The Gilgamesh Conspiracy (10 page)

Qusay’s reply was too quiet for Ali to hear as he ushered his brother out of sight. Ali closed the door, praying that Uday Hussein was not planning to take up residence in this bolt hole.

20
th
March 2003

Ali Hamsin dreamed he was lying in bed at home with his wife. It was clearly late in the morning and they had nothing to do that day besides enjoy spending time in each other’s company. Suddenly he was instantly awake with Kamal Awadhi shaking his shoulder.

‘Wake up Hamsin, come on wake up!’ he demanded.

‘What’s happening?’ Ali glanced at the clock. It showed it was 7.10am and he had been asleep for only about five hours, yet here was this ruffian rousing him.

‘Come on, it’s started!’

He could mean only one thing. Yesterday there had been a missile or bombing raid on the presidential palace in Baghdad. Ahwadi had scoffed at the possibility that Saddam Hussein or any of his staff might have been in residence. They rushed to the office and switched on the radios and television.

Foreign news reports stated that the Americans and their allies were streaming across the border and were already past Basra. The city was surrounded and there appeared to be little resistance to the invading army. An armoured column was moving north towards Baghdad and everywhere there were reports of air strikes and missile attacks.

In contrast, on Baghdad radio, Mohammed Saeed al-Sahhaf, the Information Minister broadcast in triumphant tone that the invasion force was being repelled at the border by the Iraqi army under the personal command of the President. The American soldiers were burning inside their tanks and twenty three attacking aircraft had been shot down around Baghdad alone. Ali looked at Kamal. ‘What do you think?’ he asked the security man.

‘You know they call him Comical Ali. He’s probably holed up somewhere and they are releasing pre-recorded announcements.’

‘Are we safe here?’

‘In this building? If the Americans knew about this place they would already have flattened it.’ He smiled and Ali thought that this was the first time he had seen him smile. ‘Why do you think I’m here eh? Anyway, I’m off now. Good luck Ali Hamsin. If I were you I would try to get to Baghdad and protect your family.’

‘What do you mean, you’re off? Where are you going then?’

‘I’m going to Damascus, God willing. I have relatives there.’

‘What about your family? Aren’t they in Baghdad?’

Kamal Ahwadi shook his head and smiled again. ‘Goodness no! I moved all my family out of Iraq two weeks ago. I regret to say I have less faith in our armed forces than Comical Ali Sahhaf.’ He paused, and stared at Ali. ‘What happened to the Gilgamesh plan? Why hasn’t it worked?’ Ali grabbed the armrests of his chair and swallowed hard.

‘The Gilgamesh plan? Whatever are you talking about?’

Kamal smiled at him. ‘I had a talk with Hakim Mansour…before he died. He told me about this plan called Gilgamesh…he had negotiated a deal with the Americans. Kamal shook his head. ‘It was strange, I don’t think Qusay meant any harm to come to Mansour, he just wanted him confined until the invasion was completed. But Mansour was terrified that he meant to have him killed. He even had a poison pill hidden in his wristwatch.’

Ali swallowed again, convinced that if Qusay Hussein had wanted someone killed then Kamal Ahwadi would be his chosen man. He managed to croak out. ‘And Mansour swallowed it when he was being questioned?’

‘No not at all,’ said Kamal, ‘he actually died of a heart attack, but before he died he also told me all the details of this Gilgamesh plan…and how you came to know about it too. That’s why I brought you here, in case your knowledge was useful...or dangerous.’

Ali shook his head, somehow no longer terrified by yet another threat to his life. ‘I have no idea what‘s gone wrong with Gilgamesh. Every day I expect an announcement and a ceasefire, but nothing seems to have happened. The Americans now seem determined to carry on until they’ve completely taken over the country.’

‘And then what will they do?’ Kamal asked

‘I have absolutely no idea. I presume they have a plan.’

13
th
April 2003

Ali Hamsin groaned and rubbed his aching back as he stood up from his chair and gazed out the window at the narrow strip of blue sky that was visible. He hitched up his trousers with what was becoming a habitual tug on the waistband. He had lost weight during the four weeks that had elapsed since the invasion of his country. There had been no shortage of food in the palatial house, but he had little interest in eating. He had made repeated requests to the officer in charge of the military contingent that policed the compound for permission to return to his home in Baghdad. Despite repeated promises that he would soon be allowed to leave, he remained a virtual prisoner.

On the morning that he had woken up to find that Kamal Ahwadi had disappeared from the compound, Ali had hoped to be able to get away as well. He suggested to the officer in charge that he too had orders to return to Baghdad, but as he had nothing in writing, permission to leave was refused.

He had been allowed to telephone his wife the day after the invasion. They had tried to reassure each other of their personal safety and well-being, but each had felt the tension in the other’s voice, and the almost certain knowledge that their conversation was being monitored inhibited him. He had sought permission to telephone the next day, but had been informed that the lines must remain clear in case Uday Hussein had orders to pass on. The next day the senior officer had informed him that the telephone system was no longer working.

Ali continued to  monitor the transmissions of the foreign news media, and he learnt how the Iraqi armed forces were being swept aside, how flags and statues of the President were being torn down in the towns closer and closer to Baghdad until finally five days ago the capital city was occupied by the American army. The Iraqi army had not launched any weapons of mass destruction against the invading force, and neither had the Americans found any. This seemed to be genuinely puzzling to the news reporters from the countries whose people had been deluded by stories of the threat that Saddam Hussein and his regime represented to them.

Now it was reported that the Americans were advancing towards Tikrit and they were expecting to take the city the following day. Ali reluctantly decided to tell the senior officer that his home town was under threat. He took off his headphones and walked along to the man’s office, but there was nobody in. Then he heard a shouting and a commotion outside. He hurried back to the main entrance hall and found that the front door was unguarded for the first time since his arrival. He hesitated for a moment and then turned the heavy latch and pulled it open.

Outside was a scene of muddle and disorder. The troops were clambering into the backs of three army trucks while the officers squeezed into the cabs. Automatic weapons lay discarded on the ground along with jackets displaying badges of rank. Ali caught sight of the senior officer who was walking over to his car dressed in a civilian jacket. ‘What’s going on?’ he shouted where’s everyone going?’

‘There you are Ali!’ the officer called back. ‘Look over there!’ He threw an arm out to the southern sky. Ali saw the six black shapes flying low over the desert and seconds later he heard the rhythm of the helicopter blades beating the air mixed with the roar of their engines.

‘Come with us if you like!’ the officer called out. Ali looked across the compound and saw a group of a dozen domestic staff huddled together. They ran up to the nearest truck and were told that there was no space; get in one of the others. They looked around uncertainly and the three trucks started moving towards the main gate.

‘I’m staying here,’ one of them shouted and ran past Ali back into the house. The senior officer shrugged his shoulders and then called out ‘Quick Ali, get in my car!’ Ali looked at the rapidly approaching helicopters and decided to follow the other staff inside. Somebody slammed the heavy door shut and bolted it.

‘Let’s watch from upstairs!’ someone shouted. They all hurried up the marble staircase and into the bedrooms. Three Apache attack helicopters flew up to the army trucks, dipping their noses down threateningly as they came to a hover. Even above the roar of the engines they could hear a loud hailer ordering all personnel to come out and lie down on the ground with their hands above their heads. The trucks braked to a halt throwing up clouds of dust. The troops began to spill out of the back, but then from the back of one of the trucks someone started to fire a heavy calibre machine gun at the helicopters. The response came a second later; a puff of smoke from the weapons hard point; a streak of fire and a moment later the truck disappeared in a ball of flame and smoke that glowed with red flashes that flickered and died. As the smoke cleared Ali could see the troops from the other two trucks flinging themselves out and on to the ground.

Then three larger helicopters landed and American troops disembarked with disciplined precision and surrounded the Iraqi survivors. Next, two of the heavily armed Apaches slowly approached the building. Once again the loudhailer ordered everyone to come out.

‘What shall we do? They don’t know we’re in here,’ someone called out.

‘If we don’t come out then maybe the Americans will come in and they might think we’re trying to ambush them,’ said Ali. They all looked at him.

‘So we should probably go outside,’ someone cried. They all looked out of the windows. Some of the Americans were advancing slowly towards the house, weapons at the ready.

‘Let’s get out now while we have the chance!’ another one insisted.

‘They’ll probably shoot you as you come out,’ replied another. ‘You saw the way they blew up that truck. Look at the bodies scattered around it. I’m staying inside!’

‘So am I.’

‘If we don’t surrender before they get much closer, we might not get the chance! I’m going.’

‘Me too!

Five of them rushed to the door and ran madly down the stairs and Ali decided to follow them.

‘Quick! Open the door.’

‘Remember to keep your hands up!’

‘Go on, one at a time.’

They filed out of the door and lay face down on the ground, stretching their arms out above their heads as they had seen the soldiers do. Ali felt a small stone dig painfully into his knee, but he did not dare shift his position.

‘Is that everyone?’ an unseen voice asked in American accented English. ‘Any of you people speak English?’ Ali kept quiet.

‘I don’t know, Major’, said another American voice. ‘No one’s come out for a minute. I can’t see our main target anywhere. Maybe we should blow it now; not take the chance.’

‘Damn. I have orders to search, but it could be booby trapped. Oh hell, I think I’ll call for the choppers to take it down.’

Ali realised that the American commander was going to call for the building to be destroyed with some of his countrymen still inside. He struggled with the dilemma of possibly helping the enemy as against protecting his countrymen, but then he was not a soldier and neither were they.

‘There are only civilians inside; five or six men,’ he called out in English.

‘Which one of you said that?’ the American officer demanded.

Ali waved his hand slowly from side to side.

‘Ok, stand up!’

He heard the metallic rattle of an automatic rifle being cocked, but Ali slowly got to his feet. Through the open gate he could see the Iraqi soldiers now seated on the ground with their hands on their heads; American soldiers stood with their weapons pointing towards them. The helicopters had landed further back with their rotors slowly turning. A soldier approached from the rear and patted him down. ‘He’s clean major,’ he reported.

‘What’s your name?’ The officer asked.

‘Ali Hamsin.’

‘I’m Major Brogan. Now Ali Hamsin, you’re telling me there’s only a few people left inside. Can you tell them to come out?’

‘They’re frightened; what assurance can you give of their safety?’ Ali asked. Major Brogan stared at him for a moment.

‘Put it this way. If they come out now, then they’ll be kept safe. In one minute we’ll be going in and anyone still inside will be killed.’ Ali hastily shouted through the open door, and after a few seconds the remaining staff came rushing out. Ali watched the Americans surround the house and then at a signal they broke windows and flung stun grenades into the rooms and charged inside. He heard shouting; the banging of doors and a crash as furniture was overturned, but no gun fire. Major Brogan beckoned him over.

‘We had information that this was one of Qusay Hussein’s hideouts, but I guess we’ve missed him again. When was he last here?’

‘He hasn’t been…I’ve never seen him here at all,’ Ali declared.

‘Yeah, right!’ said Major Brogan. ‘That’s what they all say. Seems to me he and his brother Uday were total psychos, but still you people try to protect them.’ He gazed at Ali, head on one side. ‘You’re not one of the guys who worked for him are you?’ Ali wondered how to answer this but Major Brogan saved him the trouble. ‘Anyway, we’re gonna look you up in the database and see what it says.’

The Americans rounded them up and marched them a few hundred metres away from the house. They watched one of the Apache helicopters lift off and fly towards the building. It fired a salvo of missiles; smoke and flames billowed out of the windows and then the house collapsed into a heap of rubble under a pall of smoke. The Americans ordered them to sit down, but they no longer had to hold their hands on top of their heads. After a while they began to mutter to each other about what might become of them. Ali expected the Americans to bark out orders to shut them up, but they did not seem to mind them talking to each other.