Honour Among Thieves (41 page)

‘And
you still hadn’t informed anyone? Is that also correct?’

Al
Obaydi didn’t reply.

‘Is
that also correct?’ shouted Farrar.

‘Yes,
but there was still enough time...’

‘Enough
time for what?’ asked the State Prosecutor.

Al
Obaydi’s head sank again.

‘For
you to reach the safety of our embassy in Paris?’

‘No,’
said Al Obaydi. ‘I travelled on to...’

‘Yes?’
said Farrar. ‘You travelled on to where?’

Al
Obaydi realised he had fallen into the trap.

‘To
Sweden, perhaps?’

‘Yes,’
said Al Obaydi. ‘But only because...’

‘You
wanted to check the safe was well on its way? Or was it, as you told the
Foreign Minister, that you were simply going on holiday?’

‘No,
but...’

‘
“Yes but, no but.” Were you on holiday in Sweden? Or were you representing the
state?’

‘I
was representing the state.’

‘Then
why did you travel economy, and not charge the state for the expense that was incurred?’

Al
Obaydi made no reply.

The
Prosecutor leaned forward. ‘Was it because you didn’t want anyone to know you
were in Sweden, when your superiors thought you were in Paris?’

‘Yes,
but in time...’

‘After
it was too late, perhaps. Is that what you’re trying to tell us?’

‘No.
I did not say that.’

‘Then
why did you not pick up a phone and ring our Ambassador in Geneva? He could
have saved you all the expense and the trouble. Was it because you didn’t trust
him either? Or perhaps he didn’t trust you?’

‘Neither!’
shouted Al Obaydi, leaping to his feet, but the guards grabbed him by the
shoulders and threw him back onto the chair.

‘Now
that you’ve got that little outburst out of the way,’ said the Prosecutor
calmly, ‘perhaps we can continue. You travelled to Sweden, to Kalmar to be
exact, to keep an appointment with a Mr Pedersson, whom you did seem willing to
phone.’ The Prosecutor checked his notes again. ‘And what was the purpose of
this visit, now that you have confirmed it was not a holiday?’

‘To
try and find out who it was who had stolen the safe.’

‘Or
was it to make sure the safe was on the route you had already planned for it?’

‘Certainly
not,’ said Al Obaydi, his voice rising. ‘After all, it was I who discovered
that Riffat was the Mossad agent Kratz.’

‘You
knew that Riffat was a Mossad agent?’ queried the Prosecutor in mock disbelief.

‘Yes,
I found out when I was in Kalmar,’ said Al Obaydi.

‘But
you told Mr Pedersson that Mr Riffat was a thorough man, a man who could be
trusted,’ said the State Prosecutor, checking his notes. ‘Am I right? So now at
last we’ve found someone you can trust.’

‘It
was quite simply that I didn’t want Pedersson to know what I’d discovered.’

‘I
don’t think you wanted anyone to know what you had discovered, as I shall go on
to show. What did you do next?’ ‘I flew back to Paris.’

‘And
did you spend the night at the embassy?’ ‘Yes, I did, but I was only stopping
overnight on my way to Jordan.’

‘I’ll
come to your trip to Jordan in a moment, if I may. But what I should like to know
now is why, when you were back at our embassy in Paris, you didn’t immediately
call our Ambassador in Geneva to inform him of what you had discovered? Not
only was the Ambassador in residence, but he took a call from another member of
the embassy staff after you had gone to bed.’

Al
Obaydi suddenly realised how Farrar knew everything. He tried to collect his
thoughts.

‘My
only interest was getting back to Baghdad to let the Foreign Minister know the
danger our leader might be facing.’

‘Like
the imminent dropping of American bombs on Mukhbarat headquarters?’ suggested
the State Prosecutor.

‘I
could not have known what the Americans were planning,’ shouted Al Obaydi.

‘I
see,’ said Farrar. ‘It was no more than a happy coincidence that you were
safely tucked up in bed in Paris while Tomahawk missiles were showering down on
Baghdad.’

‘But
I returned to Baghdad immediately I learned of the bombing,’ insisted Al
Obaydi.

‘Perhaps
you wouldn’t have been in quite such a hurry to return if the Americans had
succeeded in assassinating our leader.’

‘But
my report would have proved...’

‘And
where is that report?’

‘I
intended to write it on the journey from Jordan to Baghdad.’

‘How
convenient. And did you advise your trustworthy friend Mr Riffat to ring the
Minister of Industry to find out if he was expected?’

‘No,
I did not,’ said Al Obaydi. ‘If any of this were true,’ he added, ‘why would I
have worked so hard to see that our great leader secured the Declaration?’

‘I’m
glad you mentioned the Declaration,’ said the State Prosecutor softly, ‘because
I’m also puzzled by the role you played in that particular exercise. But first,
let me ask you, did you trust our Ambassador in Geneva to see that the
Declaration was delivered to Baghdad?’

‘Yes,
I did.’

‘And
did it reach Baghdad safely?’ asked the Prosecutor, glancing at the battered
parchment, still nailed to the wall behind Saddam.

‘Yes,
it did.’

‘Then
why not entrust the knowledge you had acquired about the safe to the same man,
remembering that it was his responsibility?’

‘This
was different.’

‘It
certainly was, and I shall show the Council just how different. How was the
Declaration paid for?’

‘I
don’t understand,’ said Al Obaydi.

‘Then
let me make it easier for you. How was each payment dealt with?’

‘Ten
million dollars was to be paid once the contract had been agreed, and a further
forty million when the Declaration was handed over.’

‘And
how much of that money – the state’s money -did you keep for yourself?’

‘Not
one cent.’

‘Well,
let us see if that is totally accurate, shall we? Where did the meetings take
place for the exchange of these vast sums of money?’

‘The
first payment was made to a bank in New Jersey, and the second to Dummond et
cie, one of our banks in Switzerland.’

‘And
the first payment of ten million dollars, if I understand you correctly, you
insisted should be in cash?’

‘That
is not correct,’ said Al Obaydi. ‘The other side insisted that it should be in
cash.’

‘How
convenient. But then, once again, we only have your word for that, because our
Ambassador in Xew York has stated it was you who insisted the first payment had
to be in cash. Perhaps he misunderstood you as well. But let us move on to the
second payment, and do correct me if I have misunderstood you.’ He paused.
‘That was paid direct into Franchard et cie?’

‘That
is correct,’ said Al Obaydi.

‘And
did you receive, I think the word is a “kickback”, after either of these
payments?’

‘Certainly
not.’

‘Well,
what is certain is that, as the first payment was made in cash, it would be
hard for anyone to prove otherwise. But as for the second payment...’ The
Prosecutor paused to let the significance of his words sink in.

‘I
don’t know what you’re talking about,’ snapped Al Obaydi.

‘Then
you must be having another lapse of memory, because during your absence, when
you were rushing back from Paris to warn the President of the imminent danger
to his life, you received a communication from Franchard et cie which, because
the letter was addressed to our Ambassador in Paris, ended up on the desk of
the Deputy Foreign Minister.’

‘I’ve
had no communication with Franchard et cie.’

‘I’m
not suggesting you did,’ said the Prosecutor, as he strode forward to within a
foot of Al Obaydi. ‘I’m suggesting they communicated with you. Because they
sent you your latest bank statement in the name of Hamid Al Obaydi, dated June
25th 1993, showing that your account was credited with one million dollars on
February 18th 1993.’

‘It’s
not possible,’ said Al Obaydi defiantly.

‘It’s
not possible?’ said the Prosecutor, thrusting a copy of the statement in front
of Al Obaydi.

‘This
is easy to explain. The Cavalli family is trying to get revenge because we
didn’t pay the full amount of one hundred million as originally promised.’

‘Revenge,
you claim. The money isn’t real? It doesn’t exist? This is just a piece of
paper? A figment of our imagination?’

‘Yes,’
said Al Obaydi. ‘That is the truth.’

‘So
perhaps you can explain why one hundred thousand dollars was withdrawn from
this account on the day after you had visited Franchard et cie?’

‘That’s
not possible.’

‘Another
impossibility? Another figment of the imagination? Then you have not seen this
withdrawal order for one hundred thousand dollars, sent to you by the bank a
few days later? The signature on which bears a remarkable resemblance to the
one on the sanctions report which you accepted earlier was authentic’

The
Prosecutor held both documents in front of Al Obaydi so they touched the tip of
his nose. He looked at the two signatures and realised what Cavalli must have
done. The Prosecutor proceeded to sign his death warrant, even before Al Obaydi
had been given the chance to explain.

‘And
now you are no doubt going to ask the Council to believe that it was Cavalli
who also had your signature forged?’

A
little laughter trickled round the table, and Al Obaydi suspected that the
Prosecutor knew that he had only spoken the truth.

‘I
have had enough of this,’ said the one person in the room who would have dared
to interrupt the State Prosecutor.

Al
Obaydi looked up in a last attempt to catch the attention of the President, but
with the exception of the State Prosecutor the Council were looking towards the
top of the table and nodding their agreement.

‘There
are more pressing matters for the Council to consider.’ He waved a hand as if
he were swatting an irritating fly.

Two
soldiers stepped forward and removed Al Obaydi from his sight.

‘That
was a whole lot easier than I expected,’ said Cohen, once they had passed
through the Iraqi checkpoint.

‘A
little too easy, perhaps,’ said Kratz.

‘It’s
good to know that we’ve got one optimist and one pessimist on this trip,’ said
Scott.

Once
Cohen was on the highway he remained cautious of pushing the vehicle beyond
fifty miles per hour. The lorries that passed in the opposite direction on
their way to Jordan rarely had more than two of their four headlights working,
which sometimes made them appear like motorcycles in the distance, so
overtaking became hazardous. But his eyes needed to be at their most alert for
those lorries in front of him: for them, one red tail-light was a luxury.

Kratz
had always thought the three-hundred-mile journey from the border to Baghdad
would be too long to consider covering in one stretch, so he had decided they
should have a rest about forty miles outside the Iraqi capital. Scott asked
Cohen what time he thought they might reach their rest point.

‘Assuming
I don’t drive straight into a parked lorry that’s been abandoned in the middle
of the road or disappear down a pothole, I’d imagine we’ll get there around
four, five at the latest.’

‘I
don’t like the sight of all these army vehicles on the road. What do you think
they’re up to?’ asked Kratz, who hadn’t slept a wink since they crossed the
border.

‘A
battalion on the move, I’d say, sir. Doesn’t look that unusual to me, and I
don’t think we’d need to worry about them unless they were going in the same
direction as us.’

‘Perhaps
you’re right,’ said Kratz.

‘You
wouldn’t give them a second thought if you’d crossed the border legally,’ said
Scott.

‘Possibly.
But Sergeant,’ Kratz said, turning his attention back to Cohen, ‘let me know
the moment you spot anything you consider unusual.’

‘You
mean, like a woman worth a second glance?’

Kratz
made no comment. He turned to ask Scott a question, only to find he had dozed
off again. He envied Scott’s ability to sleep anywhere at any time, especially
under such pressure.

Sergeant
Cohen drove on through the night, not always in a straight line, as he
circumvented the occasional burned-out tank or large crater left over from the
war. On and on they travelled, through small towns and seemingly uninhabited
sleeping villages, until a few minutes past four, when Cohen swung off the
highway and up a track that could have only considered one-way traffic. He
drove for another twenty minutes, finally coming to a halt when the road ended
at an overhanging ledge.