The Gilgamesh Conspiracy by Jeffrey Fleming Read Free Book Online Page A

the coach they exchanged comments about how well the day had turned out, and how marvellous it was to see such a huge crowd. ‘Biggest ever, I bet,’ Sandra remarked, and Rashid said she must be right, but having to push and shove their way back through the good-natured crowd prevented him from having any opportunities to continue a real conversation.
    They were nearly the last to board the coach and Rashid was disappointed to see that there was no pair of seats unoccupied. He was about to resign himself to sitting next to another student he vaguely recollected  seeing around the campus but Sandra leant past him and spoke authoritatively to the young man.
    ‘Excuse me would you mind sitting next to the girl in front as I would like to talk to my friend on the way home?’ The student looked up at the smiling woman and with a self-conscious grin he got out of his seat.
    ‘Thank you so much,’ Sandra said and sat down in the window seat. She pulled one arm out of a coat sleeve and then turned to Rashid ‘Could you give me a hand to take this off? I’m a bit warm. She leant forward and he enjoyed the slight intimacy as he ran his hand under her long hair to pull the coat down from her shoulders and then he tugged it out from underneath her and finally off her outstretched arm.
    ‘Could you just fling it up on the rack please,’ she said.
    When the coach was underway they fell in to discussing the possibilities of averting the war through the wave of public opinion that was sweeping through Europe, and Sandra gave her view that although the regime in Iraq was a disgrace in so many ways, notable for its financial mismanagement, corruption, general denial of human rights, with judicial murder and arbitrary arrest commonplace, an invasion would lead to far greater problems.
    Rashid was thankful that he had told her he was from Amman so he was not drawn into defending the regime that his father worked for and (he admitted to himself) was paying for his university education.  He wanted to ask Sandra how she had learned to speak Arabic so well, and generally move the conversation away from the political to the personal, but she suddenly yawned and announced ‘Excuse me!’ then ‘How long do you think before we’re back?’
    Rashid glanced at his watch. ‘Oh about forty five minutes from here, I think,’ he said.
    ‘Ok, I’m going to have a little sleep; wake me up when we arrive,’ she declared.
    ‘Sleep well. May God watch over you,’ he murmured in Arabic.
    ‘And over you too, Rashid,’ she replied. Then she folded her arms, closed her eyes and settled back in the corner; her breathing soon settled into an even rhythm.
    Rashid spent the journey thinking about the situation in Baghdad and wondering if his parents would be safe. He had offered to go home to his family back in January, but his father had insisted that he remained in England. If only the strength of feeling demonstrated by ordinary people in Europe would influence their political leaders, there would be no invasion and his parents would be safe.
    After a while he drifted off to sleep himself. The coach stopped and he was woken by the sudden activity of the passengers climbing out of their seats, dragging their belongings out of the overhead racks and calling out to their friends. He turned round and watched Sandra yawning and stretching within the confines of her seat. He stood up and retrieved her red coat from the rack and passed it over to her and they waited their turn to shuffle off the coach.
    ‘It was nice to meet you Rashid,’ said Sandra. ‘I expect I’ll see you around sometime. Where do you live? I’m in a flat in Sheridan Street.’
    ‘You’re just round the corner from me. I share a flat with Omar in Dinsmore Road.’
    ‘Well there’s our bus over there.’
    They rode the bus to the small parade of shops opposite Rashid’s flat. During the journey he had felt hungry and wondered if he could suggest that they get something to