Mercenary Mum: My Journey from Young Mother to Baghdad Bodyguard (12 page)

I WAS BEING ROSTERED
on at the Convention Center nearly every day. Between the occasional client moves, we watched movies and mucked around on the internet. The days were a strange mix of being on intense alert, looking out for threats, and being profoundly bored. One evening, after a long day at the office, Merlin informed me that I was needed for a major mission. Our female client, Number Three, was giving a lecture at the University of Baghdad, and I would be her personal bodyguard. I was ecstatic: at last, I’d be used in a real close protection role and not just on some cowboy security task. This was what I had trained for.

The University of Baghdad was located a few kilometres into the Red Zone. I would join a reconnaissance party first thing the next morning. Number Three would be giving her speech in what was known unnervingly as ‘the Red Room’. We needed to make sure we were familiar with the site in order to make all the security arrangements for the mission.

As I was learning, things in my team never seemed to go smoothly. That night, I was told I would be used as the bodyguard who handled ‘female’ issues and that Smokey would be used as the ‘real’ bodyguard. If anything were to happen, it would be up to Smokey to step in and rescue the client.

What kind of bullshit is this? What do ‘female’ issues even mean?
I asked myself. Either I was used as the bodyguard or I was not. If I was only there to deal with ‘lady problems’, they should have just kept me as a normal team member. I was a fully trained bodyguard and my training was far superior to anyone else’s on the team. I was done biting my tongue.

I walked up to Merlin and told him that ‘job sharing’ the bodyguard duty was not on. Merlin argued that I would do everything a normal bodyguard would, except that Smokey would take over if anything untoward happened to the client. I told him that not only was it insulting to me, it was also unprofessional and potentially dangerous. What if I made the call that the client should be moved and Smokey disagreed? Whose assessment would take precedence? That sort of ambiguity in a dicey situation could prove fatal. No matter how I phrased it, Merlin just couldn’t see what my problem was – why I would take issue with not being trusted to do my job, despite the indisputable fact I was the best qualified person on the team to do it. I had to fall into line in the end, as unhappy about the decision as I was.

The next morning, seven of us trekked out to the University of Baghdad. Merlin and I were in the advance vehicle with a couple of other guys, and the CAT followed close behind. Being but a humble shooter in the rear of the vehicle, I was not given a map. Apparently, they were in short supply; it seemed an odd thing to skimp on. I had my personal GPS (a device used for navigating), so if I somehow got lost on the ground, at least I’d be able to find my way back to the Green Zone. Although, I’d been warned that the signal in this area was often patchy or completely unavailable.

Having trust in your team members is a big deal when they are navigating. In this case, Merlin was the man with the map. In the beginning, Merlin appeared to know where he was going, but it didn’t take long to realise that he was lost. Actually, ‘lost’ is too harsh a word. He wasn’t lost; he just couldn’t find the place we were looking for. He was trying to locate the security team that was providing protection to the International Republican Institute (IRI) members. Their site was in the Red Zone, a short distance away from the university.

The IRI security team was also attending Number Three’s lecture, and Merlin wanted to liaise with them on a few issues. Merlin frantically made phone calls to his contact, trying to work out where we were in relation to him. The contact guided us to their team site. There, Merlin spoke to the IRI guys for several minutes before we left for the university. This time there were no problems finding the place. We drove through the front gates and, following a few directions from local security staff, we found at the Red Room.

Merlin and Mr Happy, an Irish guy on the team, got out of the car to do a quick recon of the place. The rest of us were told to stay outside with the vehicles and be ready in case anything happened. While we waited, an Iraqi man came up to us. I tensed for a moment but he just wanted to talk. Although I didn’t understand much of what he was saying, it was clear he was making friendly conversation.

We told him we had to go when we spied Merlin and Mr Happy exiting the building. Our new mate gestured excitedly and seemed to ask us to wait a few minutes. The man raced off towards a nearby building, while Mr Happy took a few photos of the outside area. Not everyone goes on the reconnaissance trip so photos and film footage need to be brought back in order to brief the rest of the team. The more comprehensive the photos and the brief, the better prepared the whole team will be for the security task.

Back in our vehicles, we slowly began to drive away. The Iraqi man we had been speaking to rushed out of the building and tried to flag us down. He was holding two piles of what looked like roughly cut paper. Merlin rolled down his window a few inches and instantly we were overcome with the aroma of freshly baked bread. Merlin rolled his window down lower, and the man handed him two loaves.

We thanked him sincerely, our mouths watering. We stuffed the crusty warm bread into our mouths as we drove out of the university. It was difficult to look fierce and threatening with chipmunk cheeks full of delicious bread. The taste was too divine for me to care very much.

We arrived back at the team house and Merlin and Ghost went off to talk to Jeep, Smokey, Stu and Cat about the mission. As I took my kit off, I thought about just how top-heavy this team was. The command staff nearly outnumbered us proles. At orders, we were told our company headquarters was so excited about the task that the country manager had decided he wanted to be a part of team too. He was to be used as a sniper. I thought his sniper days were well and truly behind him, and that he’d be better off in his air-conditioned office, working on getting us some armoured vehicles.

It was getting late. Orders had finished and I was gearing up for my first major mission. The next day I would finally put my hard-earnt skills to the test: I was going to protect my female client on a real mission. I went to bed early, as I wanted to get a good night’s rest. As I was settling into bed, my phone beeped a couple of times: it was Ghost sending a few saucy text messages. I still didn’t know if I liked it or not. It was flattering, but dangerous. He was a team leader, and he struck me as the sort of man who didn’t like it when things didn’t go his way. I texted Ghost back but kept my response breezy.

I was playing with fire.

The next morning, while still lying in bed, I carefully went through a million different scenarios in my head.

Some deep insecurities surfaced, but I had to push them aside. This was no time for self-doubt. I told myself that I was good enough for the job – that, in fact, I was the most qualified, most experienced and best suited person for this particular job. It was my opportunity to show the guys on my team that I was their equal. I was not some pathetic little girl just there as a token. I was going to prove beyond doubt that I was a valuable member of the team; I’d show them my worth.

I stared blankly into my wardrobe. My teammates were going to be dressed in highly visible combat gear: webbing, rifles and their usual ‘war fighting’ rig. Whereas it had been decided that I would go low profile. Openly armed security personnel would not be allowed inside the auditorium while Number Three was delivering her lecture, as such an aggressive display would send the wrong message. That meant that my teammates – and all their kit – would have to remain outside the building.

I pulled out a pair of black suit pants and a conservative blouse. I concealed my pistol in my waistband and wore thick body armour over my torso. If the shit hit the fan, at least I would be able to shield Number Three with my body. My pistol provided only limited weapon capability, but it would hold me over until my teammates stormed the building and evacuated us.

I was set.

At one o’clock we drove over to the commissioners’ workplace. Stu and I walked into the building, with an extra suit of body armour for Number Three. As we strode through the corridors, office workers began to chatter to each other and look at us. They knew something was going on. We knocked on Number Three’s door and told her it was time to leave.

In an effort to be warm and welcoming, Stu attempted to shake hands with her. Immediately, Number Three shrieked and hid behind me. In Islam, touching a member of the opposite sex to whom you are not related is prohibited. I was surprised that this had not been part of the briefing. Stu apologised profusely and handed me the body armour before quickly leaving the room.

I explained to Number Three that I had some body armour, which would protect her while she was out in the Red Zone. I asked if she’d put it on. I might as well have asked her to dance for me. It didn’t matter how much I told her about the risk, she was adamant that she was not going to wear it. I radioed through to Stu to tell him what was going on. He came in and also tried to persuade Number Three to wear the body armour, but again she refused.

As security personnel, we have a duty of care to encourage the client in the strongest possible terms to wear the protection for their own safety. If a client refuses, there isn’t much to be done about it: they are the ones paying the bills. I warned Number Three that her level of protection would be lower than if she wore the armour. I don’t know if it interfered too much with the placement of her head scarf, or if she just felt too embarrassed to wear it public when other Iraqis had no protection? Either way, she would not be swayed.

Stu and I escorted Number Three down to the waiting vehicle. Stu said I’d have to share the back seat with her, thanks to there being ‘two bodyguards’. This wasn’t normal, and went against everything I knew to be the best way to keep our client safe. Smokey would sit in the front, ready to react if ‘something happened’.

I was still unclear on what my role was supposed to be in that situation. If the shit hit the fan, my first reaction would be to cover Number Three. There was no way I would just hide and wait for Smokey to take over. I talked it over with Stu and he understood. As far as he was concerned, Smokey was just along for the ride.

At the university, we got out of the vehicle and I started to escort Number Three to the Red Room. Usually a bodyguard will walk slightly behind the client, remaining as unobtrusive as possible. Number Three didn’t want me walking behind her; she wanted me right next to her. That was fine with me: it meant I could provide far better protection for her. At times she would even hold my arm to keep me close. It was plain to see that having a woman on the team was invaluable. We had built up a rapport and she trusted me. Number Three felt happy and safe with me because we were both women.

It can be intimidating and off-putting to be surrounded by so many big, fierce-looking men. If I – a strong-willed woman who has worked with men for many years – could feel that way at times, I could only imagine how someone like Number Three would feel. At any rate, having me around made the client feel a lot more comfortable, and seeing her vulnerable like that just made me feel more protective of her. She was my client, she needed me, and I would protect her. I wouldn’t let her down.

We entered the Red Room, and straightaway people swarmed around Number Three. Locals in their dozens had turned up to listen to her presentation, and wanted to have a few words with her. As the audience took their seats, I stood off to the side of the room, still within five metres of Number Three. Before the speech kicked off, I had been offered a seat several times. I initially refused, wanting to be ready to spring into action should something happen. I soon realised, however, that it was far better just to accept their generosity.

As Number Three delivered her presentation, I studied each member of the crowd. I looked for concealed weapons, agitated faces and restlessness. Some of them were busy studying me back, but most were focused on Number Three. She received thunderous applause at the end of her speech. Everyone wanted to thank her, but time was slipping away. She told me she wanted to leave so I carefully blocked her fans with my body and ushered her out of the building. As it turned out, I didn’t have to worry about that issue with Smokey. During the operation, he didn’t go anywhere near the client. He just stood outside, lighting up fag after fag.

The cars were outside waiting for us. We got into the vehicles and slowly rolled out of the university. We dropped Number Three back off at work. I walked her up to her office and she looked into my eyes and thanked me for being with her. I said goodbye and left, smiling to myself.

The day had gone well. I felt I had cemented my position on the team. My teammates even commented that they hadn’t realised I was so switched on. I chose to take that as a compliment, but really I was just happy that my skills were being put to good use.

IT WAS ANOTHER
run-of-the-mill day at the commissioners’ workplace, except that it was Thanksgiving. I walked across to the Al Rasheed with a couple of the American guys for lunch. After waiting in an extremely long queue, behind hundreds of soldiers, I was stunned when I entered the food hall. Streamers in red, white and blue were strung along the walls. Tables overflowing with food were everywhere: they were covered with turkey, baked potatoes, cranberry sauce and pecan pies. There were ice sculptures, butter sculptures, gingerbread houses and cakes. Thanksgiving was something I had only ever seen on sitcoms. I treasured sharing this occasion with my American teammates. Together we gave thanks for the wonderful food we were served, the friends we had made and our safety in Iraq so far.

I sat down with the two brothers, Wolf and Blade, as well as another guy named 51-50, who was a dead spit for Vin Diesel, with a tough exterior but a heart of gold. Ghost was always giving him shit about looking too gung-ho on the road: 51-50 refused to dress in local get-up, preferring to wear his protective kit and carry numerous weapons as overtly as possible. I didn’t agree with Ghost; 51-50’s appearance was in line with his job. He worked as part of the heavy weapons section of the CAT. They had to be gunned up and ready to impose massive amounts of firepower in order to get the rest of us out of the shit if insurgents struck. Besides, he was concealed in the back of the wagon. Who was going see him? I thought the reason Ghost didn’t like him was that 51-50 was an ex–navy SEAL, and very experienced in the world of security contracts. Perhaps there was some jealousy at play.

A few months back, 51-50 had been a member of a team providing security to a convoy travelling across the Iraqi desert. His team (or, more specifically, his vehicle) was hit with an IED. As he had been the only team member wearing full protective equipment, including hearing protection, 51-50 found himself the only one capable of reacting. When the noise of the explosion reverberated throughout the vehicle, shock set in and the ‘fog of war’ descended, leaving the other teammates stunned.

But 51-50 was able to fire back at the insurgents (most IED attacks are followed by small-arms fire). He was then able to drag his mates to safety before the other vehicles in his team came to his aid. Ghost could say whatever he wanted about 51-50, but it fell on deaf ears as far as I was concerned. Despite 51-50’s tough appearance, his personality was completely different. He was really quite in touch with his spiritual side, and was just a nice guy. Thanksgiving was one of the best days I had with my teammates.

Ghost, Merlin and Stu were due to fly out soon. They were all taking leave over the Christmas period, and there had been a mad scramble to appoint replacements when they realised at the last minute that their dates overlapped. It seemed problematic to have three team leaders on leave at the same time, but what did I know.

Jeep would take over from Stu as the overall team leader. Silver, a short, medium-build man in his forties, would become the advance team leader and Wolf the CAT commander. There was also the problem of what to do with their kit. Normally, it would be packed up, and when the person returned, they’d unpack their stuff wherever a spare bed was available.

The old team leaders weren’t happy with that idea. They wanted to come back to their original beds. They didn’t want to risk having to share a room with the other teammates, especially the Americans, after they came back. Already they driven Mr Happy out of their room as the guys kept making derogatory comments towards him. Ghost and Merlin put their heads together and came up with a solution: I was turfed out of my room, and moved into theirs. They argued that because I was close friends with them and Jeep, who they also shared with, they were suitable roommates. That way, they would be able to keep their beds free, as it was not appropriate that I share a room with anyone else. To give me some privacy, Merlin rearranged a couple of cupboards and strung up a curtain to screen off my small corner. I did still count these boys as my good friends, but there was something cavalier and unthinking about the way they were acting. The only things they considered when making decisions were matters that directly affected them.

Stu, Ghost and Merlin left the country the morning after they’d come up with the room-swap idea, and Jeep and I were left bunking together. Ghost hugged me goodbye, and whispered that he’d email me while he was gone, something I was not bothered about either way. I sort of liked him, but sort of didn’t. I did not want to confuse the feeling of being wanted with love.

*

Jeep was now in charge. As he was my friend and now roommate, I thought the new command structure would give me the chance to have some subtle input on tactical matters. Jeep could choose to use my advice or ignore it, of course, but at least it wouldn’t feel quite as if I was just yelling into the void.

That was not how things worked out. It was Silver who ended up really running the team. He was good friends with Jeep, but could recognise that his mate struggled with command issues. Every night, Silver would take Jeep through the rotation of personnel working at the Convention Center. The simple act of staff rostering was too much for our team leader, and recording it on a spreadsheet was downright impossible. I assisted Jeep with all things to do with the computer, while Silver wrote orders on a whiteboard for Jeep to recite.

It was not so bad to start off with, but things steadily grew worse. All the paperwork and other admin slipped through the cracks. The Americans were no longer accepting passports for entry into their gym facilities, and the company could not organise alternate passes for us. No gym facilities meant no fitness training. I was desperate to keep up my fitness level, so I’d do whatever necessary to ensure it was maintained. That said, I didn’t have a death wish. I was not going to put myself in an unsafe position by running around the Green Zone. Instead, I ran up and down our 200-metre-long street. It was less than ideal: the street was close to a dirt track and often very muddy; the generators ran nonstop outside the houses, filling the air with smoke fumes; and the local security guards would stare at me.

Frustrated at being gawked at like a freak, I changed to running up and down the stairs at the house. There were four flights of stairs and the rooftop, where I could do circuit training afterwards. Tomahawk, a Native American guy on my team, would practise his knife-fighting drills on the roof, as I skipped, did push-ups and squats, and shuttle ran to the music on my iPod.

Tomahawk was a quiet man, and he looked out for me. He was separated with two lovely children back in America. He wanted to earn as much as possible so that he could put them through college and give them a good life. One day, he showed me a letter he had written for his kids and some sacred items he wanted passed on to his children should anything happen to him in Iraq. He had a ritual involving these keepsakes that he would follow each time he left on a mission.

I was very touched that he had shared something so special and personal. We often spoke about our kids and how much they meant to us. I told Tomahawk that I had written two letters that would go to my son in the event I was killed in Iraq: a child’s version; and another that he could read after he turned eighteen. There are some things that can’t be explained to a child. I told Tomahawk that writing those letters was the hardest thing I had ever done.

Tomahawk looked at me with knowing eyes. He seemed to understand a lot more than he let on. He told me that my son loved me and that I would be with him again. He then gave me a set of rosary beads his boy had made at school. He wanted me to have them for good luck and as a reminder of our friendship. It was a moment I would remember for the rest of my life.