Honour Among Thieves

realised that Aziz's father had been the village chief, and how much his uncle was will- ing to risk to save them from being captured by Saddam's troops. 'But even if we could take the car to pieces and put it together again, what about army patrols once we reach that road?' he asked. 'By now thousands of Hamil's men are bound to be out there searching for us.' 'But not on those roads,' Aziz replied. 'The army will stick to the highway. They realise that's our only hope of getting across the border. No, our first problem will come when we reach the roadside check at Khalis.' He moved his finger a few inches across the map. 'There's bound to be at least a couple of soldiers on duty there.' Scott studied the different routes again while Aziz listened to his uncle. 'And could we get as far as Tuz Khurmatoo without having to use the highway?' asked Scott, not looking up from the map. 'Yes, there's a longer route, through the hills, that the army would never consider, because they'd run the risk of being attacked by the Peshmerga guerrillas so near the border with Kurdistan. But once you've gone through Tuz Khurmatoo it's only a couple of miles to the main highway, though it's still another forty-five miles from there, with no other way of crossing the border.' Scott held his head in his hands and didn't speak for some moments. 'So if we took that route we would be committed to crossing the border at Kirkuk,' he eventually said. 'Where both sides could prove to be unfriendly.' The chief started tapping Kirkuk on the map with his finger while talking urgently to his nephew. 'My uncle says Kirkuk is our best chance. Most of the inhabitants are Kurdish and hate Saddam Hussein. Even the Iraqi soldiers have been known to defect and become Kurdish Peshmergas.' 'But how will they know which side we're on?' asked Scott. 'My uncle will get a message to the Peshmergas, so that when you reach the border they will do everything they can to help you to cross it. It's not an official border, but once you're in Kurdistan you'll be safe.' 'The Kurds sound our best bet,' said Hannah, who had been listening intently. 'Especially if they believe our original mission was to kill Saddam.' 'It might just work, sir,' said Cohen. 'That is, if the car's up to it.' 'You're the mechanic, Cohen, so only you can tell us if it's possible.' Once Aziz had translated Scott's words the chief rose to his feet and led them to the back of his house. He came to a halt beside a large oblong object covered by a black sheet. He and Aziz lifted off the cover. Scott couldn't believe his eyes. 'A pink Caddy?' he said. 'A classic 1956 Sedan de Ville, to be exact, sir,' said Cohen, rubbing his hands with delight. He opened the long, heavy door and climbed behind the vast steering wheel. He pulled a lever under the dashboard and the bonnet flicked up. He got out, lifted the bonnet and studied the engine for some minutes. 'Not bad,' he said. 'If I can nick a few parts from the truck, I'll give you a racing car within a couple of hours.' Scott checked his watch. 'I can only spare you an hour if we're hoping to cross the border tonight.' Scott and Hannah returned to the house and once again pored over the map. The road Aziz had recommended was roughly twelve miles away, but across terrain that would be hard going even if they were carrying nothing. 'It could take hours,' Scott said. 'What's the alternative if we can't use the highway?' asked Hannah. While she and Scott continued working on the route and Cohen on the car, Aziz rounded up thirty of the strongest men in the village. At a few minutes past the hour, Cohen reappeared in the house, his hands, arms, face and hair covered in oil. 'It's ready to be taken apart, Professor.' 'Well done. But we'll have to get rid of the truck first,' said Scott as he rose from the table. 'That won't be possible, sir,' said Cohen. 'Not now that I've removed one or two of the best parts of its engine. That Cadillac should be able to do over a hundred miles per hour,' he said, with some pride. 'In third gear.' Scott laughed, and accompanied by Aziz went in search of the chief. Once again he explained the problem. This time the chief's face showed no anxiety. Aziz translated his thoughts. ' "Do not fear, my friend," he says. "While you are marching across the desert we will strip the truck and bury each piece in a place Saddam's soldiers could never hope to discover in a thousand years." ' Scott looked apprehensive, but Aziz nodded his