As they passed the bombed-out remains of the Mukhbarat headquarters, Scott noticed an unmanned ambulance parked outside the Iraqi intelligence center. It was strategically placed for the CNN television cameras rather than for any practical purpose, he suspected.
When Aziz saw the Ministry of Industry building looming up ahead of him, he pointed it out to Scott, who remembered the façade from the mass of photographs supplied by Kratz. But Scott’s eyes had moved up to the gun turrets on top of the Foreign Ministry, a mere stone’s throw away.
Aziz brought the truck to a halt a hundred yards beyond the entrance to the Ministry. “I’ll be as quick as I can,” Scott said as he jumped out of the cab and headed back towards the building.
As he climbed the steps to the Ministry, he did not see a man in a window of the building opposite who was speaking on the telephone to General Hamil.
“The truck has stopped about a hundred yards beyond the Ministry. A tall, fair-haired man who was in the front of the vehicle is now entering the building, but the other three, including Kratz, have remained with the safe.”
Scott pushed through the swing doors and strolled past two guards who looked as if they didn’t move more than a few feet every day. He walked over to the information desk and joined the shortest of three lines. The one-handed clock above the desk indicated that it was approximately 9:30.
It took another fifteen minutes before Scott reached the counter. He explained to the girl that his name was Bernstrom and that he needed to see Mr. Kajami.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked.
“No,” said Scott. “We called from Jordan to warn him that a safe the government had ordered was on its way to Baghdad. He asked us to inform him the moment it arrived.”
“I will see if he’s in,” said the receptionist. Scott waited, staring up at a massive portrait of Saddam Hussein in uniform holding a Kalashnikov. It dominated the otherwise blank gray walls of the reception area.
The girl listened carefully to whoever it was on the other end of the phone before saying, “Someone will be down to see you in a few minutes.” She turned her attention to the next person in the line.
Scott hung around for another thirty minutes before a tall, thin man wearing a smart Western suit stepped out of the elevator and walked over to him.
“Mr. Bernstrom?”
“Yes,” said Scott, as he swung around to face the man.
“Good morning,” he said confidently in English. “I am Mr. Ibrahim, Mr. Kajami’s personal assistant. How can I help you?”
“I have brought a safe from Sweden,” said Scott. “It was ordered by the Ministry some years ago, but, due to the UN sanctions, could not be delivered any earlier. We were told that when we reached Baghdad we should report to Mr. Kajami.”
“Do you have any papers to verify your claim?”
Scott removed a file from his bag and showed Mr. Ibrahim its contents.
The man read through each document slowly until he came to the letter signed by the President. He read no further. Looking up, he asked, “May I see this safe, Mr. Bernstrom?”
“Certainly,” said Scott. “Please follow me.” He led the official out onto the street and took him over to the truck.
Cohen stared down at them. When Kratz gave the order, he whipped the tarpaulin off the safe so that the civil servant could inspect Madame Bertha for himself.
Scott was fascinated by the fact that those passing in the street didn’t give the safe a second look. If anything, they quickened their pace. Fear manifested itself among these people by their lack of curiosity.
“Please return with me, Mr. Bernstrom,” said Ibrahim. Scott accompanied him back to the reception area, where he left without another word.
Scott waited for another thirty minutes before Ibrahim came back.
“You are to take the safe to Victory Square, where you will see a barrier with a tank in front of a large white building. They are expecting you.”
Scott was about to ask where Victory Square was when Ibrahim turned and walked away. He went back to the truck, and joined Kratz and Aziz in the front before passing on the news. Aziz didn’t need to be told the way.
“No special treatment there, I’m glad to see,” said Kratz.
Scott nodded his agreement as Aziz eased the truck back into the road. The traffic was much heavier now. Trucks and cars were honking their horns, managing to move only a few inches at a time.
“It must be an accident,” said Scott, until they turned the corner and saw the three bodies hanging from a makeshift gallows: a man wearing an expensive designer suit, a woman perhaps a little younger and another, much older, woman. It was hard to be certain, with their heads shaven.
* * *
Mr. Kajami sat at his desk, dialed the number that had been passed to him and waited.
“Deputy Foreign Minister’s Office, Miss Saib speaking.”
“This is the Minister of Industry calling. Could you put me through to the Deputy Foreign Minister.”
“I’m afraid he’s out of the office at the moment, Mr. Kajami. Shall I ask him to return your call, or would you like to leave a message?”
“I will leave a message, but perhaps he could also call me when he gets back.”
“Certainly, Minister.”
“Could you let him know that the safe has arrived from Sweden and can therefore be crossed off the sanctions list.” There was a long pause. “Are you still there, Miss Saib?”
“Yes. I was just writing down what you said, sir.”
“If he needs to see the relevant forms we still have them at the Ministry, but if it’s the safe he wants to check on, it’s already on its way to the Ba’ath headquarters.”
“I understand, sir. I’ll see he gets the message just as soon as he comes in.”
“Thank you, Miss Saib.”
Kajami replaced the phone on the hook, glanced across his desk at the Deputy Foreign Minister and smiled.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Aziz brought the truck to a halt in front of a tank. A few soldiers were moving around, but there didn’t appear to be a great deal of activity.
“I was expecting a bigger show of force than this,” said Kratz. “It’s the Ba’ath Party headquarters, after all.”
“Saddam’s probably at the palace, or even out of Baghdad,” suggested Aziz as two soldiers advanced towards the truck. The first one shouted “Out!” and they obeyed slowly. Once all four of them were on the ground, the soldier ordered them to stand a few yards away from the truck while a couple of other soldiers jumped up on the back and removed the tarpaulin.
“This one’s a Major,” whispered Aziz as a portly man covered in battle ribbons and carrying a mobile phone advanced towards them. He stopped and looked up at the safe suspiciously before turning to Kratz and introducing himself as Major Saeed.
“Open,” was all he added.
Kratz pointed to Scott, who climbed up onto the back of the truck while several more soldiers surrounded the vehicle to watch him perform the opening ceremony. Once Scott had pulled the great door open, the Major joined him on the back of the truck, but not until one of the soldiers had given him a hand-up. He stood a pace back and ordered two of his men to go inside. They appeared apprehensive at first, but once they had entered the safe they began touching the sides and even jumping up to try to reach the roof. A few moments later, Saeed joined them, and banged the walls with his swagger stick. He then stepped back out, jumped heavily off the truck and turned towards Scott.
“Now we wait for a crane,” he said, sounding a little more friendly. He dialed a number on the phone.
Cohen climbed into the cab and sat behind the wheel, the keys still in the ignition, while Aziz remained on the back with the safe. Scott and Kratz leaned against a wall, trying to appear bored, while having a conversation on the alternatives they now faced.
“We must find some way of getting into the building ahead of the safe,” said Kratz. Scott nodded his agreemen
t.
The clock in Victory Square had struck 12:30 before Aziz spotted the tall, thin structure progressing slowly around the massive statue of Saddam. The four of them watched as soldiers ran out into the street to hold up the flow of traffic and allow the vast crane to continue its progress uninterrupted.
Scott explained to the Major that the truck now needed to be moved to a position opposite the front door. He agreed without a phone call. When the truck was parked exactly where Scott wanted it, Major Saeed finally conceded that the doors would have to come off their hinges if they were ever going to get the safe and its dolly inside the building.
This time he did make a phone call, and to Scott’s question, “How long?” he simply shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Must wait.”
Scott was determined to use the “must wait” period, and explained to Major Saeed that he needed to walk the route that the safe would travel once they had entered the building.
The Major hesitated, made a further phone call, held on for some time before he received an answer and then, pointing to Scott, said, “You, only.”
Scott left Kratz to organize the crane as it prepared to lift the safe off the truck, and followed the Major into the building.
The first thing that Scott noticed as he walked down the carpeted corridor was its width and solid feel. Every few paces there were soldiers lounging against the wall who sprang to attention the moment they saw Major Saeed.
At the end of the corridor was an elevator. The Major produced a key and turned it in a lock on the wall. The doors of the elevator opened slowly. It struck Scott that the size of the safe must have been determined by the width of the elevator. He doubted if there would be much more than an inch to spare all around once they had succeeded in getting Madame Bertha on board.
The Major pressed a button marked “—6,” which, Scott noted, was as far as they could go. The elevator dropped slowly down. When the doors opened Scott followed Major Saeed into a long corridor. This time he had the feeling that the passageway had been built to survive an earthquake. They came to a halt outside a pair of heavy, reinforced doors, guarded by two soldiers carrying rifles.
Saeed asked a question, and both guards shook their heads. “The Chamber is empty, so we can go straight through,” he explained, then proceeded to unlock the door. Scott followed him into the Council Chamber.
His eyes searched quickly around the room. The first thing he saw on the far wall was another massive portrait of Saddam, this time in a dark double-breasted suit. Then he spotted one of the red alarm buttons next to a light switch that Kratz had warned him about. The Major hurried on through the Chamber, giving the impression of a man who hadn’t the right to be there, while Scott went as slowly as he felt he could get away with. And then he saw it, just for a moment, and his heart sank: the Declaration of Independence was nailed to the wall, a corner torn and some of the signatures looking distinctly blurred.
The Major unlocked the far door and Scott reluctantly followed him into the adjoining corridor. They continued for only a few more paces before coming to a halt in front of a massive recess of inlaid brick that Scott didn’t need to measure to realize had been purpose-built in anticipation of the arrival of the safe.
Scott took some time measuring the space, as he tried to think of how he could get a longer look at the Declaration. After a few minutes, Major Saeed tapped him on the shoulder with his swagger stick and indicated that it was time for them to return to the courtyard. Scott reluctantly followed him back down the short corridor and into the Council Chamber, which the Major scurried through while Scott lingered to measure the doors. He was pleased to discover that they would have to be taken off their hinges. He stood a pace back as if considering the problem. The Major returned and slapped the side of his leg with his swagger stick, muttering something under his breath that Scott suspected wasn’t altogether flattering.
Scott stole a glance to the right, and confirmed his worst fears: even if he were able to exchange the two documents, it would take an even greater genius than Dollar Bill to repair the damage that Saddam had already inflicted.
“Come. Come. We must go,” said the Major.
“And so must these doors,” said Scott, and turning, added, “and those two as well,” pointing to the pair at the other end of the Chamber. But Major Saeed was already striding off down the long corridor towards the open elevator.
Hannah put the phone down and tried to stop herself trembling. They had warned her many times at Herzliyah that however tough you think you are, and however well trained you’ve been, you will still tremble.
She checked her watch. Her lunch break was due in twenty minutes, and although she rarely left the building during the day except on official business, she knew she could no longer sit in that office and just wait for events to happen around her.
The Deputy Foreign Minister had left for the palace at eight that morning, and had told her not to expect him back until five at the earliest. A muscle in her cheek twitched as she began to type out the Minister of Industry’s message.
For fifteen minutes, she sat at her desk and planned how the hour could be best spent. As soon as she was clear in her mind what needed to be done, she picked up her phone and asked a girl on the switchboard to cover her calls during the lunch break.
Hannah put on her glasses, left the room and walked quickly down the corridor, remaining close to the wall with her head bowed, so that those passing didn’t give her a second look.
She took the stairs rather than the elevator, slipped across the hall past reception, through the swing doors and out onto the steps of the Foreign Ministry.
“Saib’s just left the building,” said a voice from the other side of the road into a mobile phone. “She’s going in the direction of Victory Square.”
Hannah continued walking towards the Square. The crowds were so large and noisy that she feared another public hanging must have taken place. When she reached the end of the road and turned the corner, she averted her eyes as she made a path between those who were standing, staring, some even laughing at the spectacle.
“Quite a high-up official,” someone joked. Another more serious voice said that he had heard he was a diplomat recently back from America who had been caught with his fingers in the till. A third, an elderly woman, wept when someone suggested that the other two were the man’s innocent mother and sister.
Once Hannah could see the barrier she slowed her pace. She stopped and stared across the road at the Ba’ath Party headquarters. She was pleased to be hidden in such a large crowd, even if it did occasionally obscure her view.
“She’s facing the Ba’ath Party headquarters. Everyone else is looking in the opposite direction.”
Hannah’s eyes settled on a truck that was surrounded by soldiers, and then she saw the massive safe that was perched on the back of the vehicle and the two young men who were attaching large coils of steel to its base. One was Middle Eastern in appearance, the other vaguely European. And then she saw Kratz—or was it Kratz? Whoever it was disappeared behind the far side of the truck. She waited for the man to reappear. When he did, a few moments later, she was left in no doubt that it was the Mossad leader.
She realized that she could not wait around in such a public place for much longer, and decided to return to her office and consider what needed to be done next. She gave Kratz one last look as a group of cleaners came out of the building, walked across the tarmac and passed by the barrier without any of the soldiers paying them the slightest attention.
“She’s on the move again, but she doesn’t seem to be returning to the Ministry.” The man on the mobile phone listened for a moment and then replied, “I don’t know, but I’ll follow her and report back.”
Hannah began to walk away from Victory Square, just as Major Saeed and Scott emerged from the building into the courtyard.
When Scott stepped back into the courtyard he was pleased to see that Kratz had already got the crane into position to lift
the safe off the truck. Aziz and Cohen were fastening long steel coils around the body of Madame Bertha while the specially constructed trolley, of which Mr. Pedersson was so proud, had been placed on the ground between the front door and the side of the truck.
Scott looked up at the crane, which was taller than the building itself, and back down at the operator, sitting in his wide cab near the base. Once Cohen and Aziz had jumped off the truck Kratz gave the operator the thumbs-up.
Scott pointed at the safe and beckoned to Kratz, who walked over, looking puzzled. He thought the operation was going rather well.
“What’s the problem?” he asked. Scott continued pointing at the safe, and with exaggerated movements indicated how he thought it would have to be moved, while whispering to Kratz: “I’ve seen the Declaration.” He moved to the other side of the safe. Kratz followed, now also pretending to take a close interest in the safe.
“Great news,” said Kratz. “So where is it?”
“The news is not so great,” said Scott.
“What do you mean?” asked Kratz anxiously.
“It’s in the Council Chamber, exactly where Hannah said it would be. But it’s nailed to the wall,” replied Scott.
“Nailed to the wall?” said Kratz under his breath.
“Yes, and it looks as if it’s beyond repair,” said Scott, as he heard the crunch of a gear shifting into place. He watched as the steel cords tightened, followed by a raucous revving of the engine. But Madame Bertha refused to budge an inch. The revving noise became even louder a second time, but Madame Bertha remained unmoved by their solicitations.
The operator pushed the long gear lever forward another notch, and tried a third time. Finally Bertha rose an inch off the back of the truck, swaying gently from side to side. Some of the soldiers started to cheer, but they stopped immediately when the Major turned to stare in their direction.