The only other piece of information they were able to get out of the soldiers was that whoever had been driving the car was the girl’s cousin, and a homosexual. Hamil wondered how they could possibly know that.
Once again, the General returned to the map on the wall behind his desk. He had already given orders for an army of helicopters, trucks, tanks and motorcycles to cover every inch of the road between Khalis and the border, but still no one had reported seeing a Cadillac on the highway. He was mystified, knowing they couldn’t possibly have turned back or they would have run straight into his troops.
His eyes searched every route between the checkpoint and the border yet again. “Ah,” he said finally, “they must have taken the road through the hills.” The General ran his finger along a thin winding red line until it joined the main highway.
“So that’s where you are,” he said, before bellowing out some new orders.
It was almost an hour before Cohen announced, “One Kurd heading towards us, sir.”
As Aziz came running up the slope the grin remained on his face. He had been into Tuz Khurmatoo and he was able to reassure them that the village was going about its business as usual. But the government radio was blasting out a warning to be on the lookout for four terrorists who had attempted to assassinate the Great Leader, so all the main roads were now crawling with soldiers. “They’ve got good descriptions of all four of us, but the radio bulletin an hour ago was still saying we were in the truck.”
“Right, Aziz,” said Scott, “drive us through the village. Hannah, sit in the front with Aziz. The Sergeant and I will lie down in the back. Once we’re on the other side of Tuz we’ll keep out of sight and only continue on to the border after it’s dark.”
Aziz took his place behind the wheel, and the Cadillac began its slow journey into Tuz.
The main road through the village must have been about three hundred yards long and just about wide enough to take two cars. Hannah looked at the little timber shops and the men who were growing old sitting on steps and leaning against walls. A dirty old Cadillac traveling slowly through the village, she thought, would probably be the highlight of their day, until she saw the vehicle at the other end of the road.
“There’s a jeep coming towards us,” she said calmly. “Four men, one of them sitting behind what looks like an anti-aircraft gun mounted on the back.”
“Just keep driving slowly, Aziz,” said Scott. “And Hannah, keep talking us through it.”
“They’re about a hundred yards away from us now and beginning to take an interest.” Cohen pointed to the tool bag and grabbed a wrench. Scott also selected a wrench as they both turned over slowly and rested on their knees.
“The jeep has swung across in front of us,” said Hannah. “We’re going to be forced to stop in about five seconds.”
“Does it still look as if there are four of them?” asked Scott.
“Yes,” said Hannah. “I can’t see any more.”
The Cadillac came to a halt.
“The jeep has stopped only a few yards in front of us. One of the soldiers is getting out and another is following. Two are staying in the jeep. One is behind the mounted gun and the other is still at the wheel. We’ll take the first two,” said Hannah. “You’ll have to deal with the two in the jeep.”
“Understood,” said Scott.
The first soldier reached the driver’s side as the second passed the bumper on Hannah’s right. Both Aziz and Hannah had their outside hands on the armrests, their doors already an inch open.
The second Aziz saw the first soldier glance into the back and go for his gun, he swung his door open so fast that the crack of the soldier’s knees sounded like a bullet as he collapsed to the ground. Aziz was out of the car and on top of him long before he had time to recover. The second soldier ran towards Hannah as Scott leaped out of the car. Hannah delivered one blow to his carotid artery and another to the base of his spine as he tried to pull out his gun. A bullet would not have killed him any quicker. The third soldier started firing from the back of the jeep. Cohen dived out into the road, as the fourth soldier jumped from behind the wheel and ran towards him, firing his pistol. Cohen hurled the wrench at him, causing him to step to one side and straight into the firing line of the mounted gun. The bullets stopped immediately, but Cohen was already at his throat. The soldier sank as if he had been hit by a ton of bricks, and his gun flew across the road. Cohen gave him one blow to the jugular vein and another to the back of the neck: he went into spasms and began wriggling on the ground. Cohen quickly turned his attention to the man seated behind the gun, who was lining him up in his sights. At ten yards’ distance, Cohen had no hope of reaching him, so he dived for the side of the car as bullets sprayed into the open door, two of them ripping into his left leg. Scott was now running towards the jeep from the other side. As the soldier swung the gun around to face him, Scott propelled himself through the air and onto the top of the jeep.
Bullets flew everywhere as they tumbled clumsily off the back, Scott still clinging to his wrench. They were both quickly on their feet, and Scott brought the wrench down across the gunner’s neck — the soldier raised an arm to fend off the blow, but Scott’s left knee jackknifed into his crotch. The gunner sank to the ground as the second blow from the wrench found its mark and broke the soldier’s neck cleanly. He lay splayed out on the road, looking like a breaststroke swimmer halfway through a stroke. Scott stood mesmerized over him, until Aziz dived at his legs and knocked him to the ground. Scott couldn’t stop shaking.
“It’s always hardest the first time,” was the Kurd’s only comment.
The four of them were now facing outward, covering every angle as they waited for the locals to react. Cohen climbed unsteadily up into the jeep, blood pouring from his leg, and took his place behind the mounted gun. “Don’t fire unless I say so,” shouted Scott as he checked up and down the road. There wasn’t a person to be seen in either direction.
“On your left!” said Hannah, and Scott turned to see an old man dressed in a long white dishdash with a black-and-white spotted keffiyeh on his head, a thick belt hung loosely around his waist. He was walking slowly towards them, his hands held high in the air.
Scott’s eyes never left the old man, who came to a halt a few yards away from the Cadillac.
“I have been sent by the village elders because I am the only one who speaks English,” he said. The man was trembling and the words came stumbling out. “We believe you are the terrorists who came to kill Saddam.”
Scott said nothing.
“Please go. Leave our village and go quickly. Take the jeep and we will bury the soldiers. Then no one will ever know you were here. If you do not, Saddam will murder us all. Every one of us.”
“Tell your people we wish them no harm,” said Scott.
“I believe you,” said the old man, “but please, go.”
Scott ran forward and stripped the tallest soldier of his uniform while Cohen kept his gun trained on the old man. Aziz stripped the other three while Hannah grabbed Scott’s bag from the Cadillac before jumping into the back of the jeep.
Aziz threw the uniforms into the jeep and then leaped into the driver’s seat. The engine was still running. He put the vehicle into reverse and swung around in a semicircle as Scott took his place in the front. Aziz began to drive slowly out of Tuz Khurmatoo. Cohen turned the gun around in the direction of the village, at the same time thumping his left leg with his clenched fist.
Scott continued to look behind him as a few of the villagers moved tentatively out into the road and started to drag the soldiers unceremoniously away. Another climbed into the Cadillac and began to back it down a side road. A few moments later they had all disappeared from sight. Scott turned to face the road ahead of him.