The immigration officer hadn"t seen many Swedish pa.s.sports before, but as his father had been an engineer, he wished Mr Bernstrom a successful trip.
As Scott strolled through the green channel, he was stopped by a customs official who was chewing something. He instructed the foreigner to open his bulky canvas bag. After rummaging around inside, the only thing the officer showed any interest in was a long, thin cardboard tube that had been wedged along the bottom of the bag. Scott removed the cap on the end of the tube, pulled out the contents and unrolled a large poster, which was greeted by the official with such puzzled amazement that he even stopped chewing for a moment.
He waved Scott through.
Once Scott had reached the main concourse, he walked out onto the road in search of a taxi. He studied the motley selection of cars that were parked by the side of the pavement. They made New York Yellow Cabs look like luxury limousines.
He instructed the driver parked at the front of the queue to take him to the Roman theatre in the centre of the city.
The eleven-mile journey into Amman took forty minutes, and when Scott was dropped outside the third-century theatre he handed the driver two ten-dinar notes -.enough, the experts at Langley had told him, to cover the cost of the trip. The driver pocketed the notes but did not smile.
Scott checked his watch. He was still well in time for the planned reunion. He walked straight past the ancient monument that was, according to his guidebook, well worth a visit. As instructed by Kratz, he then proceeded west for three blocks, occasionally having to step off the pavement into the road to avoid the bustling crowds. When he reached a Sh.e.l.l petrol station he turned right, leaving the noisy shoppers behind.
He then took the second turning on the left, and after that another to the right. The roads became less crowded with locals and more full of potholes with each stride he took.
Another left, followed by another right, and he found himselfentering the promised cul-de-sac. At the end of the road, when he could go no further, he came to a halt outside a sc.r.a.pyard. He smiled at the sight that greeted him.
By the time Al Obaydi reached the border, it was already pitch dark. All three lanes leading to the customs post were b.u.mper to b.u.mper with waiting lorries, covered with tarpaulins for the night. The taxi driver came to a halt at the barrier and explained to his pa.s.senger that he would have to hire an Iraqi cab once he was on the other side. Al Obaydi thanked the driver and gave him a handsome tip before going to the front of the queue outside the customs shed. A tired official gave him a languid look and told him the border was closed for the night. Al Obaydi presented his diplomatic pa.s.sport and the official quickly stamped his visa and ushered him through, aware that there would be no little red notes accompanying such a doc.u.ment. Al Obaydi felt exhilarated as he strolled the mile between the two customs posts. He walked to the front of another queue, produced his pa.s.sport once again, and received another smile from the customs officer.
"There is a car waiting for you, Amba.s.sador," was all the official said, pointing to a large limousine that was parked near the highway. A smiling chauffeur stood waiting. He touched the peak of his cap and opened the back door.
Al Obaydi smiled. The Chief Administrator must have warned them that he would be coming over the border late that night.
He thanked the customs official, walked over to the highway and slipped into the back of the limousine. Someone else was already there, who also appeared to be waiting for him. Al Obaydi began to smile again, when suddenly an arm shot across his throat and threw him to the floor. His hands were pinned behind his back, and a pair of handcuffs clicked into place.
"How dare you?" shouted Al Obaydi. "I am an Amba.s.sador!"
he screamed as he was hurled back up onto the seat. "Don"t you realise who I am?"
"Yes, I do," came back the reply. "And you"re under arrest for treason."
Scott had to admit that the HEMTT carrying Madame Bertha looked quite at home among the colourful collection of old American cars and lorries piled high on three sides of the sc.r.a.pyard. He ran across to the truck and jumped up into the cab on the pa.s.senger side. He shook hands with Kratz, who seemed relieved to see him. When Scott saw who was seatedbehind the wheel, he said, "Good to see you again, Sergeant Cohen. Am I to a.s.sume you play a mean game of backgammon?"
"Two doubles inside the board clinched it for me in the final game, Professor, though G.o.d knows how the Kurd even reached the semi-final," Cohen said as he switched on the engine. "And because he"s a mate of mine, the others are all claiming I fixed the dice."
"So where"s Aziz now?" asked Scott.
"On the back with Madame Bertha," said the Sergeant. "Best place for him. Mind you, he knows the back streets of Baghdad like I know the pubs in Brixton, so he may turn out to be useful."
"And the rest of the team?" asked Scott.
"Feldman and the others slipped over the border during the night," said Kratz. "They"re probably in Baghdad waiting for us by now."
"Then they"d better keep well out of sight," said Scott, "because after the bombing last Sunday, I suspect death might prove the least of their problems."
Kratz offered no opinion as Sergeant Cohen eased the ma.s.sive vehicle slowly out of the yard and onto the street; this time the roads became wider with each turning he took.
"Are we keeping to the plan that was agreed in Stockholm?"
asked Scott.
"With two refinements," said Kratz. "I spent yesterday morning phoning Baghdad. After seven attempts, I got through to someone at the Ministry of Industry who knew about the safe, but it"s the age-old problem with the Arabs: if they don"t see the d.a.m.n thing in front of their eyes, they don"t believe it exists."
"So our first stop will have to be the Ministry?" said Scott.
"Looks like it," replied Kratz. "But at least we know we"ve got something they want. Which reminds me, have you brought the one thing they don"t want?"
Scott unzipped his bag and pulled out the cardboard tube.
"Doesn"t look a lot to be risking your life for," said Kratz as Scott slipped it back into his bag.
"And the second refinement?" asked Scott.
Kratz removed a postcard from his inside pocket and pa.s.sed it over to Scott. A picture of Saddam Hussein addressing the Revolutionary Command Council stared back at him. A little biro"d square full of stars had been drawn in by the side of his head. Scott turned the card over and studied herunmistakable handwriting: "Wish you were here."
Scott didn"t speak for several moments.
"Notice the date, did you?"
Scott looked at the top right-hand corner: 4.7.93.
"So, now we know where it is, and she"s also confirmed exactly when Saddam intends to let the rest of the world into his secret."
"Who"s Ethel Rubin?" asked Scott. "And how did you get your hands on the card?"
"The lady Hannah was billeted with in London. Her husband is Mossad"s legal representative in England. He took the card straight to the emba.s.sy the moment it -arrived and they sent it overnight in the diplomatic pouch. It reached our emba.s.sy in Amman this morning."
Once they had reached the outskirts of the town, Scott began to study the barren terrain as the lorry continued its progress along the oil-covered, potholed roads.
"Sorry to be going so slowly, Professor," said Cohen, "but if I throw my brakes on with the road in this condition, Madame Bertha might travel another hundred yards before the wheels even have a chance to lock."
Kratz went over every contingency he could think of as Cohen drove silently towards the border. The Mossad leader ended up by describing the layout of the Ba"ath headquarters once again.
"And the alarm system?" asked Scott when he had come to an end.
"All you have to remember is that the red b.u.t.tons by the light switches activate the alarm, but at the same time close all the exits."
Scott nodded, but it was some time before he asked his next question. "And Hannah?"
"Nothing"s changed. My first task is to get you in and then back out with the original doc.u.ment. She still remains an unlikely bonus, although she obviously knows what"s going on."
Neither of them spoke again until Sergeant Cohen pulled off the highway into a large gravel layby packed with lorries. He parked the vehicle at an angle so that only the most inquisitive could observe what they were up to, then jumped out of the cab, pulled himself over the tailboard and grinned at the Kurd who was lounging against the safe.
Between them they removed the tarpaulin that covered the ma.s.sive structure as Scott and Kratz climbed up to join themin the back of the truck.
"What do you think, Professor?" asked Aziz.
"She hasn"t lost any weight, that"s for sure," said Scott, as he tried to remember the nightly homework he had done in preparation for this single exam.
He stretched his fingers and smiled. All three bulbs above the white square were red. He first turned all three dials to a code that only he and a man in Sweden were aware of. He then placed his right hand on the white square, and left it there for several seconds. He leaned forward, put his lips up against the square and spoke softly. "My name is Andreas Bernstrom. When you hear this voice, and only this voice, you will unlock the door." Scott waited as the other three looked on in bemused silence. He then swivelled the dials. All three bulbs remained red.
"Now we discover if I understood the instructions," said Scott. He bit his lip and advanced again. Once more he twiddled the dials, but this time to the numbers selected by Saddam, ending with 0-4-0-7-9-3. The first light went from red to green. Aziz smiled. Scott placed the palm of his hand in the white square and left it there for several seconds. The second light switched to green.
Scott heard Kratz sigh audibly as he stepped forward again. He put his lips to the white square so they just touched the thin wire mesh. "My name is Andreas Bernstrom.
It"s now time for the safe to -" The third light turned green even before he had completed the sentence. Cohen offered up a suppressed cheer.
Scott grasped the handle and pulled. The ton of steel eased open.
"Not bad," said Cohen. "What do you do for an encore?"
"Use you as a guinea-pig," said Scott. "Why don"t you try and close the safe, Sergeant?"
Cohen took a step forward and with both hands shoved the door closed. The three bulbs immediately began flashing red.
"Easy, once you get the hang of it," he said.
Scott smiled and pulled the door back open with his little finger. Cohen stared open-mouthed as the lights returned to green.
"The lights might flash red," said Scott, "but Bertha can only handle one man at a time. No one else can open or close the safe now except me."
"And I was hoping it was because he was a Jew," said Aziz.
Scott smiled as he pushed the door of the safe closed,swivelled the dials and waited until all three bulbs turned red.
"Let"s go," said Kratz, who Scott felt sounded a little irritated - or was it just the first sign of tension? Aziz threw the tarpaulin back over Madame Bertha while his colleagues jumped over the side and returned to the cab.
No one spoke as they continued their journey to the border until Cohen let out a string of expletives when he spotted the queue of lorries ahead of them. "We"re going to be here all night," he said.
"And most of tomorrow morning, I expect," said Kratz. "So we"d better get used to it." They came to a halt behind the last lorry in the queue.
"Why don"t I just drive on up front and try to bluff my way through?" said Cohen. "A few extra dollars ought to.. ."
"No," said Kratz. "We don"t want to attract undue attention at any time between now and when we cross back over that border."
During the next hour, while the truck moved forward only a couple of hundred yards, Kratz went over his plans yet again, covering any situation he thought might arise once they reached Baghdad.
Another hour pa.s.sed, and Scott was thankful for the evening breeze that helped him doze off, although he realised that he would soon have to wind the window up if he wished to avoid freezing. He began to drift into a light sleep, his mind switching between Hannah and the Declaration, and which, given the choice, he would rather bring home. He realised that Kratz was in no doubt why he had volunteered to join the team when the chances of survival were so slim.
"What"s this joker up to then?" said Cohen in a stage whisper. Scott snapped awake and quickly focused on a uniformed official talking to the driver of the lorry in front of them.
"It"s a customs official," said Kratz. "He"s only checking to see that drivers have the right papers to cross the border."
"Most of this lot will only have two little bits of red paper about five inches by three," said Cohen.
"Here he comes," said Kratz. "Try and look as bored as he does."
The officer strolled up to the cab and didn"t even give Cohen a first look as he thrust a hand through the open window.Cohen pa.s.sed over the papers that the experts at Langley had provided. The official studied them and then walked slowly round the lorry. When he returned to the driver"s side, he barked an order at Cohen that none of them understood.
Cohen looked towards Kratz, but a voice from behind rescued them.
"He says we"re to go to the front of the queue."
"Why?" asked Kratz suspiciously. Aziz repeated the question to the official.
"We"re being given priority because of the letter signed by Saddam."
"And who do we thank for that?" asked Kratz, still not fully convinced.
"Bill O"Reilly," said Scott, "who was only too sorry he couldn"t join us on the trip. But he"s been given to understand that it"s quite impossible to get draught Guinness anywhere in Iraq."
Kratz nodded, and Sergeant Cohen obeyed the official"s instructions, allowing himself to be directed into the lane of oncoming traffic as he began an unsteady two-mile journey to the front of the queue. Vehicles legally progressing towards Amman on the other side of the road found they had to swerve onto the loose rubble of the hard shoulder if they didn"t want a head-on collision with Madame Bertha.
As Cohen completed the last few yards to the border post, an angry official came running out of the customs shed waving a fist. Once again it was Aziz who came to their rescue, by recommending that Kratz show him the letter.
After one look at the signature, the fist was quickly exchanged for a salute.
"Pa.s.sport," was the only other word he uttered.
Kratz pa.s.sed over three Swedish and one Iraqi pa.s.sport with two red notes attached to the first page of each doc.u.ment. "Never pay above the expected tariff," he had warned his team. "It only makes them suspicious."
The four pa.s.sports were taken to a little cubicle, studied, stamped and returned by the official, who even offered them the suggestion of a smile. The barrier on the Jordanian side was raised, and the lorry began its mile-long journey towards the Iraqi checkpoint.
HAMID AL OBAYDI was dragged into the Council Chamber by two of the Presidential Guards and then dumped in a chair several yards away from the long table.He raised his head and looked around at the twelve men who made up the Revolutionary Command Council. None of their eyes came into contact with his, with the exception of the State Prosecutor.
What had he done that these people had decided to arrest him at the border, handcuff him, throw him in jail, leave him to sleep on the stone floor and not even offer him the chance to use a lavatory?
Still dressed in the suit he had crossed the border in, he was now sitting in his own excrement.
Saddam raised a hand, and the State Prosecutor smiled.
But Al Obaydi did not fear Nakir Farrar. Not only was he innocent of any trumped-up charge, but he also had information they needed. The State Prosecutor rose slowly from his place.
"Your name is Hamid Al Obaydi?"
"Yes," replied Al Obaydi, looking directly at the State Prosecutor.
"You are charged with treason and the theft of state property. How do you plead?"
"I am innocent, and Allah will be my witness."
"If Allah is to be your witness, I"m sure he won"t mind me asking you some simple questions."
"I will be most happy to answer anything."
"When you returned from New York earlier this month, you carried on with your work in the Foreign Ministry. Is that correct?"
"It is."