The Imam of the Cave Page 3

  To Gloria’s astonishment, he asked for a cognac.

  Returning with the drinks, she handed him his and was surprised and amused when he took a healthy drink of the Martell before uttering another word.

  “Thank you…Long day. The missing men and equipment are the main things the envoys are debating. I must have had half a dozen visits to my office.”

  “I’m not surprised,” said Gloria as she sat next to Edward on the settee.

  “I would have been here earlier but I made a stop at the British Air ticket office.”

  “Are you planning a trip to England?”

  She grinned. “No, I picked up a packet that came in on the Concord. A former colleague in British Intelligence has received some very interesting data that he felt was important to the UN.”

  She opened her briefcase and removed an envelope marked with a British diplomatic seal and addressed to Gloria Caruthers. She removed a handwritten note with a sheaf of typed pages attached and handed them to Edward, who read each one intently. She had opened and read the contents on the ride over.

  Edward finished the last page and set the material on the coffee table.

  He picked up his drink and drained the glass then stood up, paraded to the bar and refilled his glass. He returned to the settee and sat down, setting his glass on the table, ignoring the coaster.

  “It appears that the British are as alarmed over the events as we are. I guess that is understandable—Cyprus being a former colony of theirs.”

  Edward glanced at the handwritten note. “Who’s Percy and why would he send you this?”

  “Percy was my manager when I worked with British Intelligence. We keep in touch and give each other assistance when it proves mutually beneficial.”

  “I suppose you reported to Percy after our lunch today?”

  “I did not, Edward Dean Rogers! And if I had, it’s my job to investigate, evaluate and provide facts to members of the UN that pertains to their security.”

  Lighting a cigarette and exhaling a stream of smoke that would have put out a birthday cake with sixty candles on it, Gloria sat simmering just below the boiling point.

  Edward immediately knew he had committed a faux pas. Gloria had used his complete Christian name once before—when he had questioned a dinner she had attended with a colleague, a night after she and Ed had been intimate. She never used his middle name unless she was highly perturbed.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to question you. I suppose I’m just tired after so much happening over the last two days.”

  The hound dog look on Ed’s face satisfied Gloria that he would bite off his tongue before questioning her motives again. Reaching out, she took his hands and coached him toward the bedroom.

  She hadn’t wanted to reveal her arrangement with British Intelligence, but it hadn’t been as damaging as she had expected.

  CHAPTER 5: BMVC COMPOUND, BAGHDAD

  THREE DAYS AFTER DERRICK WILLY FAILED TO RETURN, Bill Holden had organized his men to search for leads. It was 0800 hours as he made his way through the vehicles to the lead jeep, where the team leaders awaited him.

  “Gentlemen, the teams are as ready as can be expected under the circumstances. As I briefed you this morning, New York has directed us to cease inspections and concentrate on tracking down the missing inspectors.

  “You have your assignments. Remember, I expect to maintain open communications with each team as you check the assigned sites.”

  Bill paused a moment. “Questions?”

  When no one spoke, he said, “Okay, let’s go…And good luck.”

  The five teams drove out of the compound. Each comprised a team leader, two inspectors and a communications technician, who would be armed and responsible for the team’s security. Each team’s assignment was to drive routes taken by an inspector on the day of his disappearance.

  Bill led Team One and was responsible for coordinating the operation and maintaining radio contact with the other teams. His team would check the facilities visited by one of the missing inspectors and operate as a rover to respond with assistance if required. The other teams would communicate continual progress reports to him as they arrived at their checkpoints and made their physical examinations.

  “Cowboy, this is Wrangler 2.” ‘Cowboy’ was Bill’s call sign and ‘Wrangler 2’ was the call sign for the leader of Team Two, Martin Schmitt.

  Martin had been with UNSCOM for three years. When he completed each one-year tour he vowed to return home to Hamburg, but each time he signed on for another year in Iraq. His blond haired, blue eyed, Aryan good looks provided plenty of female companionship in Germany, but the lack of excitement in Hamburg made life there unattractive. Prior to working for the UN, he had served two years as a member of the German counterterrorist group GSG/9. A stray bullet in the leg had ended his short career in that elite German unit.

  “Roger, Wrangler 2, I read you Lima Charlie,” replied Bill, letting Martin know that he was heard loud and clear.

  “Cowboy, we’re at Checkpoint Alpha and beginning our sweep,” Martin said, indicating that they were at the first place on their schedule and starting to inspect the site.

  “Roger, Wrangler 2. Cowboy out.”

  Throughout the morning the teams continued methodically through their assignments. They inspected the physical layouts, taking pictures and samples of everything that seemed unusual. At the facilities where cameras were used in the monitoring process they were inspected for tampering.

  When a team arrived at a site, the Iraqis who lived in the neighborhood would quickly vanish, moving indoors and hurrying away from the UN inspectors.

  “Cowboy, Wrangler 4.”

  “Roger, Wrangler 4.” Bill quickly reviewed the log to identify the last inspection site from which he had received a communication from Team Four.

  “We have a mechanical problem, Cowboy.”

  “Copy that, Wrangler 4. What’s the problem?”

  “We have a flat tire and are changing it for a spare.”

  “Roger that. Contact me when it’s changed and give me the ETA at your next checkpoint.”

  A flat tire was common and not a major problem now that each vehicle carried three spares. When you got down to one, it was time to head back to the BMVC compound.

  Years earlier the Republican Guard had routinely spread industrial tacks on roads they expected the inspectors to drive. On one occasion flats forced two inspectors to remain in the desert overnight, with the result that the standard operating procedure was amended to require each jeep to carry three spare tires and never to use the same route twice in a row.

  When the Guard began having more tire punctures than the UN, they stopped using the tactic. Of course, they were unaware that the inspectors carried their own supply of industrial tacks.

  “Cowboy, this is Wrangler 3,” Lawrence Paisley said, puffing on the pipe that seemed to be a permanent fixture of the former British officer when he wasn’t in the presence of explosive material.

  “Roger, Wrangler 3. What’s your status?”

  “We’re leaving Checkpoint Bravo.”

  “Copy, Wrangler 3. Anything unusual to report?”

  “Nothing, Cowboy. We took our samples and photographs of the site, but I noticed a military jeep following us for roughly three miles then it headed off on a side road. It could have been a coincidence.”

  “Contact me if you see it again,” said Cowboy.

  “Roger,” said Wrangler 3.

  The UNSCOM inspector Ulrich Papenberger had gone missing on the route Team Three was following. Ulrich was from Erlangen, a suburb of Nuremberg, Germany. He had served twenty-five years in the German Army, working with ordnance disposal. He was considered an expert at disarming munitions. The years of experience he had gained disarming unexploded ordnance that the American and British Air Forces dropped during World War II had trained him well. The wife he left behind in Germany could have accepted his dying in an explosion more easily than not knowing his where
abouts.

  “This is Wrangler 5. Come in!” blurted the next voice.

  The urgency in the voice on the radio was not lost on Bill. “Wrangler 5, this is Cowboy.”

  “The team leader’s down. I repeat, the team leader’s down. Do you copy?”

  “Roger, I copy. What do you mean, the team leader’s down—was he shot?”

  “He was on the hill then he collapsed,” the communications technician said excitedly. “We heard no shots. They’re up there with him.”

  “Calm down, son, you’re babbling. Now, I want you to take three deep breaths then count to ten—did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Bill waited a long forty-five seconds. “Did you do what I told you?”

  “Yes, Cowboy,” the technician answered more evenly.

  Being addressed by his call sign told Bill that a semblance of calm had returned.

  “Okay, I want you to take it one step at a time and tell me what happened.” Bill spoke in a steady, firm voice, which further calmed the man on the radio.

  “We got to Checkpoint Charlie fifteen minutes ago.”

  “I know, son, you checked in with me,” Cowboy reminded him calmly.

  “One of the inspectors went into the weapons factory to check the camera and sensors. The second inspector was checking the ground around the building. Olaf decided to investigate a small hill that overlooked the building.

  “They did their examinations and I stayed with the jeep—to maintain security and communications.”

  “Good so far. And what happened next?”

  “I watched Olaf wandering around the top of the hill…then I heard the factory door open. I glanced over and saw Jim step out of the building. He walked to the jeep and looked up toward the hill. His mouth fell open and he yelled, ‘Olaf!’

  “I looked up at to the hill and saw Olaf lying on the ground. Jim and Horst rushed up to him. I remained with the jeep per SOP as they carried him down.”

  “Is he there now?” asked Cowboy.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Son, what’s his condition?”

  “He’s waking up. He seems to be groggy but is breathing better now.”

  “I want you to end the mission and get back to the compound—head straight back to the compound—now!”

  “Yes, sir. We’re heading back.”

  Bill contacted the communications center and notified them that one of the teams was coming in early. “Have medical personnel stand by.”

  He was asked if the helicopter should be dispatched for a MEDIVAC. “Negative.”

  He stayed in radio contact with Wrangler 5 until they arrived at the compound. It appeared that Olaf’s physical condition was improving.

  The remaining teams completed their missions without further incident and returned to the BMVC compound, where a debriefing was scheduled for 1900 hours—time enough beforehand for Bill to visit Olaf in the infirmary.

  “Hi, Boss,” Olaf greeted Bill from his bed.

  “Olaf, we pay you far too much for you to spend all of your time in bed.” Bill winked and touched Olaf on the shoulder.

  Olaf sat up and became serious. “I know. I told Dr. Winslow I’m okay, but he refused to give me my clothes. He said he would post a guard at the door if I tried to leave.”

  “Whoa, son, slow down. There’s no need to rush things until we find out what happened. I was told that Dr. Winslow ran an EKG when they brought you in.”

  “Yes, sir. He said everything seemed fine.” Olaf relaxed and lay back in bed.

  “Tell me what happened at the weapons factory.”

  Olaf closed his eyes for a minute recalling the incident then began his story.

  “No incidents on the way to Checkpoint Charlie. The area was quiet, no locals in the area that we could see. I sent Jim into the factory to check for tampering. Horst inspected the tract behind the building.

  “When I scanned the stretch farther out, I noticed a hill approximately three hundred meters from the factory. I can’t explain why, but something seemed out of place, as if it had been deposited there. I told the communications tech I was going to take a peek up the hill and should be back shortly.

  “When I reached the top, I went along the perimeter—you know, to see if there was anything unusual. I noticed several partial footprints.

  “Some of them were shallow like sandals. You know the type—like what the Arabs wear.

  “Then I noticed the imprint of a boot—it was a much deeper imprint. I could see that whoever was wearing boots had come up the hill from the side not visible from the building.

  “I followed the boot prints along to the top of the hill until they stopped. I leaned down to get a closer look and my heart skipped as I gasped for air. I guess that’s when I passed out.

  “The next thing I remember is waking up in the jeep as it was returning to the compound.”

  Bill got up and took Olaf’s hand. “Thanks, Olaf. I want you to stay here until the doc gives you the okay to return to work”

  With that he left the room and hurried to the debriefing.

  CHAPTER 6: NIGHT TIME IN BAGHDAD

  THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, Bill found himself driving an unmarked jeep, dressed in a tan robe over his clothing and wearing a checkered kaffiyeh.

  As a UN inspector Bill wasn’t afraid that the Republican Guard would stop him, but as a civilian it was another matter.

  Nighttime in Baghdad was less hectic than daytime, but more dangerous with so many drivers not using their headlights. Perhaps the lights were burnt out or perhaps the darkness was their security blanket from the secret police and army. The Iraqis who saw him drive through the bustling streets didn’t hide, nor did they waste a second glance as he passed by.

  The sidewalks and alleys were teeming with people who had ventured out after the sun set and the evening breeze carried off the day’s heat. The smell of spitted kebabs roasting on the street vendor’s grills filled the air. Bill’s stomach growled and he was tempted to stop but wouldn’t.

  His expedition took him past numerous coffee and tea shops where he observed the men sitting together, drinking their beverages and taking an occasional puff on their hookahs.

  The women along the streets, some in Western garb and others draped in their black chadors, trailed kids as they shopped for necessities more and more difficult to find in Saddam’s degraded country, some available exclusively at black market prices.

  Bill’s first destination was the weapons factory where Olaf had collapsed two days earlier. Whatever had brought on Olaf’s symptoms, it wasn’t the first time it had happened.

  Few of the men under his supervision were aware that similar incidents had occurred previously. Most inspectors were reluctant to admit medical symptoms that could result in removal from the UNSCOM team. For the harsh conditions they endured they were compensated by additional pay, which most inspectors didn’t want to jeopardize.

  The few who reported ailments were sent to Bahrain for treatment. Those who had reported incidents similar to Olaf’s were tested and in all cases the results were negative. As their supervisor Bill was the sole individual besides the medical staff who was privy to the results.

  He wasn’t sure there was a connection between these incidents and the missing inspectors, but he was sure that one would never be found by following UN protocol.

  Bill parked the jeep next to a building that had been hit by air force ordnance during the Gulf War. It was approximately one mile from the weapons factory. Spying out the expanse with his NVGs (night vision goggles), he confirmed that it was deserted. The sole living thing in view was a lone palm tree in front of the building.

  He crept slowly toward the factory and stopped often, listening and watching for anything or anyone that shouldn’t be there. Satisfied that he was alone, he continued quietly through the early morning darkness that masked his presence.

  Circling the factory gave Bill a sense of cemetery silence. Not one of peaceful death, but m
ore like a tomb with a story that would never be told. He continued until he stood behind the base of the hill where Olaf had collapsed. He had misgivings about following the team leader’s steps, not knowing whether something might happen to him too, but he needed to confirm his suspicions.

  The factory was hidden from his view as he walked east behind the hill then slowly climbed upward. He understood why Olaf had felt uneasy. It did seem out of place—as if someone had deposited an immense mound of earth peppered with rocks and sand to create a small hill, forty feet high and eighty feet across overlooking the factory.

  At the top of the hill he edged forward slowly, stopping every few feet to examine the ground with a small penlight. He was seeking the sandal and boot prints that Olaf had seen the day of the incident.

  Something hit Bill in the gut as hard and fast as an unexpected fist. His body reacted with a spasm and his heart skipped a beat as he took an involuntary breath of air into his lungs. He remained conscious but lost his orientation briefly.

  Falling back into a sitting position, he took several deep breaths and searched for the man who’d hit him. Within thirty seconds his confusion went away, as well as the physical discomfort he had experienced.

  He sat thoughtfully for a couple of minutes before a light bulb seemed to switch on and a smile glowed on his face.

  He was sure that he had found the connection he was searching for. Whatever means had been used to take the inspectors had a lingering presence that could affect people who were exposed to it.

  When he felt comfortable that he was able to function normally, he returned to the jeep and headed back to the BMVC compound.

  * * *

  After dark the next night Bill made another excursion through the outskirts of the city. His destination was a building where one of the missing inspectors had reported an experience that left him feeling sick—days before he failed to return to the compound.

  Bill parked the jeep under a grove of trees a good distance away from the few lights that illuminated the neighborhood.