The call could have come at any time. Graham had been sitting by the telephone all day. By now he was ravenously hungry, and he had watched a crisp blue wintry sky turn to black.
The phone rang at ten past six.
Playing the tape back on his car stereo as he drove home later that evening, he would hear:
— Graham. Sorry to keep you so long waiting.
— That’s OK, that’s OK.
— Some of us went out to lunch, and it went on a bit, I’m afraid.
— That’s OK, really. You had something to celebrate, then, did you?
— It was a good meeting. Very positive.
— What, did they—
— A green light. They gave us a green light.
— You mean they—
— The all-clear. No problem at all. We’re a credit to our country, as far as they’re concerned. Leading the export drive, and all that.
— But I mean, what about the restrictions—
— Well, you know, we’ve just got to be a bit careful, that’s all.
— Careful? How do you—
— Well, we’ve been advised to, you know, play down the military … the military application of the machines. We’ve got to be a bit careful saying what they’re for, and so on.
— What, like general—
— Like ‘general engineering’, or, you know, emphasize that these machines can have peaceful—
— uses—
— peaceful applications, and you know, stress that whole aspect of why we’re applying.
— But I mean, they do know, obviously …
— Oh I mean, they all know, yes.
— I mean it is obvious, that that’s what we’re … selling.
— Well as we said, they’re not going to be making many cars in the middle of a war, are they?
— To them, you said it?
— No, I mean, afterwards, that’s what someone said.
— But they don’t mind?
— Oh, nobody bloody minds. They all don’t mind.
— So it’s OK to—
— They don’t give a flying fuck what we’re selling, basically.
— I can tell the boss that, then. He’ll be—
— Pretty chuffed, I should—
— I mean I bet everybody is.
— Well, we’ve been making the most of it here. You should crack a few open at your end.
— I think I will. I mean why not.
— Look, I’ve got to go then.
— Well thanks for taking the time to — to ring. It’s a weight off my mind. You know, there’s some things I can — press ahead with, which had been looking a bit—
— I’ve got to go now, OK? We’ll have another talk.
— OK. We’ll talk in the next few days.
— Next few days. OK then.
— Righto. Thanks for taking the time.
— OK. All the best then.
— All the best. Bye now.
Graham ejected the tape, and the radio came back on. It was BRMB, playing an old Huey Lewis song. Not one of his favourites.
April 28th 1989
‘I see you are taking plenty of photographs. Holiday snaps for the wife and kids back at home?’
Graham whirled around, expecting to be confronted by a uniformed guard, but instead found himself being addressed by a short, stocky, dark-haired man with a rubbery smile which gave him the appearance of a benevolent goblin. He introduced himself as Louis and explained that he was a salesman from Belgium. He handed Graham a card.
‘There’s so much to see,’ said Graham. ‘I wanted to remember it all.’
‘You’re right: this is quite something, isn’t it? You know, Saddam Hussein’s birthday is always a big day in Baghdad. All the buses are covered in flowers, and in the schools the children sing special birthday songs. But this year, he’s really done something special.’
The First Baghdad International Exhibition for Military Production had indeed lived up to the grandeur of its name. Twenty-eight countries were represented, and almost a hundred and fifty different companies had set up tents and pavilions: from smallish firms like Ironmasters and Matrix Churchill to the international giants — Thomson-CSF, Construcciónes Aeronauticas and British Aerospace. All of the star names were there: maverick designer Gerald Bull was showing a scale model of his supergun at the Astra Holdings stand, French dealer Hugues de l’Estoile was engaged in friendly rivalry with Alan Clark’s top aide, David Hastie, over who would win the contract for the Fao Project — a long-term aerospace programme to help Iraq establish its own aircraft manufacturing base — while Serge Dessault, son of the great Marcel Dessault who had single-handedly built up France’s military aircraft industry, was given an ovation by the Iraqis like a visiting pop star when he approached the reviewing stand.
‘I thought there might have been more restrictions,’ said Graham, who had been worried enough about taking his camera into Iraq and was now cursing himself for not bringing a camcorder.
Louis seemed surprised. ‘But why? This is not a secret assembly. The whole point is for everyone to be open, to show our achievements with pride. There are journalists here from all over the world. We have nothing to hide. Nobody is doing anything illegal. We all believe in deterrence, and the right of every country to defend itself. Don’t you agree?’
‘Well, yes—’
‘Of course you do. Otherwise, why else would your company have sent you out here to show off such splendid examples of modern technology. Would you care to show me, please?’
Louis was clearly impressed by what he saw at the Ironmasters pavilion: it certainly compared well with the rather sorry-looking 1960s machine tools on offer from the Polish, Hungarian and Romanian exhibitors. He dropped a few hints to the effect that he might be able to fix up a deal with some Iranian buyers: but this was left vague. In the meantime he seemed to have taken a liking to Graham, and performed the function of his unofficial guide over the next few days. He took him on to the VIP reviewing stand to watch the Iraqi pilots perform hair-raising stunts in their MiG-29S, sometimes flying so low that the spectators had to throw themselves to the ground. (Only one of the displays went seriously wrong, when an Egyptian pilot mistakenly flew over the presidential palace and was at once gunned down by the Republican Guard, his Alphajet crash-landing in a residential area of Baghdad and killing some twenty civilians.) He took Graham to meet Colonel Hussein Kamil Hasan al-Majid, one of the Ba’ath party’s rising stars and the host of this event, who greeted his guests in a huge pavilion set up to resemble a desert encampment. And he was always on hand to introduce him to the more influential figures, such as Christopher Drogoul and Paul Van Wedel, the American bankers from BNL Atlanta who had supplied Iraq with some four billion dollars in long-term loans.
‘Did you notice their watches?’ Louis asked.
‘Their watches?’
‘Take a look at their watches next time you see them. They are specially made: Swiss manufacture. And they have Saddam Hussein’s face on them. They were personal gifts: a very great honour, I think. I think very few people here, maybe three or four, have been shown such honour. Monsieur de l’Estoile, conceivably. And, of course it goes without saying, your own Mr Winshaw.’