Adam Baker - Juggernaut

‘So what happened next? You loaded the gold. Then what?’

‘We were assigned a battalion of Republican Guards to protect our convoy. The battalion was known as the Army of Sacrifice. It ran at half strength. Two hundred men. Praetorian troops. Each man underwent a strange initiation when he joined the battalion. He had to stand before his new commanding officer, drag a knife across his bare chest and swear to die for Saddam.

‘The troops should have been guarding the southern frontier. Madness to waste able men supervising a consignment of gold. But I think they were secretly glad to flee the battle zone. They could survive the war with honour.

‘We were given an armoured bank truck. Our instructions were vague. Seal the gold in the truck and leave Baghdad.

‘We consulted a map. Where would be the best place to hide a Pharaoh’s treasure? We needed a site so remote, so godforsaken, the gold would be hidden forever unless someone could guide you to the precise spot. We chose the Western Desert.

‘We left Baghdad the night of the first airstrike. As I say, we were glad to be gone. Every soldier, no matter how old or infirm, had been sent to fight the Americans in the southern oil fields. But we had been spared. Our orders would allow us to flee west and avoid battle. You see, we knew the Americans would win. The deputy prime minister appeared on Al-Iraqiya, the national TV channel, waving a pistol. Parliament declared they were ready for martyrdom, swore to give their blood and their souls. But we wanted only to survive. Our mission would allow us to hide in the desert for the duration of the war, then emerge to rejoin our families.

‘We left the museum in the early hours of the morning. We drove in a convoy of forty vehicles. Troop carriers, supply trucks, civilian cars. We crossed the Tigris just as air-raid sirens began to wail. Anti-aircraft fire streaked from rooftop gun emplacements. Then bombs began to fall. The sky lit up like sunrise. Volcanic eruptions of fire. Tomahawk cruise missiles slammed into the presidential palace, the foreign ministry and the main television stations. We drove through streets half choked with flames and rubble. Saddam broadcast a radio message. He promised victory. He said the Americans would endure a bitter defeat. We fled the burning city as fast as we could.’

‘So what happened? An entire battalion drove into the desert. Weeks later, you walk out.’

‘Gold. Gold can drive men to do terrible things.

‘We built a camp deep in the desert. We listened to the radio each night. One by one we heard cities fall. Central command ordered us to join the fight, but we ignored the order. Eventually Baghdad ceased to respond and we knew that the regime had been swept away. We were on our own.

‘We agreed to share the treasure. The gold belonged to Saddam but Saddam was gone.

‘It should have been easy. But greed and distrust swept through our ranks like some kind of contagion. We split into armed factions. Each man became fearful of his brother. Pre-emptive betrayal. Fights became battles. A horrible exchange of fire. The details are unimportant. These were decent young men living in impossibly corrupt times. Let them rest.’

‘So the only person to walk away from this bloodbath was you?’

Jabril held up his stump.

‘I am an old cripple. I was happy to be overlooked.’

‘How did you survive? You must have covered two-, three-hundred miles of desert. The average person couldn’t last a day in that heat.’

‘It is a matter of will. Put a man in a fiercely hostile environment like the desert or leave him marooned in Arctic wastes and you’ll soon see what lies in his heart.’

Lucy unfolded a map.

‘Give me a rough location.’

‘There.’ Jabril pointed to blank terrain. ‘Al-Qa’im district, near the Syrian border. But you’ll never find the gold. Not unless I lead you to the exact place.’

‘Anything else we need to know?’

‘The gold is still locked in the truck. That’s the only problem. The door is secured by two combination locks. My colleague knew the combinations and I watched him die. You would have to cut your way into the armoured car.’

‘Not an issue.’

‘And I have to warn you. That section of desert is poisoned ground. There are toxins in the sand.’

‘Like what?’

‘Anthrax spores, sheltered in crevices and shadows. The odds of infection are low, but the consequences could be severe. Pulmonary collapse. Maybe worse. Intramuscular shots of antibiotic would give you some protection. But the real concern is botulinum residue. A strong neuro-toxin. It could paralyse your whole respiratory tract, kill you in minutes.’

‘Bio-weapons? Chemical munitions?’

‘Saddam’s legacy. An attempt to suppress internal dissent. The airstrikes were methodically documented, although the files have long since been destroyed. It was an open secret. A deliberate attempt to obliterate the tribal population, instil terror and obedience.’

‘What exactly happened?’

‘It was early evening. The best time of day to release a chemical weapon. Diminishing sunlight. A blanket of rapidly cooling air hung over the desert. Perfect conditions for the dissemination of aerosol particles. They used an adapted L-29 Delfin trainer. Czech. A light jet with three-hundred-litre storage tanks slung below each wing. They flew at two thousand feet. Made a slow pass over every hamlet and farmstead in the western sector. Released their payload like a crop-duster laying down pesticide. A steady stream of vapour.

‘Families were sitting down to dinner. Sheep and goats in their pens.’

‘Why? Why did he do it?’

‘September, ninety-eight. Saddam wanted to consolidate his power. He wanted to punish the northern Kurds for supporting Peshmerga rebels. Crush the tribal system. He wiped out Shabaks, Yazidis, Turkoman. There were deportations, mass executions. He released anthrax spores to kill cattle and poison the land. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted a final solution. Operation Panther. To this day, no one knows exactly what they used. Some kind of binary nerve agent. Maybe VX. Maybe hydrogen cyanide. Something truly satanic.

‘The plane flew overhead. Minutes later animals convulsed and dropped dead. Dogs. Cattle. They say some people coughed blood, and others died laughing. There were terrible lesions and skin turned blue. The ground remains tainted to this day. When some tribesmen returned to the area they soon suffered respiratory problems, birth abnormalities and high rates of cancer. Saddam’s cousin organised the attack. Ali Hassan al-Majid. People will dance in the street the day he is hung.’

‘Christ.’

‘I was part of the regime. We all knew. We all heard. We all share responsibility. I’m not proud of the things I’ve seen and done. I’m not a good man. Each night I pray to God to spare me his terrible judgement and hell.’

‘Your battalion spent weeks out there, camped in the contamination zone.’

‘Yes.’

‘And none of them got sick?’

‘None of them got Anthrax.’

Lucy sat back.

‘A fortune in gold, sitting in the desert, waiting to be found. Can you prove any of this story?’

‘What is your instinct?’ asked Jabril. ‘Am I lying?’

‘Yeah. I think you’re lying through your arse. I don’t know what happened out there in the desert, but you know what? I don’t care. Tell me straight. Is there gold? Is that much true?’

‘Yes.’

‘If my crew go searching for the gold, if we travel to Al-Qa’im and find nothing but sand, I think you know what will happen. The boys won’t be in a forgiving mood. It won’t be pretty.’

Jabril nodded and lit another cigarette.

‘Here’s the deal,’ said Lucy. ‘Military Intelligence are done with you. A few days from now you’ll be transferred to local jurisdiction and shipped out. They won’t take you to Ganci right away. They’ll take you for processing at the Central Station. Throw you in a holding cell. You’ll be surrounded by fifty Sunni fucks wanting payback for a lifetime of hurt. You’ll spend every waking moment trying to stay alive. You won’t dare sleep. But there is an alternative. We could arrange your freedom.’