The Burning Gates (42 page)

‘My, my, what have we here?’ Kane went over to meet them at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Who are you, darling?’

‘I . . . I’m . . . nobody,’ she stuttered.

‘No, somehow I think you must be somebody. And who is this?’ Kane pulled Hadi from his mother’s arms and flung him aside in the direction of Hagen, who grabbed him and held him still. The boy screamed for his mother.

‘No, please, I beg you.’

Kane ignored Bilquis’s pleas. He struck her hard across the face.

‘Leave her alone,’ said Makana. ‘She’s just a girl he picked up in Cairo.’

‘You know,’ Kane turned his attention to Makana, wagging the automatic, ‘I really wish I understood what your game was. Why are you trying to protect her?’

‘She has nothing to do with any of this.’

‘I’d be inclined to believe you,’ Kane said, ‘except that I don’t. Nobody takes a whore and her child along with them. That just doesn’t make any kind of sense.’ He tucked the automatic back in its holster and addressed Samari. ‘So, I’m assuming this woman means something to you. And her child.’ Kane snapped his fingers and Hagen handed him another plastic loop which he slipped over the boy’s head and pulled tight. The boy squirmed, struggling for breath. Bilquis cried out. Hagen dragged her back. Kane held the five-year-old boy firmly by the nape of his neck as he tightened the tie notch by notch. Hadi squirmed, grabbing at the thin band of plastic around his throat, trying to free it. His eyes bulged and he began coughing and spluttering.

‘You see how easy it is to kill a child?’

Bilquis was screaming by now. She managed to slip free from Faisal’s grip. Kane backhanded her. This time the blow was hard enough to send her flying to the floor. She stayed there, both hands to her face, and began to weep. Makana got to his feet. The young man turned on him.

‘Where’d you think you’re going?’

‘My knees hurt,’ said Makana. He reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. Kane seemed to find this interesting. He waved to Jansen.

‘It’s all right, Cody. I’ve got this.’ Kane turned to Makana. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘You’re wasting your time. You need to hurry up.’

‘Oh, and why’s that?’

‘Because Central Security Forces will be coming through that door any minute and you won’t stand a chance.’

Kane grinned. ‘No offence, buddy, but why the warning?’

‘There’s no need for anyone to get hurt. Take what you want and leave, but you need to do it quickly.’

‘Nice try.’ Kane jerked the plastic loop a notch tighter. ‘But somehow I have the feeling that my approach is more efficient.’ The boy’s eyes rolled up in his head as he began to lose consciousness.

‘You don’t understand, he doesn’t care if you kill the boy.’

Kane jabbed a finger at Makana. ‘You keep on talking and you’re going to start to annoy me.’ Nevertheless, he took a moment to consider the situation. Pushing the boy aside, he picked up the Japanese knife again. Hadi writhed on the ground as Kane dug the blade into Samari’s shoulder and cut a line across his back from top to bottom.

‘I have to admit, this is a lot more satisfying.’

Samari’s shirt came away in tatters and a scarlet stream sprang up in its wake. Kane stepped back to admire his handiwork. The Iraqi gritted his teeth, allowing barely a whimper to escape. Kane dragged the knife back across Samari’s body in the opposite direction. Now his torso was marked by a cross of blood. Kane wiped the blade on a strip of Samari’s shirt.

‘What I remember about that war was the confusion. Thousands of guys running around out in the desert with no idea of what was up or down. We were just a bunch of rookies, cut off from our unit, about forty miles from the Iraqi border. Our Bradley had mechanical problems. We were trailing along at a snail’s pace, trying to reconnect with our boys, when lo and behold we come across them. Just him and a driver in the middle of nowhere. They weren’t expecting to see us.’

At Kane’s feet Hadi was kicking feebly now, losing strength. Bilquis threw herself forward, but Faisal cut her off, putting an arm around her neck and jerking her back.

‘You remember Faisal?’ Kane grabbed a handful of Samari’s hair and lifted his head up. ‘He used to work for you. Used to drive your car, used to kill people for you. Remember him?’

Samari spat deliberately on the floor.

‘No love lost between you, huh? Well, that’s too bad, because Faisal here has been very helpful. He’s the guy who brought us to Cairo. Now, just imagine you had treated him a little better. Just think what loyalty you might have earned with a little generosity. But that’s not you, is it? No, you don’t believe in sharing. But you know what? I think he’s a good man and deserves a reward.’ Kane nodded to Faisal. ‘Take her upstairs, do what you want with her.’

Faisal struggled up the stairs dragging Bilquis behind him. She was still crying, pleading with them to let her son go. Hadi appeared to have passed out. Makana thought he could see the boy’s chest rising and falling. Blood was running down Samari’s body in rivulets, pooling on the floor beneath him.

‘We should have killed you there and then, but we were young, still wet behind the ears. The war was a joke. All that training and for what? We hadn’t even seen any Iraqis up close and now we had the drop on two of them.’ Kane turned in a circle to make sure his audience was still with him.

‘Then we opened up the crates in the back of the truck and I saw the most incredible sight I had ever set eyes on in my life. Paintings so beautiful, right there in that barren desert sun. It was like water, like a vision of an oasis. It felt like a religious moment, you know? Like Michelangelo or some shit. I don’t know anything about art but I knew right then those things were valuable.’

Samari swung limply on the end of the rope. He mumbled something. Kane leaned in and cut him again. ‘I’m not done talking. Show a little respect.’ He wielded the knife like an artist with a brush, slashing here and there, over and over until Samari’s torso was running with blood. He stepped back to examine his handiwork, then he reached into his vest pocket and produced a couple of cigars. ‘Here, soldier,’ he offered one to Jansen, who declined, and instead tossed it over to Hagen, who grinned and ran it under his nose to sniff it.

‘Soon this war will be over and we’ll all go back to our regular lives. Well, I for one do not plan on going back to mine. Wars make men. We’re going home as heroes, and we’re going home rich.’ He took a moment to light his cigar, puffing smoke into the air. ‘We’re going to take your head back in a box, but before that we’re going to take your treasure and put it in a safe place.’ From upstairs Makana could hear Bilquis scream. Kane nodded to Jansen.

‘Go see what he’s up to. I don’t want him to kill the bitch. Not yet, anyway.’

Jansen went up the staircase. Light was beginning to break outside. Flies were starting to buzz. Makana sank down onto the sofa. The body of one of the guards lay in a heap to his left. He hadn’t even had time to draw his pistol, which still rested in its holster. Makana could read the name Browning on the side of the pistol grip.

‘I’m beginning to tire of this game.’ Kane stepped up to Samari and cocked his pistol. Then he turned and pointed it at the boy’s head. ‘Let’s start with the little guy.’

Casually, Makana let his hand drop down the side of the sofa. Without looking he felt around blindly, touching wet cotton. Blood. Then the webbing of a holster. The gun was almost within reach when a voice behind him spoke:

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’

Kane had frozen. The barrel of the Colt Python was jammed against his left ear. Frank Cassidy stepped out from the corridor. Kane laughed.

‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘The last person you expected to see. Frank Cassidy, LAPD.’ Cassidy stepped aside and looked around him. ‘You’re a hard man to track down, Mr Kane.’

‘A little off the reservation, aren’t you, Frank?’

While Kane was talking Hagen started to lift his weapon but the Colt swung towards him.

‘Don’t even think about it.’

Cassidy knew what he was doing. Hagen lowered his gun and raised his hands. Cassidy took a step to his right, where he had a better angle.

‘Drop your weapons and kick them away from you.’

Kane smiled. ‘What are you going to do, Frank? You have six shots in that Colt. You think you can take all of us out with six shots?’

‘Maybe not,’ Cassidy smiled. ‘In which case you’ll have to decide who goes first.’

Kane sighed. He made a big show of placing his weapons on the floor. Hagen did the same. Makana got to his feet, pulling the guard’s Browning from its holster and checking it was loaded. He signalled for Sindbad to retrieve Kane and Hagen’s weapons.

‘Keep him covered,’ Cassidy said to Sindbad, using his hand to make his point. ‘If he makes a move, you shoot him.’

Sindbad indicated that he understood.

Kane was looking at Cassidy.

‘You’re the guy who shot Eddie. Why don’t you just tell us what you want, stranger, and we’ll find some way of accommodating you.’

‘I didn’t come here to make deals.’

‘Then what did you come here for?’

‘I’ll get to that.’ Cassidy moved up the steps. ‘Why don’t you finish your story.’

‘I’m not sure I can,’ said Kane.

‘No, I’d really like to know how all of this started.’

‘You’re calling the tune.’ Kane took a long drag on his cigar. ‘Where was I? I guess you’d call it my moment of revelation. St Paul on the road to Damascus. Whatever. When I looked at those paintings I saw what the war was really about. In a way I’d seen it for days. It was written out there in the desert. The horizon was black with the smoke that poured from hundreds of oil wells the Iraqis had torched on their retreat. Huge burning towers of billowing black smoke. I’d never seen anything like it. It looked like the gates of hell. I understood then that this was a war about profit, about protecting your interests. Nothing more. And we poor grunts would never amount to anything more than foot soldiers and pawns working for the giant corporation that is the United States.’

‘So what did you do?’ Cassidy prompted.

‘I didn’t do what I should’ve done, which is to kill him right there and then. Instead I persuaded my men that this could work out well for us. We couldn’t haul that stuff back to base and we couldn’t hide it anywhere nobody was going to find it. We had to trust him. We had to make a deal.’

‘He agreed to share what he had with you?’ Makana asked.

‘That’s what made it so perfect. We needed each other. He couldn’t get anywhere without our help.’

‘You trusted him,’ said Makana.

‘The war was over. The Iraqis were done. Once we were finished with Kuwait it was a straight ride into Baghdad behind General Schwarzkopf. I mean, why stop there? The whole country would be under our control in a matter of days. That’s what we thought.’ Kane jerked a thumb at Samari. ‘He knew that even if he went back to Baghdad, he would be finished. But he wasn’t going back, he said. He was going to get the stuff out. He had contacts, people who would sail the booty away into the Persian Gulf and out across the Indian Ocean. I thought we were partners.’

‘But that’s not how it turned out,’ said Makana.

‘No.’ Kane shook his head. ‘I told our friend here that we would guide him through the American lines. We had charts. We had satellite positioning. He knew about Iraqi minefields and troop lines. Between us we could make it to the border.’

‘He turned on you,’ Makana said.

‘No. Fate lent a hand. We were close to the Iraqi border when a Tomcat flew over one evening. On its way back from a mission, I guess. There weren’t supposed to be any Americans in that zone. He saw the truck and the decommissioned Bradley and drew his own conclusions. Anyway, he took a run at us, emptying his guns on his way home. In the confusion our friend here managed to get hold of a weapon. I was inside the Bradley when it was hit and I was left for dead. When I crawled out they were dead, all of them. Butchered, cut up into pieces. He fed their tongues to the birds. There were vultures feeding on their guts.’ Kane studied the glowing end of his cigar.

‘He drove back into Iraq anyway?’ Makana asked.

‘I don’t think he ever really believed Iraq would lose. He knew Saddam would never surrender.’ Kane smiled wistfully. ‘And things changed on our side too. Turns out we had other priorities. The Saudis were worried that taking out Saddam would bring in the Shias, who they hated worse than beer and barbecued ribs. President Bush decided it wasn’t worth going to Baghdad. So we sold out the Iraqi people to keep our allies happy. Hundreds of thousands died in that uprising, thinking we were coming to help them get rid of Saddam.’

‘So Iraq remained intact and Samari could go home,’ said Makana.

‘Exactly. I should have died out there in the desert. But I didn’t. If there was one thing that kept me going it was the thought of getting even one day.’

‘Who is Zachary Kane?’ Samari spluttered.

‘You don’t remember, do you?’ Kane gave a hollow laugh. ‘Zachary Kane was the last member of my crew. A young kid of nineteen who hailed from some one-horse town in Iowa. Funny thing is he was dead set against the deal, said I couldn’t trust you. I should have listened to him.’