he had been a passenger on a rendition flight. ‘Although I was in Afghanistan when I was with the Regiment. Another life.’
‘Iraq’s not dissimilar,’ said Muller. ‘The difference is that before Saddam Iraq was a decent enough country. He ran it into the ground.’
‘The Major said you were special forces. Delta Force, yeah?’
‘On the fringes,’ said Muller. ‘Again, it was another life. I was in Vietnam, way back when. Part of the Phoenix Program. Winning hearts and minds and throwing Viet Cong out of helicopters when that didn’t work.’
‘You must have been a kid,’ said Shepherd.
‘I was twenty when I went in, twenty-two when we ran away with our tails between our legs. But I tell you, Dan, I saw the way things went in ’Nam and I see the same things going wrong in Iraq.’
‘You can’t beat insurgents with brute force, you mean?’
‘There’s that,’ agreed Muller. ‘But the problem isn’t so much the mootwah, it’s what the hell happens after the mootwah.’
‘What the hell is mootwah?’
‘Military Operations Other Than War,’ said Muller. He grinned. ‘MOOTW. Mootwah. It’s how the top brass describe what’s going on over there. You see, Dan, it can’t go on for ever. At some point, the coalition forces are going to have to leave. It probably won’t be helicopters flying off embassy roofs, but they’ll be going. When we pulled out of Vietnam in 1973, the South Vietnamese military was the fourth largest in the world. More than a million men under arms. And what happened when we left? They let the North Vietnamese walk right over them. Most of the men we trained threw away their uniforms and went to ground. Then what happened? Sixty-five thousand executions, and a quarter of a million people sent to “re-education camps” so they could be taught how to be better citizens. And two million refugees for the world to deal with.’
‘And the same’s going to happen in Iraq?’
‘I’d bet my bottom dollar on it. It doesn’t matter how much money we throw at them, how well we train them, how much we fire them up to believe in the American way, at the end of the day it’s down to character and I don’t think they’re up to the job. The moment we leave, Iran will urge on the insurgents and you won’t see the men we’ve trained for dust. And Europe’ll be picking up the pieces. You’ll have a refugee problem the like of which you’ve never seen before and Londonistan will be their city of choice.’ He grinned. ‘That’s what they’re calling your capital city these days, you know that?’
‘Yeah, I heard that,’ said Shepherd. ‘So, what’s the solution?’
‘There is no solution. Saddam had his own insurgents to deal with, the Kurds and the Shias. His solution was to kill as many as he could, and that’s not an option available to the coalition forces. We’re trying to win hearts and minds, but that didn’t work in Vietnam and it won’t work in Iraq.’
‘You’re pissing in the wind, then?’
‘I’ll piss into any wind if I’m paid enough,’ said Muller. ‘I’m just a hired hand. Our company has contracts worth twenty million dollars a year in Iraq and we get paid whatever happens. They talk about the billions being spent on rebuilding the country but that’s a joke because the lion’s share is going to pay security firms like us. For every man doing basic reconstruction work another three are guarding him.’
‘Good business to be in, I guess.’
‘If you want, I could use you,’ said Muller.
‘Like you used Geordie?’ Muller frowned and Shepherd saw he’d offended him. ‘Sorry, John, I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘He wanted the job,’ said Muller, ‘and he knew the risks.’
‘I know. He’s a pro. I was with him in Afghanistan. But being in a place like Afghanistan or Iraq as a soldier and being there as a hired hand are two different things.’
‘You’ll put your life on the line out of duty, but not for money, is that it?’
Shepherd laughed. ‘Doesn’t make sense, does it?’
‘It shows the sort of man you are,’ said Muller.
‘If I was just after the money, I wouldn’t be a cop,’ said Shepherd.
‘So why do you do it?’
‘You’re as bad as my psychiatrist,’ said Shepherd.
Muller looked surprised. ‘You’re in therapy?’
‘No, my unit insists on regular psychological checks to make sure that its operatives are fit for duty.’
‘And are you?’
‘So she says. But it’s a question that has to be answered. I’m an undercover cop, which means I’m putting my life on the line regularly for a civil servant’s salary. That doesn’t make sense to some people. There has to be another reason.’
‘Because you want to be one of the good guys, right?’
Shepherd grinned. ‘It’s a bit more complex than that.’
‘Is it? It can’t just be about the adrenaline rush – you’d get more of one in Baghdad than you would on any undercover operation at home. Or you could change sides and become a criminal. That way you’d get the rush and the money.’
‘It’s not about the money, that’s true,’ said Shepherd. ‘I wouldn’t have to go to Iraq for a better pay cheque. There are plenty of opportunities in the UK.’
‘So it’s about being on the side of law and order?’
‘It sounds corny when you put it that way.’ There was a plastic bottle of water in the back of the seat in front of him. Shepherd took it, unscrewed the top and drank. ‘It’s something I don’t quite understand myself. I get a kick out of the challenge – to go up against big-time villains, knowing it’s me against them and that if I do my job right they go to prison, there’s a buzz in it that’s even better than combat. I mean, a bullet whizzing by your head clarifies your mind and gets your heart pumping, but it usually happens so fast that it’s all about instinct. Going undercover against criminals or terrorists is more cerebral. It’s like playing chess, and the player who thinks furthest ahead is the one who generally wins.’
‘The thrill of the chase?’
‘I suppose so. But when it works out there’s also the satisfaction of knowing you’ve taken a bad guy off the streets. That’s why I wouldn’t want to work in Iraq. It’s all defensive.’
‘Don’t tell me I’m a glorified security guard, because there’s more to it than that,’ said Muller, waving a finger in Shepherd’s face. He smiled to show that he wasn’t being too serious.
‘I’m not belittling what you do,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m just saying it’s not what I want. There are plenty of guys who are more than happy to do the work. The SAS is losing a lot – they’re getting out early so that they can work in Iraq where they can almost quadruple their salary. That’s probably how Geordie saw it.’
‘Geordie liked the work, too. We have a good team on the ground. The South Africans are our core and I’d put them up against any soldiers in the world. And they’ve trained a good group of Iraqis. There’s a real camaraderie.’
‘Geordie always enjoyed being part of a team.’ Shepherd grimaced. He’d used the past tense. ‘Shit – we’re talking as if he was dead already.’
Five minutes later, the plane banked and began its corkscrew descent. Shepherd smiled as he saw Shortt and Armstrong go white. ‘Bloody hell,’ said Armstrong, through gritted teeth. ‘What the hell’s going on?’
‘Evasive action,’ said Muller. ‘Better safe than sorry.’
‘Evading what?’ shouted Shortt, as the plane’s speed increased.
‘RPGs,’ said Muller.
‘Lovely.’ Shortt rubbed his moustache nervously.
Shepherd tried to relax as the plane spiralled down. He looked around the cabin. The majority of the passengers had clearly been through the stomach-churning descent several times and were taking it in their stride, reading or listening to iPods. Out of the window he saw the desert spinning by. A road. Sand. Palm trees. Flat- topped buildings. Then a glimpse of runway. The spinning was disorienting. Shepherd rested his head against the seat back and stared straight ahead.
Touchdown was perfect, the wheels of the airliner kissing the runway and slowing to walking pace before they turned on to a taxiway and headed for the terminal.
It took them an hour to get through Immigration. They went through together and, after showing their
