The Protector (10 page)

Karrar and Ali speeded up as they reached Hassan’s red Opal and bundled the American into the back. Arras shoved Abdul into the back of Ali’s car where he joined him. Ali climbed in behind the wheel.

Both cars came to life and seconds later were turning out of the side street and onto the main road.

Arras and Ali removed their balaclavas and Arras pulled off Abdul’s, giving him a hard shove in the process. ‘What’s your problem?’ Arras shouted. ‘Why are you so pathetic?’

‘Leave him,’Ali said, still on full alert, his stare darting everywhere.

But Arras’s blood was up and he could not back down easily. ‘Why is he in this team?’ he demanded.

‘Because he is, that’s all,’ Ali said.

‘But why? Why do we keep him? Why don’t we get rid of him?’

‘Because we can’t,’ Ali stated.

‘I mean as in get
rid
of him,’ Arras said, putting his gun at Abdul’s head, itching to pull the trigger.

Ali grinned as he looked in the rear-view mirror at the pair, Arras with murder in his eyes and Abdul with total fear in his. ‘We’d have to make a report. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. Don’t you think Hassan would have thrown him into the river ages ago if he’d wanted to? He’s been given to us by God and we must look after him.’

‘But he’s useless,’Arras said,exasperated.‘He’s a liability.’

‘He won’t be. Isn’t that right, Abdul? You’re a good little boy who does what he’s told.’

Abdul had hardly heard a word. His head was filled with the images of those people being shot, replaying the scene over and over.

‘He’s a hypocrite,’ Arras spat. ‘He takes money but he disapproves of how we get it.What kind of a person is that?’

‘Be fair, Arras. He gives us legitimacy,’ Ali said.

‘Legitimacy!’ Arras exclaimed.

‘Of course. Anyone who looks at our squad sees that pathetic individual and thinks, they may be rough-looking guys but they can’t be all that bad.’ Ali chuckled, amused by his own wit.

Arras took his gun away from Abdul’s head and looked out of the opposite window, unconvinced.Then a thought struck him and he looked back at Abdul. ‘Give me your gun,’ he growled.

Abdul didn’t respond and Arras hit him in the chest. ‘Give me your
gun
!’

Abdul looked startled as Arras pulled his jacket aside, found the pistol in its holster and snatched it out. ‘I don’t trust him,’ Arras said. He moved his face closer to Abdul’s and spoke softly. ‘You ever tell a soul about this, about anything, one word to anyone, I don’t care who, and I’ll kill you - and that sister of yours. You understand me?’

Abdul did not respond outwardly but he felt a rush of fear flooding through his system. He believed the threat wholeheartedly.

Arras dug his elbow viciously into Abdul’s ribs, either to get an answer or out of sheer malice. Abdul pulled his jacket closed and moved as far away from Arras as he could, cowering against his door.

‘Pathetic little animal,’ Arras said, turning away as if he had done with him.

The cars headed south, using backstreets to avoid any checkpoints, and reached the southernmost Tigris river bridge in the city. After crossing it they continued towards Baghdad’s largest power station, its slender smoking chimney stacks towering into the night sky. The cars turned off onto a minor road well before they reached the power station and slowed to a crawl as the road surface deteriorated drastically, with numerous water-filled potholes close to each other.

Abdul had been so preoccupied with the night’s events that he had not been paying attention to where they were going. Only when the car went over a large bump, jolting him out of his trance, did he realise they had not headed back towards the academy. Then he realised how unlikely it would be if they did: they were carrying a westerner whom they had kidnapped, clearly without the blessing of the authorities. Abdul wondered why on earth they had kidnapped the man anyway. It had obviously been the aim of the operation. He could not imagine why they had killed everyone else in the room - until it suddenly struck him that it was because his police uniform had been exposed. If that was true then
he
was responsible for their deaths. Abdul suddenly felt sick at the thought. He could hear the woman declaring her love for the westerner and then he saw Hassan shoot her in the eye. The horrific images made Abdul feel more nauseous. Hassan and the others were even lower forms of humanity than he had originally thought. And they called themselves Muslims. Hassan had even accused that woman of not being true to Islam and then had executed her as if it was his right to do so. The cold way in which the team had murdered those people was like nothing Abdul could ever have imagined. He was sharing a car with genuine servants of hell - and he was one of them.

Abdul looked out of his side window at the power station. Its proximity meant they were in Dora, a notoriously bad part of the city. The Americans did not venture into it unless they were looking for a fight and the police were just as unwelcome with the locals. The area was home to insurgents and criminals but Hassan was not here on police business.

Abdul watched the back of Hassan’s car bathed in the beams of Ali’s headlights as it lurched from one side of the road to the other, weaving between the potholes in an effort to avoid the worst of them.

It seemed an age before they finally came to a stop. Abdul looked out the other side of the car to see that they were outside a run-down two-storey house, the glow of benzene lights inside seeping through gaps in tatty curtains.

Ali followed Hassan’s lead and turned off his engine and lights. The area around them plunged into blackness, except for the glow from the house.

Everyone sat in silence. As Abdul’s eyes gradually grew accustomed to the dark he thought he could make out Hassan’s silhouette, his phone to his ear, inside the car.

A few minutes later the door of the house opened, allowing a shaft of orange light to illuminate the cars. Several men stepped outside. They wore
dishdashes
, shirts that reached to the ground, and a variety of
shamag
headdresses. They sported untrimmed beards, several of them long. These men looked very serious. And dangerous.

Hassan got out of his car.

Ali opened his door. ‘Stay here,’ he said to Arras as he climbed out. He closed the car door and joined his brother who was already greeting the men. Hassan’s demeanour towards them was visibly respectful.

Abdul watched the meeting with interest until a movement at the side of the house caught his attention. He looked into the shadows to see several tough-looking men carrying AK47 assault rifles. One of them stepped into the light to take a closer look at the cars and stared at Ali’s car as if he was looking directly at Abdul. Then he crossed the muddy track to Hassan’s car and looked in through the windows. Moving across to Ali’s car, he bent down to peer inside.

Abdul looked at the man’s face which bore as demonic a look as he had ever seen on a human being: rugged, gaunt features and unsmiling eyes with pure murder in them. He stared at Abdul like a wild beast contemplating its helpless prey, his black pupils large and empty. He then stood upright to display a full bandolier across his chest and a belt with a Russian pistol tucked into it. Another belt of full AK magazines and a long knife in a sheath completed his personal arsenal. He walked around the rear of the car before crossing the track back to the house.

The group of men with Hassan went to his car and Hassan opened the rear door. The naked American, now wearing a balaclava but backwards so that he could not see, was unceremoniously pulled out. The group continued their discussion while Hassan handed over the man’s documentation and the American was then taken across to the house and inside. The door closed and the street went dark once again.

Hassan and Ali waited alone in the street, talking quietly, all the time being watched by the demonic-looking fighter standing at the corner of the house. He looked like a leashed attack beast waiting for its master to snap his fingers before it struck.

Abdul could tell from the brothers’ body language that they were uneasy about something. The pigs had kidnapped a westerner for a bunch of insurgents, that much was obvious. And three innocent people had been killed because they’d happened to be in the way. It was diabolical.

The door to the house opened once again and two Arabs stepped out and walked over to the brothers. A small bundle was handed to Hassan who thanked the men profusely while bowing with great servility. The men withdrew from Hassan, their contempt for him clearly apparent, and went back inside the house, closing the door behind them.

Hassan and Ali went back to their cars and climbed in.

Ali looked nervous though he tried to conceal it.

‘Everything go OK?’ Arras asked anxiously.

Ali reached for his cigarettes on the dash, took one and lit it with a lighter. His hands were shaking slightly. ‘For a moment there I thought the pigs were going to kill us . . . Hassan asked about the money and one of them said we should be doing this for Islam, not for cash. It’s the first time I have seen my brother lost for words,’ Ali said as he took a deep drag and then exhaled noisily.The air was cold but the beads of sweat on Ali’s forehead joined to trickle down his face.

‘So it went all right?’Arras asked, impatient to know.

Ali nodded. ‘Yes,’ he confirmed.

Hassan’s headlights came on. Ali started his car and switched on his own beams. They pulled away, tyres crunching on the loose soil, and headed down the road. Arras turned to look back through the rear window and saw the evil-featured gunman step into the dim glow coming from the house’s windows to watch the cars move away.

When the house was out of sight Arras became visibly relieved. ‘What did Hassan say?’ he asked.

Ali was concentrating on his rear-view mirror. ‘What?’ he asked.

‘What did Hassan say when they told him he should be doing this for Islam?’ Arras asked.

‘Hassan asked if they did not reward their followers too. That’s when I thought they were going to kill us. They didn’t answer and walked back into the house. But then they came back with the money . . . I thought we were for it, I tell you,’ Ali added, a nervous smirk appearing on his face as he began to loosen up.

‘How much did they pay?’ Arras asked.

‘We didn’t stop to count it,’ Ali said.‘We didn’t want to push our luck . . . But now they know that if they want to do business with us again they have to pay. If word got out that they had killed us no other police would do business with them.’

‘How much do you think they paid us?’ Arras pressed.

‘Be patient. You’ll find out soon enough,’ Ali said.

Abdul was feeling sick to his stomach as he listened to them. All they could talk about was the money and not once did they mention the poor fool whose life they had sold as if he was a piece of meat. Abdul could not believe that he was with such people. It was utter madness. He couldn’t even use the excuse that he was an innocent bystander. He had been the group’s official translator, and it was his police uniform that had caused the deaths of the others.

Abdul fought to drive the voices from his head. They were threatening to send him mad. Tasneen’s face suddenly appeared in his mind’s eye and he wondered what she would have done. He wondered what she would say if she knew and in his imagination the horror in her face was immediate. He did not need Arras’s threat to stop him from telling her.

The vehicle swerved suddenly and Abdul looked up to see that they were on Palestine Street and approaching their other cars. His nervousness increased: he knew that some kind of closure to the evening was inevitable and would no doubt include more threats. All he wanted to do was to go home without talking to anyone. Tasneen would be asleep, thankfully, and he would remain in bed in the morning until she went to work. That way he could avoid her for the rest of the day. He would need the time to compose himself so that he would be as calm as possible by the time she returned. But his sister would still suspect something was wrong even then. He couldn’t hide such an emotional trauma from her. The trick would be to replace the truth with a lie. But any untruth he told would have to be about something serious, otherwise she would not believe him and would keep on digging. Quitting the squad would be a positive element to throw in the mix and would help to throw her off the scent. He could say that Hassan had threatened to kill him, which was why he was frightened. It was the truth, anyway. He could not remain with the team now. Not after tonight. He hoped never to see any of them ever again. But if they did threaten him he might have to run away and and take Tasneen with him. They would have to leave the apartment, perhaps even Baghdad. If that happened Tasneen would want to confront the chief of police. Abdul’s head began to spin with the pressure.

The car came to a stop and Ali and Arras climbed out.

Abdul remained where he was as Hassan and Karrar walked over to the others. They gathered in a tight group to have a discussion. Hassan took a bundle from his pocket, the one the terrorists had given him, opened it up and handed portions of it to the others. He looked over towards Ali’s car and the others followed his gaze.

Abdul went numb and stared back at them, feeling pathetic.

Hassan said something to Arras who left the group, came around to Abdul’s door and opened it. ‘Get out,’ Arras said.

Abdul wanted to stay in the safety of the car but that was ridiculous. Arras stood back as Abdul climbed out and then he pushed him towards the group.

Abdul stopped a few feet away. Hassan looked at him with displeasure.

‘Here,’ Hassan said, holding out a bundle of US dollars. ‘Two thousand is your cut . . . I should give you nothing, because of the way you acted. But, whether I like it or not, you are part of the squad . . . Take it,’ Hassan said, thrusting it at him.

Abdul shook his head.

‘Take it,’ Hassan growled.

‘I don’t want it,’ Abdul said quietly.

‘What?’ Hassan asked.

‘I don’t want it,’ Abdul repeated, louder this time.