The Protector (8 page)

As a woman Tasneen was stifled in Iraq and since the end of the war, or more specifically since working in the Green Zone among Americans and Europeans, the kind of people whose company she had never experienced before, she had begun to believe that she might have a chance to live her dream. She hated every aspect of the war but the end of the dictatorship, despite its violent circumstances, had given her a hope that she’d never had before. She had no real plans to travel across Iraq’s borders in the immediate future, but one day she hoped to. She was relying on fate to turn her dreams into reality and hoped that it would one day free her to fly away and explore all the places and experiences she had so often imagined.

She faced Abdul’s door, wanting to speak to him, to apologise for not understanding him. But she decided to let it go for the time being. He was clearly deeply troubled and the best thing she could do, she felt, was what she always did at times like this: to simply be there for him if he needed her. The fact that she had no real solutions for him either sometimes made her feel like a hypocrite anyway. Perhaps one day fate might be good to him too. She knew he would never have deliberately chosen to be a thief and Tasneen could only hope that he would find a way out of his dilemma.

‘I’ll make us some supper, Abdul,’ she said softly.

He did not answer. She raised a hand to touch the door, changed her mind and walked away into the kitchen.

Abdul lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He had heard his sister but had chosen to stay silent. His anger was already receding. She was right, as always. But then, it didn’t take a genius to figure out how wrong his position was. It might take one to figure out what he was going to do with his life, though, for he could see no hope or opportunities on the horizon. He felt as if he was wasting his existence on this earth. So many people he knew were making a fortune out of the war and there were so many stories of success. The truth was that he had no idea what ‘success’ really meant to him. It wasn’t money. Not really. Abdul appreciated it but it was not what drove him. His problem was that he didn’t know what did. That was Allah’s job, to direct him, guide him, show him what to do. Perhaps Allah was unable to do this while Abdul conducted himself as he did, stealing from drivers. It was an impossible dilemma.

Another thing that was starting to bother Abdul was his marital status. He needed to find a partner and get married, and soon. It was important for a young Arab man and an essential religious as well as social step. But there were two important obstacles he needed to overcome. The first was that he didn’t know a girl whom he wanted to marry and the second, which he needed to solve before he could deal with the first, was his income. A police officer’s pay was far too low to attract the kind of woman he wanted or, more to the point, impress the
parents
of the kind of woman he would like to wed. Good families expected suitors at least to provide a home for their daughters, preferably one they owned and did not share with other members of the suitor’s family. He needed a higher income and therefore a better job. And as for sharing the apartment, the only way around that was for Tasneen to get married to a man who had his own house so that she could move out. But that was not going to be easy either since Tasneen was not a normal girl.

Abdul’s sister was eligible, beautiful and intelligent, not that any of those factors mattered except the first while the last one was valued least of all. The biggest problem was Tasneen herself. She didn’t seem to like any man, not enough to marry him, anyway.The disadvantage of her having no parents was that there was no one pressuring her into marriage other than Abdul who had about as much influence over her on that subject as the Pope. Tasneen was far too western in her outlook and attitude. She was too free a thinker, too liberated and most un-Islamic. Considering the concern that she endlessly expressed for him Abdul found it irritating how Tasneen could not see that his advancement was directly related to her getting married as soon as possible.

It was all an impossible situation and one over which he seemed to have little or no control. Abdul decided that the best thing he could do was concentrate on the main issue of the moment which was his job with the police or, to use Tasneen’s admittedly accurate description, with his gang of thieves. Since he could not get a transfer he would simply have to tell them that he could no longer take part in their corrupt activities. But the thought of actually telling them filled Abdul with dread. Everyone in the team had to be in on the game. Even Abdul could see the reasoning behind that. Hassan would not allow it to be any other way. There was only one other thing Abdul could do and that was to quit. Deep down, he knew that was the only way out.

Abdul’s phone began to chirp a cheerful Arab tune that got louder the longer it remained unanswered. He dug it out of his pocket and looked at the screen to read the number. It was Hassan.

Abdul did not answer it right away, wondering what the man could be wanting. Perhaps God had made Hassan call so that Abdul could tell him he was quitting. Abdul immediately erased that thought out of fear of Hassan’s reaction.

He took a grip of himself. There was nothing to be afraid of in the long run. Hassan couldn’t kill him just for quitting the police. It was possible that Hassan might even find the prospect acceptable since he did not like Abdul in any case.

Abdul hit a button on the phone and put it to his ear. ‘
Salom alycom
, Hassan,’ he said.

‘Shut up,’ Hassan growled. ‘We are meeting at the police academy tonight at ten.’

‘But I am not working tonight—’

‘Shut up, I said. You
are
working tonight. There is an operation and we are a part of it. We will meet at the rear entrance to the academy on Palestine Street. Don’t be late.’

It was pointless to argue with the man. He was the sergeant and an order was an order. It was not unusual to be called at home to take part in an operation even when you’d just come off duty. There was a shortage of police officers and the bosses usually called in as many men as they could if the job was anything to do with capturing insurgents.This was only the second time Abdul had been called out for a night operation and although he had been looking forward to an evening in front of the television and a good night’s sleep, duty called. At least he would not have to stop cars and ask for bribes.

‘I’ll be there,’ Abdul said and the phone went dead.

He tossed it onto the bed and massaged his hands. Hassan always made him tense.

Abdul got to his feet and exhaled deeply as he rolled his shoulders in an effort to relax and compose himself. His thoughts went back to his sister as he heard a noise from the kitchen. He would go and be nice to her and even help prepare the meal. She did far more than he did in the home, all the cleaning and laundry as well as making most of the meals. Abdul often washed up the dishes afterwards but he did little more than that. That was OK for ordinary Arab girls but Tasneen was different and she meant more to him than their sisters did to other Arab boys.

Abdul decided not to tell her about his plan to quit the force. He would break the news to her once he had told Hassan. And for the rest of the evening until he left he would be his old cheerful self.

Abdul opened the door, stepped into the living room and was about to cross it towards the kitchen when he stopped and looked up at the Koran on its shelf. He reached for it, took it down and held it to his heart as he begged Allah to watch over him and help him with his plans. Then he kissed the book, put it back on the shelf and, suddenly feeling a lot better about everything, headed for the kitchen, a broad smile on his face.

3

Abdul’s Miscalculation

Abdul drove along Palestine Street, a dual carriageway that ran into the southern corner of the infamous Sada City in the north-east quadrant of Baghdad. He glanced over his left shoulder at the rear entrance of the police academy as he passed it, a narrow opening in a high wall that looked like it led into a long alleyway with a heavy steel security gate at the end. It was a dark, chilly night. There were no street lights and, due to the nightly curfew, traffic was light, one of the few benefits of being a policeman and driving at night in Baghdad.

Abdul caught sight of several vehicles parked off the road against the perimeter wall near the entrance, one of which looked like Hassan’s sparkling new red Opal.

A couple of hundred metres further on Abdul reached a wide junction beneath a motorway underpass where he made a tight U-turn into the oncoming lanes and headed back towards the academy entrance.

He pulled off the road and onto the rubble-strewn ground, stopped behind the group of cars he recognised as belonging to Arras, Karrar and Ali, killed the engine and climbed out. There were several groups of men huddled together along the perimeter wall, and Abdul saw his squad standing in front of Hassan’s car, all of them smoking.Abdul locked his car doors, pulled his leather jacket tight against the chilly air and walked over to join them.

None of the men greeted Abdul as he stepped in among them. He was used to their coldness towards him and bid them hello despite it, determined to remain positive for his planned conversation with Hassan.The only thing Abdul had not decided on was the ideal moment to broach the subject. But as soon as he saw the faces of the others he suspected that something was not quite right with them, as if they had heard some bad news and were unable to look at him squarely. Another oddity was that he could always expect a rude or insulting comment from at least one of them but tonight they appeared to be too distracted even for that. Perhaps they were unhappy about being dragged out to work at a time when they all would have preferred to be at home.

‘What’s the job, then?’ Abdul asked, deliberately acting perky as proof that he did not mind being out at that time.

Ali took a last draw on his cigarette, dropped it between his feet and ground it into the soil with the toe of his boot. As if it was a signal to the others, Arras and Karrar also tossed their cigarette butts away.

‘You have a balaclava?’ Hassan asked Abdul.

‘No,’Abdul replied. Many officers carried some kind of headwear that they could cover their faces with, often wearing them while on the job. Police officers were perceived by many Iraqis as lackeys of the Americans and there were considerable dangers in being recognised. Depending on where a man lived or where a task took him there was a risk of retribution. A high number of officers had been killed while off duty, although no one knew the exact figure because the authorities did not like to publicise it. Many policemen had simply disappeared, never to be heard from again, while the corpses of others had been found in one of the several popular places to dump bodies. There was a large piece of open ground to the east of Sadar City for Shi’a victims, another east of Dora for Sunni. Or there was always the Tigris river. Mothers, wives and children often turned up at police headquarters looking for their loved ones, having seen or heard nothing of them for days. Abdul never bothered to disguise himself, mainly because none of the others in the squad did. He also lived in a relatively safe neighbourhood and considered the precautions he took to be adequate.

Hassan reached into a pocket, removed a balaclava and tossed it to Abdul. It hit his chest and dropped to the ground. Abdul picked it up and shook the dust off it.

‘Button your jacket up to the top,’ Hassan growled at Abdul. ‘Hide your uniform.’

Abdul obeyed. ‘What is the operation?’ he asked again, hoping for a reply.

‘A raid,’ Hassan said.

‘A raid?’ Abdul asked. ‘Where?’ No one replied but Abdul had the feeling they knew more about it. ‘Who are we raiding?’ Abdul persisted, finding the courage to push them a little.

‘You ask too many questions,’ Hassan growled. ‘We’ll take two cars,’ he said to the others, disconnecting from Abdul. ‘Yours and mine,’ he said to his brother.

Several cars appeared in the alley heading out of the police academy towards Palestine Street.

‘That’s the chief,’ Hassan said. ‘Let’s get in the cars.’

The other police squads dispersed to their vehicles and Abdul followed Hassan. He had been on one previous night raid and had been told nothing about it beforehand either, which was understandable. It was no secret that the police had been infiltrated by supporters of the insurgency and in the past warnings had been communicated to evacuate targeted premises before the police squads arrived. Abdul wondered if Hassan actually knew the location himself but that did not explain the strange atmosphere within the group.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Hassan shouted at him. ‘Get in with Ali.’

Abdul climbed into the back of Ali’s BMW while Arras occupied the front passenger seat.The cars started up, their headlights flashed on and Hassan followed the last of the other squad vehicles onto the road with Ali moving in behind.

Abdul thought he could sense a level of tension among the members of his team which was unusual, especially if they didn’t know where they were going or what they were doing. Abdul thought he was imagining it until both men lit up cigarettes having only just put one out.

‘Do you think this will be a short raid or an all-night one?’ Abdul asked. He didn’t receive an answer and sighed audibly. ‘Why do you people always treat me like an idiot?’

‘Because you
are
one,’Arras snapped, looking around at him, his eyes cold.

‘There are several raids tonight,’ Ali eventually said.

Ali was the most intelligent of the bunch. But it was a sly intelligence, like that of a desert fox. He was the least abrasive towards Abdul but for no other reason than it was his nature to be more controlled. Karrar, driving with Hassan, was generally mute most of the time but that was because he was as thick as a tombstone and incapable of independent thought. Abdul judged Arras to be the most lethal of the bunch. He was utterly ruthless, had a short fuse, and without Hassan to control him Abdul suspected that he could be very dangerous if upset.

‘Several raids?’ Abdul asked, surprised.

Arras glanced at Ali as if wondering why he had revealed so much. But Ali was as confident as always. ‘They are taking place concurrently,’ Ali said.

‘Why did Hassan not say?’ Abdul asked.

‘There’s no secrecy,’Ali said smoothly.‘It’s only security. Why do you need to know? Why do any of us, other than Hassan, need to know, for that matter? He is the only one who needs to know where we are going. When you see the place and are doing the job you will know everything.’

‘Why don’t you just shut up and relax, eh?’ Arras said, glancing back briefly at Abdul.

They passed the old sports stadium, crossed the motorway flyover and headed into the Karada district. Traffic was light but as they turned around the Ali Baba roundabout - where there was a statue of Kahramana filling the fabled forty pots - a combined US Army and Iraqi police checkpoint came into view ahead.The other squad cars were passing through it and Hassan looked as if he was about to follow when he suddenly swerved past the turning and took the next roundabout exit.

Ali followed Hassan and Abdul sat forward in his seat, looking at the road ahead and wondering why they had left the other police vehicles.

‘We are going to do our part of the job,’ Ali said, as if he had noticed Abdul’s concern.

Abdul sat back again and looked out of his window, Ali’s suggestion that he would know soon enough echoing in his head. The car’s heater was on too high for Abdul and he undid the buttons on his leather jacket to let in some air.

Hassan pulled off the main road and slowed as they entered a quiet residential street. There was no street lighting and no moving traffic. Parked cars were drawn up on both sides of the road. Most of the houses were in darkness, indicating a power cut in the neighbourhood which was normal for this time of night. Those that had lights obviously had their own generators or benzene lamps but with the current fuel shortage only those who could afford the black-market prices enjoyed the luxury of power at night.

Hassan turned his vehicle along another narrow street, pulled over and parked against the kerb. Ali tucked in behind him and both cars fell silent as their engines and lights went off.

Abdul was expecting everyone to climb out right away but they sat still in the darkness without even communicating. This seemed like further evidence of a pre-raid plan to which he was not privy.

After a couple of minutes, Hassan climbed out of his car and, leaving Karrar in the passenger seat, walked down the road looking at the houses on both sides as if searching for a particular one.

Hassan walked out of sight into the darkness and was gone for several minutes before Abdul saw his silhouette walking back on the other side of the street. He crossed back to his car, leaned in through the open window to say something to Karrar, then headed for his brother’s car as Karrar climbed out.

Ali opened the door and Hassan looked in at the men. ‘Everyone out and follow me,’ Hassan said.

Ali and Arras obeyed.Abdul followed, but the sudden palpable rise in tension infected him and he began to feel uneasy.

Hassan walked down the pavement a short distance before stepping sideways into a large doorway and out of what little light there was.The others followed him, Abdul bringing up the rear. He stayed just outside the small recess.

‘Get in here,’ Hassan hissed.

Abdul moved in closer, aware of a distinct rise in Hassan’s anxiety as his stare flicked in all directions.

Hassan removed his balaclava from his jacket pocket, put it on his head and pulled it fully down over his face, adjusting it so that his eyes were centred in the oval slits. The others followed his example.

Abdul took his balaclava out of his pocket and paused before putting it on.‘What is my part in this?’ he asked in a low voice.

‘Just put on your balaclava,’ Hassan growled.

‘When will you tell me?’ Abdul asked.

Hassan gritted his teeth and clenched his fists as if he was about to thump Abdul.

‘Do what you are told, you prick,’ Arras snarled.

Abdul stepped back from the men in their black balaclavas, their white eyes glaring at him.They looked like a pack of satanic beasts. There was something unholy about whatever they were up to, Abdul was certain of it. The mistake he had made with this evil partnership was getting involved in the first place. Whatever these men were about to do was worse than taking petty bribes from drivers, he was sure of it. ‘I don’t want to do this,’ Abdul suddenly blurted out.

The others looked between Hassan and Abdul, wondering what the boss was going to do about this untimely and wholly inconvenient outburst.

‘I don’t want to be in this team any more. I wanted to tell you earlier but you never gave me the chance,’ Abdul added quickly. ‘You don’t like me.You treat me like a leper. Why don’t you just let me go?’ he demanded.

Hassan was staring at him, weighing his response, barely controlling a gut instinct to pound Abdul into the ground.

Arras had no doubts about what he wanted to do with Abdul but he would have to wait for Hassan to give the word.

‘I’ve made my mind up,’ Abdul said. ‘I’m going to go back to the car and wait for you there.’

But as Abdul started to turn away Hassan grabbed his arm with one hand and gave him such a brutal swipe around the side of his face with the other that Abdul would have fallen to the ground had Hassan released his grip. Abdul raised his hands to protect himself against another blow which Hassan was about to deliver when Ali caught his hand.

‘Hassan,’ Ali said in a loud whisper. ‘This is not the place for this.’

Hassan glared like a maniac at his brother for a few seconds before the words filtered through his rage. He lowered his hand and faced Abdul, pulling him close and holding him firmly so that their noses were inches apart.

‘Listen to me, you little turd,’ Hassan said with intense malice. ‘You will do as you are ordered. One more word out of you and I’ll break your neck. Do you understand me?’

Abdul had seen Hassan this angry once before. On that occasion the recipient of his ire, an errant driver who had made the mistake of telling Hassan to go screw his mother, apparently did not regain consciousness for several days. Abdul nodded.

‘Tell me,’ Hassan hissed, tightening his grip around Abdul’s neck until his windpipe started to hurt.

‘I understand,’ Abdul croaked.

‘Put on your balaclava,’ Hassan said again, releasing Abdul but staying threateningly close.

Abdul took a few seconds to regain his breath before pulling his balaclava onto his head and over his face.

Hassan pulled his weapon out of its holster and moved out of the doorway. ‘You,’ he said, looking back at Abdul. ‘With me.’

Abdul moved alongside Hassan who grabbed his arm and pushed him ahead.‘Take the lead,’ Hassan said.

Abdul walked slowly up the pavement for a short distance before looking back to see the others following in a line. Fear and anxiety began to course through his body as he wondered what Hassan was going to do with him - and what was going to happen on this raid that he was now leading.

Abdul walked on a little further and when he slowed to look behind him again Hassan urged him on with a stiff shove.

Halfway down the street Hassan grabbed the back of Abdul’s jacket to halt him. When Abdul turned to see why, Hassan was looking at a car parked against the pavement beside him. It was an old dark-blue BMW and Hassan looked back at his brother who nodded in confirmation.

Hassan pushed Abdul forward again. ‘Keep going,’ he whispered.

They reached a house where a light glowed dimly on the second floor. Hassan moved nimbly past Abdul and went to the front door. He paused to look around before moving closer and pressing his ear against it.