This Monday he was enjoying a game of squash against Richard Davies, Head of Chancery at the UK embassy. Davies was a small, spare man fifteen years older than Dan, who was demonstrating a high level of fitness and speed around the court. The Englishman had been playing squash since he was thirteen years old but Dan had only started the game six months ago, so he did not mind losing. At the end of their forty-five minute session Dan had lost three games, albeit by increasingly smaller margins. They had been forced to abandon the fourth game at seven-all by the arrival of the next players who had booked the court.
While chatting at the bar over their pre-lunch drinks, Davies lost Hall’s attention when the younger man noticed a tall woman wearing black pants and a green sleeveless top. She wore her long dark hair in a ponytail and a determined expression on her attractive face. He also noticed that she was not suntanned which suggested that she had recently arrived from the UK and he also saw that her arms and shoulders were tautly muscled. Her age was hard to guess, but he decided she was about thirty, the same age as he was. She walked up to the bar behind Davies and asked for a glass of white wine and soda in the clear, decisive tone of someone used to giving instructions. At the sound of her voice Davies glanced round and then turned back to Hall to whom he gave a conspiratorial smile.
‘I was just asking if you thought the Hussein brethren had fled the country or if they were holed up somewhere,’ said Davies.
‘Er… sorry Richard. Yeah, I think they’re probably still there. I don’t think they trusted anyone outside Iraq enough to provide them with a bolthole. I would guess that they’ve gone to ground somewhere in Tikrit, Saddam’s home town. I still hope I’ll be able to get up there soon.’
‘Excuse me are you a journalist too?’ The woman had turned round and was peering over Davies’s shoulder at him. ‘I’m hoping to get permission to go to Baghdad, but I haven’t got any closer than Muscat so far. It’s bloody difficult to get a flight or a hotel room any closer to Iraq at the moment.’
Despite her undoubted physical attractiveness, her forthright attitude and the manner in which she butted into their conversation irritated Hall. ‘No I’m not a journalist,’ he retorted and was preparing to ignore the woman but Davies stood up off his bar stool and turned to include her.
‘Hello I’m Richard Davies; I’m in the embassy, and this is Dan Hall, US Marines,’ he said holding out his hand. She shook it and then held hers out to Dan. She stood the same height as him in her high heeled shoes.
‘Emily Stevens, freelance journalist,’ she said with a smile that lit up her face. ‘Pleased to meet you. So Dan, you think Saddam’s still in Iraq. D’you think they’ll be able to find him soon?’ she asked.
They talked for half an hour and Dan was reluctantly impressed by her depth of knowledge of the war and the political situation in the Middle East and her general politeness. He admitted to himself that he was prejudiced against journalists, and his disdain had been aroused by her comment about the lack of comfortable hotel rooms. Richard suggested that they all have lunch together but as they were reviewing the menus, he found a message on his cell phone. ‘Damn! Something’s come up. I’ll have to go in to the office,’ he declared.
‘Oh, can’t it wait until you’ve had lunch!’ Emily asked.
‘Sorry, duty calls. Nice to have met you Emily. Dan, see you next week, unless you get your marching orders.’
Dan watched him walk off and then smiled at Emily. ‘Have you decided what you’re gonna get?’
‘Sorry, I haven’t really looked at the menu yet. Are you expecting to go to Iraq then?’
‘Well I hope so, but for now Uncle Sam thinks I’m needed here.’ He noticed for the first time that a scar ran down the side of her neck and disappeared under her collar. He stared at it wondering what could have caused such a wound. He unconsciously fingered a scar of his own that ran up the side of his jaw to his right ear from which the lobe was missing. When she looked up from her menu he looked into her eyes instead which were dark brown and rather lovely he decided.
‘I’ll have a Caprese salad with prawns. What are you going to have?’ she asked. He had no idea, having spent his time admiring her instead of reading the menu.
‘I think I’ll have the same,’ he declared.
During lunch Emily proved to be very knowledgeable about the Gulf States and their political history and she seemed to know more about Muscat than he did, despite having lived there for eight months.
After finishing their lunch he offered to drive her back to her hotel. When they had driven for a mile she asked him to pull off the road for a moment. In his life hitherto, similar requests had led to a variety of social encounters but he suspected that this stop on the Muscat corniche would not lead to anything intimate. He put the transmission into park and turned to face her.
‘Dan, I am a UK Government agent and in need of some assistance. Richard Davies recommended you.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ he asked after a moment’s delay to re-organise his thought processes.
‘Ok, I’m not a journalist; I’m in the British equivalent to your CIA, and I’m hoping you’ll give me a hand with something.’
He stared at her for a moment. ‘Hell, you’re serious!’ After a pause for thought he asked ‘Have you got some kind of ID, then?’
‘Of course I have,’ she replied. ‘It shows that I’m a British citizen named Emily Stevens and I have accreditation as a journalist plus letters of recommendation from ‘Time’,’ Newsweek’ and ‘The Economist’. And ‘Hello’ magazine.’
‘But really you’re a member of SIS or something.’
‘Yes. Later, if you want to, you can call on Richard Davies and he’ll give you some form of proof or assurance.’
‘So Richard’s not Head of Chancery?’
‘Of course he is, but he does other stuff too.’
Dan Hall digested this information and then frowned. ‘So what do you know about me, then?’ he asked.
‘I know that you are a US Marine Corps Captain, you have the usual skills that go with that distinguished role and you have an exemplary record.’ She paused. ‘I now would like you to pretend that you have gambling debts and that you have decided to trade arms with a dealer who operates out of Fujairah in order to clear those debts.’
He was somewhat irritated by this, but he was also very curious.
‘What’s the mission?’ he asked
‘Tracking down an arms dealer who is supplying the wrong people.’
‘Can’t you tell me a little more?’
‘I’d rather wait until we set off tomorrow morning,’ Emily replied, ‘assuming you’re prepared to come on board. I’ll brief you on the way to the border, and if you decide you don’t want to do it, we’ll turn round and I’ll bring you back.’ He had been thinking about inviting her out to dinner, but now that hardly seemed appropriate. Perhaps after the operation was complete, he thought to himself.
One thing of which he was sure was that if he started off tomorrow, they would not be turning round so he could scuttle back home. ‘Ok I accept.’
Still somewhat wary that he might be the subject of some journalistic ploy Dan called on Richard Davies after he had dropped her off at her hotel. He described his conversation and said that he had decided to accept whatever role was planned for him by Emily Stevens.