The Protector Page 7

  ‘Are you?’ she said softly.

  Abdul glared at his sister and for the first time in his adulthood he wanted to hit her.

  ‘I still only see the little boy in you,’ she went on. ‘I love you, Abdul, my little brother, but I have never seen the man in you yet.’

  He jumped to his feet and took a step towards her, his fists clenched, one of them slightly raised as if he was about to strike. But she did not waver, her eyes staring into his.

  Tasneen had not seen this coming and she was shocked. She did not flinch or try to avoid his threatened blow, mainly because Abdul’s aggression had taken her completely by surprise - not that she would have moved to avoid it, anyway.

  But, after all, Abdul could not hit her and was immediately filled with remorse at the thought of it. He lowered his hand and went back into his room, closing the door behind him.

  Although he had not struck her, Tasneen had felt a sting of a kind. She had not been aware of the level of stress that Abdul was experiencing and instead of remaining horrified she was suddenly filled with pity for her brother. She always listened to his daily stories about his work with interest, except when he talked about death and explosions. But she realised that she was listening without really hearing, especially what he was saying between the lines. Abdul had always been highly strung and talkative about his woes, often painting an exaggerated picture - as far as she could tell, anyway. She knew he was different from her: weaker, or more sensitive, to put it kindly, but she never made allowance for that when she heard how he reacted to events. He always laughed at things that didn’t amuse her, trivial things like children’s cartoons, for instance. But then he became stressed over things that she hardly took seriously. Money was one example. But then, Abdul was more materialistic than she was.

  Tasneen was a strong-willed self-sufficient woman. She was modern by Arab standards - far too modern for Abdul’s liking, despite his attraction to western trappings such as cars, digital watches and electronic gadgets. He was technically head of the household and was strongly drawn to the family’s ancient tribal doctrines, ethics and religion, things that his sister had little time for even though she was in effect its driving force and the guardian of its principles. She liked equality of the sexes and was interested in other cultures, though she had never been outside Iraq. The idea of one day going to London or New York would set her daydreaming. She could gaze for hours at pictures of the Alps and she loved modern movies, especially those filmed in places like Florence or Paris, and not always only because of the story. It was the views of the lives of others she liked, specifically those of Americans and Europeans. The attraction was the freedom that she felt those countries offered.

  As a woman Tasneen was stifled in Iraq and since the end of the war, or more specifically since working in the Green Zone among Americans and Europeans, the kind of people whose company she had never experienced before, she had begun to believe that she might have a chance to live her dream. She hated every aspect of the war but the end of the dictatorship, despite its violent circumstances, had given her a hope that she’d never had before. She had no real plans to travel across Iraq’s borders in the immediate future, but one day she hoped to. She was relying on fate to turn her dreams into reality and hoped that it would one day free her to fly away and explore all the places and experiences she had so often imagined.

  She faced Abdul’s door, wanting to speak to him, to apologise for not understanding him. But she decided to let it go for the time being. He was clearly deeply troubled and the best thing she could do, she felt, was what she always did at times like this: to simply be there for him if he needed her. The fact that she had no real solutions for him either sometimes made her feel like a hypocrite anyway. Perhaps one day fate might be good to him too. She knew he would never have deliberately chosen to be a thief and Tasneen could only hope that he would find a way out of his dilemma.

  ‘I’ll make us some supper, Abdul,’ she said softly.

  He did not answer. She raised a hand to touch the door, changed her mind and walked away into the kitchen.

  Abdul lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He had heard his sister but had chosen to stay silent. His anger was already receding. She was right, as always. But then, it didn’t take a genius to figure out how wrong his position was. It might take one to figure out what he was going to do with his life, though, for he could see no hope or opportunities on the horizon. He felt as if he was wasting his existence on this earth. So many people he knew were making a fortune out of the war and there were so many stories of success. The truth was that he had no idea what ‘success’ really meant to him. It wasn’t money. Not really. Abdul appreciated it but it was not what drove him. His problem was that he didn’t know what did. That was Allah’s job, to direct him, guide him, show him what to do. Perhaps Allah was unable to do this while Abdul conducted himself as he did, stealing from drivers. It was an impossible dilemma.

  Another thing that was starting to bother Abdul was his marital status. He needed to find a partner and get married, and soon. It was important for a young Arab man and an essential religious as well as social step. But there were two important obstacles he needed to overcome. The first was that he didn’t know a girl whom he wanted to marry and the second, which he needed to solve before he could deal with the first, was his income. A police officer’s pay was far too low to attract the kind of woman he wanted or, more to the point, impress the parents of the kind of woman he would like to wed. Good families expected suitors at least to provide a home for their daughters, preferably one they owned and did not share with other members of the suitor’s family. He needed a higher income and therefore a better job. And as for sharing the apartment, the only way around that was for Tasneen to get married to a man who had his own house so that she could move out. But that was not going to be easy either since Tasneen was not a normal girl.

  Abdul’s sister was eligible, beautiful and intelligent, not that any of those factors mattered except the first while the last one was valued least of all. The biggest problem was Tasneen herself. She didn’t seem to like any man, not enough to marry him, anyway.The disadvantage of her having no parents was that there was no one pressuring her into marriage other than Abdul who had about as much influence over her on that subject as the Pope. Tasneen was far too western in her outlook and attitude. She was too free a thinker, too liberated and most un-Islamic. Considering the concern that she endlessly expressed for him Abdul found it irritating how Tasneen could not see that his advancement was directly related to her getting married as soon as possible.

  It was all an impossible situation and one over which he seemed to have little or no control. Abdul decided that the best thing he could do was concentrate on the main issue of the moment which was his job with the police or, to use Tasneen’s admittedly accurate description, with his gang of thieves. Since he could not get a transfer he would simply have to tell them that he could no longer take part in their corrupt activities. But the thought of actually telling them filled Abdul with dread. Everyone in the team had to be in on the game. Even Abdul could see the reasoning behind that. Hassan would not allow it to be any other way. There was only one other thing Abdul could do and that was to quit. Deep down, he knew that was the only way out.

  Abdul’s phone began to chirp a cheerful Arab tune that got louder the longer it remained unanswered. He dug it out of his pocket and looked at the screen to read the number. It was Hassan.

  Abdul did not answer it right away, wondering what the man could be wanting. Perhaps God had made Hassan call so that Abdul could tell him he was quitting. Abdul immediately erased that thought out of fear of Hassan’s reaction.

  He took a grip of himself. There was nothing to be afraid of in the long run. Hassan couldn’t kill him just for quitting the police. It was possible that Hassan might even find the prospect acceptable since he did not like Abdul in any case.

  Abdul hit a button on the phone and put it to his ear
. ‘Salom alycom, Hassan,’ he said.

  ‘Shut up,’ Hassan growled. ‘We are meeting at the police academy tonight at ten.’

  ‘But I am not working tonight—’

  ‘Shut up, I said. You are working tonight. There is an operation and we are a part of it. We will meet at the rear entrance to the academy on Palestine Street. Don’t be late.’

  It was pointless to argue with the man. He was the sergeant and an order was an order. It was not unusual to be called at home to take part in an operation even when you’d just come off duty. There was a shortage of police officers and the bosses usually called in as many men as they could if the job was anything to do with capturing insurgents.This was only the second time Abdul had been called out for a night operation and although he had been looking forward to an evening in front of the television and a good night’s sleep, duty called. At least he would not have to stop cars and ask for bribes.

  ‘I’ll be there,’ Abdul said and the phone went dead.

  He tossed it onto the bed and massaged his hands. Hassan always made him tense.

  Abdul got to his feet and exhaled deeply as he rolled his shoulders in an effort to relax and compose himself. His thoughts went back to his sister as he heard a noise from the kitchen. He would go and be nice to her and even help prepare the meal. She did far more than he did in the home, all the cleaning and laundry as well as making most of the meals. Abdul often washed up the dishes afterwards but he did little more than that. That was OK for ordinary Arab girls but Tasneen was different and she meant more to him than their sisters did to other Arab boys.

  Abdul decided not to tell her about his plan to quit the force. He would break the news to her once he had told Hassan. And for the rest of the evening until he left he would be his old cheerful self.

  Abdul opened the door, stepped into the living room and was about to cross it towards the kitchen when he stopped and looked up at the Koran on its shelf. He reached for it, took it down and held it to his heart as he begged Allah to watch over him and help him with his plans. Then he kissed the book, put it back on the shelf and, suddenly feeling a lot better about everything, headed for the kitchen, a broad smile on his face.

  3

  Abdul’s Miscalculation

  Abdul drove along Palestine Street, a dual carriageway that ran into the southern corner of the infamous Sada City in the north-east quadrant of Baghdad. He glanced over his left shoulder at the rear entrance of the police academy as he passed it, a narrow opening in a high wall that looked like it led into a long alleyway with a heavy steel security gate at the end. It was a dark, chilly night. There were no street lights and, due to the nightly curfew, traffic was light, one of the few benefits of being a policeman and driving at night in Baghdad.

  Abdul caught sight of several vehicles parked off the road against the perimeter wall near the entrance, one of which looked like Hassan’s sparkling new red Opal.

  A couple of hundred metres further on Abdul reached a wide junction beneath a motorway underpass where he made a tight U-turn into the oncoming lanes and headed back towards the academy entrance.

  He pulled off the road and onto the rubble-strewn ground, stopped behind the group of cars he recognised as belonging to Arras, Karrar and Ali, killed the engine and climbed out. There were several groups of men huddled together along the perimeter wall, and Abdul saw his squad standing in front of Hassan’s car, all of them smoking.Abdul locked his car doors, pulled his leather jacket tight against the chilly air and walked over to join them.

  None of the men greeted Abdul as he stepped in among them. He was used to their coldness towards him and bid them hello despite it, determined to remain positive for his planned conversation with Hassan.The only thing Abdul had not decided on was the ideal moment to broach the subject. But as soon as he saw the faces of the others he suspected that something was not quite right with them, as if they had heard some bad news and were unable to look at him squarely. Another oddity was that he could always expect a rude or insulting comment from at least one of them but tonight they appeared to be too distracted even for that. Perhaps they were unhappy about being dragged out to work at a time when they all would have preferred to be at home.

  ‘What’s the job, then?’ Abdul asked, deliberately acting perky as proof that he did not mind being out at that time.

  Ali took a last draw on his cigarette, dropped it between his feet and ground it into the soil with the toe of his boot. As if it was a signal to the others, Arras and Karrar also tossed their cigarette butts away.

  ‘You have a balaclava?’ Hassan asked Abdul.

  ‘No,’Abdul replied. Many officers carried some kind of headwear that they could cover their faces with, often wearing them while on the job. Police officers were perceived by many Iraqis as lackeys of the Americans and there were considerable dangers in being recognised. Depending on where a man lived or where a task took him there was a risk of retribution. A high number of officers had been killed while off duty, although no one knew the exact figure because the authorities did not like to publicise it. Many policemen had simply disappeared, never to be heard from again, while the corpses of others had been found in one of the several popular places to dump bodies. There was a large piece of open ground to the east of Sadar City for Shi’a victims, another east of Dora for Sunni. Or there was always the Tigris river. Mothers, wives and children often turned up at police headquarters looking for their loved ones, having seen or heard nothing of them for days. Abdul never bothered to disguise himself, mainly because none of the others in the squad did. He also lived in a relatively safe neighbourhood and considered the precautions he took to be adequate.

  Hassan reached into a pocket, removed a balaclava and tossed it to Abdul. It hit his chest and dropped to the ground. Abdul picked it up and shook the dust off it.

  ‘Button your jacket up to the top,’ Hassan growled at Abdul. ‘Hide your uniform.’

  Abdul obeyed. ‘What is the operation?’ he asked again, hoping for a reply.

  ‘A raid,’ Hassan said.

  ‘A raid?’ Abdul asked. ‘Where?’ No one replied but Abdul had the feeling they knew more about it. ‘Who are we raiding?’ Abdul persisted, finding the courage to push them a little.

  ‘You ask too many questions,’ Hassan growled. ‘We’ll take two cars,’ he said to the others, disconnecting from Abdul. ‘Yours and mine,’ he said to his brother.

  Several cars appeared in the alley heading out of the police academy towards Palestine Street.

  ‘That’s the chief,’ Hassan said. ‘Let’s get in the cars.’

  The other police squads dispersed to their vehicles and Abdul followed Hassan. He had been on one previous night raid and had been told nothing about it beforehand either, which was understandable. It was no secret that the police had been infiltrated by supporters of the insurgency and in the past warnings had been communicated to evacuate targeted premises before the police squads arrived. Abdul wondered if Hassan actually knew the location himself but that did not explain the strange atmosphere within the group.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ Hassan shouted at him. ‘Get in with Ali.’

  Abdul climbed into the back of Ali’s BMW while Arras occupied the front passenger seat.The cars started up, their headlights flashed on and Hassan followed the last of the other squad vehicles onto the road with Ali moving in behind.

  Abdul thought he could sense a level of tension among the members of his team which was unusual, especially if they didn’t know where they were going or what they were doing. Abdul thought he was imagining it until both men lit up cigarettes having only just put one out.

  ‘Do you think this will be a short raid or an all-night one?’ Abdul asked. He didn’t receive an answer and sighed audibly. ‘Why do you people always treat me like an idiot?’

  ‘Because you are one,’Arras snapped, looking around at him, his eyes cold.

  ‘There are several raids tonight,’ Ali eventually said.

/>   Ali was the most intelligent of the bunch. But it was a sly intelligence, like that of a desert fox. He was the least abrasive towards Abdul but for no other reason than it was his nature to be more controlled. Karrar, driving with Hassan, was generally mute most of the time but that was because he was as thick as a tombstone and incapable of independent thought. Abdul judged Arras to be the most lethal of the bunch. He was utterly ruthless, had a short fuse, and without Hassan to control him Abdul suspected that he could be very dangerous if upset.

  ‘Several raids?’ Abdul asked, surprised.

  Arras glanced at Ali as if wondering why he had revealed so much. But Ali was as confident as always. ‘They are taking place concurrently,’ Ali said.

  ‘Why did Hassan not say?’ Abdul asked.

  ‘There’s no secrecy,’Ali said smoothly.‘It’s only security. Why do you need to know? Why do any of us, other than Hassan, need to know, for that matter? He is the only one who needs to know where we are going. When you see the place and are doing the job you will know everything.’

  ‘Why don’t you just shut up and relax, eh?’ Arras said, glancing back briefly at Abdul.

  They passed the old sports stadium, crossed the motorway flyover and headed into the Karada district. Traffic was light but as they turned around the Ali Baba roundabout - where there was a statue of Kahramana filling the fabled forty pots - a combined US Army and Iraqi police checkpoint came into view ahead.The other squad cars were passing through it and Hassan looked as if he was about to follow when he suddenly swerved past the turning and took the next roundabout exit.

  Ali followed Hassan and Abdul sat forward in his seat, looking at the road ahead and wondering why they had left the other police vehicles.

  ‘We are going to do our part of the job,’ Ali said, as if he had noticed Abdul’s concern.

  Abdul sat back again and looked out of his window, Ali’s suggestion that he would know soon enough echoing in his head. The car’s heater was on too high for Abdul and he undid the buttons on his leather jacket to let in some air.