“I–I have never seen him before,” Khaldun said.
The woman continued to stare at him. Finally she turned, walked slowly back to the table, sat down, looked at the old man sitting beside her, and nodded. Khaldun was aware that the room had somehow grown even quieter.
Even with the help of a cane and the assistance of both Aman and the woman, the mere act of trying to stand erect proved difficult for Sairan Buk. The old man’s eyes were rheumy and his hands trembled. He looked slowly around the room, making contact with each member of the council before he began. When he did, there was a tremor in his faltering voice. For Khaldun the words were a confusing tangle of both Kurdish and Arabic.
“When — when a man gets to be my age, Captain…”
Buk’s voice cracked and he paused momentarily to catch his breath.
“He develops a — a regard for the troubled journey we know as life.
Life is Allah’s precious gift. In depriving others of this gift, you have sinned against Allah.”
Khaldun’s eyes shifted from the old man to the woman, and finally to Bogner. The one the woman had accused of being an arms dealer was staring back at him, but it was hard to read what was in his eyes. What little strength there had been in Buk’s voice when he began was eroding rapidly.
Still, Khaldun was somehow aware that the old man had turned to Aman and pronounced his judgment.
Husri Aman lumbered to his feet and like Buk, slowly surveyed the room, pausing as he looked at each man, reading their eyes. Unlike Buk, his voice was strong, and Khaldun knew what the verdict was even though it was delivered in Kurdish.
“Stand up,” Aman ordered, and Khaldun was prodded to his feet.
“You have been convicted of the crime of murder — the murder of innocent Kurdish men, women, and children. You have plundered our land and sinned against Allah. The council of elders of this village have decided your fate. Despite this judgment and the wishes of the council of elders, the wisdom and goodness of Sairan Buk has directed that you be given sufficient time to make your peace with Allah.”
Khaldun took a deep breath.
Aman continued.
“It is the judgment of this council then that you, Sharif Khaldun, and your colleagues in the misery of our people be returned to your cell and executed by a firing squad when the glory of Allah is revealed in the first light of the new dawn of your second day.”
Khaldun felt himself being shoved back down into the chair and restrained as the council shuffled from the room. He watched as Aman assisted the old man from his place at the council table to a bench close by the fireplace and stoked the fire.
Then the woman crossed the room until she was standing in front of Bogner. She touched his hand and her eyes searched his face. Only Bogner heard her utter the words “I am sorry.”
Chapter Seven
Salih Baddour had constructed the Nasrat Pharmaceutical compound in Ammash to serve more than one purpose. The two above-ground stories actually accommodated the production of a variety of pharmaceuticals shipped to and sold in six different Middle East countries. Western observers believed Baddour used profits from the sales of these pharmaceuticals as well as sympathetic anti-Abbasin oil money from nearby countries to fund his military buildup as well as support and underwrite Rashid’s research efforts.
While the underground levels concealed a modern research and development center for the work of Rashid and his staff, the lower levels also served as the nerve center of Baddour’s military command post. From the outset in his campaign to bring down Abbasin, Baddour had displayed an entrepreneur’s zeal, frequently allying himself with any anti-Abbasin faction with money. The Russians, despite their reeling economy, helped him engineer, design, and fund the construction of the pharmaceutical company’s manufacturing facility. Iranian oil money was used in the construction of the infrastructure, and fragmented interests centered in other oil-producing parts of Iraq, eager to see Abbasin’s death grip on the Iraqi economy lessened, were all eager to contribute.
But in the end it had been the development of Rashid’s cyanide-based weapons that had given Baddour his real power. With Rashid at his disposal, Baddour was on the verge of being able to stand alone. The desires and ambitions of his former associates were no longer a concern. With his inventory secure and rapidly developing derivations of Gehenna poisons at his disposal, Baddour’s power continued to grow.
Now, as the hour approached nine o’clock, Baddour finished his inspection and took the elevator up to the G-3 level of the compound to wait for his small Ammash staff. Fahid and Jahin were already seated at the table. Nayef was on the telephone.
A young militiaman, obviously new to the duties of an orderly, moved nervously around the table serving cay laced with sut, a drink Baddour had embraced during his travels in Turkey.
Baddour dismissed him when Nayef returned to the table smiling.
“You have good news. Captain?”
“Yes, General. I just spoke to Lieutenant Ibrahim. He has just returned from his patrol. They have located Captain Khaldun’s truck. He indicated that it appeared an attempt had been made to conceal it in the rocks just south of Koboli Pass.”
“Ibrahim is certain of his report?” Jahin asked.
Nayef nodded.
“His recon photos are being developed as we speak.”
Fahid, meanwhile, had stood up, walked to the large surface map on the wall behind Baddour, and pointed to the location of the pass.
“Is this where you indicated the wreckage of the helicopter you shot down can be found?”
Again Nayef nodded.
“And we have not heard from Captain Khaldun since last evening?” Baddour asked.
“No further contact. General.”
Baddour took a sip of his cay and studied the map.
“Precisely where are the Kurd settlements in the area. Colonel, and what do we know about them?”
Ishad Fahid, unlike his fellow officers, needed no map to serve as a reference. The Bull, as he was known to the younger officers in the NIMF, was not an articulate man, but he had spent his youth in the Koboli region and he knew the area well.
“Within a few kilometers of the crash site there are two and perhaps three. General. All are quite small, with the one at Koboli being the largest.
They are of little consequence.”
Baddour took another sip and set his cup down.
“Have we noted any activity — anything that would indicate they are aware of our recent tests in nearby areas?”
Jahin studied the map and pointed again.
“Our most recent tests were in a region considerably to the south of Koboli. It is doubtful they would be aware.”
Fahid laughed. The gesture was both unexpected and out of character.
“I am afraid our Major Jahin underestimates the Kurds, General. I have spent a lifetime with these people. Exterminating Kurds was a passion with me in my youth, but even then I learned to respect their toughness and their cunning. They are not fools, and it is folly for us to believe that even an isolated settlement like Koboli or even the two smaller villages to the north and west are unaware of our tests.”
“They do not have weapons,” Jahin countered.
“Captain Khaldun’s squad was equipped to handle—” Fahid took out his cigarette case, selected a cigarette, and tapped it on the table.
“I would also caution the major to think about this. If Captain Nayef reports that his patrol has located Captain Khaldun’s truck in the Kolobi Pass, that it appears to be abandoned, and that there is no indication of the whereabouts of the men assigned to that patrol, perhaps it would be wise for Colonel Jahin to consider the possibility of a Kurd trap.”