Ultimate Weapon (18 page)

Professor Wilmington, thought Nick, getting up and walking out of the café. That bastard knows where Sarah is. And he knows why the Lubbock guys are looking for her.

Professor Wilmington looked up from his computer when Nick walked into the room. ‘What the hell are you doing in my office?’ he snapped. Nick could see him calling up the screensaver before he stood up and walked towards the doorway.

‘Looking for my daughter,’ said Nick firmly.

It had been a half-hour walk from Sarah’s apartment to the labs, and Nick’s hair was wet and matted to his
head. Glancing round the room, he could see that the professor was alone.

‘Well, as her father, I’d have thought you were the man responsible for her welfare, not me,’said Wilmington.

The equations had been wiped clean from the blackboard but Nick could still see traces of the chalk left behind. There was a faint smell of cigarette smoke in the air, although he couldn’t see any sign of an ashtray. ‘I need to know what she was working on.’

‘I already explained to you,’ said Wilmington. ‘I don’t follow the work of all my students that closely.’

There was a note of exasperation in his voice that was starting to annoy Nick. Whatever it was that the professor cared about it clearly wasn’t his students.

‘Something to do with energy, maybe,’ said Nick.

A thin smile spread across Wilmington’s lips. ‘Well, I think you’ll find that most of advanced physics relates to energy in one way or another. Or maybe you’re not familiar with Einstein’s work.’

‘It doesn’t matter what I’m familiar with,’ said Nick. ‘I need to know whether Sarah was doing anything that might get her into trouble.’

Wilmington stepped closer to Nick. The two men were just inches apart: so close that Nick could smell the thick, cloying aftershave on his chin. ‘I really don’t appreciate the way you keep barging into my office like this,’ he said. His voice was low, but there was a thread of real anger running through it. Wilmington was not a big man, nor did he look in great physical shape. Nick knew that he could snap him like a matchstick
if he needed to. But there was a physical presence to him all the same: his eyes were focused and intense. ‘Now, I really must ask you to leave. I have work to attend to.’

‘Something to do with the oil industry?’ persisted Nick.

‘This is ridiculous,’ snapped Wilmington. ‘We don’t do industrial research here.’

‘Then what kind of research was she doing?’

‘Pure science,’ he said. ‘Now, if you don’t leave this minute, I’ll have to call security.’

Like most soldiers, Nick knew how to adopt an air of menace, and didn’t mind using it when necessary. He was used to intimidating people. Yet so far as he could tell, the professor was not in the least bit afraid of him. ‘I want to see her papers.’

‘We don’t keep papers here.’

‘Her computer, then.’

‘I’m afraid that’s not possible either,’ said Wilmington. ‘All the students use their own laptops, and the lab’s mainframe can’t be accessed by outsiders.’

‘You won’t bloody lift a finger, will you?’ said Nick angrily. ‘It doesn’t matter what I ask you, you’ll just say no.’

‘Quite so,’ said Wilmington. ‘For the third and, I hope, final time, please leave my room.’

‘It’s my daughter we’re talking about,’ said Nick. ‘How would you feel if your family was under threat?’

‘I know all about that,’ said Wilmington coldly.

For the first time, Nick felt he could see a flicker of
concern flash across the man’s face. Maybe he has a daughter of his own, he thought. Maybe that’s the way to get through to him.

‘If I don’t get any answers from you, I’m going to bloody lose it,’ he said.

Wilmington looked towards the door. Nick could hear a movement. The door was opening. As he turned round, he saw the man he’d seen here last time. The Arab.

Salek.

He was stepping into the room, walking briskly towards the professor. ‘Is this man bothering you?’ he asked.

Wilmington glanced at him, but who was controlling whom he couldn’t tell. ‘He’s just about to leave.’

‘Not until I get some answers.’

‘There are no answers here,’ said Salek patiently. ‘The professor is concerned about Sarah’s well-being, as is everyone in the laboratory. But he sees nothing to worry about yet, and certainly doesn’t believe it relates to her work here. This is a purely academic establishment.’

‘Who are you?’ said Nick.

‘A friend.’

Nick just rolled his eyes.

Salek took a step forward. He was dressed in a white cotton shirt and black tousers, and his brown eyes were looking straight at Nick. With one sudden movement, his right hand flashed up, grabbing Nick’s left wrist and tugging it into the air. Nick could feel the nerves being stretched, and a burst of pain rattled up through his arm.
For a moment, Nick was paralysed by the attack. His chest and neck were seizing up. He looked into Salek’s eyes, and could see the contempt in his expression slowly replaced by amusement.

Christ, he thought. This man is at least a decade younger than me. A decade quicker and a decade stronger. He must have had some kind of military training to know those kinds of moves. So why is he hanging out in Wilmington’s office all the time?

Nick struggled to regain his composure. His left wrist was being twisted tighter and tighter: Salek was turning it like a screw, scrunching the nerves and the arteries. The pain was blinding. Steeling himself, Nick rolled his right fist into a ball, focused his eyes, then slammed his fist down hard into Salek’s right hand. There was a momentary pause. Nick could feel the impact of the blow travel down from his right hand, into Salek’s fist, then down into his own left hand. He cursed, trying to control the pain. Then his eyes flickered up. Salek had loosened his grip. Nick snatched away his fist, cradling it next to his chest.

‘You’re a strong man, Mr Scott,’ said Salek. ‘At least, for a man of your age.’

‘You’ll find out how strong soon,’ snapped Nick, ‘if I don’t get some bloody answers.’

‘That would be a pleasure,’ said Salek. ‘But you must realise you aren’t going to get anything here today. Your threats and intimidations are no good here. You’re not my equal in strength, and if anyone hears a fight, there will be a couple of security guards here in a minute,
with the police backing them up a few minutes later.’ He looked at Nick and smiled. ‘So fuck off.’

Nick’s fist was still clenched. The pain was rippling through his left arm and into his neck, making it hard for him to concentrate. ‘Who the hell are you working for?’

Salek’s hand flashed out towards Nick’s wrist but missed. ‘There are a dozen different way to inflict pain on you, old man,’ he said. ‘Like I just said, fuck off.’

Nick turned round. This was useless. Whether he could beat the man in a fight, he didn’t know. He
did
know he had the guile of a snake. It would be a tough battle. Nick wasn’t afraid of the man, but what would be the point? The noise of the fight would bring the police down on them in seconds, and he’d end up spending the night in the cells. It wasn’t going to help anyway. He’d learnt a long time ago that you had to know when to march to war and when to retreat, and he wasn’t about to forget the lesson now. ‘This isn’t finished,’ he said, heading for the door. ‘And if I ever discover that either of you had anything to do with Sarah’s disappearance, I’ll rip both of you apart limb by bloody limb.’

Behind him, he could hear Salek laughing. ‘You know what your daughter needs?’ said Salek, as Nick strode out of the room. ‘A stronger and better father. It doesn’t matter what the fight is, you’re always going to lose.’

The air was dark and thick with tension. Jed walked slowly through the empty side street. He could see the garbage filling the huge black metal bins, and he could hear Steve and Matt close behind him. Each step was taking them deeper into enemy territory. Take a single wrong turning, and they’d find themselves in Saddam’s bedroom.

‘Which way?’ hissed Steve.

‘Keep bearing left,’ said Matt. ‘We’ll hit the industrial area eventually.’

They had left Rob’s corpse by the river, and scrambled up the banks that led to an avenue running alongside the Tigris. It was lined with palm trees and, on the opposite side of the road, the big apartment blocks used by the Baath Party officials and senior army commanders. Up ahead, they could see the lights of the Republican Palace, a high, gaudy building, flanked by vaulting columns and two huge statues of Saddam cast in bronze. They were skirting the heart of the Iraqi government machine, Jed reminded himself. It was like a group of Germans walking down Whitehall in 1940. We’re as close to the edge as a soldier can get.
And as close to death as well
.

It was just after five in the morning, and they had to get to the target as fast as possible to remain undetected: they wouldn’t go in until tonight, but it would be harder to travel around the city during the day. There were still three miles to cover. According to the intelligence briefings he’d sat through, Baghdad’s security was entrusted to three different groups. The Special Republican Guard were the elite unit of the army, and the most fiercely loyal to Saddam. It was commanded by Saddam’s son Qusai. The Fedayeen, the internal security apparatus, was commanded by another son, Udai. They were the specialists in torture and interrogation – if they were about to capture you, you were better off dead. And then there were the foreign fighters. Mostly Syrians, but also Lebanese, Egyptians and Moroccan mercenaries, Saddam had hired thousands of them to help defend the city, mostly because he no longer trusted his own army to fight for him. Intelligence reported that the three groups hardly spoke to each other. There was no coordination between them, and just because the Republican Guards were searching for you, it didn’t mean the Fedayeen or the mercenaries would help them.

Bugger intelligence, thought Jed. We keep our eyes open and rely on our own wits. If there was one thing he’d learnt in the last couple of months, it was that all the intelligence on Iraq was crap. Nobody knew anything about what was happening inside this country.
And the more they claimed to know, the less they really did
.

Dawn was breaking. Up ahead, Jed could see a dust cart driving down the street, two men on the back, stopping
at every apartment and office block to pick up the night’s rubbish. He walked in a straight line, not stopping, not looking at the men. We’re just three Iraqis on the way to work, he thought. We all have black hair, beards, brown eyes, and the sun has tanned and dried out our skins.
We blend in as well as any foreigner can be expected to
.

They kept walking. By six in the morning you could feel the city coming to life all around you, Jed noticed. The cars were growling along the streets, and the cafés and shops were opening for business. You could smell sweet Arabic coffee in the air: a thick, nutty aroma that gave you a shot of energy as you walked past a café.

They had skirted north of the Republican Palace, tracking the river as it rolled through the city. A few clouds were smudged across the sky, but it looked like a fine day. As he crossed a road junction, Jed watched a couple of kids dragged by their mothers towards the gates of their school. Poor sods, thought Jed.
They have no idea what’s about to hit them
.

‘How far, you reckon?’ said Steve.

He was speaking in hushed tones, making sure no one could hear him before he opened his mouth. If anyone heard them speaking English, the alarm would be raised. That couldn’t be risked.

‘About a mile,’ said Jed. ‘That will take us into the industrial centre on this side of the river. Then we have to lie up until darkness, and plan our entry.’

Steve nodded. They crossed the road, skirted past the school, then took a side street that led away from the
river and headed north. By the river, Jed could see some men digging trenches. They were hoisting out the earth and putting down sandbags; next to them, you could see the machine-gun turrets being assembled. The war is coming, Jed thought. They realise it. We realise it.
And whatever anyone says there is going to be some bloody hard fighting before we take this city
.

He looked first towards Steve, then Matt. As he did so, Matt turned away. Leaving Rob behind was still hurting, Jed could see that in the man’s expression. He was a good soldier, but emotionally volatile. Losing one of his mates mattered to him. Not my fault, thought Jed. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t blame me for it. But we have to work together.
Otherwise we’re done for
.

A roadblock. Jed glanced ahead, trying to get a good look at the soldiers. They were right at the end of the street, fifty yards away. A Toyota SUV had been parked across the road, and the soldiers were stopping people at random, checking their papers and asking them questions. They were wearing the drab, olive-green uniforms of the Republican Guard. Not for them the purple insignia of the SRG, nor the black, baggy pyjama-style uniform worn by the Fedayeen. The weakest link in Baghdad defences, decided Jed. The regular Republican Guard were just ordinary guys who’d been drafted and couldn’t wait to get home to their families.
But that didn’t mean their bullets wouldn’t bite
.

‘Seen them,’ hissed Steve.

Jed dropped back a pace, so that he was walking level with Steve and Matt. It was important not to slow down
when you saw a roadblock. Don’t break stride, Jed told himself. And don’t turn round. The soldiers were taught to look for anyone who didn’t want to be stopped. Draw attention to yourself, and you were already dead.