Malik was dead.
An Iraqi lieutenant - the man with the deep voice - had walked over to the injured agent, examined him briefly, and pulled out a handgun. Then the lieutenant had fired two bullets into Malik's brain.
There was nothing Shane could do. He tried to step forward to intercede, but someone struck the back of his legs with a rifle and he fell to his knees. From there, with several rifles pointed in his direction, he could only watch helplessly.
"He was just a kid," Shane said, trying to control his emotions, but failing. He struggled to steady his voice. ". . . just a kid."
The lieutenant turned away from the body and looked at Shane. Fingering the pistol, the lieutenant said, "He was a criminal who deserved to die."
Falling apart won't help anyone, Shane told himself. He took a deep breath and shook his head. "He was entitled to humane treatment under the Geneva Convention."
The lieutenant sneered. "Where are your uniforms? Your insignia? You have none. That makes you spies unprotected by any treaty."
Staring down the barrels of automatic rifles was not exactly a way Shane had ever pictured how he might wind up debating a finer point of international law, but he also knew it might be the only thing that could save him from Malik's fate. "Article Five of the Fourth Geneva Convention states that even spies are entitled to be treated with 'humanity' and are entitled to trial." That was not completely accurate; Shane was leaving out a key part, but that detail was not something the lieutenant would know.
"That provision applies only in occupied territory," the lieutenant said. "This is the sovereign land of Iraq, not land occupied by another country, especially by you Americans."
Great, Shane thought. I just had to get captured by probably the only Iraqi officer who actually knows what the Geneva Convention says. "I'm English actually," he said, casually.
That did not seem to go over well. Still holding his pistol, the lieutenant began circling Shane. "Now that we are done with our little discussion and you see that I have every right to shoot you right now, tell me where Ahmed Salim is?"
"He died in the helicopter crash," Shane lied. So far, nobody had found Salim's hiding place and, while Shane had not been able to look behind him to the rock formation, he assumed some soldiers had checked it out.
"We found no body," the lieutenant said, stopping front of Shane.
"That is right." Shane looked him right in the eyes. "I buried him in the sand. Your leader will have to look elsewhere for trophies."
The lieutenant laughed. "That hardly matters. An English spy will make a far superior trophy. Alive or dead."
"Then go ahead and shoot me," Shane said. At this point, that would be far better than being taken back to Baghdad for a sham trial and public execution. Shane would do whatever he could to spare Kim and his children suffering through that.
Something in Shane's tone set off the lieutenant. "Where is Salim!" he growled, his voice rising.
"I told you, mate." Shane switched to English just to annoy the other man. "He's dead."
The lieutenant swung an arm around and struck Shane in the side of the head with the butt of his pistol. The world exploded into a wall of white, and Shane fell sideways to the ground. A couple of soldiers pulled him back to a kneeling position while he blinked several times in an attempt to clear the white spots that were obscuring his vision.
Switching back to Arabic, Shane spoke slowly. "I already told you. Salim is dead. He was not strapped in when the helicopter crashed."
"You are lying," said the lieutenant. "Salim was the reason you came here. You would have done everything possible to keep him alive."
Shane shrugged. "It does not really matter to my bosses if he is dead or not. As long as he is not making bombs for your boss, my bosses are happy." That earned him another strike from the butt of the pistol. Shane fell again to the ground. This time, he could feel blood running down the side of his face. The blow had probably reopened the gash on his head.
"There you go wasting a perfectly good bandage," he said, as the soldiers pulled him back to his knees. Shane was not thrilled to realize that the soldiers did not let go of his arms this time. They obviously intended to keep him upright as the beating continued. Shane reminded himself that he had been through worse, as he looked at the lieutenant and, in a very calm voice, said, "You can beat me all you want, but it will not change anything. Salim is still dead, and you are not going to find the body."
The lieutenant lashed out again. Shane did not fall this time because he was being held, but the desert began to spin. For a moment, he wondered why the sky was down and the brown sand was up, but then everything started to return to its proper place. Or did it? A lot of things kept spinning.
Shane could not raise his head, but he could see the lieutenant's feet, which were pacing back and forth in front of him. One of the guards behind Shane grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head up. The lieutenant stopped and aimed the pistol at Shane's head.
Good. The thought managed to cut through the fog in his brain. Let's get this over with. He was going to smile to irritate the lieutenant even more, to goad him into firing, but the soldier holding Shane's head let go and his head dropped forward. Then his arms came free and he found himself falling toward the dry sand.
Shane was already losing consciousness when the shot rang out. But as he faded out, he wondered, If I'm dead, why do I keep hearing gunshots?