The Trespass (38 page)

Jassim beckoned Natasha, who cast a questioning look at Ruth.

They wouldn’t kill a child
.
Not a child
. She took a breath. He is our leader. He is wise. He is kind. Ruth righted the stool and nodded. “It’s okay. Go with Jassim.” She injected her voice with as much persuasiveness as she was able. Natasha obediently allowed Jassim to take her hand. Ruth watched as Jassim led the girl away.

Now she was alone with Kadesh. She swallowed and composed herself with a huge effort of will. Kadesh seemed in no hurry. He looked around the chamber, allowing his eyes to wander across the dull, ochre blend of rock and clay that formed the walls and roof of the scalloped recess Ruth had made her home. The ancients of Kish had capitalized fully on the opportunities afforded by the departure of the Tigris and Euphrates from their ante-diluvian course, working the natural volcanic passages into numerous storerooms, living areas and meeting places. She was happy here, under the temple of her forefathers. It was all she knew and all she wanted.
Almost
.

Ruth sat very still, afraid to make an inappropriate gesture or give voice to her whirling thoughts. Was her dream about to be realized? Perhaps her diagnosis had been correct. He had finally responded to her patience with an acknowledgment of his own needs. Sara would not be his. He had accepted it at last.

“He is coming – as are the Americans.” Kadesh played with the lid of a glass jar, gently tapping the rim and listening to the high note it produced. “But I am ready for them.”

“How do you know –?”

“I know.” Kadesh replaced the lid and turned to face her. His arms were folded. “I know. They are in Baghdad. Mukannishum failed.”

Ruth was unsure how to respond. She had never warmed to Mukannishum, Kadesh’s right-hand man from the time they were at Harvard together. There was a coldness about him, a ruthlessness she found repellant. His influence on Kadesh had been considerable, none of it positive. When Kadesh had returned to Kish, education completed, to lead the Korumak, he had returned a changed man. Gone was the warmth she had known in her childhood; gone were the dancing lights in his eyes. Instead there was a hardening of will and soul. As she looked at him now, she mourned the person she had once known. And yet, here he was, perhaps not entirely immune to her reasoning, or, she hoped, her feminine charms.

“I am sorry for your friend.” She looked at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. “But they cannot succeed.” She shrugged. The gesture felt inadequate, but the conversation was taking an undesirable detour and she was anxious to steer it back before it was too late. “They are no match for you.”

She moved towards him. He needed comforting, reassuring. That was her role. She placed her hands on his shoulders, and then moved forward, encircling him in her arms. To her amazement he responded. Her heart beat wildly as he returned her embrace. His body was firm and strong, honed by the disciplined training she knew was part of his daily routine. His clothing smelt of musk and oil, some residue of incense that clung to the fabric. Perhaps his love was like that; maybe there was some essence of his old personality that could be redeemed.

She felt his hand gently stroking her hair. He was murmuring quietly, making soothing noises in his throat. And then he tipped her chin up to look him in the face. She had hoped to see the lights again, but in his eyes now she saw a new darkness, something deep and malevolent. She pulled away but he was too strong; he was crushing her in his arms. He spoke just once as the life was choked out of her: “It is time.” She felt a sharp pain in her abdomen, then a numbing paralysis spreading over the lower part of her body. He let her go, and the floor came rushing up to meet her. She felt no impact. As her body came to rest her soul had already stepped out into the endless tunnels of eternity.

Sara looked up in alarm as the door was unlocked. “Jassim?” His face was a mask of urgency.

“Come. Quickly.” He took her hand. There was no one outside her temporary prison. Sara followed Jassim as they half walked, half ran through the dimly lit corridors. When they had reached a place Jassim considered safe, a little-used sacristy on the second level, he turned to her and whispered slowly.

“Listen carefully. I am sorry I cannot break this gently. He has killed Ruth –”

Sara’s hand was at her mouth; she felt as if something was choking her. Jassim’s fingers were on her lips. “No. Now is not the time for mourning. You must think of yourself – and the girl. She must come with you.”

“Where?” Sara was stunned, her mouth dry with shock.

“To the place of your childhood. You have told me about it many times. But it is still a secret place, is it not?”

Sara nodded mutely.

Jassim looked at her with sympathy. “The Americans are coming. And I think your Dracup is with them.”

Sara’s heart leapt. He was not coming for her, but she would protect Natasha nevertheless. It was the least she could do. She took Jassim’s hand.

“Jassim. Why are you helping me? He will kill you if he finds out.”

“Kill me? No.” Jassim smiled sadly. “I have waited and I have watched. Kadesh imagines that his success gives him license to act as he pleases. It is not so. There are others who share my views. Rest assured, I will be safe. His attention will now turn to you and the girl. Come – we have little time.”

Sara hurried to the waterfall with Natasha’s hand in hers. They waded across the shallow stream and she found the familiar groove that led to the funnel, her childhood haunt. Natasha was reluctant, but Sara’s hands pressed her down into the darkness.

“Feel with your feet. It’s fine. I’ve been down here hundreds of times.” They reached the bottom and Natasha clung to her. “You’ll get used to the dark. It’s the safest place for us.”

“Why? Where’s Ruth? Is she coming here too?”

Sara swallowed hard and squeezed the girl’s hand. “Hey. Just stop worrying, all right? Jassim will come and get us as soon as he can.”

“Why did you give him your necklace?”

Sara hesitated, unsure how much she should divulge. “So that... so that a friend of mine might recognize it and trust Jassim when he meets him.”

“Who?” the girl pressed. “It’s my daddy, isn’t it?” The tone of hope in her voice was agonising.

Sara nodded. “Yes. Bright girl.” She smoothed an errant wisp of hair away from Natasha’s forehead. “It’s your daddy.”

The little girl smiled. “Sara?”

“Yes?”

“You can call me ’Tash if you like.”

The machine pistol felt clumsy in Dracup’s inexpert grip. The pilot was steadfastly ignoring his unexpected passenger, concentrating instead on steering the Chinook out of the black pall of smoke that hung over Baghdad International Airport. He shouted and pointed. Dracup looked at him blankly, then he understood. He picked up the headset with his free hand and clamped it over his ears. The pilot’s voice spoke clearly in the space between them.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing? Put that down before you kill us both. Strap in and hold tight.” The accent was unmistakably English, southern counties. Dracup felt strangely comforted. Then the helicopter lurched violently upwards, making him clutch at the belt as he fumbled with the unfamiliar fittings. The pilot flicked a switch on the complex array of dials and buttons spread out across the cockpit interior. Dracup felt the machine yaw violently to the right and from the corner of his eye saw a bright yellow and red streak soar away from them, falling to earth in a long irregular arc.

“What was
that?
” he shouted into the microphone.

“ALQ – anti-missile flares. Sit tight and keep praying.”

The Chinook climbed and banked as the pilot took evasive action. A dense white stream of smoke hurtled underneath them, chasing the flare like a greyhound running a rat to ground. Somewhere below there was a muffled explosion followed by another cloud of grey, sooty smoke. With clenched jaw the pilot bullied the machine into a rapid climb that left Dracup’s stomach on the other side of the cargo hold.

At last the helicopter levelled off and Dracup breathed again. The pilot pushed back in his seat and blew his cheeks out in relief. Then he turned his attention to Dracup. “You don’t look like a terrorist,” he said tersely, “so stop acting like one or I’ll have to shoot you myself.”

“You’re British,” Dracup said. He slid the pistol self-consciously down onto the cockpit floor.

“Yes. We’re part of the peacekeeping force here. You might have seen us on the news.” He gave Dracup a witheringly sarcastic look. “Make sure the safety’s on.” He glanced down at the pistol.

“Yes. Right.” Despite the clarity of the headset transmission Dracup had to resist the compulsion to shout above the vibration of the Chinook’s thundering engines. “I was expecting an American.”

“This isn’t a New York taxi. Perhaps you’d care to explain what on earth you’re playing at.”

Dracup risked a quick glance earthwards. The landscape was skittering past at an alarming speed. “We’re going down?”

“Yes. Best to be fast and low, unless you want to be fried by another rocket. It’s harder to get an accurate shot in. Ground fire is a possibility, but your seat is armoured so nothing to worry about. Just ignore it.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel a lot better.”

“Well? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t chuck you out.”

“My name is Professor Simon Dracup,” Dracup yelled into the mike. “I flew into Baghdad this morning with James Potzner.” Dracup wondered how thorough the pilot’s briefing had been; he would be surprised if any more than map co-ordinates had been disclosed. “I believe you received instructions from his office for this drop.”

“Mike Bishop.” The gloved handshake was brief but firm. “US Intelligence, eh?” He appeared to consider for a moment. “Look, I’m going to take you to our flight airstrip and hand you over to my CO. He can decide what to do with you.”

Dracup thought frantically. He was so close. Potzner would not be far behind, rocket attacks or otherwise.

“I’d take you straight back to BIA if I could,” Bishop was saying, “but the security boys will have the place sewn up as tight as a duck’s bottom by now. It’ll be hours before they’ll let any air traffic back in.”

“Have you any idea why I’m here?”

Bishop was continually searching sky and ground with a repetitive, sweeping movement of his head. “I don’t know and I don’t care,” he said. “Makes no odds to me one way or the other.”

“I’m here to find my daughter.”

Bishop said nothing for a minute or so. He appeared to be concentrating on the minutiae of flight, first busying himself amongst the plethora of cockpit switches and buttons and then holding a terse, coded radio conversation with someone called Delta Five, presumably some anonymous airstrip controller.

Bishop finished his transmission with an unintelligible coded signoff and turned back to Dracup. “Your daughter?”

“Yes. She’s been kidnapped by terrorists.” It wasn’t far off the mark. He hoped his bluntness would get through.

“Really? I’m sorry, mate.” Bishop gave Dracup a longer look up and down. “And you’re working with the CIA to get her back?” Bishop searched the sky again and wiped the perspiration from his chin with the back of his hand. “I’ve heard about this Potzner guy. It’s not all good.”

“I’m watching my back.”

Bishop laughed dryly. “Yeah. You’d better.” There was another short exchange via the headset with Delta Five. Then Bishop said, “I have two boys. Eight and ten. It’s pretty tough leaving them behind.”

Dracup nodded. “It must be. But I imagine they like the idea of their dad being a pilot.” He hesitated, then plunged in. “Listen, if you drop me at the co-ordinates you’ve been given, you’re only doing your job. I’ll take the responsibility.”

Bishop said nothing for a minute or so then shook his head. “There’s nothing there, mate. It’s in the middle of nowhere.” He looked at Dracup’s clothing. “You have no provisions, you’re not dressed for the weather – night or day. It’d be irresponsible of me to drop you anywhere except safely back at the airport.”

“Which you can’t do. Security and all that.”

“Right. But that doesn’t mean I can dump you wherever it takes my fancy.” Bishop shook his head again.

Dracup pressed on. “Listen, if I get to her first there’s a chance I can save her. If not –” He paused, wondering how much to say. “Anything could happen.” It sounded weak but it was the best he could come up with.

Bishop made no reply. The Chinook flew on. Dracup prayed. His eyes lit on the machine pistol. He glanced at the pilot.

Bishop flicked on the radio. “This is Five Five Alpha calling Delta Five. Advising detour to drop zone co-ordinates zebra one, tango delta fifteen. One visitor to drop, repeat one visitor to drop. Confirm.”

The headset static buzzed in Dracup’s ear. Then:
Five Five Alpha, Delta Five, confirm. Repeat, Delta Five confirm.

Dracup looked at Bishop. His mouth was dry. “Thanks.” It seemed hardly adequate.

“I must be out of my mind,” Bishop muttered. “If you get yourself killed, don’t blame me.”