The Genesis Plague

38

‘What in God’s name—’ the combat engineer gasped. ‘What happened to those people?’

On the LCD panel, the bot’s camera swept slowly side to side for the second time, panning over the ghastly bone pile forming an enormous ring ten feet high.

‘Looks like a fucking mausoleum,’ Crawford grumbled.

Jason looked up at Hazo, knowing that for him, the images would slice deep. It was a similar portrait of mass death that drove Hazo to become an ally to the Americans.

The Kurd stared emptily at the screen.

In 2006, US forces had used satellite imagery to scan the Ash Sham Desert for undulating mounds that hinted at the presence of mass graves. Over 200 sites had been identified for potential exhumations. One of the first confirmed graves contained three dozen male skeletons wearing Kurdish attire, all of which had been blindfolded and bound with arms tied behind the back. Every skull bore an executioner’s bullet hole. Though most of the bodies could not be identified, Hazo’s father — formerly an industrious carpet retailer — had been carrying business cards in his vest pocket. The name on the card, Zirek Amedi, enabled forensic investigators to match dental records for the partial denture still affixed to the skeleton’s jawbone. The positive identification brought bittersweet closure for the victim’s surviving family members who’d already suffered tremendous loss at the hands of Saddam Hussein.

‘You should take a break,’ Jason said to Hazo in a low tone. ‘Have something to eat with the guys.’ He pointed to the cave entrance where Meat, Camel and Jam were blissfully spooning rehydrated beef stroganoff from foil packs.

Hazo sighed wearily and nodded. Then he went over to join the others.

‘Looks to me like another hiding place for evidence of Saddam’s genocide,’ Crawford said.

‘No,’ Jason said. The only similarity he saw here was the sheer number of bones. ‘Doesn’t look anything like Saddam’s handiwork.’

‘How so?’ Crawford challenged.

‘First off, not one of the skulls we’ve seen on that screen shows signs of execution. No bullet holes, fractures—’

‘Hey, smart guy, Sarin doesn’t leave its mark on bones,’ Crawford countered smartly.

Crawford was right. Sarin attacked the nervous system synapses. So once a victim’s soft tissue decomposed, evidence of the toxin would be erased. ‘There aren’t any clothes on those bones. No jewellery, nothing. How do you explain that?’

‘Maybe they burned the clothes, Yaeger,’ Crawford said. ‘Maybe they were a bunch of sick perverts who liked playing games with naked Kurds. Does it really matter? And we both know that soldiers have sticky fingers, would have confiscated any jewellery and valuables. For all we know, these bones might have been exhumed from another site and moved here for safekeeping.’

Jason wasn’t buying the colonel’s argument, but held back a rebuttal. Crawford was clearly determined to see things his way.

‘Wait …’ the engineer interjected. ‘Look at this,’ she said.

Crawford and Jason turned their attention back to the screen.

‘See this?’ she said, pointing to something on the wall just to the right of where the bot had entered the cave. ‘Looks similar to the pictures and writing on the wall of the entry tunnel.’

Jason examined the image. A section of the wall had been hewn flat, then covered in relief images and lines of wedge-shaped text.

‘More pictures and scribble,’ Crawford said. ‘Let’s cut the—’

But the colonel was cut short by a bellowing blast that echoed out from the cave and shook the ground.