Spoils of War, page 6
‘Indirectly, I was put in touch with a senior officer of the occupation forces here, a man who had the power to arrange for Noura to leave the country. In the middle of August he travelled to Jordan and I went there to meet him.
‘The name of this man is Ibrahim Faysal Jalloul, a colonel of the Iraqi military intelligence. It had been explained to me that he was one of many such people who were out of favour with the leadership in Baghdad. He feared for his future under Saddam Hussein and might be open to an opportunity of absconding, provided he was well enough rewarded.
‘We met in secret, in Amman, and we came to an agreement. Colonel Jalloul would provide Noura with the papers of an Iraqi citizen and the means of allowing her to travel to Baghdad and then on to Jordan. He told me all this would take time to organize. Others would have to be bribed in turn for their help. In the meantime he would supply protection to this house and to my daughter, ensuring that no harm came to her.’
Hamadi paused. ‘We agreed on a payment – a ransom, if you like – of two million dollars, to be paid into a bank account in Switzerland. He insisted that the first half be made available at once, unconditionally. The rest would be due once Noura was safely back with her family. I had no choice but to agree.
‘We met again in Amman towards the end of that month and finalized the arrangements that I had set in motion in Switzerland. He told me that his own plans were well in hand and Noura would be free to leave Kuwait the following week.’
Dr Hamadi sighed. ‘That was a false promise, Mr Rushton. On the night she was due to leave she was arrested, taken to the Nayef Palace, held on a ridiculous pretext. My first thought was that Colonel Jalloul had grown greedy, that soon he would be trying to raise his price. But no message came from him. When I had enquiries made I learned that he was no longer in Kuwait. He had disappeared.’
‘Taking the first half of the ransom money?’ said Jack.
‘Yes. And leaving Noura to her death. Strangely enough, in spite of the distasteful nature of our dealings, I thought of him as a man of his word. My anxiety must have clouded my judgement. I should not have expected anything but the worst from an Iraqi.’
‘He didn’t actually . . . kill her himself?’
‘Evidently not. When they found her body, in the basement of the Nayef Palace’ – Hamadi spoke with difficulty now, threatened by emotions he had been choking back – ‘they estimated that she had been dead about a month. They had to check her dental records to be sure of her identity. Jalloul had vanished four months earlier. But I have no doubt that he abandoned her to her fate at the hands of the secret police, the Mukhabarat, which amounts to the same thing.
‘However, I do not wish to burden you with my personal feelings. Noura is dead, in’sh Allah. She cannot be brought back. The reason you need to know all this is because her death has left me in a further predicament.’
Jack waited for an explanation. When Hamadi gave it he spoke in the same tone of weary detachment he had used that afternoon.
‘There is a new climate here since the liberation. There are people who want to change our ways, so-called reformers who would interpret my actions as proof of their own belief that the rich and privileged are a law unto themselves. They would also accuse me of trucking with my country’s enemies. You know something of my status here. These people could destroy my personal reputation, and that in turn could have repercussions of a business and even a political nature. That is, if they were to find evidence of my dealings with Jalloul.’
Hamadi looked at Jack significantly. ‘Unfortunately, such evidence does exist,’ he said. ‘The money itself was of no great importance to me, but I needed some guarantee that Jalloul would keep his word. I attached conditions to the arrangement, which was made through an intermediary in Zurich. I wanted Jalloul’s name linked with mine, in case he should attempt to cheat me. I had a covenant drawn up allowing this nominee to open a bank account – in effect, an anonymous account – on behalf of us both. It was a condition that any withdrawal or transfer of funds would require both our signatures. The details need not concern you for the moment: it is enough for you to understand that I deposited two million dollars in the account, transferred half of it immediately to Jalloul and left the rest to await completion of his part of the agreement. It seemed a reasonable safeguard at the time. It never occurred to me that he would simply take half the money and disappear.
‘Now here is the real problem: that account, at the Handelsbank Bauer in Zurich, remains open. The nominee who has charge of it is unable to close it, or to obtain the release of the remaining one million dollars without the agreement of Jalloul. And where is Jalloul? Nobody knows.
‘Furthermore, when these new Swiss regulations come into effect in July, the nominee will be forced to disclose both our names to the Federal Banking Commission. The account will no longer be anonymous, and anyone who cares to try hard enough will be able to link my name with Jalloul’s. He, in turn, has copies of the documentation which implicate me in the arrangement. Wherever he is, possibly without even realizing it, Jalloul is holding a gun to my head. And there are other people, here in Kuwait, who would be more than happy to pull the trigger.’
Hamadi was staring earnestly at his guest in the feeble light. When he spoke again it was in a tone of entreaty that did not seem at all characteristic. ‘I want you to help me prevent that, Jack. For the sake of my family’s honour. For the memory of my daughter.’
Faintly embarrassed, Jack said: ‘I don’t quite see what you expect me to do.’
‘Go to Switzerland. Find some way around this difficulty. Settle the agreement and close the account. And eliminate all evidence that the transaction ever took place.’
‘But that would mean –’
‘In return for your endeavours,’ Hamadi said quickly, ‘I am willing to pay you one hundred thousand dollars. If you succeed in releasing the one million dollars from the account you are welcome to whatever portion of it you can negotiate for yourself. As I have said, the money is of no real consequence to me. It is nothing compared to the harm it could do.’
‘The only way I can see of doing any of that is –’
‘I know,’ said Hamadi fervently. ‘I don’t like the idea either. But it may be necessary for you to trace Colonel Jalloul. And do a deal with him.’
5
For several moments Jack didn’t speak. The darkness, the quiet that surrounded them and the fog of oil smoke hanging over the decayed garden suddenly gave him a sense of unreality, as though he had strayed into a dream. Dr Hamadi hovered in front of him like an anxious pale ghost, and what he had said seemed just as fantastical.
When Jack found his voice he said the first thing that came into his head: ‘I can’t do it.’
‘Why not?’
‘I just can’t. You say you don’t like the idea. Neither do I.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ said Hamadi. ‘Doesn’t the money attract you?’
‘It’s not that.’ Oddly, the money was not uppermost in Jack’s thoughts. The figures seemed too absurd to be taken seriously. ‘It’s . . . well, one minute you’re talking about a simple financial investigation, and the next you’re asking me to find an Iraqi blackmailer and talk him into negotiating with me. It’s out of my league. I’m just not equipped to do it.’
‘I doubt that you would need to have any personal dealings with him,’ Hamadi said calmly. ‘Assuming he can be traced, it should be possible to approach him through the bank or the intermediary that we used. But you must realize now why I can’t risk doing so myself, or entrust the task to any of my countrymen.’
‘Let me see if I’ve got this right, Dr Hamadi. This is the man who cheated you out of a million dollars and abandoned your daughter to be murdered. And you are willing to do a deal with him? You’re prepared to pay him even more money if necessary, just for the sake of concealing what happened between you?’
‘There is an Arabic saying that you may not have heard, Jack: Kiss the hand that you dare not bite.’ It was all Jack now; perhaps in token of the new intimacy forced on them by these revelations, Hamadi reached out and gave his shoulder a brotherly squeeze. ‘But it’s not simply a matter of how it would look. It has to do with bigger things, involving the whole structure of this society. You know our history. It’s nearly two hundred and fifty years now since my forebears and those of five or six of the other leading families elected one of the Al-Sabah clan as their ruler. They gave political leadership to the Al-Sabahs in exchange for the stability that would allow commerce to flourish in the hands of the others.
‘It’s been so ever since. It’s a system that has served everyone, rich and poor, very well. There are no poor people to speak of now, yet there are those who wish to end the system overnight. Who want to destroy the only traditions we’ve got. With the misguided encouragement of some of our foreign friends they preach democracy to people for whom the word has no meaning. They talk of redistributing wealth, when history has shown that that only makes everyone poorer.
‘In the hands of these people, what I did would be grossly misrepresented. It would be used not only to harm me, but to undermine the position of all the families who have made Kuwait what it is. Of course there is sympathy for anyone who has lost a close relative to the Iraqis; but that applies to so many, most of whom haven’t got the resources to do what I did. I would be accused of abusing my position and my wealth. Perhaps the criticism would be valid, but I ask you to think what you would have done in my position.’
Jack had been thinking quite hard, in fact, throughout this little speech. What he would want in Hamadi’s place now was justice, even revenge, for the murder of his daughter. But then he wasn’t a billionaire or a member of a privileged elite that felt its interests threatened. The rich were different, all right.
He said: ‘I really don’t think you’ve got the right man, Doctor.’
‘What exactly is your objection?’
‘For one thing, I’d hardly know where to begin. All I’ve ever done is work with pieces of paper. Balance sheets, reports, cash-flow projections. Even when I was an investigator with Hellig’s, poking my nose into other people’s business, I was only dealing with abstractions. What you need is someone a bit more streetwise. A real detective.’
‘And one also with an understanding of high-level finance? I think you’re being hard on yourself, Jack. Or is it really a question of ethics?’
‘Why should it be?’
‘I’m remembering those asset-strippers that you talked about. People you didn’t like dealing with. Perhaps you have the same feelings about me?’
‘I hadn’t got round to thinking about it.’
‘Or Jalloul? Technically I suppose he counts as a war criminal. But, as I said, it’s most unlikely that you would have to confront him directly. In any case, at present only he and I know of the true nature of the arrangement that we came to. He is in hiding, obviously, but only from the Iraqi authorities. As far as I know he is not wanted by the police of any other country. Probably he is living quietly in Switzerland, or France, or perhaps even England. Some place where he can enjoy his money but remain anonymous. He’ll be on the defensive. He won’t be dangerous.’
The idea of danger somehow hadn’t crossed Jack’s mind until now; the risks they had been talking about were not physical ones. But Jalloul had a lot more than money to lose. Who could say for sure what his response would be? Was that why Hamadi was prepared to pay so much to have someone else approach him?
‘The hundred thousand dollars you mentioned,’ Jack said, ‘how would it be paid?’
‘Half of it at once, the other half when the deal was successfully negotiated.’
‘That’s very trusting of you. What if I did a runner without delivering, like Jalloul?’
Hamadi’s smile was just visible in the darkness. ‘I was wrong about Jalloul because he is an unpredictable Iraqi. Usually I can estimate the price of a man’s reliability. Fifty thousand isn’t enough to tempt you, Jack. Not when you have a good chance of doubling that and even making much more. Now I must return to my diwania. What’s your answer? Yes or no?’
‘I’d still like a while to think about it.’
‘Very well. But time is short. As a start, there’s someone here I want you to meet, a man who has some limited knowledge of what happened and who can give you background information on Jalloul. He knows nothing about the ransom, but I’ve told him you’re a financial investigator and he’ll help you as a favour to me. You can have complete confidence in his discretion. He will answer your questions but will ask none of his own.’
Most of the Kuwaitis were still gathered round the table, eating and talking complacently about the trials of the occupation. The man Hamadi took Jack to meet, however, was the one he had spotted earlier, standing on his own to one side of the room. He watched without expression as the other two approached him; when Hamadi introduced him to Jack he shook hands firmly but did not smile.
‘Mr Jack Rushton, a former resident here,’ said the doctor. ‘This is Major Abdullah Al-Shaheb.’
Major Al-Shaheb was of medium height, heavily built and unusually dark-skinned. Almost certainly the blood of African slaves from an earlier century ran in his veins. He had a rigid military bearing that seemed unsuited to the loose, flowing lines of the black dishdasha and white head-dress that he wore. He held a small glass of orange juice enveloped in a large brown fist.
‘The major is one of the quiet heroes of the occupation,’ Hamadi said. ‘He was transferred from the army to the police security division some years ago, and is responsible, among other things, for the personal safety of the Emir and his family. He arranged their escape to Bahrain on the day of the invasion and remained with them in Saudi Arabia. From there he helped to direct the activities of the resistance and collected information that assisted the allies in the planning of their attack. Abdullah, I have told Mr Rushton you have interesting stories to tell.’
Jack felt uncomfortably put on the spot. He said to the policeman, tritely: ‘You must have had some scary moments last August.’
‘It was all in the line of duty,’ Al-Shaheb said brusquely. ‘My job is to prepare for the worst. One day we may come to see the occupation as a blessing. Too many people here had grown used to the good life, as you must know. They were accustomed to having things done for them. They did not know how to fend for themselves, to make sacrifices in order to survive. Some of them still don’t.’
Was that the ghost of a disparaging glance that he threw towards the men wolfing down pastries at the table? If so, Dr Hamadi did not appear to consider himself included in the criticism. He gave a hearty laugh and said: ‘You’re right, Abdullah. There are lessons for us all in that. Well, I’ll let you two talk.’
He turned away to join his other guests, leaving Jack and the major staring at each other. Al-Shaheb’s features had a sternness that did not encourage small talk. Jack had thought of him at first as looking awkward in this company, unsure of his welcome if he attempted to join a conversation; now he realized there was hostility or even contempt in his manner.
His bright, dark eyes scanned Jack’s face as though he were comparing it to those of a list of suspects he had mentally stored away.
‘You understand, Mr Rushton,’ he said suddenly, ‘that I was asked here especially to meet you? I am not a regular attender at this diwania, but when Dr Hamadi requests one’s presence it is advisable to accept. He told me that you might be making some enquiries outside the country on his behalf, arising out of things that took place here during the occupation. He asked me to assist you in any way I could.’
‘Thank you. But actually I haven’t yet agreed to what he’s proposing . . .’
‘I don’t know what that is, and it’s not my concern. Insofar as it remains confidential and does not conflict with my duties, I am at your disposal.’
This was wasta at work, Jack reflected. In spite of his self-assurance, Al-Shaheb with his slave blood was undoubtedly from a humble background. Soldiering and police work were not professions that appealed to the upper or even the middle classes of Kuwait society; to advance his career, to progress to the position of the Emir’s personal security chief, he would have needed the patronage of a powerful man. Hamadi was Al-Shaheb’s patron: both of them had as good as said so. The major would do the doctor’s bidding without asking awkward questions.
Jack said cautiously: ‘It’s to do with the arrest of Dr Hamadi’s daughter. He suggested you might know something about an Iraqi officer she had some dealings with, who also later disappeared. A man named Colonel Jalloul?’
The major grimaced knowingly. ‘Of course. There is information on him in our files. We were able to take most of them with us to Saudi.’
Jack was surprised. ‘You knew about Jalloul before the invasion?’
Al-Shaheb gave him a look that stopped just short of being condescending. ‘The history of our various disputes with Iraq goes back many years before that. It has always been in our interests to learn as much as we could about the members of their military and security services. Do you read Arabic, Mr Rushton?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘Then I will have to translate the files for you.’ The major glanced at his watch and said, ‘Come to my office and let’s make a start.’
‘You mean now?’
‘Why not? I have an hour to spare, if you do.’
Just like that. Instinctively cautious, Jack was caught off his guard by this abrupt invitation. His mind floundered for an excuse, and then he thought: Why not, indeed? He had not committed himself to anything yet, and he might find it easier to make a decision if he knew a little more about what he could be getting into.
He lingered only for long enough to thank Dr Hamadi for his hospitality, to be handed another card with a business number on it, and to promise to phone him with a decision the next day. Then he left the house with Major Al-Shaheb. The policeman had a Range Rover parked under the mimosas and he set off in it at terrific speed, leaving Jack to follow in the Granada as best he could along lightless roads and through the swirling oil smoke. They turned on to the Al-Istiqlal Expressway and raced towards the city centre. At the Al-Sabah roundabout they picked up the Al-Soor Street dual carriageway that ran beside the few preserved remnants of the old city walls. They turned again beside the Al-Shamiya Gate and passed by the towers of the radio and television complex. The major hadn’t said what their destination was, but when Jack realized they were driving up Abdulla Al-Salim Street, not far from his own apartment building, he knew with foreboding that they were heading for the Nayef Palace.
