Rain was beating against the high window in Karla Lindars’ office at Shrivenham. The dreary autumn light cast phantom shadows across the pale room. Ashe’s secretary was on the phone.
‘No, Melissa. No news at all. It’s been nearly a week now. Anyway, darling, what do you care? Fucking off to Dublin like that with your girlfriends.’
‘Seemed the right thing to do, Karla. The strain gets to you, you know.’
‘Yes, but it’s how we cope with the strain, isn’t it?’
‘Maybe I’m just not made for this sort of thing, Karla. Anyhow, I’ve met someone.’
‘I don’t want to know. I’ll call you if I have any news. Goodbye Melissa.’
A beautiful face. Jolo Kheyri was looking down at Ashe.
‘I try to grow a moustache like my uncle’s, Tobbiash. But is no good.’
Ashe’s eyes adjusted to the sight. ‘You’re looking… fine, Jolo. Where’s the party?’
Jolo stood up and twirled his sumptuous gold-edged black robe. His spotless linen headscarf, bound by an elaborate pitch-black ogal, caught the hard light of the strip-bulb. Ashe squinted. His head was pounding. ‘Very nice.’
‘The men of the Sinjar always wear best things for the Jema’iyye.’
‘The pilgrimage.’
Ashe realised Jolo was talking about the all-important Autumn Festival at Lalish, the Great Assembly feast. He knew that thousands normally attended, and that it always took place in the first week of October. ‘Starts today?’
Jolo counted on his fingers. ‘This is five day.’
‘Fifth day?’ Ashe sighed heavily. ‘I’ve been in hospital for over a week?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t feel so well, Jolo. Where’s Simon?’
Jolo sat down again. ‘Very sick.’
Ashe closed his eyes. He thought of his friend’s open, lightly freckled face, the warm smile, the kindly, no-nonsense voice: the man he could trust with his life.
‘Like you, Tobbiash, Major Richmond is caught in… cave. Rock falling on body. We dig you out. Major Richmond very, very sick. You have… operation. You have metal, here.’ Jolo pointed to the back of his skull.
‘Great, Jolo. Now I’m bulletproof.’ Ashe tried to laugh, but it hurt.
‘For Major Richmond,’ Jolo shook his head mournfully, ‘is very serious. American doctors here in Mosul try very much, but he is sent back to Britain.’
‘The other guys?’
Jolo looked very uncomfortable. ‘Yes. It was hard day. Evil things are happening.’
‘How many?’
Jolo smiled. ‘D Squadron. All are safe! Very good!’
‘The others?’
‘Very good for eight men.’
‘Eight killed?’
‘Yes, but many Ansar al-Sunna dead! And Tobbiash! Very, very good! Baba Sheykh is found! Yes! Thanks to you!’
‘Me?’
‘When Major Richmond is attacking. Many explosions. Sheykh is lying down. He has guards but bombs are too much for them. They are scared and don’t know what to do. Sheykh tells them, “Go outside! Help your friends! If you cannot help your friends, now is the time to run away because the soldiers have more guns, and they kill you.” Then they are thinking to kill the sheykh. And the sheykh looks in their eyes and says, “I am dying. I pray to God for you.” And the men leave the sheykh. And the sheykh is not dying. He still has strength. And he follows way through caves. All the time guns, explosions, and men are running. Now Baba Sheykh know these caves near Nerva Zheri in Hakkari Mountains. Our people have hidden in them many centuries. He is not well. But he finds way! And he climbs and he climbs, out into the mountainside. All the time he is thinking of his people and of the pilgrimage. And he sees the stars. And he goes to sleep in love of God. And British soldiers find him. And they bring him here.’
‘Where is he?’
‘He is at Lalish of course! Without Baba Sheykh, no Jema’iyye! Now, is thanks to you, he is with Yezidi people! You are servant of Tawusi Melek, yes! Thank God! Thank God! Tobbiash!’
Jolo’s excitement caught the attention of a passing US air-force flight surgeon.
‘I think you’ll have to leave now, sir.’
Ashe looked over to the doctor in the steel-rimmed pilot’s glasses and glimpsed the name sewn onto his sleeveless, dark-green surgeon’s shirt. ‘Captain Hong.’
‘Yes, Dr Ashe?’
Ashe extended his hand.
‘How do you do, Dr Ashe?’
‘Can I get up now?’
Hong looked surprised. ‘Since CASEVAC brought you in to the field hospital here, you’ve had serious surgery on your skull, sir. The stitches have dissolved now, but you should be taking it easy for a few weeks. You had a hole in your skull the size of my thumbnail. We’ve been very concerned about possible brain injury.’
‘You got the piece out.’
‘Pieces, sir. We got them all out. You should be taking it easy.’
‘On my back?’
‘Well, you’ve come round… May I take your pulse, sir? And your temperature? Here, don’t swallow.’
Hong put a thermometer on Ashe’s tongue. ‘I don’t know if you’re up to it, sir, but there’s been a guy from home seconded to the DIA up here. He’s been in and out. Damn keen, sir, to speak to you.’
‘Name wouldn’t be Beck, would it?’
‘Yes, sir. Sherman Beck. Nice fella. Now, if you can sit up, I’d like to take a look at the scars.’
Hong deftly felt along the lines of the surgical wound. ‘Pretty good. Very good! You shape up well, Dr Ashe.’
‘Did Beck say when he was coming back?’
‘Well, he’s been coming back every four hours or so. So… I guess he’ll be here… pretty soon. He’ll be delighted to see you back in the land of the living.’
‘And the dying.’
‘Well, sir… we do our best. I guess he’s got a lot to say to you, Dr Ashe.’
‘I bet he has.’ Ashe took Jolo’s arm. ‘Jolo, give me a hand! Got my kit, Dr Hong?’
‘I’m not sure I’m authorised to let you outta the hospital, sir.’
‘Listen, Dr Hong. I’m a British citizen, on a very important mission for a very important man in Baghdad.’
‘Covert work, sir?’
‘Would I tell you?’
‘I’ll get your kit, sir. But you better be taking it easy. And I want to see you back here for a check-up and X-ray in twenty-four hours, d’ya hear?’
‘You’re a brilliant man, Dr Hong.’
‘I doubt it, sir. But if I was you, I wouldn’t be getting out of bed like this.’
‘No choice, Doctor. Here, Jolo! Help me on with what’s left of my trousers!’
Ashe reached for his combat vest, still caked in dust and myriad fragments of carbon. He felt a bulge in the breast pocket and withdrew a sheaf of dusty papers: scan-copies of printed Arabic.
‘What on earth are these? I don’t remember seeing them before. How’s your Arabic, Jolo?’
‘No problem.’
Jolo seized the papers. His eyes darted down the sheets. ‘Ansar al-Sunna! Tobbiash, these are plans. Who give this to you?’
Ashe shook his head. ‘No idea.’
As Jolo studied the papers more closely, his body began to shudder. He looked up at Ashe in horror, hands shaking. ‘Tobbiash! We must go! We must go now! I must warn my men!’
‘What the hell is it?’
‘Plans to attack the Yezidi people! At Lalish. You see here! On the fifth day: at the Assembly! Six agents.’
‘Why Lalish?’
‘We always fear it. In our hearts. Many hate us. They say our tradition is not true, that we worship a devil. You know Arab word for “tradition” is “al-Sunna”. By killing us, they claim to be guardians of tradition. Is propaganda for al-Qaeda. We have heard warning before. Who find this?’
‘I can’t remember. My head’s too…’