little boys and girls—’
‘You rebuild our country, yes . . . but in your image!’ Farid replied, his soft voice raised ever so slightly in pitch. It was the first time Andy had seen the normally placid old man raise his voice in anger. Under the stress, his very good English began to fracture a little.
‘We not wanting our girls go to school, to learn how to become business lady, to dance around undressed in exercise gym before other men, to do power lunch, make big business deals. We do not want to buy McDonald burgers, or Coke, or Pepsi, or cowboy boots.’
Farid came to an abrupt halt, ground his teeth in silence and stared out of the window at the moonlit desert. ‘It still our country. Only Iraqi people can know how to make fixed again, like a puzzle. We know what all the pieces is . . . are, and how they going together. You Americans don’t even know what picture is on the jigsaw!’
Mike laughed. ‘Oh Jesus, what a load of crap. I tell you this - I know you ain’t got your goddamned pieces right when you have women and children blown to bloody shreds in the marketplaces every day. The best chance you had of rebuilding this shit-pit piece of desert you call a country, was when we rolled in and knocked over Saddam’s statue. And you threw that chance right back in our faces. And frankly all we’ve ever wanted to do since, is get the fuck out again.’
Farid shook his head. ‘Everyone know why America comes here.’
‘Let’s just leave it there,’ said Andy addressing both men. ‘We don’t need—’
‘Shit! Who are you? My mom?’ snapped Mike.
‘I’m just saying we can do without this right now.’
‘Yeah right, this is bullshit,’ his deep voice rumbled. He opened the back door and stepped out, slamming the door behind him.
They watched his large frame, a dark silhouette against the glowing, pale blue moonlit ground, fade quickly into the night. A moment later they saw the flare of a match, and then a glowing orange tip move up and down every so often.
‘He just like every American,’ Farid muttered.
‘Farid, enough of this for one night, okay?’ said Andy quietly looking sternly at the old man. ‘They,’ he said nodding towards Mike, ‘want to get out of here just as much as you want them out. It’s not your oil they’re here for.’
The translator looked less than convinced by that assurance, but he offered no reply. After a moment’s silence listening to the gritty dust tinkle against the windows, blown across by a lively breeze, he stirred.
‘I get rest now,’ he said before bidding goodnight to Andy and Erich and leaving their Land Cruiser for the other one.
Andy shook his head at those words.
It’s not your oil they’re here for.
If only it were that simple. Anyone who had a fair understanding of Iraq’s complete incapacity to pump and export oil knew that. Anyone who’d taken the time to look at the much bigger picture knew that. Anyone who took the time to research the long-term game-plan knew that. If Andy was asked why the Americans were over here and was only allowed to give one straight and clear reason, just to make this complex scenario simple and digestible, he knew what answer he would give.
They’re here to keep the Saudis in line.
The Gulf War, the second one at least, wasn’t about hunting down Al-Qaeda, it hadn’t been about finding weapons of mass destruction, nor about removing a dictator. It had been about placing a permanent and very visible military presence right in the middle of all of these oil-producing nations. A crystal clear warning to all of them, particularly the Saudis, that they better just keep on playing ball with America.
And now it looked like things had all gone wrong.
He suspected the focus for US forces would be damage limitation, a desperate attempt to guard and preserve the oil facilities in Saudi, and for that matter in Kuwait, Oman and the other big producers. He wondered, however, if they’d be able to put a lid on this thing before every other refinery and pump station in this part of the world ended up looking like IT-1B, the burned-out shell they’d been picking over this morning.
Christ, if all of the Arabian oil producers head that way . . .?
This was a scenario, one of many, he had imagined could happen. And that’s all it would take to start things tumbling