Zakia, the Israeli agent, glared at the men and adjusted the straps of the mask and jerked it into place. She blocked the exhalation valve and blew, clearing the mask. Her quick deft motions proved she was familiar with the mask.
Kamal, the Kurd, asked, “Zakia, is this right?” She reached up and adjusted the straps. “I’ve never worn one before,” he explained as the guards shoved them toward the pressure chamber. Suddenly, he threw a hard left jab into the guard nearest him. The blow glanced off the guard’s right cheek. Two other guards rushed up and threw him into the chamber, slamming the heavy door behind the two. Kamal shouted at them in Kermanji, his native tongue, calling them all the English equivalent of “pig shit.” The double doors were sealed and checked for leaks while the team watched through view ports.
“Now we release the nerve agent,” the manager explained. He paused before turning the valve and looked to Mana. “If you wish …” Mana’s face lost all color at the thought of releasing the nerve gas. He gave a slight shake of his head and the manager turned the valve.
Now a scientist started a running explanation. “Normally, the subjects of such an experiment would be perfectly safe encased in their protective equipment. Please note how the droplets form and coalesce on contact with the material of their clothing and neoprene of their gas masks. It appears as if the droplets are evaporating on the material when in fact they are penetrating through to the skin.” Mana felt his stomach contract. The scientist could have been discussing a high school chemistry experiment.
The nerve gas was slow in penetrating the protective gear and for a few minutes, both prisoners felt a surge of hope. Then the first droplets penetrated Zakia’s suit and came in contact with her skin. The nerve agent was rapidly absorbed into her blood and sought out its target, the body chemical cholinesterase. Now the nerve agent immediately bonded with the cholinesterase, stopping it from breaking down acetylcholine, the body chemical that causes muscular contractions.
Zakia started to breathe rapidly as the cholinesterase in her body was made ineffective and acetylcholine rapidly built up. Her nose was running and she fought down a powerful urge to rub it. She had been trained as a doctor and knew what was coming next.
“Zakia,” Kamal shouted through his mask, “what’s wrong? My chest …” They were both feeling a tightness in their chests, making it hard to breathe. But it was much worse for Zakia.
Outside the chamber, the scientist took an obvious pride in his work. “Ah, the onset of the symptoms. You can see they are both experiencing difficulty in breathing.” A sour taste welled up in Mana’s mouth and he felt sick. But he could not take his eyes off the two people inside the chamber.
“I’m going blind!” Kamal shouted. He looked at Zakia to help, but there was none she could offer. Her pupils were much further dilated and her vision very dim. Now both were wracked with uncontrollable spasms. Together they ripped their masks off in a vain effort to breathe. Mana gasped and drew back from the viewing port. They were drooling from the mouth as nausea swept over them. The woman started vomiting first as the onset of nerve gas was more rapid in her body. Mana turned his face away from the view port, not able to watch them twitch, jerk, and stagger about. Sick revulsion swept over him as he faced the end result of his work. He was afraid that he too would vomit up the rich lunch he had finished less than an hour ago. But he could not turn off the scientist’s voice.
“By now they have both urinated and defecated… Ah there, the final symptoms.” The scientist’s voice droned on.
Mana could not help himself — he turned to look. The woman was on the floor, comatose. Spasms wracked her body.
“And now,” the scientist said. “The antidote.” He hit a button and a small tube rolled out onto the floor of the pressure chamber. He spoke into a microphone. “Take the caps off the tube,” the instructed Kamal. “Hold it in your fist and press the open end against your thigh. Press the button on the other end with your thumb. You will give yourself an injection that will save your life.” The man did as he was told and within minutes his spasms stopped.
“What you see is the antidote to the nerve gas,” the scientist told Mana. “We put it in a double-needle syringe modeled after the Dutch combo pen NATO uses for atropine.” The scientist smiled. “Of course atropine is ineffective as an antidote for our new nerve gas. But the combo pen is an excellent device.” He passed out combo pens to the group. “Please put these in your pocket and have them ready in case any nerve gas escapes when we open the chamber. You know what the symptoms are and how to use the antidote.”
The plant’s manager gave orders and an engineer evacuated the chamber. When the atmosphere tested free of contaminants, he gave another order and a guard threw open the double doors to the chamber, drew his pistol, walked in, and shot Kamal in the head. Then he fired a shot into the head of the woman.
“We need to perform autopsies to determine the full effects of the nerve gas,” the scientist explained.
Mana threw up and had to be rushed to a lavatory where he passed out.
Shoshana heard the commotion when Mana returned. She rushed to the front hall and sucked in her breath when she saw him. He was staggering and the front of his normally immaculate suit was stained with vomit. She chased the servants away and half carried him up to their rooms. There, she stripped his clothes off and bathed him with a damp cloth as he lay exhausted on their huge bed.
Slowly, he recounted the entire day, every detail, trying to purge himself of what he had seen. “It was so much more horrible than anything I imagined,” he told her, trying to justify his actions. “I only wanted to protect my country … my people … from the Zionist threat.” Sobs wracked his body.
Revulsion twisted inside Shoshana and any feelings she may have felt for Is’al, the boy, were driven out by a fear of Mana, the enemy. Her resolve hardened. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “How terrible, how frightening for you.” She stroked his head until he fell into a fitful sleep. Then she slipped out of bed and rifled through the pockets of his coat. She found the combo pen he had mentioned and hid it in one of her suitcases. Then she ordered ice from a servant and after it arrived, undressed and crawled into bed beside him.
The next day, they returned to Baghdad.
Hassan Derhally had presented a business card, much as a Western businessman would have when he entered Is’al Mana’s plush office. Unbidden, he had settled into a chair next to the ornate desk and waited, completely at ease. When he spoke, his words were soft and respectful but there was no doubt in Mana’s mind that Derhally was powerful and dangerous. Too many whispered tales made the rounds of Baghdad society about the sudden disappearance of individuals after talking to Derhally. Not even Mana’s family could protect him from Hassan Derhally of Al Mukhabaret, the Department of General Intelligence that fronted for the Iraqi secret police.
“How may I be of service?” Mana asked. An obvious quiver caught at his words.
“This is really nothing,” Derhally replied, “merely a minor thing.” He watched Mana’s Adam’s apple move. He was getting the response he wanted. “From time to time,” Derhally sighed in resignation, “we must track down misplaced material. Such a waste of time, but I suppose necessary. Don’t you agree?” Mana agreed, fearing the man’s bland stare.
“I understand you were present during a recent test at the Iraqi Petroleum Company’s headquarters in Kirkuk,” Derhally continued. He did not wait for Mana to confirm his information. “While there, you were given a device called a combo pen to use in case there should be an emergency. All but one of the combo pens were returned and we were wondering if you might still have it.” He watched Mana’s face. The man’s a fool, he thought. “As you can see, a minor matter.”