An Enemy Within (34 page)

Within seconds, the pictures were lost in a dense swathe of sand and dust debris thrown up by the helicopter’s rotors.

‘Keep that target building locked on. Do not, I repeat, do not waver,’ Northwood screamed.

He picked up the phone, an open line to the colonel in the control centre. ‘Colonel, you’d better tell me I’m seeing a fucking mirage.’

‘No, I’m afraid you’re not. She’s one of ours and not authorised to be anywhere near the place.’

*  *  *

The noise inside the ruin was thunderous, the staccato beat reverberating off the walls like a machine gun, making it almost impossible for Alex to think straight. Was it friend or foe? Her mind was numb. Gripped in fear, she fumbled for her phone, almost dropping it, switched it on. The swirling sand blew in all directions, attacking the open doorway and windows and blasting her face so she could hardly breathe.

Backing up against a wall, she thrust the phone underneath her abaya, pulling the garment away from her body and peering down to see the phone’s display screen. She needed to call someone, anyone. Steve, Kowolski, who? A new message flashed up. She opened it. Her eyes widened in shock as the words, in capital letters, screamed out at her.

‘GET OUT OF THERE NOW.’

She glanced around for McDermott. He emerged from the murk, stumbling towards the window where the helicopter hovered, one hand shielding his eyes from the onslaught. Alex shrieked, at once horror-struck. McDermott had withdrawn his service revolver and was waving it menacingly at the helicopter like a madman. He laughed, a deranged faraway look in his eyes as he brought the pistol level, about to fire.

Alex cried out but her warning was lost in the cacophony. Gritting her teeth, her senses suddenly bristled with rage. The helicopter might be their only hope of escape. And here was the lieutenant, acting like a maniac and threatening their very survival.

She darted forward, her foot slipping on the sandy floor almost causing her to lose balance.

‘No!’ she screamed, lashing out with a frantic high kick. Her aim was true, focussed through fear and adrenalin. The gun
flew from McDermott’s grasp, clattering into the corner. He stood, stunned, not fully comprehending what had happened.

Now, she had to be the leader, she the rescuer. Alex grabbed hold of his arm, half pushing, half pulling him towards the far end of the room away from the helicopter. ‘We have to get out of here. Do you understand?’

Hoisting herself up on to the window ledge, she grimaced as the rough jagged stone scraped her knees. She held out her hand for him to follow but he was reluctant, standing stock still, dazed, in his own world.

‘Lieutenant. Come with me – that’s an order,’ she shouted as loud as she could. He stared at her, a look of recognition suddenly in his eyes. Straightening his body, he reached up, took her outstretched hand and clambered up on to the ledge.

Together they prepared to leap from the window.

*  *  *

Northwood thumped his desk in frustration. The screen was a fog. And now someone was hammering at his door. He glanced round. The door handle was being twisted and turned. Carl Whittingham was trying to get in.

Finkelstein’s excited voice suddenly erupted into his headphones. ‘The picture’s beginning to clear, sir.’

Northwood squinted, his heart leaping. Sure enough, the faint outline of the building came into view. And the helicopter was no longer there. Wherever it had gone it was no longer in the line of fire.

‘Prepare to fire,’ Northwood said, rubbing his eyes and blinking at the screen.

But Finkelstein could not discern any figures in the building. He zoomed the drone’s camera out, then in again. Nothing.

A louder crash at Northwood’s door distracted him. It sounded like Whittingham was using something as a battering ram because he could see the hinges starting to give way. He
rushed to the door, dragging a chair with him and wedging it against the handle.

‘Fire when ready,’ Northwood yelled into his mouthpiece, no longer looking at the screen.

‘But…’ Finkelstein protested.

‘Fire that goddamn missile.’

‘Firing now, sir.’

Northwood glanced back at the screen just in time to see the bright flash as the Hellfire was released. An instant later, a smile spread across his lips as the building was pulverised.

*  *  *

They’d landed in a heap, knocking each other over. The helicopter had changed position and Alex could now hear it some way above them.

‘Quick, come on,’ she shouted as they scrambled to their feet.

‘My Bible,’ McDermott said, frantically looking around.

‘There, there it is, quick,’ Alex said, spotting it just a few feet away where it had fallen from his waistband, her urgency at fever pitch.

They were halfway down the hill when the missile struck the building. The air turned a yellow-orange colour and the deafening blast from the explosion sent them sprawling. Rocks and debris rained down, stinging like needles, covering them in a shroud of grey dust. Alex felt herself lifted into the air in a helpless, uncontrollable spin. Twelve inches either way and she would have had a soft landing. But she couldn’t prevent herself crashing into a boulder jutting out of the sand, landing head first with a sickening thud.

She wasn’t sure if she’d been knocked unconscious but when she finally opened her eyes, everything was surreal and nothing made sense. Her face was wet and she could see blood on the ground. Her mind in turmoil, she fought for logic, some sort of perspective, and lost. At first, she thought she was staring at someone else’s blood. But, now finding herself on all fours, she
could see it dripping from her nose and her chin, staining the bleached white rock crimson.

Trying to raise her head, the sun was dazzling. The beat of the helicopter sounded high above. She tried to find it, but couldn’t lift her head enough. She’d been wrong, she thought. The helicopter had not come to save them. It must have fired the rocket that nearly destroyed them. And now what? Is this when it closed in for the kill? Did the pilot shout or sing or swear when he hit the button or was the exultation silent, maybe with a touch of sombre reflection? She turned slowly, the pain in her neck almost unbearable, and that was when she saw the lieutenant. McDermott, his clothes torn and bloodstained, was staggering towards the wreck of the building. The walls were no longer standing, now just a mound of rubble. But the wooden pillars and the giant wooden lintel were still there, leaning crazily, on fire and blazing like a gateway to hell.

She watched the lieutenant reach the conflagration, pause for a couple of seconds. Then, his head low as if reading from the open Bible in his hands, he marched forward. Alex tried to cry out but no sound came from her lips.

McDermott disappeared into the flames and was gone.

The blood stung her eyes and her head pounded mercilessly. She could hear herself groaning, deep mournful whimpers that shook her body but seemed to come from someplace else. The helicopter sounded closer now, its thud, thud, deafening. So the helicopter was the foe. It had blasted the building and now it was coming for her. Soon it would open up with its 30 mm automatic cannon, ripping her to shreds. Would death be instantaneous, or would there be a split second when the first round hit the torso and the senses screamed in pain?

It was only a moment after these garbled thoughts had teased her brain that she passed out.

*  *  *

Richard Northwood turned the key in his office door and opened it. ‘Carl,’ he smiled. ‘What’s going down, man?’

Whittingham stood there, feeling foolish. ‘I… I was trying to get in.’

‘Well, old buddie, you should have just knocked.’

Then he returned to his chair, put his feet up on the desk and leaned back, hands behind his head.

‘Anyway it’s all over. You missed a great show,’ he said contentedly.

27

Steve Lewis watched intensely as the small drops of propofol entered the intravenous catheter attached to Alex’s arm. The effect on him was almost trance-like. He had never seen so many tubes and wires attached to one person. Never seen anyone lying so still and looking so vulnerable.

The Kuwaiti doctor he had met several times over the past week entered the room. A monitoring nurse sitting in the corner stood up and smiled at him. The doctor nodded his acknowledgement and strode to Alex’s bed, unclipped a chart from the bed-frame and began studying it.

‘Good,’ he murmured, ‘very good.’ He flicked over a page of her notes. ‘How long is it now? Nine days,’ he answered himself. ‘I think tomorrow we will have her back in the land of the living.’

‘Fabulous,’ Steve said, the relief on his face palpable. ‘I wanted to be here when she came round of course, but time’s getting pretty tight back at the base.’

‘Well, I hope to see you tomorrow, then,’ the doctor said, leaving.

Steve sat down again, held Alex’s hand. ‘You hear that, baby? Tomorrow you can open those lovely big eyes of yours and say hello again.’

He puffed out his cheeks, ran a hand through his hair. In a longer spell of conversation with the doctor, Steve had been told the salient aspects of her treatment. The intravenous drip contained the anaesthetic that would keep her in the induced coma for as long as was necessary to allow the swelling on her brain to subside. This would reduce the metabolic rate of brain tissue and slow the cerebral blood flow. The rest of the
apparatus surrounding the bed was monitoring her heart rate, blood pressure, temperature and gases.

Steve went out into the corridor. Hospital habit had drilled him with the need for change for the coffee machine and he fished in his pocket for the right coins. Taking a sip from the steaming carton, he found a bench, pulled out his phone and hit a speed key.

‘Hi Kowolski. The doc says tomorrow.’

‘Wow, that’s great news, Steve.’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m here in Kuwait – arrived last night.’

‘You all done now, the business finished?’

‘Yeah,’ Kowolski sighed. ‘Hated every minute of it, every goddamn lying word I had to write.’

‘I saw it on the news. So the lieutenant was killed in combat on a special mission to flush out al-Qaeda. Needed to be done, though?’

‘What we put the poor guy through, it was no wonder he cracked. But he was still a hero, Steve, deserved to be buried like one – full military honours an’ all.’

‘Watched it on television in Alex’s room. She sure as hell won’t be happy.’

‘Tell me about it. The President’s rating’s gone sky high since he appeared at the funeral. Did you see him put his arms around McDermott’s mom and pop? Jeesh, I almost puked.’

‘I caught a glimpse of Northwood, too.’

‘You know what? People like him seem blessed to sail through every event with a following tail-wind. But, sooner or later, he’ll be forced to meet the hurricane head on. I, for one, want to be around when he does.’

‘Will I see you tomorrow, then?’

‘Sure thing. I feel it would be better for me to explain things to Alex if she’s up to it.’

*  *  *

Kowolski arrived at Alex’s bedside with a couple of minutes to spare. Steve greeted him, worry etched on his face. He gestured for Kowolski to stand the same side of the bed as him. Opposite, the doctor nodded to one of the two nurses present and watched her turn off the intravenous drip.

‘Now we wait, but not long,’ the doctor smiled.

Kowolski shifted nervously. He felt like cutting through the tension with a light-hearted remark, but thought better of it. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He was used to being in control, directing things the way he wanted. But this situation was out of his hands and he felt uncomfortable because of it.

Moments later, Alex opened her eyes, blinking. She saw Kowolski and Steve, felt Steve holding her hand. For a fleeting moment she thought she was in her apartment in New York and wondered what these other people were doing there. Slowly, the realisation dawned.

A nurse helped her to sit up, held a glass of water to her lips. Her throat hurt when she swallowed. Her mind swam with a blunted awareness that was vague and surreal.

‘I’ve been in a very strange, dark place,’ she said, her voice weak and shaky. ‘It was horrible.’

‘You’re okay now, babe,’ Steve said squeezing her hand. ‘So how’re you feeling?’

‘Weird, but okay I guess.’

Suddenly her eyes narrowed, a frown appearing. ‘McDermott…’ she tailed off.

Kowolski moved closer, felt the need to rub his chin, a self-conscious gesture to shield the bare-faced reality of the answer he didn’t want to utter. He glanced at Steve, the seriousness in his face told its own story. Then he turned to Alex, could see her eyes pleading for a reply. He simply shook his head.

Alex closed her eyes. She could see flames, bright and dancing, McDermott stumbling towards the conflagration. It was like she was hanging by her fingernails from a cliff edge, straining to hold on to the picture that flashed tantalizingly into
her head. But the vision then slipped from her mind just as if she’d lost her grip.

‘I’ll bust their goddamned asses,’ Alex said, her shoulders shaking with anger. ‘Everyone should be told what happened, what they did to him.’

Kowolski grimaced. ‘It’s too late to turn over stones, Alex. He’s been buried as a fine soldier. We have to let it be. Think of his folks.’

Alex slumped back, sinking into her pillow.

‘From now on, Alex, there’ll be no more lies from me – only the truth. And I want you to join me in spreading the right word. What do you say?’

But Alex said nothing. Her eyes were already closed.

*  *  *

A little over three months later, 25 January 2004, the Iraqi daily newspaper
Al Mada
broke the story on the UN’s oil for food kickbacks scandal. The news quickly made headlines throughout the world. In New York, a new website, Freedom is Truth, joined calls for a full-scale inquiry into the affair, starting with Congress. The website’s founders were listed as Gene Kowolski and Alexandra Stead.