Aziz waited until the children had emptied their last drop of gas into the tank. He then screwed on the big steel cap and shouted, “Go for it!”
Cohen turned the key in the ignition.
The engine turned over slowly, but wouldn’t catch. Cohen leaped out, lifted the hood and asked Aziz to take his place behind the wheel. He made a slight readjustment to the fan belt, checked the distributor and cleaned the spark plugs of the last few remaining grains of sand before screwing them in tightly. He stuck his head out from under the hood.
“Have a go, Kurd.”
Aziz turned the key and pressed the accelerator. The engine turned over a little more quickly but still didn’t want to start. Sixty eyes stared beneath the hood, but offered no advice as Cohen spent several more minutes working on the distributor head.
“Once again, and give it more throttle!” he shouted. Aziz switched on the ignition. The chug became a churn, and then suddenly a roar as Aziz pressed the accelerator — a noise only exceeded by the cheers of the villagers.
Cohen took Aziz’s place in the front and lifted the gear shift on the steering column up into first. But the car refused to budge, as the wheels spun around and it bedded itself deeper and deeper into the sand. Cohen turned off the engine and jumped out. Sixty hands were flattened against the body as it was rocked back and forth, and then, with one great shove, it was eased out of its deep trough. The villagers pushed it a further twenty yards and then waited for the Sergeant’s next order.
Cohen pointed to the little girl who had distributed the food. She came shyly forward and he lifted her into the front of the car. With sign language, Cohen instructed her to kneel by the accelerator pedal and press down. Without getting into the car, Cohen leaned across, checked that the gears were in neutral and switched on the engine. The little girl continued to push down on the accelerator with both hands, and the engine revved into action. She immediately burst into tears, as the villagers cheered even louder. Cohen quickly lifted the little girl out onto the sand and then beckoned to Aziz.
“You’re about half my weight, mate, so get in, put it into first gear and see if you can keep it going for about a hundred yards. If you can, we’ll all jump in. If you can’t, we’ll have to push the bloody thing all the way to the border.”
Aziz stepped gingerly into the Cadillac. Sitting on the edge of the leather seat he gently lifted the lever into first gear and pressed down on the accelerator. The car inched forward and the villagers began to cheer again as Scott, Hannah and Cohen ran along beside it.
Hannah opened the passenger door, pushed the seat forward and jumped into the back, as the car continued at its slow pace. Cohen leaped in after her and shouted, “Second gear!”
Aziz pulled the lever down, across and up. The car lurched forward.
“That’s third, you stupid Kurd!” shouted Cohen. He turned to see Scott running almost flat out. Cohen reached across to hold the door open as Scott threw his bag into the back. Scott leaped in and Cohen grabbed him around the shoulders. Scott’s head landed in Aziz’s lap, but although the Kurd swerved the car still kept going on the firmer sand. Aziz continued swinging the car from side to side to avoid the mounds of sand that had blown onto the road.
“I can see why there aren’t likely to be any army patrols on this road,” was Cohen’s only comment.
Scott turned back to see the villagers waving frantically. Returning their wave seemed inadequate after all they had done. He hadn’t thanked them properly or even said goodbye.
The villagers didn’t move until the car was out of sight.
General Hamil swung around, angry that anyone had dared to enter his office without knocking. His ADC came to a halt in front of his desk. He was shaking, only too aware of the mistake he had made. The General raised his swagger stick and was about to strike the young officer across the face when he bleated out, “We’ve discovered the village that the traitor Aziz Zeebari comes from, General.”
Hamil lowered his arm slowly until the swagger stick came to rest on the officer’s right shoulder. The tip pushed forward until it was about an inch away from the ball of his right eye.
“Where?”
“Khan Beni Saad,” said the young man in terror.
“Show me.”
The Lieutenant ran over to the map, studied it for a few moments and then placed a finger on a village about ten miles north of Baghdad.
General Hamil stared at the spot and smiled for the first time that day. He returned to his desk, picked up the phone and barked out an order.
Within an hour, hundreds of troops would be swarming all over the little village.
Even if Khan Beni Saad did only have a population of 250, the General felt confident someone would talk, however young.
Aziz was able to keep up a steady thirty miles per hour while Scott tried to work out where they were on the map. He couldn’t pinpoint their exact location until they had been driving for nearly an hour, when they came across a crude handpainted signpost lying in the road that read “Khalis 25km.”
“Keep going for now,” said Scott. “But we’ll have to stop a couple of miles outside town so I can figure out how we get past the checkpoint.”
Scott’s confidence in the old chief’s judgment that there would be no army vehicles on that road was growing with every mile of flat desert road they covered. He continued to study the map carefully, now certain of the route that would have to be taken if they still hoped to cross the border that day.
“So what do we do when we reach the checkpoint?” asked Cohen.
“Maybe it’ll be easier than we think,” said Scott. “Don’t forget, they’re looking for four people in a massive army truck.”
“But we are four people.”
“We won’t be by the time we reach the checkpoint,” explained Scott, “because by then you and I will be in the trunk.”
Cohen scowled.
“Just be thankful it’s a Caddy,” said Aziz, grinning as he tried to maintain the steady speed.
“Perhaps I should take over the wheel now,” said Cohen.
“Not here,” said Scott. “While we’re on these roads, Aziz stays put.”
It was Hannah who saw her first. “What the hell does she think she’s up to?” she said, pointing to a woman who had jumped out into the middle of the road and was waving her arms excitedly.
Scott gripped the side of the window ledge as Cohen leaned forward to get a clearer view.
“Don’t stop,” said Scott. “Swerve around her if you have to.” Suddenly Aziz began laughing.
“What’s so funny, Kurd?” asked Cohen, keeping his eyes fixed on the woman, who remained determinedly in the middle of the road.
“It’s only my cousin Jasmin.”
“Another cousin?” said Hannah.
“We are all cousins in my tribe,” Aziz explained as he brought the Cadillac to a halt in front of her. He leaped out of the car and threw his arms around the young woman, as the others joined them.
“Not bad,” said Cohen when he was finally introduced to cousin Jasmin, who hadn’t stopped talking even when she shook hands with Scott and Hannah.
“So what’s she jabbering on about, then?” demanded Cohen, before Aziz had been given the chance to translate his cousin’s words.
“It seems the professor was right. The soldiers have been warned to look out for an army truck being driven by four terrorists. But her uncle had already been in touch this morning to warn her we’d be in the Cadillac.”
“Then it must be a hell of a risk to try and get past them,” said Hannah.
“A risk,” agreed Aziz, “but not a hell of a risk. Jasmin crosses this checkpoint twice a day, every day, to sell oranges, tangerines and dates from our village. So she’s well known to them, and so is my uncle’s car. My uncle says she must be in the Cadillac when we go through the checkpoint. That way they won’t be suspicious.”