Scavenger Hunt, Page 3

  “Gone. Buggered off with some shithole from her work.”

  Bob, Nat and Dave used to be bar buddies. Bob was sound, demobbed four years ago for some gear that went missing. It turned up on eBay. Bob couldn’t see the problem, as he said, “I took it out of a skip on the base anyway!” Bob had introduced Dave to Jane at an all-night party he’d been invited to.

  “Damn, she was hot. Anyway, listen, Dave. I’ve got this buddy, he runs some private ops over in the Gulf. Basically what you were doing before when you were in the army, but now as a civilian. Interested?”

  Dave thought for a second, “I wonder if he knows why I was asked to leave. I’d better come clean now, just in case he gets funny later.”

  “Bob,” Dave said. “You know why I was demobbed, don’t you? I mean the injuries when I got blown up.”

  He pondered over what he'd just said. “Shit! I haven’t spoken about the explosion to anyone, not even Poppy.”

  Dave carried on, “The injuries, and not being able to put the kit on. They said I wouldn’t be safe, I could put the others on the unit in danger.” Dave waited for him to change his offer.

  “Yes, mate, I know. Thanks for telling me straight. Listen, it’s not a problem, Dave. This is civilian country now, not military. As long as you can perform, you’re in. Still interested?”

  Dave’s whole body was buzzing. “In that case, yes!” he answered, trying not to sound too excited. “When?”

  “Let’s meet, it’ll be easier than on the phone. We can have a pint and catch up.”

  “Sounds good to me. The old place down by the park good for you?” Dave asked.

  “Shit! Is that place still going?”

  “Yep. It went downhill for a bit, but one of the lads invested his redundancy, took it over when he left the army. Quite lively now.”

  “Okay! See you there at thirteen hundred hours, tomorrow?”

  “It’s a date," Dave said, smiling. “Bob?”

  “Yes, Dave.”

  “Thanks, mate.”

  “Tomorrow, thirteen hundred.”

  Dave hung up and punched the sky. “Yes!” He went straight back up and jumped on the bed and told Poppy what had just been said.

  She didn’t take it as well as he thought she would. “You should at least go and see. You can always say no,” she said, guardedly.

  Poppy and Dave spent another hour in bed. “God, Dave,” she said, lying back, her hands above her head. “You need to get more phone calls like that.”

  He smiled, kissed her and went to get up to go for a shower, “You need to get back to work, you’ll be late.”

  She grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down on top of her. She said, panting, “You ain’t going nowhere, stud.”

  ****

  Bob and Dave chatted, had a few drinks and went for something to eat. They ended up in a posh restaurant on the other side of town. Bob paid for the lot, saying, “There’s more money than you can shake a stick at when you start.”

  When Dave got back he was on cloud nine. “It’s about time some luck came my way,” he smiled, walking into the flat.

  He told Poppy what Bob had said, “Six months to a year, tops. A hundred grand, tax-free. And if you want, and they like you, you can stay on for another year.”

  Poppy wasn’t pleased, “If you go, Dave, you’ll be no better than a mercenary. Our relationship wouldn’t last and we’d have to break up. You know my career comes first with me.”

  Dave thought, looking at her, “I think we’ve come to the end of this road. Shame, she was good in the sack. But I was stung good last time, not again.”

  The next morning, Dave rang Bob, and two weeks later he was back in the desert. A different bunch of lads and getting a shedload more money for doing, basically, the same job.

  “Bloody Heaven!” he smiled.

  7

  The epicentre of the whole operation was situated inside a number of shipping containers, all bolted together inside a factory unit, totally invisible from the outside. The building that housed the set up was located on the edge of an industrial estate, on the southern outskirts of Ramadi, not far from the train station, Al Ramadi East. Roughly a hundred and ten kilometres west from the centre of Baghdad.

  Each shipping container was a self-contained lab, with all the latest electronic equipment installed and all accessed by doors that had positive pressure airlocks. The whole matrix of blocks was air-conditioned, spotlessly clean and very brightly lit, with each unit having its own team of specialist personnel running the equipment.

  The building itself looked like any of the other units on the estate - just another factory turning out cheap shitty clothing. The only way from the outside you could tell it was a bit special, was the number of ten metre long antennas, sticking up from the middle of the roof.

  When you approached to enter the building, you walked towards two ordinary steel corrugated doors. Inside, though, you were confronted by two huge security doors. These were positioned on a rail and controlled electronically from the inside by guards watching via CCTV. Once you went through these doors, you passed the main security checkpoint. You then turned right, around a fake wall, towards a set of steel reinforced shutters before entering the main complex.

  When they opened, a row of flashing red and yellow lights operated across the top, letting everyone know on the inside that someone was entering. This entrance was guarded by a two-man unit located in a guard tower, on the opposite side of the entrance.

  With all this security you’d be forgiven for thinking you’d taken the wrong turn, and ended up on the set of Stargate.

  Once you passed through the checkpoint, after being grilled, searched, prodded, poked, and left in fear they would, if they thought it necessary, anally search you for hidden IED’s you entered a large open space - this was about half the size of a football pitch and where the shipping containers were located.

  All around them were evenly marked-off areas, these housed the sections that made up the private task force: transport, maintenance, stores, an armoury, a mess hall, a kitchen, a huge walk-in fridge, and freezer. There was also an area marked out for the gym, a shower block, a hospital and briefing areas. Everything was spotlessly clean.

  A TV zone was against one of the far walls, with big comfy chairs, they all had headphones plugged into the sides. Attached to this area was a bank of computers for the personnel to send email and surf the internet when they were on standby.

  Running around the inside perimeter of the building, from the floor to the roof, was a metre thick concrete and steel reinforced wall. The ceiling swarmed with a complex puzzle of pipes, carrying everything from the services to the fresh air circulating around the building. Different intensities of lighting hung just below the pipes to suit the area it overhung, and it was all invisible from the outside.

  Once you were inside the perimeter, though, you were allowed to go wherever you wanted. Safe in the knowledge you were being watched by a guard or a CCTV monitor, somewhere!

  One of the outside walls backed onto the perimeter fence of the industrial estate. This was where they exited the building under cover of darkness when going on patrol. The other three walls were neighboured onto the local businesses.

  There was a general mix of units: clothing manufacturers, car garage workshops, bulk food suppliers, plumbing suppliers, toilet roll manufacturers. There was even a fast food outlet where you could buy, and eat, if you dare, anything from pan-fried scorpions, to what passed as a hamburger - there was a distinct lack of feral cats and dogs around, so you ate at your own risk!

  And all this was happening, supposedly, without the locals’ knowledge.

  “Who’s paying for all of this, mate?” Dave asked.

  Bob looked at him for a few moments, then said, “A conglomerate of countries that have an interest in the future peace of the Arab League. They have all jointly funded a private operation to work with the local and international forces, in conjunction with the country’
s government.”

  Dave cocked an eyebrow!

  "All your questions will be answered at the briefing later," Bob explained. "But for now, have a look around and get some food."

  Apart from the guards patrolling the complex, everyone was relaxed and on first name terms. Dave felt really weird just coming from the army, as everything there was “sir” or “Corporal” or whatever rank he was talking to at the time. The men still called certain individuals by the rank they had been given, out of respect, as they were the ones in charge of the place.

  Out on patrol was different, the structure was the same as the army. Eight men, broken down into two, four-man teams. Consisting of an overall section commander and a second in command on the other team. The rest of them were specialists: one sniper, one signals, one driver, and because they were civvies, they also had two demolition experts, these were shared out between the two squads.

  The demolition expert on Dave’s team, was, Harry.

  When the teams were out on the ground, they usually backed up the regular forces - helping with roadblocks, cleaning up after raids, or going into the local communities and helping to keep the peace.

  Out on patrol, they had to be within the Chinooks’ flying envelope: this could be anywhere up to one thousand kilometres from the base. But if necessary, they could fly further, but this meant stopping on the way back to refuel. The pilots didn’t like doing this. On the ground they were open to ground attacks, so they usually stayed local, patrolling in Baghdad or the surrounding villages.

  They were controlled by a central command unit when they were out and liaised with whatever nationality of the forces who were patrolling the area at the time.

  8

  On Dave’s first patrol he was put on the same team as Bob, team B. This consisted of Bob - second in command, Steve - signals, Harry - explosives and Dave - driver and signals.

  Harry was ex-regiment. Explosives expert. Explosives nut more like. The phrase "You’re only supposed to blow the bloody doors off" comes to mind with Harry. He can be a bit, how do you say… overzealous with the plastic. He was attached to the Bomb Disposal Unit as an instructor, working out of RAF Wittering.

  The story goes that one day, at his uncle’s farm, he was helping to dig up an old tree. After several failed attempts to pull it out with the farm tractor, he suggested they let him blast it out. Well! They never did find the tree, no one actually saw the explosion either, and it was so big it blew them all off their feet from a hundred metres away.

  Locals reported hearing an explosion from ten kilometres away!

  The local gas line was fractured by the shockwave and it took the local fire brigades, from the neighbouring four counties, three days to put all the fires out. Harry wasn’t really surprised when he was asked to leave Her Majesty’s Service. Given a dishonourable discharge after serving two years of five in military prison. This was his fourth time working out here, but he said he’ll do one more, then that’s it.

  Bob, or Robert Harris, he was an officer, but one of the good ones. His rank was Captain. The oldest of our little group. His speciality is shooting. He was a sniper. "You spot it and I’ll shoot it", was his motto. He claimed he once shot a man at just under a kilometre away. “Unlucky for the guy, though,” he would say, “I was aiming for the camel!”

  Steve wasn’t interested in the armed forces, said he didn’t like all the shit that went with the job: bulling shoes, painting rocks white, calling people “sir”. He was a bit of a dark horse, but bloody good with a soldering iron. He would spend all day hacking into systems and making them work backwards for a laugh. He helped set up the base and all the electronics, so if he couldn’t get a signal out in the field, we didn’t have a cat in hell’s chance of getting one.

  The team called their little search, a scavenger hunt. Even though they only had one thing on the list: a safe.

  His first shift brought back the nightmare of when he was out there the last time; it seemed like a lifetime away to him now.

  He spoke to Bob about it.

  “Dave, that was another life, you’re starting again, but this time with the knowledge of what to expect. It might not make it easier, but it gives you a head start. Okay?”

  Dave nodded, realising he was right. It didn’t stop him flinching whenever an aircraft was flying in the area, though, ducking if it came in close.

  The problem with the itching was murder in the desert. The sweat meant Dave spent a lot of his time either applying generous amounts of cream or scratching himself.

  “You okay, Dave?” Bob asked.

  “It’s just like the doc said. The scar tissue’s driving me nuts.”

  “Go see the medics when you get back, they’ll have something for it!”

  “I’ve spoken to them already, they gave me this,” he said, holding up a bottle of green coloured liquid. “It smells like camel droppings!”

  Bob backed off a metre. “That’s what that smell is… I thought it was the locals!” he laughed.

  When Dave got out of the Chinook, the first time, the first thing that hit him was the stink. “Jesus! Now there’s a smell that you won’t forget!” he said, too, Bob.

  “Get used to it, Dave. We’ll be here every day we’re on shift.”

  It was the same rotting smell as before. It completely filled Dave’s mouth and nose, all the way to the deepest part of his lungs. As he stood looking around at the bombed out buildings, he realised it was one of those things you never get used to.

  Looking around at the piles of rubble, rotting animal carcases and craters, which once used to be roads, he also realised nothing had changed, apart from a few more holes!

  Dave’s shift went well. A bit of a steep learning curve, but so much more relaxed than the army, if that’s possible in a "war zone" but still as serious. His shift would last for three days and three nights, then he’d get three days off.

  The work was familiar, and the local population was still the same.

  The teams looked after themselves most of the time, but the regular soldiers came over and checked them out when they were in the area, which was reassuring, especially when they came across any old friends they’d served with before.

  Dave had been there three weeks and was starting to feel as if he was fitting in with the routine. Every shift had a full debrief at the end, but, unlike the army, they could go off for a pint afterwards. Not much opportunity for that though, as it was still a Muslim state.

  He found himself helping out on his downtime, normally at the vehicle maintenance area. Mainly to keep in the shade because of the sun’s effect on his skin. The sun cream he’d been given helped a lot, but being inside in the car pool, tinkering with engines helped as well, also it kept his mind from wandering.

  At the end of their patrol debrief, on Dave’s third week, the normal question was asked by the boss.

  “Gentlemen, are there any questions?”

  John, who was the other team’s demolition expert, put his hand up, “Sir.”

  “Yes, John?”

  “While I was looking around one of the houses, I came across a room. There was a safe positioned at one end.”

  When he said, “Safe”. The room went quiet.

  “A safe! Where was it located, John?”

  “It was over on the east side of the city. Tucked away in the ruins of a house. I went in to see if there was anyone in there who needed any help, but it was empty.”

  “Okay, John, thank you. We’ll get it reported to the local police, they can deal with it.”

  “Sir?”

  The boss looked at him again and nodded.

  “There were human remains in the room, not that old, but just bones. The clothes were mostly rotted away but there was also an old set of webbing next to it, looked like it was probably twenty or thirty years old. I checked for dog-tags but there weren’t any on or near the remains.”

  “Hmm! Okay, we’ll inform the military police as well. Thank you. Any more question
s?” He looked around at everyone, then said. “Okay. Room dismissed. Thank you, gentlemen. I’ll see you all in six days. Get some rest and if you can get one, have a beer.”

  After the briefing, Bob went and spoke to John about the safe.

  “Hello, Bob! How can I help you, mate?”

  “It’s about the remains you found, you don’t think it was military do you?”

  “I did wonder when I spotted the webbing, but I had a good check around and couldn’t find anything conclusive. Why do you ask?”

  “I remember hearing about a mission that went wrong, around thirty years back, the team all went missing and were never found. Just thought it might be one of them.”

  “It would be closure for someone back home,” John said.

  Bob nodded. “Was the safe intact, mate?”

  “Yes. Apart from the dust from where the building had been hit, it looked as if it had just come out of the showroom.”

  Bob chatted to John about where he came from for a short while and then left. As he left John’s bunk, John started coughing. “You okay, mate, you look a bit flushed?” Bob asked, concerned.

  “Yes. Just feeling a bit hot and sweaty from today. I think I’ll turn in for a few hours.”

  “Okay, mate. Goodnight.” As he walked off, John started coughing more and retching, Bob shook his head and made a mental note to call in on him later.

  ****

  Six days later, at the briefing.

  “Okay. John’s on sick leave, so team one has a new guy. They think it’s a viral infection. Keep an eye on yourselves for any symptoms.”

  “Probably got it off one of the locals,” one of his teammates laughed.

  “He’s down in the med centre if anyone wants to pay him a visit after,” the boss said.

  The next six days went smoothly. Bob, Steve, Harry and Dave, met in Bob’s room, the conversation soon turned towards the safe.

  Bob had visited John in the field medical tent when he’d finished his shift, before coming back. He filled the team in on what John had been doing.