I looked around for somewhere to safely deposit the bag. The weight, as far as I could remember, was only a fraction heavier than when we arrived in Baghdad, but if most of my personal things had been left out when packing explosives it could contain a sizeable bomb. “Get as far away from me as possible Bubba, while I try to deposit this little lot in the cement mixer over there.” I said in as calm a voice as I could muster. I took the bag and crossed the road onto a building site and put it in the mouth of the mixer. Then, a thought suddenly occurred to me; Josh’s bag could also be packed with explosives.
“Leave your bag and run like hell.” I shouted. A SECOND LATER THERE WAS AN EXPLOSION, FOLLOWED BY THE CLATTER OF METAL AS THE BAG IN THE MIXER WENT UP. THEN A FURTHER BLAST AS JOSH’S BAG ALSO EXPLODED. As the smoke began to clear I looked anxiously in the direction in which he had been walking. I could just make out his outline. HE WAS LYING ON THE GROUND, NOT MOVING. I staggered towards him calling his name, but there was no response. When I got to his side I fell to my knees; there was blood coming from a wound on the side of his head. I checked for his pulse. It was strong, thank God. I noticed movement behind his eyelids and slowly his eyes opened. He looked around for a few moments, then started to move his arms and legs.
“I can still move, Jack,” he said. I was too overcome with relief to say anything, except nod my head and try to smile. He started to sit up, and it was then that I notice the small crater in the road made by the bomb not more than 20 feet away. He was lucky to be alive and had escaped death or serious injury by a millisecond. We both had.
“What shall I do for clean underwear?” he said, with a glint in his eye.
“You nearly didn’t need underwear, period,” I said, “or anything else for that matter.” I took a look at the cut on his head. “You seem to be OK, Bubba, and that scratch on your head is no more than just that. I must confess though, I wasn’t looking forward to telling Jim that I’d let you blow yourself up.” He gave a tolerant and sympathetic smile, recognising my weak attempt at trying to lighten the situation.
Slowly and tentatively, like cattle investigating an intruder in their field, a crowd started to gather to inspect the damage, and show genuine concern for our welfare. We lost little time in putting distance between ourselves and the ‘war zone’ and melted away into the night without waiting to see who else might turn up.
After we’d travelled some distance Josh turned to me, “Jack did you say that Henry Armstrong had vouched for Mohammad Hussein?” he asked slowly wrinkling his brow.
“You bet, and I’ll have to contact him to stop him from sending any other poor, ignorant, misguided idiots to that hotel. Now let’s get out of here Bubba,” I said. “Before some other clown takes it into his head to try and make a name for himself.”
“There’s no way Mohammad would have been party to this,” Henry said when I got him on the blower. “I’ve known him for years. He comes from Bedouin stock and could teach many people a thing or two about honour. Take it from me, he would not have set this up.” He hesitated for a moment. “It’s possible, I suppose, that someone could have been holding his family…but even then he would have warned you somehow, I’m sure.”
“It’s better I think, Henry, if you don’t contact him. He, as well as the perpetrators of this exercise believe that we’re dead. It might throw them off our tracks for long enough to be able to make some sort of headway. I’ll speak to you again when I’ve got something to report. And now go back to sleep, if you can,” I rang off, and put the phone back in my pocket.
“Jack,” Josh said “Mohammad was nervous, and if what Henry has said is right then there must have been someone with a gun at his back, or some other explanation. We should go and investigate.”
“OK, we’ll go back, but if it looks as if we’re walking into trouble, we’ll abort.” My view was, that if by trying to help us, Mohammad had, in some way, put his own life, or that of his family in danger, then we should do all we could to help him.
We returned to the hotel and entered the building through the back door. As promised, it was left unlocked without a light in the small hall or on the stairs. Not daring to use our flashlights, we felt our way forward in the pitch black, humid and claustrophobic atmosphere, hardly daring to breathe and listening for the sound of creaking floor boards or voices. I let the kid take the lead as his hearing and reflexes are light years ahead of mine. He stopped every few yards to listen. All I could hear was my own heart thumping. At that moment I felt a hand on my face. It was his, as he tried to convey something to me, and stop me from bumping into him. I waited, and only then was I aware of a very slight humming. There was a door in front of us at the bottom of which I could just make out a dim light. As Josh gently squeezed it open the humming got louder, and I could see that it was coming from a fan on the small landing beyond the door. It struck me that, apart from the noise of the fan, there was no other sound. This was unusual for a hotel with people coming and going, even at this hour. As we groped our way forward, in the gloomy dank atmosphere, I felt slightly amused at the thought that I was allowing myself to be led by a 15 year old boy who I’d only known for a few weeks, such was his rapidly increasing maturity and the confidence that he instilled in me, I felt completely relaxed in his ability to make the best of the situation.
Due to the faint, but now adequate light, we were able to make more rapid progress across the hall to the next door. This opened onto a further flight of stairs and, like the previous flight, was also shrouded in complete darkness. Picking our way up the stairs, often stumbling and, alarmingly, causing them to creak, we eventually got to the top landing which was lit by a single, fly blown, filthy bulb.
We didn’t have to wait for more that a few seconds before a door opened, and Mohammad put out his hand and pulled us inside a comfortably but sparsely furnished room.
“Thank God you’ve arrived,” he said, “I had a premonition that all was not going to go well. After you left, I was told that those two guys I’d mentioned earlier, had been here again, sniffing around where I’d left your bags.” He stopped, hesitated and quickly looked past us. “Where are your bags?” he asked, raising the volume of his whisper.
“Spread over Baghdad somewhere I guess,” I answered. The expression on his face, and his general manner on seeing us, told me that he knew nothing of the bombs.
“Are you saying there were bombs in your bags?” he said and without waiting for a reply continued, “I feared there was something wrong, but confess I didn’t suspect that bombs had been planted in your bags. You are lucky my friends, but I am sad that I was the one who actually gave them to you. Maybe you thought that, perhaps, I was party to it?”
“The thought had crossed our minds, I’m afraid,” I said, “but very firmly erased after a conversation with Henry.”
“You had every right to suspect me of wrongdoing, my friend. At times like these nearly everyone comes under suspicion at some time or other. Forgetting all that, I have something exciting to report.” He leaned forward adopting an intimate and confidential posture. “After you left, I had a phone call from a good and reliable friend. He claims to have seen a captive, answering the description of Josh’s father, not more than six months ago. He was in chains, and under very close guard. Of course,” he said looking sympathetically into Josh’s eyes, “many men would look the same after months in captivity without proper food and exercise. But we must hear what Abbas has to say. I would not tell you this, and give you false hope if I thought there was a possibility that my friend would not be telling the truth. He is Bedouin, and he does not lie. At great danger to himself, my friend is coming here to see you tonight and should be with us in about an hour.”