An elderly man stopped mopping the floor and stared at the new arrivals. He gave a slightly mad-looking grin and then continued cleaning the stained stonework while muttering quietly to himself. Rashid looked around; in one corner a policeman with a heavy moustache and broad cheeks sat at a table furnished with a telephone and a ledger. Rashid wondered if every minor official in Baghdad strived within the limitations of their physiognomy to look as much as possible like Saddam Hussein. The policeman pulled a ballpoint pen out of a breast pocket and opened the ledger. ‘So who’s this? Which exit will he be leaving from?’
‘That depends,’ replied one of his escorts. ‘If he behaves himself we’ll bring him out the front and take him back home. If he doesn’t…’ The policeman paused and slapped Rashid firmly on the back. ‘Well, maybe it’ll be the rear exit for him.’
‘Who’s he going to see?’
‘Rukan Khalifa.’
The policeman seated at the desk gave a broad grin. ‘Ah… so, could be out of the window then. I’ll mark him down with a large question mark. What’s his name?’
‘Rashid Hamsin.’
‘Take him through.’
Rashid presumed that the policemen were indulging in some ponderous humour with their talk of back exits and windows but he found it difficult to hide his reluctance as he was ushered through a pair of swing doors and into an elevator. The car carried them up to the top floor and he was led to a door upon which one of his escorts knocked.
‘Come in.’
The policeman opened the door and shoved him inside and then closed the door behind him. Inside the room was a table at which two men in military style fatigues were seated. One of them was small and dapper and he was smiling at Rashid. The other was large and grim faced. He merely pointed to the seat on the other side of the table. Rashid reluctantly sat down. ‘You are Rashid Hamsin?’ asked the small man.
‘Uh… yes.’
‘My name is Rukan Khalifa.’ He indicated his big colleague. ‘This is Tariq Kayal.’ The big man nodded briefly. ‘I will call you Rashid, if that’s alright?
‘Er… of course.’
‘Good!’ he said. ‘We once started questioning a man and he kept denying that he knew anything. We were all beginning to get rather angry, but then we realised we were questioning the wrong man. There were apologies all round.’ Rukan grinned at him. Rashid looked around the room. The walls were bare apart from a picture of Saddam Hussein. On the table was a clipboard with a ball point pen and a telephone. On the floor between the two men was a large briefcase. Rukan reached inside and pulled out a small tape recorder and placed it on the desk.
‘So, a few questions.’ Rukan smiled again.
‘I’m happy to answer any questions,’ Rashid offered.
‘Excellent. So tell us everything that happened from the day of the protest in London. Start with when you woke up.’
Rashid began to relate his story, haltingly at first as he saw the two other men staring at him. He glanced out of the window where a few wispy clouds were passing through the blue rectangle of the sky. He recalled more clearly the day he had spent with the English woman, and he described how he had been happy to invite her back to his flat.
‘So you hoped to screw the infidel bitch?’
Rashid was shocked by the sudden gross interruption and he looked in alarm at Rukan. He was smiling at him but the smile had an unpleasant sneering quality.
‘No. I just wanted to be friendly.’
‘Crap! You’ve been in England long enough to become a traitor to the Republic.’
‘No, that’s not true!’ said Rashid and he realised at last that he was being interrogated by the secret police. Rukan reached into the briefcase and slowly pulled out a length of electrical cable and placed it on the table. On each end were some big crocodile clips. Rashid realised they were a set of vehicle jump start leads. Rashid squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He felt a sudden urge to empty his bladder.
‘You know that if you lie to us we will fry your balls so that you will never have the urge to fuck another woman.’ He paused. ‘Now tell us the truth. You wanted to screw the English woman.’ He picked up the forked end of the cable and waved it about.
‘Yes. Yes. I did!’ Rashid shouted. Rukan smiled at him.
‘Of course. Why not? She was an attractive woman, eh? Of course you did. Now tell us what happened next.’ Rashid felt his heart pounding in his chest and he tried to control his breathing and speak in a normal voice. He described how he had woken up as a prisoner and was taken to an unknown airport and on to a military transport and flown to Kuwait. He told them of his briefing by Colonel White and his journey across the desert under the watchful eye of Major Hansen and Dean Furness. Then he described how he had met Hakim Mansour and handed over the package that the Colonel had entrusted to him, and then their subsequent journey to Baghdad. Lastly he told them of the night he had spent at his parents’ house right up to the moment that he had arrived at the building in which he was now being questioned.
Rukan Khalifa listened in silence. Occasionally he made notes on the pad, sometimes he frowned or nodded briefly, but he never interrupted. When Rashid had finished he smiled at him once again.
‘Thank you very much Rashid. A very good, succinct account, and very well delivered. I have a few questions for you. What was in the package? What did you read?’ He looked up at Rashid and stared.
‘I didn’t open the package. I didn’t read anything.’ Rashid found he was rubbing his fingers together nervously, and made himself stop. ‘I’ve no idea what was in it.’
‘Yes but the American Colonel described what was in it, didn’t he?’
‘No, no, no! He told me to hand it over with the seal intact. That’s what I did. Ask Hakim Mansour!’
For a nightmarish period Khalifa kept asking questions about his story, sometimes asking the same question twice, sometimes asking another before he had finished his previous answer, sometimes accusing him of changing his story. Finally he finished with the question with which he had begun. ‘You found a way to open the package, then you read the contents and managed to re-seal it, didn’t you!’
‘No!’ Rashid shouted. The big man Tariq suddenly got out of his seat. He walked slowly around behind Rashid, who looked up at him and then back at Khalifa.
‘It’s true, I tell you, in God’s name!’ Rashid was frantic.
Rashid watched Rukan Khalifa pick up the jump leads. There was a sliding noise behind him. He turned round and saw Tariq pulling a big vehicle battery across the floor until it was beside his seat. Rashid tried to jump up but Tariq took him in a headlock so that he could scarcely breathe.
‘So now you will tell us what was in the package,’ said Khalifa. Rashid saw him connect the two leads to the terminal and then he touched the live clips together briefly. There was a bright flash and a snapping sound.
‘In the name of God, no!’ Rashid managed to blurt out. ‘I don’t know what was in the package.’ He tried to pull the arm from around his neck. Suddenly the door opened. Hakim Mansour stood in the doorway. ‘What the hell’s going on!’ he roared. ‘Let him go. Now!’
The arm released its grip and Rashid slumped in his seat moaning. Tariq and Rukan backed away and Hakim Mansour helped Rashid to his feet.
‘Come on, boy. Let’s take you back home. There’s been a huge misunderstanding. A very bad mistake. These two will suffer for it.’
‘They were asking me what was in the package I gave you. I told them I had no idea. I didn’t open it.’ Rashid explained.
‘I know, I know. It’s been a mistake. I’ll take you home.’
Rashid allowed himself to be lead out of the room, down in the elevator and out of the building into the fresh air. Outside in the road Hakim Mansour’s driver held open the door of his car and the two of them climbed into the back seats. Mansour looked at him and patted his forearm.