the trigger, ending his life in disgrace, devastating his loved ones. Now, McDermott knew he had won. The victory gave him strength. If he had seen ‘the fallen star’ and been repulsed, surely this was a sign of his indefatigable belief in God? It left him convinced this tour of duty, indeed his very reason for joining the army, was pre-ordained. He could feel it, deep down, a gradual re-awakening of his soul, an affirmation of his faith. The visitation, the temptation to shoot himself, had held that very message: God was checking him out.

Walking proud, shoulders back, and with a determined stride, he left his billet on his way to the mess. Lifting his head to the only pink cloud in an orange sky, he suddenly cried out, ‘Dear Lord, you may be testing my obedience. But my faith will earn your grace.’

His face creased into a wide smile as he saw P.J. approaching.

‘Lieutenant, sir, the major wants to see you straight away.’

‘Right, my son,’ McDermott said calmly, altering direction.

P.J. stood and watched him go, perplexed. The lieutenant had addressed him like a priest. Not only that but he had seen him talking to the heavens. There was no doubt about it; something was getting to the lieutenant.

The rest of the guys had noticed it, too.

*  *  *

Major Walter Douglas stood to attention and greeted McDermott with his smartest salute. ‘Come in, Lieutenant, at ease, rest your feet,’ he said, gesturing to a new leather chair that McDermott had not seen before.

‘Sir?’

‘It’s good news, Lieutenant – a Silver Star.’

McDermott gulped. It was the third-highest American military honour. ‘I just don’t know what to say, sir.’

‘Congratulations, Lieutenant, well done,’ the major said shaking his hand profusely. ‘And that’s not all. Your boys get the Valorous Unit Award, the unit Silver Star. We’re all very proud of you.’

The major pulled out a large cigar and lit up, his face disappearing behind a cloud of smoke as he clenched it between his teeth. He smashed a fist into his palm. ‘Goddam, son, this is one helluva boost to all of us. When this gets out we’ll be the toast of Baghdad. You’ll want to gather your boys up and break it to them. It means we’ll probably be losing you for a little while sooner than I thought – Washington beckons. They want to give you the full works up there.’

The major studied him, a scrutinising stare. ‘You’re up for that aren’t you, soldier? For the sake of your comrades?’

‘Well, I guess…’

‘Good man.’ The major slapped him on the back. ‘That Pentagon guy, Kowolski, he wants to brief you on events, says it’ll be a grandstand show.’

The major’s telephone rang and he turned away to answer it
so he did not see McDermott’s hands on the arms of his chair. His grip was so tight the blood drained from his knuckles.

Only one vision sprung to the lieutenant’s mind – that of a smiling brown-eyed baby boy with pudgy legs.

*  *  *

‘Jesus, I don’t believe what I’m hearing.’ Kowolski turned to one of his assistants. ‘What did you say?’

The assistant, a young law graduate who, in Kowolski’s opinion, was too straight to be trusted for this job, began to stammer. Kowolski cut him off, rushing to check the memo on his own computer screen, leaning forward, pressing keys as if possessed. ‘Bremer’s disbanded the whole fuckin’ Iraqi army with a month’s pay-off? You sure?’

The assistant nodded, although the implications looked lost on him.

Kowolski’s screen checked in. He quickly scanned the page. ‘Holy shit. This means, my friend…’ he said, exhaling loudly, ‘… this means there’ll be half a million of the mothers out there roaming the streets, all armed, looking for a job they’ll never find. Talk about guns for hire, jeez. D’you think they’ll give a fuck who they’re shooting at as long as someone pays them to feed their families? How the hell did this get past Washington?’

‘Maybe it’s all part of a plan,’ the assistant chimed, returning to his own screen, anxious to calm Kowolski’s rising temper. ‘Yeah, chief, it says here the plan is to rid the army of its previous Ba’athist influence, like in all the other institutions – and start from scratch.’