This is right up his alley. He left early this morning. If everything goes the way he planned, he should be at the crash site sometime tomorrow morning.”
“When will we know something?”
Packer shook his head.
“Peter promised he would get back to me as soon as he learned something concrete.”
From the tone of his voice, Sara Packer knew her husband had revealed as much as he felt comfortable telling her. She was equally confident that when he knew something definite, he would tell her. She finished her tea, pulled the covers back, and crawled into bed.
“Let’s pray that Peter gets there safely and learns that T. C. is all right,” she said.
“That’s what I’ve been doing,” Packer said.
“No you haven’t, you’ve been reading.”
“I was faking it, I didn’t want you to worry.”
It was a curious sensation. Bogner knew there were people in the room and that they were talking to him, but he was unable to understand what they were saying, and he was unable to see because his eyes were still bandaged.
From across the room he could hear Ozal’s voice. Sometimes he made sense, at other times he didn’t. But now Ozal was moving closer to him, speaking in English, and he understood.
“He does not speak Arabic,” Ozal assured the others.
“I speak English. Tell me what you want to know and I will ask him.”
In another part of the room, Bogner could hear another conversation, this time between three or possibly more, at least one of which was a woman.
By their inflection Bogner knew they were asking Ozal questions. The next time Ozal spoke, Bogner knew the man was standing very close to him, close enough that he could hear him breathing.
“Where am I?” Bogner managed to whisper.
“You are in the military hospital at Ammash,” Ozal said.
“We were brought here by helicopter.”
Bogner was again trying to piece the fragments together. The last few hours were little more than a chaotic collection of disjointed scraps of awareness.
He remembered being led down a path, walking past bodies, and the smell of smoke.
Somewhere entwined in all of the meaningless pieces was the recollection of Andera’s voice. He recalled gunshots, children crying, and men shouting — but nothing made much sense.
Now he heard steps in the room and realized someone else was approaching. Like Ozal, the man spoke English, not as well as the Turk, but well enough for Bogner to understand.
“I am Doctor Khan,” he explained. There was a hesitation before he went on, as though he was checking with someone to see if he was permitted to continue.
“As your colleague has already informed you, you are in an Ammash hospital. So far we have time only to conduct initial tests. However-tests seem to reveal nothing seriously wrong. You have second-and third-degree burns on your face, hands, neck, and shoulders. All will heal — but will take time. There is some damage to your throat but that is — I believe the word in your language is superficial. In time you will be quite well.”
“What about my eyes?” Bogner asked.
“They too will be fine in time,” Khan assured him.
Even before the doctor had finished explaining, Bogner heard someone else approaching.
“Let me introduce myself, Mr. Bogner. I am Major Mustafa Jahin of the Northern Iraqi Military Force.”
Jahin had a strong voice and his English was crisp. Like the doctor, he appeared to be considerably more at ease with the language than the ones back in the village.
“I can understand your confusion and perhaps I can clear up a few things for you. First of all, you were transported from a Kurd village where you have been held captive since your helicopter was shot down by one of our gunships nearly three days ago. Admittedly, we have had some difficulty putting the pieces together, but it would appear that you did not make the necessary arrangements to cross over into Iraqi airspace. Consistent with orders from General t
Baddour himself, any aircraft that violates our airspace is to be destroyed. Furthermore, it appears that you, along with your colleague Mr. Ozal, would have been executed by the Kurds if it had not been for the fortuitous sequence of events that followed the capture of Captain Khaldun.”
There was a pause, and Bogner could hear someone lighting a cigarette. When the voice continued, it was Jahin again.
“Perhaps that will answer some of your questions.
But for the moment, we will leave you to rest now. Mr. Ozal informs us that you represent the highly respected Canadian weapons merchants known as Jade. While you rest, we will contact your company and let them know you are alive and likely to recover. In the meantime I suggest you get some rest.”
Bogner tried to form some kind of response, but succeeded only in asking for the doctor. When he could again feel Khan leaning close to him, he asked for a drink.
“Thirsty,” was the only word he rasped.
Bogner felt a hand slip under his head and a glass being held to his lips. He took several swallows and then the lights went out.
Mustafa Jahin found his general waiting in a small room just off the corridor outside Bogner’s room.
“What were you able to learn?” Baddour asked.
Jahin lit another cigarette and sat down.
“You are familiar with a man by the name of Taj Ozal? He is a Turk.”
Baddour nodded.
“We met only once — in Istanbul.
But he has since contacted me by telephone.
A curious man, he calls himself an information merchant. He claims he makes his living by establishing contacts for people who have need of his services.”
“A curious profession,” Jahin observed.
“If we can believe what he tells us, he was contracted to bring the one called Bogner here to Ammash.”
“For what purpose?”
“You are also familiar with a Canadian weapons dealer by the name of Jade?”
“Of course,” Baddour admitted.
“According to Ozal, the one called Bogner was on his way here to do business with you. Ozal claimed he saw documents that indicated he was carrying an extensive inventory of arms to discuss with us.”
“And where are these documents now?”
Jahin finished his cigarette and shrugged.
“Apparently they were destroyed along with their other effects when the helicopter crashed. General.
Captain Nayef and Lieutenant Illah assure me they conducted a thorough search of all the Kurd buildings still standing after the assault. We found nothing to support the man’s claim. I will, of course, attempt to verify what they are telling us.”
Baddour began pacing back and forth and changed the subject.
“About the village, Major?”
“Captain Nayef reports that the village was totally destroyed. Lieutenant Illah supervised the burning of all structures in the village and his men saw to it that all Kurd villagers who survived Captain Nayef’s initial assault were eliminated, and that their herds were likewise destroyed.”
“And what about Captain Khaldun?”
“He has been returned to Ammash and has been confined to his quarters. According to Captain
Nayef’s report, Khaldun’s entire patrol was wiped out at the site of the crash. Captain Khaldun has already admitted that the Kurd guerrillas took him and his patrol by surprise.”
Baddour straightened his shoulders. “Most unfortunate, a waste of good men and resources.”
“He will be reprimanded,” Jahin assured him.
“Perhaps you should consider something more than a reprimand for Captain Khaldun,” Baddour suggested.
Robert Miller had been in his office for less than thirty minutes; just enough time to turn on his computer and check the overnight mail pouch.