The Devil`s Feather Read Free Page A

transferred a month ago.”
    Surtees shook his head. “Then they haven’t kept their records up to date. As I’m sure you’re aware, everything’s fairly chaotic in Baghdad at the moment.” He closed the lid of his laptop. “We’re meticulous about our records, so you can rely on the information I’ve just given you.”
    I drew a Pinocchio doodle on my notepad so that he could see it. “Where’s O’Connell now? What’s he doing?”
    “I can’t answer that. Company policy re our employees is no different from Reuters’. Complete confidentiality. Would you expect anything less?”
    “Then talk generally,” I encouraged him. “What qualifies a man to teach restraint techniques to raw recruits in the most dangerous capital in the world? Knowledge of the law? A long and honourable career with Scotland Yard? A period in the military police, even? He appeared to be instructing dog-handlers, so I assume he has experience in that field? What sort of qualities does it need? Patience? A good control of his temper?”
    He folded his hands on the table. “No comment.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because your questions relate to a specific individual and I’ve already described the sort of people we recruit.”
    I extended Pinocchio’s nose. “You must think very highly of O’Connell, Mr. Surtees. He’s one of your few employees who’s not working in the private sector…or wasn’t until a week ago. I’m assuming the coalition only takes consultants with scrupulously clean records?”
    “Of course.”
    “So you checked O’Connell thoroughly?” Surtees nodded. “What’s his background? Where was he born? Where did he grow up? With a name like that he ought to be Irish.”
    “No comment.”
    I watched him for a moment. “When I knew him in Sierra Leone, he said he’d been with the SAS unit that stormed the Iranian embassy in London. Is that what he told you?”
    Surtees shook his head.
    “I knew it was a load of baloney,” I said amiably. “That embassy siege was twenty-four years ago and the unit was chosen for its experience. O’Connell would be a good fifty now if he’d been one of them…unless the SAS was recruiting teenagers in the late seventies.”
    “I’m not denying or confirming anything, Ms. Burns”—he tapped his watch—“and you’re running out of time.”
    I turned over a page of my notebook and did a quick sketch of MacKenzie’s feathered scimitar, showing it to Surtees. “He told one of my colleagues that the tattoo on the back of his head is a symbolic interpretation of the SAS winged dagger…it’s his personal tribute to a crushing victory over Islamic fundamentalists. Do you think it’s appropriate for a man who holds views like that to train Iraqi policemen?”
    Surtees shook his head again.
    “Meaning what? That he never trained them…or it’s not appropriate?”
    “Meaning, no comment.” He unbuckled his watch and laid it on the desk. “Time’s up,” he said.
    I tucked my pencil behind my ear and reached for my kitbag. “He’s working in a sensitive area. Control and restraint techniques are used to immobilize dangerous or violent suspects, and we’ve seen some graphic images of what happens when uneducated sadists end up in charge of detainees. I’m sure you recall that dogs were used to terrorize the prisoners at Abu Ghraib. It may not bother you if we have a repeat of it—you’ll wash your hands of it with some creative record-keeping—but it’ll bother me.”
    The man smiled slightly. “I’ll leave the creative side to you, Ms. Burns. I’m afraid I’m too slow-witted to follow your imaginative leaps from the misidentification of one of our employees to my being personally responsible for what went on in Abu Ghraib.”
    “Shame on you,” I said lightly. “I’d hoped you had more integrity.” I stuffed my notebook and pencil into my kitbag. “MacKenzie’s a violent man. When he was in Sierra Leone he couldn’t restrain himself…let alone