An Enemy Within by Roy David Read Free Book Online

airport, scouring the aerodrome. The pungent smell of kerosene assailed his senses. A vast assortment of military aircraft jostled for space on the site; jet fighters, bombers, transport planes,helicopters. Far off, engineers were still filling in bomb craters on a runway.
    Rumsfeld’s cavalcade of limousines and armoured Humvees sped towards them along the tarmac, a couple of Bradleys bringing up the rear. Kowolski let his shoulders relax. He wouldn’t fancy a solo trip along this highway, but even this short journey was preferable to any plane ride. Besides, the military had assured him there’d be plenty of hardware in support. ‘Attack would be peashooters against an elephant,’ a colonel said.
    The entourage came to a stop near a giant aircraft hangar. Rumsfeld walked briskly inside to address the troops who’d done his bidding. Alex nipped in first, firing away as he made his entrance to a rousing reception.
    *  *  *
    ‘Better put this on, sir.’ One of Rumsfeld’s aides handed him a flak jacket, putting one on himself, as they approached their convoy.
    Kowolski did the same. ‘Take the hint,’ he said, passing one to Alex, helping her to fasten it.
    ‘It’s going to be okay, isn’t it?’ Alex needed reassurance. She’d heard about this road.
    ‘Sure. Don’t worry. I said I’d look after you, didn’t I?’
    He ushered her into a black sedan, hesitating outside the car for a few seconds while gazing skyward as if trying to pierce the apparent limitless blue of the upper atmosphere. He knew a U-2C spy plane from Saudi Arabia’s Prince Sultan Air Base was monitoring their route.
    Some 12 miles up on the edge of space, the pilot would be wearing an astronaut’s spacesuit, drinking and feeding through tubes, scrutinising the terrain below through the aircraft’s bank of powerful cameras. Watching, listening, waiting. Their guardian on high.
    The motorcade swept through the desolate mud-brown vistaof the airport grounds. Bombed-out bunkers, deep craters, wrecked radar fixtures, stood in stark remembrance of the initial attack. A vast, stinking, rubbish dump smouldered from the base’s own garbage, an ongoing reminder of the occupying force. When the column moved out on to the highway, two Bell OH-58D Kiowa attack helicopters fluttered in escort.
    Kowolski glanced at Alex. Flicking the fingers of her right hand against her thumb in a steady silent rhythm, he guessed it was her turn to test the nerves. He felt like putting a comforting hand on her knee but was sure it would be taken the wrong way.
    They reached the main avenue of the Abu Ghraib complex. Kowolski checked his watch; the journey from the airport took twelve minutes. His budget was fifteen. Part of Saddam’s two-billion dollar display of profligacy lay in this sprawl of three palaces. Palm trees lined the wide boulevard like a guard of honour, some shading the 65-ton, uranium-armoured Abrams tanks lurking among them.
    Alex gazed at the metal monsters. She wondered if the tank that fired on the Palestine Hotel a couple of weeks back was among them. Two journalists were killed in the attack on the media centre, several injured. She did not know the cameramen from Reuters and Spanish television who were killed. But she reckoned it must have been unbearable for their families to know they had died by the purposeful hand of their own allies.
    Outside the main palace, Kowolski took Alex by the arm, surprising her. ‘Shall we do the grand tour together?’ he smiled.
    She glanced across at him. He was difficult to work out. One minute the cold apparatchik, the next exuding a paradoxical degree of warmth.
    They walked on into the main reception area. Alex disengaged from him on the pretext of wanting to take some pictures. Strolling arm in arm didn’t figure on her agenda. More that she wanted him at arm’s length. Snakes always felt smooth to the touch – but they could strike in an instant and some had a deadly bite.
    Saddam Hussein’s