FOR REASONS OF SECURITY AND IN ORDER TO PROTECT CERTAIN INDIVIDUALS, WHOSE HELP IN THIS ENTIRE CAMPAIGN HAS BEEN INVALUABLE AND OFTEN AT GREAT RISK TO THEIR OWN PERSONAL SAFETY, NAMES, LOCATIONS AND CERTAIN DATES HAVE BEEN CHANGED.
Security was tight with everyone on high alert when we landed in Baghdad. But the immigration officials, however, appeared unusually polite.
I had decided to play the whole thing low key. I didn’t want some guy trying to make a name for himself by blowing up the ‘kid who’s come to find his dad.’ The publicity given to Josh in the UK after the events in the East End, claiming him to be a ‘real-life one boy SAS team’, caused me to bring our departure date forward before details of our trip leaked out.
After taking a Yellow cab at the airport, I asked the English-speaking driver to take us to the security-conscious Hotel Ishtar Sheraton. The journey from the airport to the centre of Baghdad is recognised as being one of the most dangerous in the World. We were lucky and arrived at the hotel without incident mainly, because for most of the trip we had been driving in a sandstorm which had been blowing for several days. Although beginning to subside it was still causing havoc.
After being comprehensively searched, which didn’t take long as we were travelling light, we made our way to one of the two cafés in the hotel and ordered coffee and left about 30 minutes later. We walked to a small hotel not more than a mile and a half away. It had been recommended to me by Henry, as being run by a discreet and reliable Iraqi, Mohammad Hussein. On our arrival we were quickly ushered into a twin bedded room, without going through the rigours of booking in. After breakfast the next day, which we took in our room, we ventured out into the busy bustling street in the respective disguises provided by our host. Josh dressed as my ‘wife’ in a niqab, which covered him from head to toe with a slit for his eyes, and I wore my trilby hat and Saddam-style false moustache. As is custom Josh walked a few paces behind me and we kept in touch by intercom. Both of us having tiny ear pieces and small mikes which were easily hidden, in his case in the folds of his niqab and mine, behind the lapel of my jacket. This meant that when there was no one in close proximity, we were able to talk.
“Bring yourself alongside, Bubba,” I said, “and start looking in the shop on the left. I’m going to continue along the road to the next street on the right and walk down it for about 50 metres until I find a shop that sells electrical equipment. Assuming I get the right shop, I should find a guy by the name of Abdul El-Marazki . He, according to my informant, will give us some help and point us in the right direction.”
“How long will you be Jack?”
“Don’t know, but no longer than 20 minutes. Do some window shopping until you see me come out, then follow. Any problems, I’ll let you know. I don’t need to tell you not to attempt to talk to anyone, but make sure it appears that you’re with some guy. Girls shouldn’t be out alone, honey.” I heard him chuckle.
“OK. Good luck Jack.”
I peeled off and went down the road, leaving Josh to wander around and hoped that he wouldn’t attract too much attention. As I’d reminded him, women should never be out alone in Iraq. But there were so many people about I thought it would be difficult to tell if he was alone or not.
The shop door was exactly as had been described to me by Henry before we left the UK. Like all the others in the road it looked as if it was held together with gum. But what distinguished it from the others was the huge crack in the centre of the door with chicken wire nailed over it. I turned the doorknob until I felt the door give a little and went in. There were two men inside. Both looked up and stopped talking for a moment. I wandered around the shop looking at the poorly-displayed stock of TVs and radios, and wondered how long I’d have to keep up this subterfuge. After a few minutes, the one behind the counter made a move towards the door and held it open for the customer to leave. They shook hands and he was gone.
“Jack Richards?” he said tentatively with the semblance of a smile and putting out his hand. “I’m Abdul El-Marazki. Your disguise wouldn’t fool a blind man.” he said speaking in a deep voice with a thick gutteral accent. “Come, come through to my office,” he led the way to a back room that could hardly be called an office, but certainly served the purpose. I couldn’t find anywhere to sit, so I remained standing until he brought in a stool from another room. “Sit... please,” “but, ah, where is your companion? I understood there were two of you.” He said raising his eyebrows.
“Waiting outside,” I said, with no intention of elaborating. Trust no one, no matter how convincing they are, and there’s less chance of coming to grief, is a maxim I’ve tried to stick to on occasions such as this. The fewer people that knew about our disguises, the better. He seemed to understand and said nothing more about my ‘companion’. He was an affable middle aged man with a twinkle in his eye and a moustache similar to my false one. It appeared to me that a huge percentage of the male population in this country had large moustaches. In spite of the fact that he saw through my disguise, I was pleased I had mine; even though it started out in my suitcase.
“Now,” he said, “I think you would like me to try and familiarise you with various aspects of the city, and where you can start looking for information that will lead you to a venue where a certain soldier is, or could have been imprisoned.”
“That would be welcome,” I said, “but I’m going on the premise that we’ll have little chance of finding him alive after all this time. Although, apparently, he was alive up until about a year ago. Though I imagine by now he will be in a pretty shocking state if he’s still alive.” I tried to remain optimistic but, realistically, without any news of him for over two years, there was little hope. Despite what the Major had said, there was no evidence to back up his assertion that he had actually met Brad Cody. The man in his cell could have been an impostor, placed there to get information. An old trick that’s been around since wars began.
“OK, I suggest you start by looking in this area of Baghdad.” Abdul said, laying a map on the floor and drawing an imaginary circle around a dirty fingered spot. “I’m afraid it’s very old as Saddam banned all maps, but I’ve had this one hidden.” Pointing to what looked like a densely built-up area, he continued. “There’s a lot of devastation in Baghdad, so you may not find it entirely accurate. But, it’s the best I can do and you should be able to follow it without too much difficulty. I would concentrate your enquiries around here,” he said, pointing to a black blob.
I took the map, folded it, and put it in my pocket. He didn’t seem to be able to offer any more help, or if he could it wasn’t forthcoming.
“Please come back if you want more advice,” he said, “I’m here most days, most of the time.”
“Thanks.” I said shaking his hand and leaving just as another guy, who had been looking in the window, brushed past me as he went into the shop.
“Bubba, where are you?” I said after giving three on and off’s on the intercom. There was no reply, which probably meant that he wasn’t free to speak. Our pre-arranged agreement was that if there was no response, we would wait 15 minutes then try again. If still no luck we would keep trying at 15 minute intervals until an hour was up, then start looking.
I wandered around looking in various shops and the bustling souks. In order not to draw attention to myself, I bought sundry items of toiletries. Without saying anything, I picked up an item, grunted in an inaudible manner, avoided eye contact and made myself unapproachable by keeping my head down and generally appearing to be in a hurry. Remarkably, this worked perfectly until I literally bumped into a cop. He eyed me suspiciously and said something. I grunted and gestured with a nod of my head in the direction behind him. He half turned and looked over his shoulder, giving me the opportunity to put some distance between us and lose myself in the milling crowd of shoppers. I kept going for about 100 metres, not daring to look behind to see if I was being followed.
I tried twice more to contact Josh, but without success. Then, just as my nerves were about to snap and I was running out of shops, and souks, my buzzer went off.
“Where are you?” I almost shouted with relief.
“Close behind you, but don’t turn round,” he whispered “I think I’m being followed. Stay where you are for a few minutes and I’ll walk past… About 25 metres behind me there’s a boy and girl, both about 14 or 15 years old. They’ve been taking an unhealthy interest in me for the last 20 minutes. I can’t lose them.”
I shuffled on for a while and went across the road. It was then that I spotted Josh and the two he referred to. Both were dressed casually in dark clothes and white trainers. If they were really tailing him, it was a bit baffling. Why send kids to do a man’s job? Unless, of course, they were bombers. The youngsters were always the ones who did this. The old men had more sense, no guts, and nothing else that gave them the same feeling of power than to send some misguided youth to his death. Who ever heard of an old bomber! But I had a hunch.
“Go round the corner,” I said, “and when you come to the souks, hang around the first one selling fabric. I’ll close in and try to ascertain what’s going on. Be ready, because we may have to take these two out. If that’s the case, take the one nearest to you, and don’t pay any regard to the fact that it may be the girl. If she’s doing a tailing job, she’ll be tough,”
I walked along the street, looked at a couple more stalls, then turned and walked back across the road. I was just in time to see Josh turn the corner. His two followers were a bit closer to him and seemed to be quickening their pace. If they were bombers they must have very small bombs as their clothes were close fitting. But what if they were assassins with knives? I started to hurry.
As I rounded the corner I could see Josh pick up a piece of fabric. The two advanced towards him. I wanted to shout to warn him of something, but I didn’t know what! And I didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves and blow our cover. All three were now standing looking at pieces of fabric, one on either side of Josh.