The Protector (32 page)

‘Jake,’ the man said.

Stanza strained to see who it was but could only make out that the man was Caucasian and was wearing a tailored jacket with a crisp white open-neck shirt beneath.‘Who am I talking to, please?’ he asked, somewhat pathetically. The man standing by the open rear door moved away from the car a little and Stanza saw some kind of rifle in his hands.

‘Name’s Bill Asterman,’ the man at the front of the Mercedes said in a distinctly Midwestern American accent. ‘I’m from the embassy.’

‘The American embassy?’ Stanza asked.

‘That would be correct,’ Asterman said dryly.

Stanza looked around, wondering if other embassy guys were standing in the darkness. It was very sinister. ‘What . . . what can I do for you guys?’ The man’s features became a little more visible. He looked middle-aged with that polished clean-cut bearing one associated with Secret Service types.

‘Where are you headed, Jake?’ Asterman asked.

‘How do you know me? My name?’

‘Jake Stanza of the Milwaukee
Herald
. . . That’s not a secret, is it, Jake?’

‘Well. That . . . that’s me.’

‘I asked where you were headed?’

‘Headed?’ Stanza repeated, sounding pathetic even to himself, unable to be more assertive.

‘Yeah. As in where are you going?’

‘I’m . . . I’m er, heading out, with my translator.’

‘Yes. But where is “out”? Where are you going?’ Asterman’s voice was a patient monotone.

‘Do you mind if I ask who wants to know?’ Stanza ventured bravely.

‘I’m an official of the US government.
Your
government . . . We have responsibilities to you, Jake. But you also have responsibilities to us . . . So why don’t you just tell me where you’re headed?’

Stanza wasn’t sure of his ground. He’d never come across government types like this before. ‘The convention centre . . . We’re heading over there for a meeting.’

Asterman took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, toyed with it for a moment then brought both hands up to his face. A second later a flame appeared illuminating his cropped blond hair and when his hands went back down he had a cigarette in his mouth. One of his hands went back into his pocket while the other returned to his mouth to remove the cigarette and allow a long stream of smoke to escape. ‘The convention centre? There are no pressers today. Who you meeting?’

The man had all the airs and attitudes of an interrogator and Stanza had the sudden feeling that this stranger actually already knew a whole lot about what Stanza was really doing. ‘Why are you so interested?’ The journalist tried to lighten his tone by forcing a smile but he could not sustain it.

‘That’s my job, Jake . . . So, if you don’t mind, I’ll ask you again. Where are you going?’

‘I told you,’ Stanza said, clearing his throat nervously.

Asterman took a slow draw on his cigarette and blew the smoke out towards Stanza through pursed lips. ‘I’ll tell you something, Jake. In my job I rarely ask questions I don’t know the answer to.’

Stanza told himself to get a grip: he was perfectly within his rights to go wherever he wanted in Iraq. He was the press, after all. ‘OK,’ he said, putting a little starch into his backbone. ‘You wanna know where I’m going, then you say you know where I’m going. Fine. I don’t know why it’s any of your business but I’m going to Fallujah.’

‘Why are you going to Fallujah?’ Asterman asked in the same monotone. It was beginning to irritate Stanza.

‘I’m a journalist. Dozens of journalists are going to Fallujah. There’s a damned battle about to take place there,’ Stanza said. The growing irritation in his voice was a substitute for genuine confidence.

‘But are you going to Fallujah just as a journalist?’ Asterman asked.

‘Why else would I be going there?’

‘What’s the story, Jake?’

‘What the hell is this all about? Huh? I don’t have to tell you anything.’

‘And you know why that is, Jake?’

Stanza gritted his teeth. ‘Because you know everything? You tapping my phones and my e-mails? Is that it?’

‘You’re aware of our policy about negotiating with kidnappers,’ Asterman said.

‘I’m aware of your policy. But that’s
all
it is: a policy, not a law.’

‘Where did you get the idea that you could do whatever you wanted in this country?’Asterman asked.

‘So what are you trying to tell me? That I have no right to try and free an American from captivity? You think that’s gonna fly? Tell me some more. I’d love to write that story.’

The man took a final draw from his cigarette and tossed the glowing butt to the ground. ‘I have a responsibility for your safety, Jake. It’s not true that I can’t stop you. But I respect your freedom. I’d just like
you
to respect
our
efforts to maintain national security.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding me. How the fuck does this affect national security?’

There was an uneasy silence for a moment until Asterman eventually spoke. ‘What if I told you I could block the ransom money?’

‘I’d say you were full of shit. If they cut his head off that would put the knife in your hands.’

There was another long silence.

‘You gonna stop me or not?’ Stanza asked.

‘Like I said, Jake. I respect your freedom . . . Gonna be a tough drive, though.’ Asterman looked over at Abdul, his gaze falling on the young man’s stump. ‘Off the record, Jake. One American to another. That’s a mean road you’re gonna have to take. A lotta tougher folk than you have tried it and failed.’

The sound of footsteps crunching the gravel caused the spooks to turn instantly.The one by the open door raised his M4 assault rifle as another climbed out of the front passenger side, a pistol in his hand.

Mallory walked past the Mercedes, his small backpack over his shoulder. ‘Evening,’ he said to Asterman as he carried on across to Abdul.‘Keys,’ he said, holding out his hand.

Abdul had remained perfectly still throughout the exchange, unable to understand the game being played and concerned that the American official was going to stop them going to Fallujah. Mallory’s arrival caused Abdul’s heart to race and he lowered his head, unable to look the man in the eyes for fear that his own stare might reveal his hatred. He dropped the car keys into Mallory’s outstretched hand.

Asterman looked from Mallory back to Stanza and sighed deeply. ‘You know what happened to Pierre Dusard, John Santez, Mike Kominsky, Paul Jerome, Natasha Kemp, all media freelancers who went into Fallujah a week ago?’

Stanza stared coldly back at Asterman, suspecting that he could guess the answer.

‘Neither do we. And we know more than most.’ Asterman walked back to his open door and climbed in. His men did the same. The Mercedes’s engine and headlights came to life again and after the heavy doors had closed it reversed a short distance, pulled a slow, tight turn and cruised out of the car park.

When Stanza looked over at Mallory his security adviser was staring back at him coldly. ‘Are you gonna tell me I can’t go too?’ Stanza asked. ‘Because if you do I’ll tell you the same thing I told him.’

Mallory had been jogging past the end of the car park heading towards the checkpoint, when he’d seen Stanza in the headlights of the Mercedes some distance away, just before they went out. He’d heard most of the conversation, unable to tear himself away, and when he realised Stanza was going to stick with his plan to go to Fallujah it seemed that the only thing he could do was join the journalist and Abdul. Travelling with them legitimised his trip to Fallujah - he was responsible for their security, after all. It was still crazy but now that it was probably too late to catch his embed he was left with the same choice as before but with a different way of achieving it. He chose to go for it.

‘Get in the car,’ Mallory said to them both.

Abdul climbed in the back as Mallory sat behind the wheel. Stanza remained standing outside. ‘Are you getting in or not?’ Mallory called out, starting the engine.

Stanza leaned down to look at Mallory. Several things were playing on the reporter’s mind, but eventually he climbed in and closed the door. Mallory put the car in drive and they headed out through the checkpoints.

After the last chicane the car turned along the potholed road that led to Sadoon Street and they crawled along, steering left and right to avoid the worst of the hazards. Before they reached the main road where traffic was passing in both directions Stanza held up his hand. ‘Stop the car,’ he said.

Mallory glanced at him. ‘What, here?’

‘I said stop the car.’

‘This is not a good place—’

‘STOP THE GODDAMNED CAR!’ Stanza shouted at the top of his voice.

Mallory was angered by the sheer petulance of the command but the man was clearly upset about something. He brought the car to a halt.

Stanza clenched his jaw. ‘What the fuck is GOING ON?’ he shouted before turning in his seat to look at Abdul. ‘You ever see that guy before?’

Abdul shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Tell me something. What the fuck are you doing here? Huh? Why are you here?’

‘You asked me that already,’ Abdul said.

‘A sense of fucking purpose? Bullshit! A chicken-shit kid like you wants to go with me to the most dangerous goddamned town in the goddamned world because you’re feeling left out of things?’

Mallory stared ahead, knowing that his turn was surely coming.

Abdul remained calm.‘I will not die for you if that’s what you think. I believe in what we are doing.’

Stanza stared at the young man for a few seconds, unable to decide if his reply was in any way convincing. Then he turned to Mallory. ‘And what the hell is your excuse? Huh? You have more chance of getting whacked than I do. At least I have some value as a journalist if we get caught. They’ll label you CIA and slice your goddamned head off in a heartbeat . . . Well?’

‘You’ll think my reason is stupid.’

‘No kidding. Why should you be the only person in this car with an intelligent reason for going to that shit-hole? . . . No, please tell me. I’d like to hear anyway.’

‘Well. The truth is . . . I’d like to see the fighting. I missed most of the war and to be honest this might be my last chance to see a full-on battle.’

‘You want to go and watch the battle?! Christ, now I really am worried . . . Do you know why I’m going?’

‘Lamont . . . I heard most of the conversation between you and the spook and I can figure out the rest.’

‘What were you doing in the car park?’ Stanza asked, suddenly wondering.

‘I saw you both leaving the hotel and I was curious.’

‘And you just happened to have your backpack with you.’

‘If you were going out I was going too.You two’ve been sneaking around devising some kind of conspiracy,’ Mallory said, starting to raise his voice.‘I’m the one who should be pissed off here. I’m in charge of security and you two planned a trip to Fallujah without even consulting me.’

‘And you can’t figure out why?’

‘Damn right! I would’ve said no.’

‘Then what the hell are we doing now?’

Mallory exhaled as he lost the edge of his feigned anger. ‘I decided that what you were doing was . . . well, a pretty good thing. Maybe you should do it or at least try. And I couldn’t just sit back in the hotel room and let you go alone.’

Stanza looked ahead quizzically, then glanced between Mallory and Abdul again before facing the front.‘I don’t know what to think any more. But something stinks about this whole thing. You. Him.’

Mallory decided to shut up and let Stanza work his way through it. The man was indecisive but now it looked as if the decision to go was all down to him. Mallory could only wonder how he’d got into this position.

Abdul remained quietly in the darkness of the back of the car, unsure of what to make of the pair of them.

Mallory studied the darker shadows around them. The lone car with its engine running and lights on would eventually attract attention, not only from bad guys but from any army or police who happened to be in the area.

‘I’m not sure if I have the strength to say that we should go any more,’ Stanza finally said. ‘If you leave it up to me I think I’ll say go back to the hotel.’

Mallory shifted in his seat, wondering how he could manipulate Stanza’s uncertainty. ‘Why don’t we just head out of Baghdad, assessing the situation as we go? We don’t need to take stupid risks if we play it right. If it starts to look dodgy we abort and come home.’

Stanza looked at Mallory. ‘You want to go that bad?’

‘Stanza,’ Mallory began, sounding tired of him. ‘I don’t care if you want to go back to the hotel. It’s fine with me. But I bought into your mission to try and save Lamont. I think it’s a noble idea and I have not been on a noble mission for quite some time now. So why don’t you just run through all the reasons you wanted to go to Fallujah in the first place - quietly in your head, if you don’t mind - and if they no longer work for you then let’s turn around. But do me a favour. Make your decision fast because I don’t want to sit in this street like a fucking target for a moment longer. And if it’s a yes, I don’t want to hear you whingeing to go home half a mile up the road. I run the road trip until we start the negotiations and then it’s all yours.’

They sat in silence for a moment. Stanza shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right . . . Asterman spooked me,’ he said.

‘That’s what he was trying to do,’ Mallory said.

‘I’ll leave it up to you. You’re the security expert. If you think we should go then we’ll go.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Mallory said as he put the car in gear. The bat was back in his hands and he had already decided what he would do with it despite the constant doubts. The car crawled out of a water-filled pothole and bumped its way to the end of the road. Mallory paused at the junction for a gap in the traffic and quickly cut across the oncoming lane to join the handful of cars heading north.

13

Into the Breach

Mallory adjusted the rear-view mirror: he watched it as much as he looked ahead - his normal technique whenever he pulled away in a vehicle. This time his concern was more acute than ever. His usual plan in the event that they picked up a tail was to head for the nearest US checkpoint. But on this night they were heading out of Baghdad, away from nearby safe locations, and picking up a couple of bandits would create problems. It was impossible to detect a follower quickly if the driver behind had any level of skill. The trick was to find a distinguishing feature of any suspect vehicle that would be easily recognisable further into the journey.

Stanza picked up on Mallory’s vigilance. ‘You think he might follow us?’

‘Who?’

‘That jerk Asterman.’

‘I can’t think why.’

‘Because we might lead him to Stanmore.’

‘Who?’

Stanza sighed. ‘Lamont’s real name . . . It doesn’t matter right now.’

Mallory nodded. The details held little more than a mild interest to him. ‘Asterman won’t follow. If he gets too far from the safety of the Green Zone he’ll attract more attention in that armoured Merc than we will in this piece of shit . . . No offence meant, Abdul.’

Abdul ignored the comment and Mallory glanced at him in the mirror as he steered around the Jumhuriyah roundabout and onto the bridge.

‘Abdul knows a route into Fallujah,’ Stanza offered.

‘Abdul?’ Mallory said, looking for a response to Stanza’s comment.

‘You are heading for the ten motorway?’ Abdul asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Take the ten and I will tell you where to turn off.’

Mallory checked the lights in the rear-view mirror again to see that the configuration had changed. He memorised the new image and settled down as they left the bridge and turned right at the Assassins’ Gate towards Haifa Street.

‘Don’t take Haifa,’ Abdul said calmly.

‘I wasn’t going to,’ Mallory said. Haifa Street was probably the most dangerous stretch of residential road in Baghdad after the BIAP. US convoys could expect some sort of attack every time they went down it. Mallory took the next turn left at the Al Mansour Hotel, cut across town towards the disused Baghdad Airfield that was now a US military camp and headed east on the main surface streets to the entrance of the ten motorway.Traffic was light and after they mounted the access ramp a glance in the rear-view mirror revealed that they were alone.

The black surface of the motorway stretched ahead of them with only a sprinkling of tiny red and white lights along it. Ten minutes later they passed a sign for Abu Ghraib and Abdul sat forward in his seat as if suddenly taking an interest in the journey. ‘That’s the prison,’ he said and they all looked to the right at the long, brightly lit and ominous wall topped with razor wire and sentry towers. The car passed through an underpass and Mallory noted they were now the only vehicle on the road in either direction.

‘Mobile phones don’t work beyond here,’ Abdul said, referring to the poor signal reception. ‘The first American checkpoint is about a mile further on. We must turn off soon.’

‘What do we turn off onto?’ Mallory asked.‘A road, track, what?’

‘A track through a gap in the barriers,’ Abdul said, peering into the distance in an effort to find it.‘There!’ he suddenly called out, pointing to the near side.

Mallory slammed on the brakes and the car’s tyres screeched loudly. Before it came to a stop Mallory slammed it into reverse and the occupants jerked forwards as the vehicle accelerated backwards, snaking from side to side as Mallory avoided the crash barriers. They passed the gap, Mallory applied the brakes - with less of a screech this time - threw the lever into drive, which caused a crunching sound, and the car shunted forward. He turned off the road and down a steep bumpy embankment after which the ground levelled out again. The headlights exposed deep tyre tracks in the sand and Mallory followed them into the blackness.

‘How far along this track?’ Mallory asked, deciding to get all the information he could from Abdul ahead of time to avoid any more emergency stops.

‘You will come to a road soon. We go left.’

The sandy track was awkward to drive along at any great speed with several soft patches that threatened to suck them to a standstill if Mallory got too slow. He maintained the vehicle’s momentum to push them through and after half a mile they mounted a solid bank and bounced over an edge onto a narrow tarmac road. Mallory braked hard as he turned the wheel in an effort to keep all four tyres on the road. He had only partial success. But the verge was firm and eventually he managed to steer back onto the tarmac and accelerate away.

‘What’s next?’ Mallory asked, peering ahead along a straight dark road that the headlights failed to illuminate adequately. Open countryside was on either side of them, with clumps of bushes and trees lining the road.

‘Stay on this road for a few miles,’ Abdul said.

‘And then what?’ Mallory persisted.

‘We pass through some villages and then we come to a river, which we will follow.’

‘What about the US military?’ Stanza asked.

‘What about them?’ Abdul asked.

‘For Christ’s sake. Where are they?’ Stanza asked excitedly.

Mallory glanced at the journalist, wondering exactly how strung out he was.

‘I do not know where the Americans are,’ Abdul said. ‘They could be anywhere . . . They are not your only problem, though.’

‘Don’t you just love the way he says “your problem” and not “ours”?’ Stanza mumbled.

Several squat angular shapes appeared up ahead and a moment later a dull orange glow became evident inside some of them. It was a small mud-brick hamlet of dilapidated dwellings, several with benzene lamps but with no other sign of life other than a corral of aimless-looking cows and goats. The car’s headlights swept across the animals as it passed through the village.

Mallory was maintaining a pace that would only just allow him time to react safely if something appeared in the headlights. He took a moment to run through in his mind the technicalities of a handbrake turn. He’d done one only once before - for a laugh when he’d been a young Marine out with some of the lads.

A T-junction appeared eventually and Abdul instructed Mallory to take the left turn. The other minor roads they had been on since leaving the motorway had been quite straight but this one snaked tightly. Mallory soon realised they were following the line of a small river mostly hidden behind a lush bank of trees and bushes. They shadowed the waterway for several miles before eventually moving away from it and straightening up again. A fork in the road appeared and Mallory slowed, expecting Abdul to give him directions but none came. He turned to see Abdul looking ahead, a confused expression on his face.

‘Well?’ Mallory asked.

Abdul’s expression did not change.

Stanza looked around at him. ‘Which way?’

‘We should come to a crossroads after the river,’ Abdul said.

‘Which way did your cousin say to go at the crossroads? ’ Mallory asked.

‘Across.’

They stared at the junction for a moment.

‘What came after the crossroads?’ Mallory asked, breaking the silence.

‘A fork.’

Mallory sighed in frustration. ‘Which way at the fork?’

‘Left,’ Abdul said, suddenly irritated that Mallory assumed he had got the crossroads and the fork mixed up. ‘My cousin told me a crossroads was first.’

Mallory made an executive decision and accelerated into the left-hand road. ‘What came after the fork?’

‘Another crossroads.’

They drove along the winding road into increasing darkness that the car’s headlights struggled to penetrate. All eyes were glued to the beam as a faint glow on the horizon hinted at a town ahead.

Stanza clasped his clammy hands together, his breathing quicker than normal. Since leaving the city he’d more than once had the urge to slam the dashboard and demand that Mallory turn around and head back to the hotel. The fear of running smack-bang into death at any second grew with every bend in the road - he felt as if he was playing some insane game of Russian roulette. But he could not say what kept him from giving in to his fears. It was not embarrassment, nor the dim hope of getting the story of his life, nor the chance of saving Stanmore’s life. What kept Stanza from cracking wide open was the connection he had made with his old self. It was not all that long ago that Stanza would look forward in an odd kind of way to dangers such as the race riots he had experienced. This mission to Fallujah was far more dangerous, of course, but the buzz was similar and he needed to find that part of himself again.

This was a new epoch in journalism, the age of the media warrior. More journalists were dying for the cause of getting a story than ever before and Stanza was a part of this brave new era. But simply holding on while the possibility of unknown horrors loomed closer was proving to be the most difficult thing he had ever done in his life.

Mallory realised he was gripping the steering wheel too tightly and forced himself to relax. His stress was intensifying with the feeling that he was possibly driving into hell on earth. He could imagine his reaction if someone had casually asked him in a pub back in Plymouth if he would risk his life for a million dollars. It would have been a resounding ‘not likely’. Yet here he was. It was supposed to have been an exercise in planning and logistics but had grown slowly into an obsession. Pride was a killer of men, he remembered someone saying, a British affliction that the Royal Marines were so good at instilling into young men. Mallory was a finisher at heart, something he had learned about himself during commando training. But he also liked to think that he had
some
common sense, at least.This adventure was proving otherwise. Mallory didn’t want to become a victim of his own pride, but it might already be too late.

The headlights suddenly illuminated several cans and large stones in a staggered line across the road and Mallory took his foot off the accelerator as his mind raced to decide if he should stop or keep going. As they moved closer a figure moved from the roadside bushes into the light of the beam, a young man in a scruffy
dishdash
, holding something long that was hidden in the folds of cloth at his side. Another man with a shabby
shamag
wrapped around his head and carrying a short pole stepped into view behind the first.

Everyone in the car tensed,Abdul gripping the back of Stanza’s seat with his one hand.

Without any conscious thought Mallory hit the accelerator, pushing the pedal to the floor and willing the car to turn into a rocket. But time seemed to slow to a crawl and the car felt as if it had hardly speeded up at all. Two more men appeared from the other side of the road, stepping into the middle of it. The first man held up a hand, signalling the vehicle to stop, but Mallory bore down on him.

One of the front wheels struck an obstacle and the men made a concerted effort to dive out of the way.

But the corner of the car struck the first man’s legs, the second faring only slightly better as one of the headlights shattered. The other pair scrambled in their sandals to take evasive action on the loose surface. Mallory swerved in an effort to avoid them but there was a quick succession of thumps and the remaining headlight exploded.

‘Down!’ Mallory shouted as he continued to swerve the car from left to right, expecting a volley of bullets to follow them. He could barely make out the road ahead by the dim glow from the sidelights and it seemed like an age before the sound of gunfire eventually started behind them. None of the bullets seemed to strike the car. Mallory hit the high verge on the edge of the road and kept going until they were out of direct line of sight. He pulled the car over in an effort to keep it in the centre of the road and they drove on, the weak sidelights struggling to illuminate the road more than a few metres ahead.

Mallory took his foot off the accelerator to slow the vehicle down. ‘Everyone all right?’ he called out, glancing at Stanza who had his hands pressed tightly against the sides of his head as if he did not want to hear. ‘Stanza?’

Stanza flashed Mallory a startled look.

‘You OK?’

Stanza nodded. ‘We’re not going to do that again, are we?’ It was more of a request than a question.

‘Abdul?’ Mallory asked.

‘I’m OK,’ Abdul said quietly from a corner of the back seat.

‘What now?’ Stanza asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘We can’t continue!’ Stanza said, an octave higher.

Mallory steered around a curve, his eyes searching ahead in the gloom and then slowed to a stop before turning off the engine and lights. He opened his door and climbed out.

Stanza suddenly felt vulnerable and climbed out on his side. Mallory was looking up the road in the direction they had come.‘What are we doing?’ Stanza asked in a low voice. It had gone strangely silent after the ambush incident.

‘I’m listening,’ Mallory said.

‘You think they might come after us?’

‘No.’

‘Do you think we hurt anyone?’

The back door opened with a creak and Abdul climbed out.

‘Mallory?’ Stanza was seeking an answer to his question.

‘I think they’ll think twice next time before they try to stop a speeding car with their bodies.’

Stanza was in no mood for any flippancy. ‘What do we do now?’ he insisted.

Mallory wished the man had a little more backbone. He’d given Stanza credit for beginning the journey but had suspected that he might crumble at some point. ‘We go on . . . The problem’s behind us.’

‘What if we want to go back? What if we had to?’

‘We can’t. Not the way we’ve just come . . . I’d have thought that was obvious.’

‘But if we did want to,’ Stanza said. ‘If we did, how could we?’

‘Don’t ask me. Ask Abdul.’

‘I only know this route from here,’ Abdul said.

Stanza looked up the road ahead, into the darkness, accepting that it was the only way to go but not liking it one little bit.