“You do remember, though,” Mustafa said, careful to keep his voice low. “Why? Because you’re the one who made the wish?”
“I go back and forth on that,” Captain Lawrence said. “Days that I’m feeling sorry for myself, I think God’s punishing me. Most days, though, I figure I got what I asked for. What fun would it be to change the world if you didn’t remember what you changed it from?”
“And Saddam? How did you become his guest?”
“After I realized I couldn’t go back home—that there was no home for me to go back to—I decided I might as well make myself useful.”
“You tried to kill him?”
The captain nodded. “Seemed only right, seeing as he’s supposed to be dead. But Qusay was in charge of the Guard that night and they caught me coming in. When Saddam figured out what I was, he decided to add me to his collection.”
A squad of Republican Guards ran through Nebuchadnezzar’s chamber and charged down the hall towards the mansion’s front door. Most of the gunfire seemed to be coming from the front of the estate. Mustafa kept hoping that the attackers would announce themselves as ABI, but he knew it was too soon for them to have gotten here.
“So what about you?” the captain said. “You’re a cop again, obviously. But what kind?”
“Homeland Security.”
Another nod. “Federal law enforcement—above Saddam. So you got your wish, too.”
“No,” Mustafa said pointedly, “I didn’t.” But then after a moment, he added: “It’s not a bad life, though. And most of the problems with it are at least of my own making, not someone else’s.”
All the power in the house suddenly went out. The side room was plunged into darkness, but Nebuchadnezzar’s chamber remained dimly illuminated by the apocalyptic orange glow coming through the windows in the dome.
“All right,” Amal said, looking out through the archway. “If we’re going to move, I’d say this is the time.”
“Go straight across, to that other opening over there,” Mustafa said pointing. “I remember I passed a stairwell on the way to Saddam’s office.”
They were halfway across the chamber when Uday Hussein and a squad of Guardsmen emerged from the very archway they were headed towards. Both parties stopped short and for an instant just stared. Then one of the Guards started to raise his assault rifle and Amal opened fire with hers, killing that Guard and the man behind him. Then everyone was firing, and moving—diving towards the chamber’s most obvious source of cover. Uday and the two remaining Guardsmen ended up on one side of the Nebuchadnezzar statue; Amal, Mustafa, Samir, and Captain Lawrence ended up on the other.
Amal sat with her back against the statue’s base and fitted a fresh clip into her rifle. “Uday Hussein!” she called out. “We are federal agents! Throw down your weapons and put your hands up!”
Uday laughed. “Is that you, Amal bint Shamal? You want us to surrender? Very well, come over here and show us your ass, and maybe we’ll think about it!”
Captain Lawrence rose to a crouch and prepared to make an end run around Nebuchadnezzar. But Mustafa, looking up at the statue, suddenly recalled something; he put a hand on the captain’s forearm to restrain him and then leaned over to whisper in Amal’s ear.
“Bint Shamal!” Uday crowed. “Daughter of a dead fool, who thought he could stand against a king! Yes, come here, and when I’m done playing with you I’ll send you to join him!”
“You are wrong, Uday,” Amal replied. “My father was a hero, and even in death he is worth ten of your father—and a hundred of you. As for your father’s kingship, I am afraid it is hollow.” She stood up, pointed the rifle at the front of Nebuchadnezzar’s right ankle, and pulled the trigger. The bullet punched straight through the thin tin shell and came out the other side, striking Uday in the back. As he pitched forward, the Guardsmen tried to scramble up and defend themselves, but Amal kept firing, placing her shots at even intervals, and they never even made it all the way to their feet.
Out in the storm, the soldiers of Al Qaeda fought the men of the Republican Guard. The Guard had greater numbers, but Al Qaeda had the element of surprise. Before the main assault commenced, small groups of commandos had snuck over the wall to set up ambush positions on the grounds. The commandos were equipped with thermal imagers that could pick out warm bodies at a distance, even through swirling sand. This gave them a significant tactical advantage over the Guardsmen, many of whom didn’t even bother to don goggles before rushing out of the mansion. The first wave of defenders to respond to the explosion at the gate ran blindly into the ambush and were slaughtered to the last man. A second wave tried to advance more cautiously, but this just gave the commandos more time to aim, and soon enough this second group of Guardsmen had all been killed as well.
There was a lull in the firefight while the Qaeda commandos waited to see whether the Guard would try a third sally. But the Guard had belatedly learned their lesson, and after a moment the commandos picked up and began advancing on the mansion.
By this time Qusay Hussein had taken a squad of men to an upstairs dining room that overlooked the front of the estate. Qusay set up a sniper rifle with a thermal sight at one window and had the Guardsmen with their AK-47s take position at the others. He let the commandos get close to the house, then ordered his men to fire first. Once they had the commandos’ attention, he opened up with the sniper rifle, shifting aim quickly between the glowing man-shaped targets his sight revealed to him. Several rooms away, another squad commanded by Qusay’s father began firing as well. In the first few seconds a dozen commandos were killed or wounded, but the Qaeda men didn’t panic; the survivors quickly found cover and returned fire.
One of Qusay’s men stood exposed too long at a window; an incoming round shattered his collarbone. As he fell back screaming another Guard turned to look at him and took two bullets in the side of the head. Qusay ducked down to avoid a hail of bullets directed at his window. Cupping a hand over his ear so he could hear over the screams of the wounded man and the whine of incoming rounds, he listened to radio reports from elsewhere on the estate. The river house had been hit by a rocket or possibly a suicide bomber and was on fire; most of the Guards there were dead and the rest were trapped by the flames. The squads Qusay had dispatched to the rear of the mansion said that they, too, were taking fire, and one team reported hearing shots inside the house.
“Oh God save me!” cried the wounded Guardsman, and Qusay barked, “Shut him up!” at no one in particular. Then he raised his head above the windowsill, took aim, and shot a Qaeda commando who was crouching behind a palm tree. He tracked right with the sniper rifle and spied another commando, down on one knee with a long tube balanced on his shoulder. There was a bright flash in the thermal sight and a rocket streaked towards the house, blasting away the front doors and killing several Guards in the grand entrance hall; Qusay heard their dying screams over the radio.
He shot the rocketeer, ducked down, counted three, popped up again, and tracked left to where another commando was kneeling. Qusay never saw this second rocketeer; all he saw was the rocket, which appeared in his gun sight as a black circle ringed with fire, that rapidly grew larger.
Several times, as they listened to the sounds of the battle, the two Republican Guardsmen in the old prayer room had exchanged glances, communicating without speaking. Now, as the rocket barrage shook the mansion, they looked at one another again and came to a wordless decision.
“Hey!” Tariq Aziz said. “Where are you going? Saddam told you to stay here!” But the two didn’t even glance back as they fled into the hall.