Snared by a Belly

 

Innocent abroad 

The Alkafa back streets of Baghdad are best avoided by westerners. And yet it has a fatal attraction. The aroma of illicit sex! For a simple man from Essex, lonely in his hotel room, it was intriguingly exotic. Rough expatriates in the hotel bar had spoken of its coarse delights. They had been there, done that, gone into the strip bars, had watched pole dancers divest themselves of their clothes. They were rough tough men who took such delights in their stride. They were mercenaries, they had side arms, they were earning a fortune. What they failed to mention was that they rarely went there, they were more used to inviting ladies of fortune to their rooms.

 

The lonely man lying on his bed with erotic thoughts of a simple adventure made a mistake, and, taking a taxis, went there.

 

‘You want me take you my friend, he good tailor, make suit for tomorrow. He have virgin daughter, very nice.’ The moustachioed taxi driver plied his pimp trade!

 

The little man in the back did not know what to say. He summoned up his courage and said he wanted to go to Alkafa. The taxi driver looked at him in the rear view mirror,

 

‘Very dangerous, I take you safe place, recommended. I look after you.’

 

The little man was comforted by this, he needed some support, and nodded in agreement. The taxi turned down a street only lit by lights from bars and clip joints. Ladies of dubious age leered out of windows beckoning the passers by in. He turned up an alley that opened into a drive before an opulent looking house.

 

‘This for you. I wait you.’

 

The little man mounted the steps into another world. This was the east, ersatz perhaps, but the dazzling colours of the drapes, the thick Persian carpets, the smell of spices, the low lights added to the illusion. Ladies, some of them lads, with golden mesh see through yashmacs, and little else, moved among the tables, in sinuous silence.

 

A hand, with long tapered fingers touched his arm, and he was directed to a low table with yellow and green cushions, and with snap of the fingers a bottle of whiskey was placed in front of him. He tried to wave it away, but they insisted that it his to have. Persian cigarette smoke mingled with the aroma of Havana cigars.

 

He felt a slight tinge of panic, he was out of his depth, but he comforted himself with the thought that he could leave at any time. What a fool. He was entrapped in the oldest con of them all, and yet he looked around the room and saw dark men, some in flowing robes, sitting and laughing with their companions, and was encouraged by this. If they could do it so could he.

 

A lady of dubious age sat down beside him, her perfume overpowering him, tempered by a slight body odour.

 

’You like whiskey.’ She poured him a glass.

 

He looked across at her dimpled arms and thick thighs meeting a more than comfortable stomach. She was not quite the Arabian maid that he had envisaged, was that a slight moustache on her upper lip? He began to wish he was back in safety of the hotel.

 

’Ishta come in minute, you like her.’

 

The Stage is Set  

The strange haunting sounds of a stringed instrument filled the air, accompanied by the slow sinuous beat of a muffled drum. The lights lowered and on to the stage came Ishta. She made little movement at first, she seemed to move in and out of shadows created by the artful lighting. On minute there and the next gone. The music intensified, the drum beat louder. Her lips pouted and her eyes flashed, she moved her head so that her dark hair caressed her breasts. She moved her hair aside with a snake-like movement as though to invite you to her succulent nipples darkly surrounded by engaging aureoles.

 

The slow movement increased as the music became more intense. She swayed is if on the edge of a precipice, and then she moved with more sexual energy, her hips gyrating, and slowly her belly began to move in and out as her hips moved provocatively forward. The drum beat became more insistent and she moved from the stage and vibrated to its rhythm as she moved round the room.

 

She stopped at each table in turn, where men slipped pound and dollar notes into her G string. She stopped at the little man’s table, and kneeling before him ran her hand down his leg and up to his crotch. He was inflamed, and reached out to touch those captivating breasts, each one a jewel worth more than man’s desire, and she swung away from him, but not without a backward glance that promised much. The music had stopped.

 

The little man sat back bewildered by this display of open sexuality. He had not experienced anything like it before, and was in a trancelike state when a soft hand caressed his cheek. He looked round and there was Ishta! She was dressed in a diaphanous robe that lay across her body as though desiring it.

 

She smiled.

’Get rid of this.’

She pointed to the whisky, and two cokes magically appeared on the table.

’I think its time to leave.’

 

Her voice was, surprisingly, a soft American drawl, her eyes crinkled in a smile, ’I think we have much to discuss.’

 

The little man was in a state of expectant euphoria. Was this Aladdin’s cave or not? He gave himself over to the intrigue of the night, surely no one had experienced anything like this before. Outside there was a limousine waiting, he was ushered in and sat next to what was to become the love of his life. He did not observe a dark suited man pay off the waiting taxi.

 

The Seduction 

The weeks in Baghdad flew by, they had dragged before but now he wanted them to slow down even more. She was his constant companion. He was the envy of the expatriates at the bar. Although some saw a darker meaning to this little dalliance. Wise in the ways of the world they knew that you don’t get something for nothing. Some knew who she was, but what could they warn the little man of, they shrugged their shoulders and thought, good luck to him, under the circumstances they would risk giving it a go themselves. 

 

The little man was a man of virtue, he would not take advantage of a woman’s honour, anyway he was in love, and he treasured her. They spent more time in the hotel room, sharing secrets as she slowly seduced him with her wilful eyes, smiling seductive mouth, and, oh, those breasts. She took care to let him see her as she dried herself in front of the mirror. She sat upon his lap where the heat from her sexual lips aroused him beyond endurance.

 

They kissed infrequently, but she enticed him and dallied with him, until that afternoon they lay upon the bed and came together in a union made in heaven. On one occasion she had to go out, and he let her go with the intoxicating thought as to what would happen when she returned. A wiser man might have followed and witnessed the meetings she had with the man in the dark suit. But, as we all know, love is blind!

 

The Revelation 

Slowly he revealed what he had found, or more precisely what he had not found, in his search for atomic weapons or the rocketry to deliver them. He did not think of it as sensitive information, indeed it would soon be in his report. He did not think that for one moment it was putting his own life in danger!

 

Agent Angela 4026 of the CIA reported her findings to the man in the dark suit, whose report ended up on the Presidents desk. The plans for an attack on Iraq was well advanced. They would show these harbourers of evil what was what!

 

But there was a possible fly in the ointment, a weapons inspector was about to report that there were no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. This could not be allowed to happen. The British Government was informed; it was their man, and hence their baby.

 

One afternoon she did not return. He was distraught. He waited in vain, but it was of no use, he had been used and dumped, but he did not know that and the heartache remained. He was due to return in a few days time, but he was at a loss to know what to do. He even tried to find the house where he had first met Ishta, but it was of no avail.

 

He saw the very same taxi driver outside the hotel. When challenged he said it had closed, then he added, ’It very dangerous place.’ And so the little man spent more time in the bar on the last few nights of his stay in Baghdad.

 

Sound Advice

One night, as he sat at one of the tables when a rough-neck joined him. They drank in silence, until the heavily built man asked him what had happened to his little popsie? He listened to the little mans outpourings. He, agreed that it was sad, sad, sad, but that is the way it goes, when they get what they want they are off.

 

'But I didn’t give her anything,' said the little man.

'There must have been something, what did you talk about?'

'Only my job, and that could not have been much interest to her.'

'Oh, and what is that?'

'I am a weapons inspector for the United Nations.'

'You mean nuclear.'

'Yes, but there aren’t any, leastwise that I could find.'

 

The rough-neck looked at him long and hard.

'Don’t you read the papers, don’t you know that the Americans are spoiling for a fight based on WMP’s.'

'Yes?'

'And you haven’t found any? You have been keeping company with some very dangerous people, you are possibly in deep shit.'

He rose from the table.

‘Go home and watch your back‘.

 

Dark Forces

And so the little man delivered his report and went home with a deep heartache for lost love. Not far behind him, seated on the plane, was the man in the dark suit. He returned to his job at the weapons establishment, and tried to immerse himself in his work. He was a simple man and did not realise the storm that was brewing that would engulf him.

 

The first thing that should have warned him was two men who announced they were from special branch. They said it was a routine check that had he signed the official secrets act and was he aware of its significance. He was puzzled by this, he had forgotten that he ever signed one. 'Oh yes he said, I think so.' They seemed satisfied at this and left.

 

When he got home that night he thought someone had been in house. Nothing had been taken, just disturbed. Like most Englishmen he thought he had nothing to worry about, he was guarded by his rights, this was not a police state! Little did he know he was about to find out that it was as near as made no difference. There is no defence against special branch.

 

He realised when the next day they turned up demanding to see his computer. When he objected was quickly informed that this was part of his work and fell under the official secrets act, and as such was subject to any check they desired to make. But, he protested, you should give me some reason, some suspicion that gives you the right to take my personnel equipment.

 

The two men exchanged glances as if they were dealing with an idiot, and came out with the classic words that all governments use to excuse their actions, if you have done nothing wrong you have nothing to fear.

 

Wrong!; that is the time to mount every defence possible. He should have heeded the words of the rough-neck.

 

The Betrayal

The next call was from his head of department.

 

'I have been reading your report and I think there are inconsistencies in it that means that you cannot draw such a positive conclusion.'

'I examined all they allowed me to, with others I might add, and could find no evidence of atomic weapons.'

'But what about the ability to make the plutonium?'

'No evidence of that either.'

'But surely they could get their components from elsewhere, Pakistan, for instance.'

'Of course, but that was not in my remit.'

'But you can’t be certain, I think the conclusion should be shaded to include that doubt.'

 

He spent a long restless night churning over what had been suggested. But he stuck to his guns and would not change a word.

 

The Conivance

It takes a lot of preparation to go to war, and to hear, almost at the last minute, that there was document from a little known man of no repute that would put the exercise in doubt was not acceptable. Pressure was brought to bear on the Prime Minister of the British government. And so leaks began to doubt his professionalism, and indeed his probity. Strangely, although they knew abut his encounter in Baghdad they dare not use that because the press would have soon unravelled that deception. And so he was called before the Foreign Affairs Committee and grilled mercilessly.

 

He was clearly out of his depth, he had never been subjected to so much abuse before. He was an honest man fallen foul of the disreputability of a modern political system. He was distraught, depressed, and felt that he could not go on. Who could he turn to? He thought of Ishka, then of the warning of the man in the Baghdad bar.

 

The End Game

He went for a walk to consider these things, the maelstrom that he had been caught up in, and slowly his scientific brain moved into it’s proper groove. What had she been interested in: his work; what was she; American! What had happened since his return; he had been warned off in no uncertain terms; it now seemed it was all his fault. He smiled ruefully to himself as he remembered the words in the bar, ‘watch your back‘. He had been used, how could he have been so stupid. How could he get his own back; why the newspapers! He called one of the nationals. Then fatally he went on the BBC.

 

So now he was in the spotlight. He thought the only way out was to go back to Baghdad and face what he now thought of as a CIA plant. He had actually booked tickets. Then the little man walked to his death.

 

The path was a familiar one that he had walked many times, and he had taken his dogs with him. They raced, and sniffed about, but did not disturb the man in the dark suit who was waiting patiently to meet him.

 

They stood together talking for some time, we shall never know what about. A passer by who knew him thought it sounded a foreign tongue, maybe Arabic. Moments later he lay dying in the ditch verdict; suicide. Depressed or murdered, by whom, we shall never know. His grave lies in a nearby cemetery, occasionally visited by a soft spoken American lady, the only one who seems to mourn him.