“Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

Duffy spoke on the phone for five minutes. He asked for details on Faik al-Kaysi and then he waited as whoever it was on the other end looked into it. Beatrix watched him carefully, the Sig pressed against Sascha Duffy’s head the entire time. The woman was stock still, hardly breathing, bloodless. She heard the muffled voice of the other person as information was relayed and watched as Duffy’s eyebrows rose.

He ended the call and handed the phone back to her. There was a bitter little smirk on his lips.

“Don’t think there’s much you can do about this one.”

“What do you mean?”

“We did arrest him, after the thing at the oilfield. He’s in al-Mina, like I thought, but he’s been convicted of murder. There was a riot the day before yesterday. Several of the guards were killed. They’re going to hang him and some of the others.”

“Where?”

“In the prison yard.”

“When?”

“After prayers. Tomorrow morning. First light.”

Beatrix gave a crisp nod. “Thank you.”

“What now?”

“Get in there,” she said, pointing to the walk-in fridge.

“Come on, Rose, I’m helping you out. This isn’t necessary.”

“You know it is, Duffy. Don’t waste my time. Get in the back or I’ll shoot you now.”

“Alright, alright,” he said. “Fine.”

Faulkner followed the two of them back to the fridge, and once they were inside, he locked the door and then slid an iron bar through the two door handles.

“You can’t be serious?” Faulkner said in an urgent hiss as soon as he was done.

“About what?”

“Getting this Iraqi boy?”

“Deadly serious.”

“There’s two of us. Two. You want to plan a jail break? How are we going to do that?”

“There’s always a way. These will be untrained, badly armed guards. And they have no idea we’re coming. There’s no better tactical advantage than surprise.”

“We don’t have the kit.”

“No,” she accepted, “that I do agree with. You’re going to need to set up another meeting with the quartermaster. As soon as you can. He needs to come here.”

“What about these two?”

“You think anyone will hear them out here if they start making a noise?”

“Probably not. I didn’t see anyone around yesterday.”

“Good.”

“What else?”

“We stay here tonight. I’ll scout the prison tomorrow, and then we can sort out the gear we’ll need.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m going to need to speak to Michael Pope.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

They slept at the foundry that night. Beatrix awoke early and took Sascha Duffy’s Audi and drove north, where Basra ran up against the Shatt Al-Aarab watercourse. She drove by the al-Mina football club, where twenty or thirty youngsters were kicking a ball across the parched yellow grass, and then by the Al-Tahreer General Hospital. She passed buildings that had been wrecked in the war and had still not been repaired, pylons that had been torn down, their cables stolen. On the horizon, gas flares leeched dirty smears of grey smoke into the sky.