The Gilgamesh Conspiracy by Jeffrey Fleming

I gave you. I told them I had no idea.  I didn’t open it.’ Rashid explained.
    ‘I know, I know. It’s been a mistake. I’ll take you home.’
    Rashid allowed himself to be lead out of the room, down in the elevator and out of the building into the fresh air. Outside in the road Hakim Mansour’s driver held open the door of his car and the two of them climbed into the back seats. Mansour looked at him and patted his forearm.
    ‘You look a little distraught Rashid. I can’t take you back home until you’ve had a chance to recover; it would give your mother a fright. Let’s go and get a drink.’ He called out an address to his driver and the car set off. Rashid stared out of the window as the street scene passed by, trying to come to terms with his reprieve. Already the experience seemed to be some kind of unreal dream. The car stopped outside a well-known expensive coffee shop much frequented by the well-connected of Baghdad. Mansour lead him inside and waved casually to the proprietor who saluted him respectfully, and then showed them through to a small private room at the back.
    The room had four armchairs and little tables with ashtrays. Mansour brought out a pack of Marlboro Lights and offered one to Rashid, who shook his head. The door opened and the proprietor came in with four cans of Heineken beer and two glasses. ‘I thought you could do with a real drink after that experience,’ said Mansour pouring out beer for the two of them. ‘How are you feeling now?’
    Rashid drank deeply, savouring the familiar drink. ‘Better now, thank you.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know why they thought I knew anything.’
    ‘Well you had already told me you didn’t.’ Hakim Mansour paused. ‘You’re absolutely sure about that, are you? Nothing has jogged your memory at all? Anything that the American Colonel White might have said?’
    ‘No. Nothing at all,’ Rashid insisted.
    ‘Ok.’ Mansour slapped his pockets and pulled out a phone. ‘Excuse me a minute. A quick call.’
    He left the room and dialled a number. ‘Hello Rukan. I was listening in the whole time, but tell me what you thought of his replies?’
    ‘He told his story without any hesitations, he answered repeated questions the same but with slight differences so there was no hint of any coaching. I think you can trust in what he says.’
    ‘Very good, he clearly doesn’t know anything, but thanks for trying.’
    ‘Perhaps you can explain what it’s all about to me one day,’ Khalifa suggested.
    ‘Yes, I’ll do that,’ Mansour replied. ‘Until then don’t ask any more questions, eh. Thank you. Goodbye.’
    Mansour broke the connection and frowned. Rukan Khalifa was too damned inquisitive. Perhaps it had been a mistake to involve him. Maybe he could be silenced somehow. He went back into the room and smiled at Rashid. ‘Ok. Let’s finish these beers and then I’ll take you home.’

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    19 th February 2003
     
    ‘Ali Hamsin, would you do me the pleasure of visiting me at my house after you have finished your work this evening?’
    Ali looked up and saw Hakim Mansour in his office doorway.  He nodded. ‘Of course sir.’
    ‘Good! I’ll see you later, six o’clock.’ Mansour smiled and closed the door.
    Hamsin wondered why Hakim Mansour wanted to see him, but perhaps a visit to his home at least suggested that he was in favour. He was sorry that none of his colleagues were there to witness the invitation, especially one bestowed in person, for in the uncertain world of office politics it was just as well for everyone to know that you were well regarded. Damn! He had invited Professor Khordi for the evening; he would have to postpone his visit until tomorrow. After an apologetic telephone call to his friend he walked quickly through the dark streets and at precisely 6pm he rang the bell on Mansour’s outside gate. He was amazed when his host answered the door himself.
    ‘It’s the servants’ day off,’ Mansour