The Protector by Duncan Falconer Page B

western reaches of Iraq, but his overall look was distinctly Anglo-Saxon.
    The naked woman yelped at every tug on her hair while the Anglo-looking man groaned in response to Karrar’s brutal grip. Abdul was conscious of the balaclava over his face and felt distinctly weird as he looked through the narrow eyelets at the unfolding scene.
    The older couple were forced to their feet by Ali and Arras who shoved them against the wall. Hassan pushed the naked woman beside them and released her. She held her hands over her breasts and genital area as she cried out. ‘Please, please don’t hurt us,’ she kept begging.
    ‘Shut up!’ Hassan shouted as he aimed his gun at her face, his eyes intense. She immediately stopped speaking, although she could not control her whimpering. Karrar kept hold of the male westerner as Ali and Arras stepped back, their pistols levelled at the terrified older couple.
    Then Hassan seemed to calm down a little as everyone in the room came under his control. He turned his attention to the naked man. Karrar pulled the man’s head back by his hair so that he was forced to face the boss.
    ‘What’s your name?’ Hassan demanded.The man did not answer as he looked fearfully at Hassan and then at the naked woman.‘Abdul,’ Hassan growled.‘Ask him his name.’
    Abdul was almost as frightened as the man and did not understand what Hassan had asked him.‘W-what?’ he stammered.
    ‘I said ask him his name,’ Hassan repeated.
    Abdul looked at the frightened man who was only slightly bigger than himself. ‘What is your name?’ he said.
    ‘In English, you idiot!’ Hassan shouted. ‘He is not Arab.’
    Abdul made an extreme effort to compose himself as his mouth suddenly went dry. ‘What your name?’ he asked in broken English.
    The naked man glanced at Abdul with pleading eyes when he recognised his language, perhaps sensing in the tone of his voice that this Arab might have some sympathy in his heart.‘J-Jeffrey Lamont,’ the man stammered, his face a picture of utter fear. ‘You will be paid a lot of money if you—’
    ‘Who does he work for?’ Hassan snapped.
    ‘What you company work for?’ Abdul asked in heavily accented English as he struggled to get his lips and tongue around the language that he had learned in school. He had only spoken it very occasionally with his sister in the last few years.
    ‘Detron Communications,’ the man said.
    ‘A communications company,’ Abdul relayed to Hassan.
    ‘What kind of communications?’ Hassan asked.
    ‘I don’t know,’ Abdul said.
    ‘Ask him, you idiot!’ Hassan shouted, his temper going up and down with his blood pressure.
    Abdul took a moment to form the words but he was not quick enough for Hassan. ‘You said you could speak English,’ Hassan said accusingly.
    ‘It’s been a while,’ Abdul said nervously.
    ‘Ask him!’ Hassan shouted again.
    Abdul swallowed hard and made an effort to concentrate. ‘What you communications?’ he asked.
    ‘I . . . I don’t know what you mean,’ the man said, desperately wanting to comply but too confused.
    ‘What . . . kind . . . of communication you work for? What communications?’ Abdul asked.
    ‘Phones. We put up mobile phone masts. We’re bringing communications to your country,’ Lamont said, pleading. ‘Please don’t hurt us.’
    Abdul felt desperately sorry for the man but tried not to let it show as he spoke to Hassan. ‘He builds mobile phone masts.’
    The man’s stare dropped to Abdul’s jacket that had opened and he caught a glimpse of his chest badge on his blue shirt. ‘You’re police,’ the man said.
    Hassan looked at Abdul’s open jacket, then at the naked woman and the old couple who were staring at the badge.
    ‘I have a DoD pass,’ the man said. ‘In my pocket,’ he added, suddenly hopeful that this could be resolved. ‘In my trousers. In the room,’ he went on.
    Hassan looked at the man. He knew what a DoD pass was. It was an identification badge