The Protector (6 page)

Abdul’s father put up a hand to stop his son from saying anything more.They sat in silence for a moment longer as the older man considered a deeper, much more troubling question. ‘It will only be a matter of time before they come to look for you. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Then I will leave . . . ’ Abdul began to say. But his father interrupted him once again, this time with a hint of anger in his eyes.

‘Let me talk,’ Abdul’s father said firmly. ‘It is not the army who will come here looking for you. It will be the secret police . . . And if they cannot find you they will take
me
away.’ There was no shortage of horror stories about the secret police and what they did to people in their custody, no matter how trivial the reason for their arrest, and Abdul knew the tales as well as anyone.

‘But . . . ’ Abdul began, and again his father stopped him.

‘You are a man now, not a boy. The world is a different place for men than it is for boys. There are different rules - rules of survival. It may seem to you, in the protection of this house, with me and your mother here, that there are more choices out there for men, that we have greater freedom than you. But in reality we have much less.There are far more rules for men and the punishments for breaking them are harsh. But I believe these rules to be important. Without them we cannot maintain our values and we will end up living by someone else’s rules.’

Abdul listened quietly as his father continued in some detail about the advantages and disadvantages of the decisions, many of them unavoidable, that we all have to make in life and then the consequences of making the wrong decisions, especially in the times in which they lived. It was all so very complicated, intimidating as well, and Abdul could only wish that he had convinced his father not to send him to the army in the first place. There were ways of avoiding conscription but it had to be taken care of well in advance of the call-up date. One solution was to pay a fee, around two thousand dollars, to a certain someone a friend knew in the military who would have annulled Abdul’s obligation. But his father would never have done that, partly because the man believed that Abdul would have enjoyed it once he had settled in but mostly because of what he was talking about now: the rules and the penalties for breaking them.

As Abdul watched his father wring his hands while he talked it became apparent that it was his duty, Abdul’s, to resolve this most serious dilemma that he had created for his father and the rest of his family. When the older man finally grew silent Abdul stood up, put his hand on his father’s shoulder, and with an uncommon resolve in his voice promised, as Allah was his witness, that he would find a solution, and if he failed he would let Allah decide his fate. But Abdul’s father took little satisfaction from the declaration and did not look at his son who had always been much more of a talker than a doer. Abdul was aware of that, having been accused of it many times. This time he vowed to be different.

Abdul immediately set about making use of the many friends he had made at university and seeking out those he had heard rumours about in the past, men who had managed to somehow avoid the draft. Within a few days he learned of an army officer who held an influential position in the administrative office that dealt with army deserters and who - for a fee, of course - could have a name removed from the dreaded list. Abdul made contact with the officer through a man who had apparently benefited from his services. At a rendezvous in a coffee shop by the river near the Ishtar Sheraton Hotel the officer confirmed, after the customary ritual exchanges, that he could indeed help Abdul, at a cost of fifteen hundred dollars. Abdul did not want to go to his father for the money, part of his deal with himself and with Allah, and went directly to his mentor and only ally, Tasneen. Together they emptied their own bank accounts and raised the balance from various sources, mostly in the form of loans from other family members. But on the day they were to meet the officer and hand over the cash he called to explain that he was very sorry but Abdul’s paperwork had been forwarded to ‘other’ authorities. Abdul was horrified and immediately asked if it was possible to bribe the new recipient of the paperwork. The officer explained how that would be impossible since the new recipients included the police, the army, the National Guard, the border guards and, of course, the secret police. Abdul’s details would remain on file indefinitely or until he turned himself in or was captured.

Abdul had to sit down before his knees gave way. He had failed his father, dishonoured the family, but - far worse - he would be on the run for the rest of his life. The officer had suggested that Abdul’s best course of action was to return to the army camp. He could expect imprisonment for a year or so, which would be unpleasant to say the least. There was, of course, a chance that Abdul could be hanged as an example to others, something that Saddam encouraged. But if Abdul’s father made a personal plea it could help his case. If Abdul was captured while on the run his chances of being executed were difficult to judge.

When Abdul’s father learned of the news he slipped into a depression as he recounted a recent story of an old friend whose son was wanted for something by the secret police. After failing to find the boy they took the father instead. The son eventually turned up and the police hanged him in front of his father.

Abdul was faced with a serious quandary. If he ran his father might pay the price but it would still mean that Abdul would remain a fugitive. If he gave himself up he could be hanged or at least spend a horrifying time in an Iraqi jail, a period that he did not think he would survive. Abdul told his sister that had he known it would turn out as badly as this he would have done his time as a conscript. But it was too late now.

Abdul’s fears were to be short-lived. So too, unfortunately, were his father and mother. A month later the coalition force invaded Iraq and a week after that his parents were killed when their car was crushed by the reckless panic-stricken driver of an Iraqi Army armoured vehicle heading out of the city as the Americans closed in on it.

‘Abdul,’ a voice growled behind him. He turned to see Hassan, his team sergeant, looking at him, a snarl on his face, an expression that as far as Abdul was concerned seemed to be a permanent fixture. Hassan was a strong, stocky man with a barrel gut that was the result not just of a large appetite but also of a taste for strong drink, a suspicion confirmed most mornings by Hassan’s fetid breath. Hassan disapproved of everything about Abdul. But then he disliked everyone, it seemed, except his younger brother Ali. Hassan’s animosity towards Abdul was partly due to his resentment of Abdul’s more privileged upbringing, something which Hassan often sarcastically referred to. As far as Abdul was concerned the man was a lowlife and rotten to the core. Hassan was one of the thousands of prisoners that Saddam had released from jails all over the country shortly before the war, although he would deny the accusation. But after several men confirmed that they’d known Hassan while in Abu Ghraib prison he took to explaining his incarceration as an administrative error: he’d been inside for nothing more serious than a driving offence. Since most prison records had been lost or destroyed during the war, Hassan’s included, it was not possible to disprove his claim. Abdul suspected his team sergeant was lying. To him, Hassan was quite simply a criminal in a police uniform.

The truth was that Hassan had always been a criminal, since childhood, and like his brother and the rest of the squad he had joined the police only to further his unlawful ambitions. They were all Sunni Muslims from the Dora district in southern Baghdad, near the large power station which with its smoking chimneys dominated that part of the city’s horizon. It was an area notorious for its criminal element as well as for the insurgents who lurked there. The resistance and the crooks were hard to tell apart: their operational methods overlapped in places, both groups often working hand in hand.

Abdul could not understand why the police hired such men when their backgrounds and motives were so obvious. It seemed bizarre to Abdul and he could not believe his bad luck when, soon after joining the squad, he realised what kind of men the rest of his team were. He had initially assumed that his placement with them had been because he too was Sunni but then he learned that many of the other squads were of mixed faith. A week after joining the team Abdul applied for a transfer to another but his request was not even considered, his bosses having far too many more important things to worry about than a young police recruit’s unhappiness with his fellow officers.

Iraqi Sunnis had a reputation for being more aggressive and militant than the Shi’a, and Hassan and his cronies were a perfect example. When it came to murder, for instance, an Iraqi Shi’a was likely to accept a financial payment from the murderer in compensation for the family’s loss, as the Koran advised. But a Sunni was more likely to demand blood, an eye for an eye - and immediately, too.

There were two other police officers in the team besides Abdul, Hassan and Hassan’s brother Ali. Arras and Karrar were boyhood friends, originally from the Sunni stronghold of Ramadi, west of Fallujah, and they had moved to Dora as teenagers. Ramadi, was notorious for its robbers and highwaymen, skills on which Arras and Karrar hoped to build in Baghdad. All four officers were strong and determined characters who could see nothing wrong or even un-Islamic in what they did and believed it to be an acceptable way to make a living. The chance to commit crimes while working as legitimate police officers was seen as heaven-sent. It removed practically all the dangers and, better still, their victims had nowhere to turn to complain. They were certainly not the only officers of the law who practised extortion on the general public. Corrupt policemen were an accepted part of daily life in Iraq. Before the war a police officer took his life in his hands if he was corrupt. Saddam once had three officers hanged in public after they were caught demanding the equivalent of three dollars from an errant motorist.

Abdul was the smallest and most frail member of the squad. In fact, he was one of the least substantial men in the entire force. Like the majority of city Iraqis the team all wore their hair short and had well-groomed, closely trimmed facial hair - all except Hassan who wore a beard that he trimmed occasionally when it got too bushy.

‘That car,’ Hassan barked, indicating a fresh-looking BMW with a well-dressed young man behind the wheel who was waiting to enter the busy junction from the bridge. ‘Go!’

Abdul looked at the BMW, knowing what he had to do and hating it. He picked up his Kalashnikov, pushed away from the police vehicle and walked towards the car, reluctant but obedient as always. This was why he loathed being in the police, or at least in Hassan’s squad.

Disobeying traffic signals had become a national pastime in Iraq since the end of the war. Not a single electrically operated traffic indicator worked and since many of the major roads were partially or fully blocked off for security reasons drivers drove pretty much any way they wanted to in order to get to their destinations. That included mounting pavements, driving the wrong way down roads - including motorways - and going against the flow on roundabouts. This practice played into the corrupt police officers’ hands: they selected their victims like sweets on a tray. When Hassan ordered Abdul to commit his first crime, the extortion of a few thousand dinars, equivalent to a couple of US dollars, from a motorist the peer pressure had been overwhelming and Abdul had not been strong enough to defy it. But since the crime involved little more than a brief conversation with no threat of repercussion,Abdul had slipped into it rather too easily. His excuse was that it was far less hassle to take part in the team’s ‘extracurricular’ activity than to defy it. But if Abdul had examined himself more honestly he would have had to admit that although he did not like doing it he did enjoy the extra spending money it provided. Over a short period of time the battle with his conscience had been lost and at the end of the day all that remained was a general distaste for what he did. But he did it anyway.

Abdul walked to the front of the BMW and held out his hand to stop it. The young driver immediately rolled his eyes as he obeyed and pushed the button that rolled down his window.

‘Can I see your registration papers?’ Abdul asked.

The young man reached into his inside breast pocket, removed the papers and held them out to Abdul.

Abdul scanned through them quickly with an experienced eye and spotted a discrepancy. ‘Where is the court registration?’ he asked.The process of registering a new car was not particularly complicated in Iraq but since there was no longer a mail system a new owner had to present himself and the paperwork at the relevant courthouse as well as at his local police station to complete the transaction. It was an inconvenient process for many but a car was technically illegal until the procedure was completed. Although the offence was considered nowhere near serious enough for the car to be confiscated or to have the offender appear in court, technically the vehicle could be temporarily impounded and it therefore left a window of opportunity for corrupt officers to harvest a little bribe.

‘Your registration is incomplete,’ Abdul said.

‘I plan to do it tomorrow,’ the driver said, wondering why he was wasting his time debating the subject. But the Arab instinct to haggle was far too strong in him.

‘I understand,’ Abdul said. ‘But do you understand that it is not complete today?’

‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ the driver said. ‘I will take care of it immediately.’

‘But you understand,’ Abdul said politely, beginning to wonder if indeed the driver
did
understand what he meant without him actually having to say it up front.

The driver sighed as he reached into his pocket and produced several notes.

‘I see you do understand,’ Abdul acknowledged as he took the money and stepped back from the car to allow it to continue.

Abdul turned away and almost bumped into Hassan who looked down at the cash, took it from Abdul’s hand and inspected the amount, maintaining his snarl as he pocketed it. ‘Just four thousand? You don’t try very hard,’ he said.