WAR

Desert Storm

.....

The message came back through on the fax within an hour of Franklin's request. Immediately on his return he'd faxed the Shin Bet - the Israeli Secret Intelligence people - requesting all available information on Iraq's top spies. The speed of the reply showed the Israelis were on their toes. Franklin scrutinised the report as he sipped a cup of steaming coffee. Only one description fitted his man.
Amad Terez. Aged thirty two. Educated at university in Baghdad. Master of disguises. Suave and educated. Nothing known of childhood, although reputed to have been born in Hussein's hometown Tikrit. Thin, dark haired. Codename - nicknamed 'The Shadow', by Iranian Intelligence because of his cunning and elusiveness. Fluent in several Middle East languages and English. Joined army after leaving university and eventually accepted by the elite Republican Guards. War record unknown as he dropped from sight due to suspected espionage training and work. Known to favour bayonet in combat situations.
The last hour had been a busy one for Franklin, notifying his immediate superior, who in turn had bypassed the normal chain of command to notify General Stormin' Norman of the bad news. The big man had been furious at the intelligence leak and had ordered that Amad be apprehended whatever the cost.
Franklin had had every resource put at his disposal and already he'd commandeered an Apache Attack helicopter from the Airforce, which he'd ordered to be on constant standby. He'd just finished reading a report when his telephone rang. He grabbed it.
"Franklin?"
"Major." Qutar sounded breathless. "We've spotted the jeep."
"Where?" Franklin's pen was poised over a jotter.
"Heading south out of Rumah."
"South?"
"Yes, Major," Qutar replied, understanding Franklin's sudden agitation, and knowing that south of Rumah led back towards Riyadh. "Perhaps he's trying to double back on us." Qutar's voice lacked conviction.
Franklin's mind raced. "No, Colonel. It's a smokescreen." Franklin didn't elaborate. "Set up roadblocks north of Rumah, and get some men after that jeep just in case.
"That's already been done, Major," Qutar replied. "Hang on a second."
Franklin heard Qutar being interrupted, and heard him darting questions at someone before coming back on the line. He restrained a grin. He could almost see the man, with his quick nervous gestures, a thin, wisp of a man who knew how to get things done. "Major," he said, still sounding breathless. "We stopped the jeep. Some fool was paid five hundred rial to drive the jeep back to Riyadh."
"Did he give you a description?"
"It matches our boy."
"And no sign of our man?"
"No, Major. It appears he abandoned the jeep in Rumah."
"Like I thought," Franklin replied. "A smokescreen. He's still heading north for the border. Colonel, nothing in or out of those checkpoints except regular troops, okay? I'll get back to you." Franklin slammed the receiver down on its cradle and bellowed for Jones.
"Yes, sir?" she cried.
"Fetch me a map and dividers on the double please," he ordered.
Poring over the map Jones brought him, Franklin attempted plotting a course that Amad might pursue. Reaching for the telephone he placed another call through to Colonel Qutar. "Colonel," he said, still looking at the map. "I'll meet you in an hour at Ma'qala."
Franklin hung up after reading the map co-ordinates to Qutar, and bellowed to Jones to roust out the pilot of the commandeered Apache.

.....

Amad had raced through the night to reach Rumah, occasionally passing military convoys sweeping north and refugees fleeing south. The Saudi markings on the doors of the jeep had stood him in good stead, attracting little or no attention, but Amad knew that by morning with the discovery of the Saudi soldiers in Riyadh, he'd have to abandon the jeep.
He'd felt concern earlier, because having checked on the papers he was carrying, he realised he'd lost the top document. Scowling, he tried to reconstruct where he may have lost it, and concluded reluctantly it could only have been the fight back in Riyadh. He knew the missing document wasn't important, in that it was only a cover sheet for the more valuable papers in his satchel, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd made a fatal mistake. It was a foreign feeling, but some sixth sense warned him of the bloodhounds on his backtrail; it was a feeling he'd never experienced even in those hard dangerous years in Tehran.
Having reached Rumah he sought out an establishment where he could grab a bite and think out his next moves. His first problem would be to find alternative transport as he'd decided that the jeep had become too dangerous. He'd abandon it here, but then as an afterthought he'd engaged a refugee in talk, spinning him a cock-and-bull tale about deserting the Saudi army to be with his girlfriend, but not wanting the army to know where he'd abandoned the jeep. The refugee had been suspicious at first, but his eyes had shone with greed when Amad agreed to throw in 500 rial. He'd agreed to drive the jeep to Riyadh. Amad left the establishment after handing over the money and finishing his meal. The problem of transport was still unresolved but Amad soon spotted a way out of his predicament. As a truck driver passed in the uncertain light and slowed to round a bend, Amad caught the tail-end of the truck and swung himself into the back of it, concealing himself behind crates and breathing in a sigh of relief as the truck picked up speed again and headed in the direction he wanted to go - north. The next town was Ma'qala and Amad hoped to reach it before any checkpoints went up.