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Authors: Keith Douglass
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no problem with that,” the major said. “I sit in on one of the planning groups. The whole thing has been done far, far out in the desert. I’d say the four sweethearts are probably closer to the Syrian capital than they are to us here in Baghdad.”
“That’s a relief. Well, I better get back to work on this contingency plan. Any deadline on it?”
“Sooner the better.”
Salah hurried back to his small office and put down the papers. The only thing he could think about was what the major had said. Closer to Damascus, Syria, than to Baghdad. That could put it way out in the Syrian Desert. But there were hundreds of square miles of sand and grass and wadis out there. He had to get a more precise location. But how?
Falda. He had met her several times at military functions. She usually was there as an entertainer, a dancer, sometimes a singer. She was something of a mystery to him. He had heard hints that she might be an undercover spy for the British, but no one knew for sure. She was beautiful, slender with big breasts that she didn’t mind showing off.
At noon he went to a phone booth in the lobby of a hotel and made a call. A sensuous female voice answered.
“Yes, good afternoon.”
“Falda?”
“Perhaps. Who is calling?”
“Captain Rahmani. You probably don’t remember me.”
“Of course I do. I remember all the handsome men I meet. You were at the general’s thirtieth anniversary party, just last week at the Welcome Hotel.”
“Amazing. I wonder if you have time so we could take a walk and talk?”
“That sounds interesting. Nothing we can do over the phone?”
“No, it’s more personal than that.”
“Now I am intrigued. You know the Grotsky Park?”
“Yes.”
“Be there within a half hour. By the Saddam statue.”
“I can do that.”
They hung up. Salah smiled. She just might be a British spy after all. If she was, he’d find out, and maybe then they could combine their efforts. He hurried out of the hotel and flagged down a cab. This was an emergency. He had to make the meeting on time.
When he arrived in the park, he found her sitting on a bench near the statue. She saw him coming and stood, walking toward him with a dancer’s movement, smooth, flowing. She was much prettier than he remembered, and without her stage makeup, she was more approachable.
“You came,” she said.
“Of course. We need to talk.”
“What about?”
“I understand you spent some time in England?”
“Only a brief vacation.”
“Did you talk with any important people?”
“Not a one. Why?”
“Just wondered. I hear many interesting things about you. You move in high official government circles. As a woman, you are given extensive privileges other women don’t get. It makes me wonder.”
She laughed. “You think I’m a British spy? How interesting. Yes, I am friends with many people. I dance for many functions and I know the men and some of their wives. I am not a British spy.”
“Then I won’t have to report you to my superiors.”
“They wouldn’t believe you, anyway. I hear some strange things about you, Salah. Do you know that you are being watched? Everywhere you go someone is following you.”
“Why would they do that? Can’t they afford a bike of their own?”
“They can and it kills them. They would rather follow you in a car. They take turns bicycling behind you to and from work. They curse and swear at you, but they follow. You spent three years in America.”
“It was four years, for my university study. I was sent by the government to learn all I could about the American army and how it works. I was commissioned a second lieutenant in the U.S. Army.”
“And now you ask questions about our nuclear project.”
“Yes, I’d just as soon it isn’t in Baghdad. One mistake by one scientist and we’re all atomic dust.”
“You know where we keep them?”
“In the desert I would guess, far away from Baghdad.”
“Good guess. Oh, we found your fancy
“That’s a relief. Well, I better get back to work on this contingency plan. Any deadline on it?”
“Sooner the better.”
Salah hurried back to his small office and put down the papers. The only thing he could think about was what the major had said. Closer to Damascus, Syria, than to Baghdad. That could put it way out in the Syrian Desert. But there were hundreds of square miles of sand and grass and wadis out there. He had to get a more precise location. But how?
Falda. He had met her several times at military functions. She usually was there as an entertainer, a dancer, sometimes a singer. She was something of a mystery to him. He had heard hints that she might be an undercover spy for the British, but no one knew for sure. She was beautiful, slender with big breasts that she didn’t mind showing off.
At noon he went to a phone booth in the lobby of a hotel and made a call. A sensuous female voice answered.
“Yes, good afternoon.”
“Falda?”
“Perhaps. Who is calling?”
“Captain Rahmani. You probably don’t remember me.”
“Of course I do. I remember all the handsome men I meet. You were at the general’s thirtieth anniversary party, just last week at the Welcome Hotel.”
“Amazing. I wonder if you have time so we could take a walk and talk?”
“That sounds interesting. Nothing we can do over the phone?”
“No, it’s more personal than that.”
“Now I am intrigued. You know the Grotsky Park?”
“Yes.”
“Be there within a half hour. By the Saddam statue.”
“I can do that.”
They hung up. Salah smiled. She just might be a British spy after all. If she was, he’d find out, and maybe then they could combine their efforts. He hurried out of the hotel and flagged down a cab. This was an emergency. He had to make the meeting on time.
When he arrived in the park, he found her sitting on a bench near the statue. She saw him coming and stood, walking toward him with a dancer’s movement, smooth, flowing. She was much prettier than he remembered, and without her stage makeup, she was more approachable.
“You came,” she said.
“Of course. We need to talk.”
“What about?”
“I understand you spent some time in England?”
“Only a brief vacation.”
“Did you talk with any important people?”
“Not a one. Why?”
“Just wondered. I hear many interesting things about you. You move in high official government circles. As a woman, you are given extensive privileges other women don’t get. It makes me wonder.”
She laughed. “You think I’m a British spy? How interesting. Yes, I am friends with many people. I dance for many functions and I know the men and some of their wives. I am not a British spy.”
“Then I won’t have to report you to my superiors.”
“They wouldn’t believe you, anyway. I hear some strange things about you, Salah. Do you know that you are being watched? Everywhere you go someone is following you.”
“Why would they do that? Can’t they afford a bike of their own?”
“They can and it kills them. They would rather follow you in a car. They take turns bicycling behind you to and from work. They curse and swear at you, but they follow. You spent three years in America.”
“It was four years, for my university study. I was sent by the government to learn all I could about the American army and how it works. I was commissioned a second lieutenant in the U.S. Army.”
“And now you ask questions about our nuclear project.”
“Yes, I’d just as soon it isn’t in Baghdad. One mistake by one scientist and we’re all atomic dust.”
“You know where we keep them?”
“In the desert I would guess, far away from Baghdad.”
“Good guess. Oh, we found your fancy
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