Deep Black

68

At last, Jerry opened his mouth. ‘This may sound crazy, but the stuff Benzil and Rob told you about Nuhanovic – it’s kinda made me even more determined to get these shots. Maybe he really can stop some of the madness.’

I looked down at the burned-out building. ‘That’s worrying. Last time you went off taking pictures in this place it nearly got me killed.’

Jerry looked sheepish. ‘I know, I fucked up majorly. But it was worth it. We got to save someone’s life.’ His expression darkened. ‘Don’t you ever want to know what happened up there in the enclaves?’

Not really. He had tried to tell me enough times nine years ago, on the way back into the city. I’d already known as much about the atrocities as I wanted to. I’d told him to keep it for his grandchildren.

I helped myself to a Coke from the minibar. ‘You went up there because the papers were offering a hundred grand for a picture, right?’ What the fuck? He obviously wanted to tell me, so why not listen? At least he was talking.

‘Yup, a hundred grand. Fuck, I’d have run all the way naked with a rose up my ass for that kind of dough. Soon as we heard, Jason and I got a driver and set off north.

‘That road was seventy-five Ks of Dodge City. Two relief workers driving trucks had been killed a couple of days before on the same stretch. We were kinda hyper.

‘Three miles south of the enclave, we hit a Serb checkpoint. Jason was cool at that sort of stuff. He just pulled out a carton of two hundred and did some trading.

‘The village we came into had been totally fucked, man. I mean, every house had been hit. The Serbs had been pounding these guys for months. It was getting dark and we really started to freak, so we tried the UNHCR.’

I collapsed back on my bed and Jerry sat up on the edge of his to keep eye-contact. His face was alive for what seemed the first time in many days.

‘We found some nurses. A Frenchwoman, Nicole, was in charge. We expected to be fucked off with all the usual shit about UN regulations and journalists, but they were cool.

‘They told us the UN had tried parachuting food and medicine into the place at night. The women and children would hear the chutes open and run outside, waiting for the food to land. It was dark and they had tin cans on sticks with candles burning inside them. The Serbs just picked them off, firing at the lights.’ Jerry shook his head sadly. ‘Fuck, man, there was a story every way you turned.

‘In the morning Jason and I walked down into the village to look at their hardware. These Muslims were fighting back with anything they could get their hands on. Guys were fighting from trenches in gardens, from cellars. They were like ants, everywhere. I got sixteen rolls that morning.

‘Then all hell broke loose. We were walking back up the hill to the house when we started taking incoming. There was this young boy, no more than ten, just staggering about, bleeding and crying. His mother had a huge chunk of shrapnel in her back. The grandmother was trying to help.

‘Jason ran to fetch Nicole while I went to see what I could do. Not much, as it turned out. She was dying.

‘The boy had shrapnel in his hand. Nicole and her team did what they could for the two of them, but even I knew the mother needed surgery, and fast. Nicole wanted to take her to the UN base a couple of Ks away down the road. We had a vehicle, they didn’t. How could we just stand by and do nothing?

‘We got to the house, carrying the woman between us. The driver was up for it so we threw the back seats down and got her in. Jason and I got in with her; the kid and the grandmother sat in the front.

‘We’d only driven a mile or two out of the village when we ran into a Serb patrol. They told us to turn back – this lot were all of “fighting age”, even the grandmother. Luckily there was one carton of cigarettes left, and Jason did the deal.

‘Within half an hour, we were at the base. The boy’s name was Fikret, and he wanted to play for Manchester United when he grew up. He was a good kid.’

By now the empty Coke can was resting on my chest. His voice faded, and I turned to see him staring at the floor. ‘That it?’

‘The doctor said the mother’s only chance was to get to a proper hospital. She’d have to be evacuated in one of their APCs, but Fikret and the grandmother couldn’t travel in the APC as they weren’t wounded. UN regulations. Fuck that. He could have allowed them to travel if he’d had the balls.

‘I didn’t have the heart to tell Fikret. He was busy. His mother was swinging in and out of consciousness, and he was holding her hands, stroking her hair.

‘The APC turned up, and that UN fuck still wouldn’t let them travel with her. I gave him a hug. He cried on my shoulder for a bit, then he got himself together and explained what was happening to the grandmother.

‘As soon as the APC had left, we were all escorted off the base. We couldn’t drive them back to the village because we had nothing left to trade if we ran into the Serbs again. He knew that, and just took his grandmother’s hand and headed home. My last shot was of their backs as they walked up the road.’

I threw the Coke can at the waste-bin and just clipped its edge. In the old days I’d have lobbed it to the nearest Muslim so he could make a hand grenade. It seemed a waste of metal to follow UN regulations and crush it so that I didn’t break the arms embargo. ‘And that’s when you picked me up?’

‘Yup. And I know you don’t want to hear it, but I need to say thanks for saving my life.’

‘Thank-you accepted.’

He smiled. ‘I know you don’t mean it, but it makes me feel better. You want a coffee or something? I’ll go down.’

Jerry strapped on his bumbag. One of the downsides of being a photo man is the kit always has to be with you.

‘Yeah, why not? Frothy, no sugar.’

I watched him leave, and as the door closed behind him my eyes were drawn to the emergency-information sheet pinned to the back of it. I got up and studied the diagrams, but none of them seemed to show me what to do if I needed to run away from people armed with AKs. I dug around for my room card and went out on to the landing.

The coffee area was hidden under its stripy canvas canopy, but Jerry hadn’t got there yet. He was pacing up and down just outside the main doors, the Thuraya against his cheek. He wasn’t just testing for a signal, he was talking. The conversation ended and he disappeared under the tent.

I was back on my bed, channel-hopping for CNN or BBC World, when he came back with a cup and saucer in each hand. His coffee was black, with several sachets of sugar sitting in the saucer.

‘You sure that’s healthy?’

‘Few extra calories never hurt anyone.’ He handed me mine.

‘I meant all that phoning. You’re going to end up with a brain tumour.’

‘Just a quick one to DC. He’s got nothing new.’

It was eleven forty-three. The second prayer of the day was some time after midday. Times changed, depending on where you were in the world and daylight saving, all that sort of stuff. ‘Maybe we could make Zuhr?’

Jerry called down to Reception. They’d know prayer times, which would probably be in the papers anyway. Even if we missed the Salkic guy this time round, we could hang about, have a brew and something to eat, and try again during Asr.

Jerry got off the phone as I checked my bumbag. ‘One twenty. Plenty of time.’

We tuned the TV to a German soap with Serbo-Croat subtitles, put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, and headed for the lifts.

I looked down into the atrium. A group of five American troops were sitting by the coffee shop, getting into their brews and cigarettes. In this part of the world, they wore green BDUs and were part of SFOR. They’d probably been stationed in Germany before being posted here, and counted themselves lucky. Going by the size of them, they had a KFC at the camp gate that only sold family buckets. They didn’t look like their lean and mean mates who were getting the good news in Baghdad.