After an anxious hour and fifty minutes exchanging pleasantries with Salih, there was a gentle tap on the door and the face of a young boy appeared.
“Ah, come in my son, let me introduce you to Mister Jack Richards,” said Salih with a flurry of arms and leaping out of his chair. “This is my beloved son Ahmad, who has been trailing and reporting on your companion, which wasn’t very difficult apparently, because his choice of footwear is not appropriate for an Iraqi woman.... and he moves like an athlete.” Ahmad smiled and, bowing slightly, offered his hand. He was a slight boy with delicate, almost feminine features. His face continued smiling all the time that we were together.
“My daughter, who has also been following your companion, is now with her mother helping to prepare our food. I hope you will both join us for dinner later. You will then be able to meet her, and my wife, of course.” He was clearly very proud of his family. “You will also be able to see evidence of my children’s academic achievements,” he continued, “educated in England.... They both speak perfect English.” I stole a glance at a still smiling but embarrassed Ahmad who, with head bowed, was staring at the floor.
Suddenly, there was an ear-splitting explosion followed by the sound of falling glass and debris. We rushed outside in time to see a part of the building opposite falling into the road, and children, who had been playing happily moments earlier, lying slaughtered on the ground. Sirens began to sound as the emergency services moved into action. From bombs in London to bombs in Baghdad. Planted by the parasites of mankind.
My intercom buzzed. “I’m…OK…Jack…well out of the way of the bomb…not far enough from the panic it’s caused though.” Josh said, panting in between words. “But… I’m coming in now…and should be…with you…in a couple of minutes.” He rang off.
I passed this information on to Salih and Ahmad. “Ahmad, go and bring him in so that he doesn’t have to talk to anyone,” Salih said. Without a word Ahmad left the room and a few minutes later returned with Josh, looking calm and relaxed. After introductions, we sat down and waited expectantly for him to ‘fill us in’.
“Right,” I said, “let’s have the low-down.” Ahmad handed Josh a glass of water, which he drank in three long gulps before throwing off his niqab.
“After I left you,” he said, “I walked to the end of the road and mingled with the crowd, almost attaching myself to a shuffling old man who walked so slow that I had difficulty keeping behind him. We took the road to the right and soon came to the al-Zaman mini-supermarket. The old man went inside, and I followed just behind, trying to give the impression that I was interested in the things on display. After a while I became aware of three men standing outside who were taking an interest in something down the road. With a bit of manoeuvring I managed to get into a position where I could see what was going on without arousing suspicion. Approaching the shop were three American soldiers.
“One of the men, who made no secret of the fact that he had a gun in his belt, said something and disappeared through a door at the back of the shop, and reappeared with hand guns which he handed to the other two men. They continued talking, nervously I thought, constantly looking towards the Americans. I was about to warn them when they stopped, and after a brief discussion went into a café. The three Iraqis then seemed to lose interest and went into the back room of the shop. The advantage of this disguise is that I was able to get so close to them without arousing suspicion. In fact, at times, I began to think I was invisible.
“I thought that I’d go and investigate. I started to poke around, gradually going deeper and deeper into the shop. I could hear voices coming from the back of the building, so I went through the door that I’d seen the others take. Suddenly I felt myself being held from behind and two of the men I’d seen enter the shop came out of another door in front of me. As one of them put out his hand to remove my veil I went limp, as if I’d fainted, and when the man holding me released his grip I pulled him over my head and into the other two. In the confusion I was able to take care of all three. It was a bit difficult though, with all these clothes on. Like being wrapped in a sack.”
“What do you mean, ‘take care of them’ Bubba?” I asked.
“Well, lay them out. I had a quick look round the shop and left. I don’t know what condition they were in, but I believe one of them cracked his head against a door as he went down… I don’t think seriously though.” He added as an afterthought.
We were quiet for a few moments. “You laid them out, all three of them?” said Salih, looking surprised. “What were they like?”
“Average height for an Iraqi, all with moustaches, two with about a week’s growth. Dressed in Western clothes.” The kid shot back without hesitation.
“Ages?”
“No idea, somewhere between 20 and 45 I would say.”
“Hats?”
“No.”
“And you disposed of all three?” Salih said questioningly. Josh shrugged.
“At the risk of being side-tracked we could investigate the shop I suppose. One thing may lead to another and we may find a nest of them. Then, who knows? In a bustling city, with a population of about 5.6 million, we’ll need a bit of luck if we are to find out anything useful.” I said.
“One thing intrigues me,” Salih said. “Why is Josh in this ridiculous outfit? In Iraq he would attract more attention as a lone woman than a boy, even with fair skin. We could always make him look a bit browner… but he still doesn’t walk like a woman.” He continued as an afterthought. “I shall have to have a word with my friend Mohammad for dressing you up like this.”
I was taken aback. Of course he had a point. It would be easier to darken his skin than keep dressing him up each time he went out. He’d have more freedom and be less encumbered in male casual clothes. A case of trying to be too clever I think, and perhaps overcautious.
“Salih, you’re right. But tell me, is this how you knew who we were, and how you first spotted us?”
“The underground, here in Iraq is more sophisticated than it was in the occupied countries during World War II. It has to be. With the advances in technology and communication, we are light years ahead even though no nuclear warheads have yet been found,” he said. “We know of all your movements since you arrived,” he continued, “and just hope the insurgents don’t. But now to your immediate problem, browning Josh’s face and darkening his hair. While we are doing that, we should also put a little make-up on your face as well.” Salih was a gem. He was giving us the help we needed, and valuable advice. Espionage has never been my strong point.
With just a look from Salih, Ahmad left the room, and returned with hair dye and make up. An hour later, with Josh’s hair dyed, and the cream rubbed well into our skin, we sat back and looked at each other. “Jack” Salih said, “I’m not sure whether you’re in less danger now, or more. An hour ago you were hunted by the insurgents, now you’ll be hunted by the allies. You look more like Saddam than Saddam,” he chuckled. “Now,” he continued with an air of satisfaction, “you must come and meet my wife and daughter.” As we went up the stairs to Salih’s small, but neat apartment above the shop, the smell of cooking, and the sound of music greeted us.
“Come my dear and meet our guests,” Salih called out after he had closed the door and we had removed our shoes. A beautiful woman appeared followed by an equally lovely young girl. “This is my wife Sylvia,” he said, “and my daughter Fatima.”
To my utter amazement Sylvia, bouncing forward said, in a broad East London accent, “Lovely to meet you luv, and this must be Josh. The one we’ve all been reading about.” She could see that I was taken aback. “Didn’t Salih tell you that I was from the UK?” she said with a smile.
“Uh, no,” I said, “but it sounds as if you’re from London.”
“Yes luv, East End, Whitechapel Road, home of the Kray’s and various other thugs I’m afraid.” I loved her from the start, instinctively knowing that she would be warm, witty and generous, typically East End of London. “Fatima will take your coats so that you can relax in our humble home.” Fatima lowered her dark eyes and blushed. She was only 14 years old, as I learned later, but she was already blossoming into a stunning and delicate beauty. She found it difficult to look at Josh, and I felt that there was also something in his manner that made me think that, perhaps, he was not unmoved by her presence either.
During dinner we learned of the bloody rape and murder of many of the Iraqi’s who would not toe the Saddam line.
We left Sylvia and Salih’s home having spent an enjoyable evening getting to know them and their children. Although Fatima had very little to say the whole time we were there, partly due I felt, to Josh’s presence. Ahmad began to form a bond with him out of their mutual interests and respect.
When we left, it was quite dark and Salih and Ahmad, in spite of our protests, insisted on escorting us back to our hotel. They left us when we were about 20 metres from the entrance.
As we entered the lobby Mohammad came out from behind his desk and, without saying a word, took me by the arm and steered me back outside into the comparative darkness. Josh kept very close behind, but didn’t attempt to interfere, or get in the way. I could see, however, that he was ready for any surprises.
“Two men came into the hotel soon after you left, and started to ask questions about you,” Mohammad said. “Were you alone? When exactly did you arrive? Was there a young boy with you? What was your room number? I told them that when you arrived, I was too tired to notice if the person with you was a young boy or your wife, and you left early this morning before I turned up. For a few moments I was confused, then I asked them who they were and for ID. They then left immediately without a word or a backward glance.” Mohammad was concerned for our safety, that was plain to see, but I couldn’t understand who would be looking for us so soon after our arrival. One thing was clear, however, the guys who came calling were unlikely to be members of the Salvation Army or bent on peaceful debate. I decided to immediately move to another hotel.
“That’s exactly what they expect you to do,” Mohammad said, “in fact, they are probably watching us right now and waiting to follow you.”
“Any bright ideas, Bubba?”
“Stay here,” Mohammad said, butting in, before the kid had chance to answer. “I have a room they could never find, and we could leave a false trail into the city. I can take care of that. First we must assume that we are being watched. Now, my friends, I have your bags already packed and they are behind my counter. Stay here and I will go and get them.” A few moments later he returned with our bags. “Now make your way in the direction of the city centre, and after about 20 minutes double back, after making sure that you are not being followed. Then re-enter the hotel by using the back door, which will be unlocked. I will make sure that the lights are not on otherwise someone could see you open the door. Go up the stairs to the top landing; I will see you there.” Even in the dark I could see he was sweating and seemed nervous.
“OK, see you in about 40 minutes, Mohammad, and thanks for everything.” I said quietly.
“There’s something weird about all this,” Josh said as we hurried away. “Why do you think he was sweating so much? And so nervous? I feel we’re in danger!
“Well, perhaps he thought he was about to be shot at any moment, or have a bomb lobbed in his direction. That would be enough to make anyone nervous.” I wasn’t convinced that I was right and I preferred to go on Josh’s instincts.
When we were about 10 minutes down the road a sudden realisation hit me; I pulled the kid into a doorway and slowly lowered my bag to the ground. I gingerly pulled back the zip and put my hand inside. Feeling among the contents, I touched something cold and metallic that I didn’t recognise. I carefully withdrew my hand.
“Stay where you are,” I said, as coolly as I could. “I think I’m carrying a bomb.”