The Hell of Osirak by Jaye Rothman

Author:Jaye Rothman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jaye Rothman
Published: 2021-02-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 32

Osirak, Iraq

Nikki couldn’t quite believe she’d entered the facility without the requisite full body search. Her blustering, anger and self-righteous stance had taken the guards by surprise. They had expected a lone English woman to comply with their authority, but she had objected and won.

She’d chalk this up as a small victory. Tomorrow Dupont would likely meet with her and explain the rules of the establishment. The driver braked and pulled up outside a long single-storey concrete block.

The driver turned around, “You live here,” he said in broken French. He removed a key from his jacket pocket. “These are apartments for engineers. I help you with luggage.”

Nikki debated whether to speak in Arabic. Her dealings with the guards had ended badly, so it might help if she could rely on this man to do a few favours for her. But Nikki Innes didn’t speak Arabic. Nevertheless, she went with her instinct. “What’s your name?”

“Hassan.” He blinked. “You speak Arabic?’

"Yes, you saw what happened with the guards."

Hassan nodded.

"From time to time, I'll need you to run some errands for me." Nikki opened her handbag and extracted a wad of notes. Half a year’s salary for the driver.

Hassan’s hand closed around the money.

“I don’t want you telling anyone I speak Arabic. Do you understand?”

Hassan nodded again. “Yes. You want to keep our business between us.” He touched his nose with an index finger.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I also work as a security guard,” Hassan said.

“Really? Where?”

“In the laboratories. Over there.” He pointed across the large courtyard, deserted except for three palm trees. She followed his finger. A lone light lit up a two-storey brown building.

“Is that the entrance?”

“Yes, that’s where the French engineers work.”

He indicated another single-storey building directly ahead. “That’s the staff restaurant.”

Nikki thanked him before she climbed out of the car. She shivered in the cold night air. Hassan picked up her suitcase. “You have a slight Mesopotamian accent. Did you live here?”

She laughed. Once again, she weighed up the consequences of diverting from her legend, but she guessed Hassan’s loyalty to a native from Baghdad would likely outweigh his devotion to the French. “I was born here, Hassan.”

He smiled. “I was right! I knew you were one of us.”

She followed him down the path to her apartment. Hassan inserted the key in the lock and pushed the door open. He entered, beckoned her inside and shut the door. Then he switched the light on. “So that moths and mosquitos won’t get in.”

Dropping the key into her hand, he wished her a good night and left. The door clicked closed behind him.

Nikki studied the studio apartment. A pine bed, wardrobe, and desk and chair took up the right side of the room. A beige two-seater couch sat in front of the window and, on the left, was a kitchenette containing a fridge and microwave. She walked over and pulled open the cupboard doors. Someone had stocked the cupboard over the sink with breakfast cereal, tea, coffee and sugar. She opened the

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