The General clicked his stopwatch.
When the car came to a halt, Kratz reckoned that the distance they had traveled was under a mile. He heard the door open and felt a shove on his arm to indicate he should get out of the car. He was pushed up three stone steps before entering a building and walking into a long corridor. His footsteps echoed on the wooden floor. Then he was guided into a room on his left, where he was pushed down onto a chair, tied and gagged. His shoes and socks were removed. When he heard the door close, he sensed he was alone.
It was a long time—he couldn’t be sure just how long—before the door opened again. The first voice he heard was General Hamil’s. “Remove the gag,” was all he said.
Kratz could hear him pacing around the chair, but at first the General said nothing. Kratz began to concentrate. He knew the pill was good for two hours, no more, and he suspected it was already forty or fifty minutes since they had driven him away from Ba’ath headquarters.
“Colonel Kratz, I have waited some time for the privilege of making your acquaintance. I’ve long admired your work. You are a perfectionist.”
“Cut the crap,” said Kratz, “because I don’t admire you or your work.”
He waited for the first slap of gloves across his face or for a fist to come crashing into his jaw, but the General simply continued to circle the chair.
“You mustn’t be too disappointed,” said the General. “I feel sure, after all you’ve heard about us, that you must have expected at least some electric shocks by now, perhaps the Chinese water torture, even the rack, but I fear—unlike Mossad, Colonel—that when dealing with people of your seniority we long ago dispensed with such primitive methods. We have found them to be outmoded, a thing of the past. Worse, they just don’t get results. You Zionists are tough and well trained. Few of you talk, very few. So we’ve had to resort to more scientific methods to gain the information we need.”
If it was still within the hour, thought Kratz, he’d judged it well.
“A simple injection of PPX will ensure that we learn everything we want to know,” continued the General, “and once we have the information we require, we’ll simply kill you. So much more efficient than in the past, and with all the environmental complaints one gets nowadays, so much more tidy. Though, I must confess, I miss the old methods. So you’ll appreciate why I couldn’t resist locking Miss Kopec and Professor Bradley in their safe, especially since they hadn’t seen each other for so long.”
Kratz’s hand was pressed back and held against the arm of the chair. He felt fingers searching for a vein, and when the needle went in, he flinched. He began counting: one, two, three, four, five, six…
He was about to find out if one of Europe’s leading chemists had, as she claimed, found the antidote for the Iraqis’s latest truth drug. Mossad had tracked down the supplier in Austria. Strange how many think there are no Jews left in Austria.
…thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine…
The drug was still in its testing stage, and needed to be proved under non-laboratory conditions. If a person could remain fully in control of his senses while appearing to be under hypnosis, then they would know their antidote was a success.
…one minute, one minute one, one minute two, one minute three…
The test would come when they stuck the second needle in, and that might be anywhere. Then the trick was to show no reaction whatsoever, or the General would immediately realize that the original injection had failed to have the required effect. The training program for this particular “realistic experience” was not universally popular among agents, and although Kratz had experienced “the prick,” as it was affectionately known, once a month for the past nine months, you only had a single chance in “non-laboratory conditions” to discover if you could pass the test.
…one minute thirty-seven, one minute thirty-eight, one minute thirty-nine…
The injection was meant to take effect after two minutes, and every agent had been taught to expect the second needle at some time between two and three minutes, thus the counting.
…one minute fifty-six, one minute fifty-seven…
Relax, it must come at any moment. Relax.
Suddenly the needle was jabbed in and out of the big toe on his left foot. Kratz stopped gritting his teeth; even his breathing remained regular. He had won the Israeli Pincushion Award, First Class. Mossad made jokes about everything.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“…And all that time I really thought you were dead.”
“We had no way of letting you know,” said Scott.
“Still, it’s no longer of any importance, Simon,” said Hannah. “Sorry. ‘Scott’ will take a bit of getting used to. I may not be able to manage it in the time we’ve got left.”
“We may have more time left than you realize,” said Scott.
“How can you say that?”
“One of the contingency plans that Kratz and I worked on was that if any of us were caught and tortured while someone else was still free, we’d hold out for one hour before telling them the whopper.”
Hannah knew exactly what Mossad meant by the whopper, even if on this occasion she didn’t know the details.
“Although I have to admit this is one scenario we never considered,” said Scott. “In fact, the exact opposite. We thought that if we were able to convince them we had another purpose for bringing the safe to Baghdad, they’d immediately evacuate the building and clear the surrounding area.”
“And what would that have achieved?”
“We hoped that with the building empty, even if we’d been captured, the other agents who came over the border a day ahead of us might have a clear hour to get into the Council Chamber and remove the Declaration.”
“But the Iraqis would have taken the document with them.”
“Not necessarily. Our plan was that we would tell them what would happen to their beloved leader if the safe was closed by anyone other than me. We felt that would cause panic, and they’d probably leave everything behind.”
“So Kratz drew the short straw.”
“Yes,” said Scott quietly. “Not that his original plan is relevant any longer, after I was stupid enough to hand over the Declaration to Hamil. So we’ll now have to use the time to get out, not in.”
“But you didn’t hand it over,” said Hannah. “The Declaration is still on the wall of the Chamber.”
“I’m afraid not,” said Scott. “Hamil was right. I switched the copies after I set the alarm off. So I ended up giving Hamil back the original.”
“No, you didn’t,” said Hannah. “It’s because you believed you switched the original that you fooled Hamil as well as yourself.”
“What are you talking about?” said Scott.
“I’m the one responsible,” said Hannah. “I found the cardboard tube in the safe and switched the two documents, thinking I could get out of the building and then pass on a message to let Kratz know what I’d done. The trouble was, you and General Hamil arrived just as I was about to leave. So, when you locked yourself in the Chamber, you put the original back on the wall, and then you handed over the copy to Hamil.”
Scott took her in his arms again. “You’re a genius,” he said.
“No I’m not,” said Hannah. “So you’d better let me in on the secret of what you’ve planned for this particular scenario. To start with, how do we get out of a locked safe?”
“That’s the beauty of it,” said Scott. “It isn’t locked. It’s programmed so that it can only be opened and closed by me.”
“Who dreamed that one up?”
“A Swede who would happily take our place, but he’s stuck in Kalmar. The first thing I have to do is discover which wall is the door.”
“That’s easy,” said Hannah. “It has to be exactly opposite me because I’m sitting below the picture of Saddam, remember?”
Scott and Hannah began the short crawl on their hands and knees to the other side of the safe. “Now we go to t
he right-hand corner,” he said, “so that when we push, the leverage will be easier.”
Hannah nodded, and then remembered they couldn’t see each other. “Yes,” she said.
Scott checked the luminous dial of his watch. “But not quite yet,” he added. “We’ll still have to give Kratz a little more time.”
“Enough time to tell me what the whopper is?” asked Hannah.
“Good,” said the General, when Kratz didn’t react to the needle being jabbed into his big toe. “Now we can find out all we need to know. But to begin with, some simple questions. Your Mossad rank?”
“Colonel,” said Kratz. The secret was to tell them only facts you felt confident they already knew.
“Your initiation number?”
“Seven-eight-two-one-six,” he said. If in doubt, assume they know, otherwise you could be found out.
“And your official position?”
“Councillor for Cultural Affairs to the Court of St. James in London.” You are allowed three testing lies and one whopper, but no more.
“What are the names of your three colleagues who accompanied you on this mission?”
“Professor Scott Bradley, an expert on ancient manuscripts,”—the first testing lie—“Ben Cohen and Aziz Zeebari.” The truth.
“And the girl, Hannah Kopec, what is her rank in Mossad?”
“She is still a trainee.”
“How long has she been with Mossad?”
“Just over two years.”
“And her role?”
“To be placed in Baghdad to discover where the Declaration of Independence was located.” The second lie.
“You are doing well, Colonel,” said the General, looking at the long, thin cardboard tube he held in his right hand.
“And was this your overall responsibility as her commanding officer?”
“No. I was simply to accompany the safe from Kalmar.” The third lie.
“But surely that was nothing more than an excuse to locate the Declaration of Independence?”
Kratz hesitated. Experts had been able to show that even under the influence of a truth drug a highly trained agent would still hesitate when asked a secret he had never revealed in the past.
“What was the true purpose of your bringing the safe to Baghdad, Colonel?”
Kratz still remained silent.
“Colonel Kratz,” said the General, his voice rising with every word, “what was the real reason you brought the safe to Baghdad?”
Kratz counted to three before he spoke.
“To blow up the Ba’ath Party headquarters with a tiny nuclear device secreted in the safe, in the hope of killing the President along with all the members of the Revolutionary Command Council.” The whopper.
How Kratz wished he could see the General’s face. It was Hamil who was hesitating now.
“How was the bomb to be activated?”
Again Kratz did not reply.
“I will ask you once again, Colonel. How was the bomb to be activated?”
Still Kratz said nothing.
“When will it go off?” shouted the General.
“Two hours after the safe has been closed by anyone other than the professor.”
The General checked his watch, rushed to the only phone in the room and shouted to be put through to the President immediately. He waited until he heard Saddam’s voice. He didn’t notice that Kratz had fainted and fallen from his chair to the floor.
Scott eased himself into the corner before once again checking the little sulphur dots on his watch. It was 5:19. He and Hannah had been in the safe for an hour and seventeen minutes.
“I’m going to push now. If you hear anything, shove as hard as you can. If there’s anyone still out there our only hope will be to take them by surprise.”
Scott began to exert the minimum amount of pressure on the corner of the door with the tips of his fingers, it eased open an inch. He stopped and listened, but could hear nothing. He took a look through the tiny crack, and could see no one. He pushed another inch. Still no sound. Both of them now had a clear view of the corridor. Scott looked at Hannah and nodded, and together they shoved as hard as they could. The ton of steel shot open. They both leaped into the corridor, but there was no one to be seen. There was an eerie silence.
Scott and Hannah walked slowly down the short corridor, keeping to the sides until they reached the Chamber. Still no sound. Scott put a foot into the Chamber and glanced to his left. The Declaration of Independence was still hanging on the wall next to the portrait of Saddam.
Hannah moved silently to the far end of the Chamber and stared into the long corridor. She then looked back at Scott and nodded. Scott checked the spelling of “Brittish” before saying a silent hallelujah. He pulled out three of the nails, then eased the Declaration over the remaining nail in the top right-hand corner, trying to forget that he had spat on a national treasure and rubbed it in the dust. He gave Saddam one last look before rolling up the parchment and joining Hannah in the corridor.
Hannah slid along the wall, then pointed to the elevator. She pulled a finger across her throat to show Scott she wanted to avoid using it in favor of the back stairs. He nodded his agreement and followed her out of the side door.
They moved quickly but silently up the six flights of stairs until they reached the ground floor. Hannah beckoned Scott into the side room where the cleaners had collected their boxes. She had reached the window on the far side of the room and was on her knees even before Scott had closed the door. He joined her and they stared out on a deserted Victory Square. There was no one to be seen in any direction.
“God bless Kratz,” said Scott.
Hannah nodded and beckoned him to follow her again. She led him back into the corridor and guided him quickly to the side door. Scott opened the door tentatively and slipped out ahead of her. A moment later she joined him on the tarmac.
He pointed to a group of palm trees halfway across the courtyard, and she nodded once again. They covered the twenty yards to its relative safety in under three seconds. Scott turned to look back at the building and saw the truck standing up against the wall. He assumed that, in the panic, it was just something else that had been left behind.
He tapped Hannah on the shoulder and indicated that he wanted to return to the building. They covered the ground at the same pace as before, ducking back inside the door. Scott led Hannah to the main corridor, where they found the front door was swinging on its hinges. He looked through the gap and pointed to the truck, mimed to which side he would go and touched her shoulder. Again they sprinted across the tarmac as if reacting to a starting pistol.
Scott jumped behind the wheel as Hannah leaped in the other side.
“Where the hell—” was Scott’s first reaction when he discovered the ignition key wasn’t in place. They began frantically to search the glove compartment, under the seats, on the dashboard. “The bastards must have taken the key with them.”
“Simon, look out!” screamed Hannah. Scott turned to see a figure leaping up onto the running board.
Hannah moved quickly into position to attack the intruder, but Scott blocked her.
“Good afternoon, miss,” said the stranger. “Sorry we haven’t been properly introduced,” he added before turning to Scott. “Move over, Professor,” he said as he put the key back in the ignition. “I’ll do the driving.”
“What in heaven’s name are you doing here, Sergeant?” asked Scott.
“Now that’s what I call a real American welcome,” replied Cohen. “But, to answer your question, I was just obeying orders. I was told if you came out of that door carrying a cardboard tube, I was to get myself back here and move the hell out of it, but not under any circumstances to allow you to make a detour to the Foreign Ministry. By the way, where’s the tube?”
“Look out!” shouted Hannah again, as she turned and saw an Arab charging towards them from the other side.
“That one won’t do you any harm,” said Cohen, ??
?he’s bloody useless. Doesn’t even know the difference between a Diet Coke and a Pepsi.” Aziz leaped onto the running board and said to Scott, “I think we’ve got about another twenty minutes, Professor, before they work out that there’s no bomb in the safe.”
“Then let’s get out of here,” said Scott.
“But where to?” asked Hannah.
“Aziz and I have already done a reconnoiter, sir. As soon as the sirens sounded we knew that Kratz must have sold them the whopper, because they couldn’t move fast enough to get themselves below. Soldiers and police first seems to be the rule out here. Aziz and I have had the run of the city center for the last hour. In fact the only person we bumped into was one of our own agents, Dave Feldman. He’d already figured out the best route to give us a chance of avoiding any military.”
“Not bad, Cohen,” said Scott.
Cohen turned suddenly and stared at the professor.
“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Colonel Kratz. He got me out of jail once, and he’s the only officer that’s ever treated me like a human being. So whatever it is that you’re holding in your hands, Professor, it had bloody well better be worth his life.”
“Thousands have given their lives for it over the years,” said Scott quietly. “It’s the American Declaration of Independence.”
“Good God,” said Cohen. “How did the bastards get their hands on that?” He paused briefly. “Am I meant to believe you?”
Scott nodded and unrolled the parchment. Cohen and Aziz stared in disbelief for several seconds.