“I only know I can try.”
Sameh gazed at the opposite wall, searching his mind for immediate flaws, and found none. “Are you quite certain you are not part Arab?”
“Pure American mongrel.”
“It is a good plan,” Sameh said slowly. “Excellent, in fact. Make your call.”
– – The first words from Carter Dawes after Marc identified himself were, “You’re in place less than two days and you want out? This must set a new record.”
“You said you could help me,” Marc replied. “I’m calling to accept your offer.”
The pilot who had flown Marc into Baghdad laughed out loud. “You already got yourself in hot water?”
“Not exactly.” Marc sketched out what he needed.
“You want me to light up the sky over a kid?”
“Yes. But it’s more than that. I’m trying to establish my credentials with the locals.”
“Where are you now?”
“The prison I just told you about.”
“Who else is with you?”
“The lawyer.”
“You mean they sent you into Indian country without backup?”
“That was part of the deal. Can you do this or not?”
“I have no idea. When I said you could have whatever you wanted, I meant, you know, firepower.”
“I don’t need guns. Not now, anyway. What I need is pressure. From somebody high enough up the food chain to make this happen. Outside of channels.”
“You mind if I call the guy, you know who I’m talking about, right? The man pulling both our strings.”
“Call whoever you like. But make it fast. Please.”
“I read you loud and clear. As in, either it’s fast or you’re toast.”
“Roger that.”
“Stay on the line. Let me see what the old man says.”
Chapter Twelve
M arc was still working the phone ninety minutes later when the senior guard finally appeared. He glanced at Marc seated on the bench, leaning over and cupping the cell, trying for what confidentiality he could muster. The officer’s expression said it all. Another self-important American ignoring everything except someone outside this world. As though he could dismiss the reality that everyone else was forced to deal with by talking on his cellphone. For once, Sameh found himself wanting to defend Marc’s actions.
But just then he was too surprised to do so. He knew this officer. “Major Lahm? Hamid?”
The policeman’s eyes widened. “Sameh el-Jacobi? Is this truly you?”
“Indeed.” Sameh gestured for Marc to remain exactly where he was and took a step away. “This gentleman needs another few minutes.”
“Naturally.” The policeman’s voice carried a discreet note of scorn. “What brings you to my domain?”
“You are working here?”
“I am responsible for the night shift,” Hamid Lahm replied. “A disgrace, is it not?”
Sameh then understood why they had been forced to wait so long. “The guard with whom I spoke went to the warden.”
“Assistant warden,” Lahm corrected. “The warden is a friend of the government. He has been here once, when the justice minister visited. Otherwise, he is officially unwell.”
They spoke with the ease of two friends, which they once had been. Sameh went on, “So the assistant warden heard we were waiting, and refused to meet with us. Since a meeting would have forced him to remain after his shift was over.”
“Actually, the assistant warden left at noon. It was the senior guard who kept you waiting. The assistant warden also suffers from ill health. Especially during Ramadan.”
They exchanged the weary smiles of people who managed to find humor in lost hours. Sameh asked, “How have you been?”
“I am alive. I have a job and a salary. All my family have survived.”
“For this I give sincere thanks.”
“And you?”
“We are well. Most of us. You heard about Leyla’s husband?”
“The judge? Yes. I heard. He was a good man.” Lahm gave that a moment’s silence, then asked, “The guard tells me you have a photograph.”
“Yes.”
“May I see it?” Major Lahm only needed a moment to confirm, “This man is downstairs in our secure wing.”
“What is the charge?”
“A few nights ago, he and two others made the mistake of robbing a grocery while an off-duty police officer was inside shopping.” Lahm’s smile was chilling. “This man was the only one to survive.”
“It is hard to call such events a gift, but that is how it seems.”
“Who is the American?”
“His name is Marc Royce.”
At the sound of his name, Marc raised his head. “They’ve still got me on hold.”
Sameh showed him an upraised palm. He said to the officer, “Marc may have found a way to help us with a very delicate situation.”
“He is military?”
“Officially, he is nothing. An accountant, sent by a retired bureaucrat to search for a missing friend. But there is more to the situation than meets the eye.”
Lahm studied the man still crouched over his phone. “Do you know this man?”
In Arabic, the question signified more than being acquainted with someone. What Lahm meant was, could Marc be trusted. Would Sameh vouch for him. In such uncertain times, the questions carried great weight. Lives might well depend upon Sameh’s answer.
Which was why Sameh took his time responding. “We have not yet broken bread and shared salt.”
Lahm’s eyebrows lifted. “Yet?”
Sameh nodded. “I am beginning to think that a time may come when we will do just that.”
Lahm examined the American with a different light in his dark gaze. “How can I help?”
“There is the matter of a missing child,” Sameh replied. “But first let us see if this American can deliver.”
As though in response, Marc slapped the phone shut and rose to his feet. “Please excuse my rudeness.”
Until that moment, Sameh had not known whether the officer even spoke English. But the policeman offered his hand and the words, “Major Hamid Lahm.”
“An honor, sir. Marc Royce. I am sorry to have caused you to wait.”
“Please. It is nothing.” Lahm’s English was heavily accented but understandable.
Marc said to Sameh, “It’s all arranged.”
Sameh was still sorting through which question to ask first when a wide-eyed officer popped into the corridor and almost shouted, “Major Lahm! You have a phone call! It is the Justice Minister himself!”
– – Sameh and Marc were ushered through the bullpen and into Major Lahm’s office. Tea was served while forms were filled. Major Lahm stopped by long enough to confirm that pressure from Washington had resulted in the justice minister offering them whatever assistance they might need. The officer then left to order the prisoner brought into an interrogation room. When they were alone, Sameh explained, “Major Lahm is far more than he appears.”
“Sort of like the highway,” Marc said. “The different names for things around here. There are lessons beyond the visible.”
“Precisely. Major Hamid Lahm is from a good Shia family. He is also a graduate of Baghdad University with a degree in criminology. He chose police work against his family’s wishes. For two reasons. First, because he liked the work. Second, because there were very few Shia policemen in the Saddam era, and Lahm wanted fairer treatment for his people.”
“Shia, as opposed to what?”
“Sunni. That discussion will need to wait for another time.”
“Fine.”
“For several years, Hamid Lahm was in charge of the police station near my home. I represented his cousin in a case involving a land dispute. We became friends. Lahm was promoted, and when war broke out, Lahm commanded a group similar to your SWAT teams.
“Immediately after Saddam’s defeat, all policemen were sacked. But the first Iraqis who entered the new bureaucracy urged the Americans to reconsider. The police were always very far down the chain of Saddam’s power structure. And the Iraqis desperately needed order. So the Americans permitted the former police to reapply, but only when a respected member of society would vouch for them.”