He glanced over at me, “Hey, I’m a black motherfucker, yet the brass gave me this candy job. They’ve let me plant my black ass in a fancy office doing almost nothing, and then at night I go out and take my pick from hundreds of naked girls. In fact, you see all these girls in here? I’ve had them all! I’m like fucking Brad Pitt! And why do you think the US is feeding me all this candy?
“Free rides don’t exist. I’m here because I’m now a member of the ‘Keep your mouth shut and we’ll feed you candy brigade’.” I stared at him a little puzzled. “I was in Mukaradeeb,” he continued. I heard him, but it took a while before it dawned on me. It’s something that every veteran of Iraq knows about.
The Mukaradeeb wedding-party massacre
The village was called Mukaradeeb, which means The Wolves Den, and was made up of just a few dozen houses on the Iraqi side of the Syrian border. The wedding was set to be one of the biggest events of the year in this usually sleepy village. Haji Rakat, the father, had succeeded in arranging two marriages that would bring together the town’s two largest families, the Rakats and the Sabahs. The first wedding ceremony was between Haji Rakat’s second son, Ashad, and Rutba, a cousin from the Sabah family. The second ceremony was between Ashad’s female cousin, Sharifa, who would marry Munawar from the Sabah family. A large traditional Bedouin tent was erected in the garden of the Rakat family villa for the wedding-party venue. Hamid Abdullah – the director of the Music of Arts recording studio in Ramadi, the nearest town – had arranged for a group of musicians to perform at the ceremony. The musicians included Hussein al-Ali, a popular Iraqi singer who had been on local television, and his brother Mohamad, who was to play the drums and keyboard.
By late evening, when the wedding party had already run out of steam, there suddenly came the roar of jets overhead. Meanwhile, a column of headlights in the distance steadily trundled through the desert towards the village. The party had already ended and most guests were asleep. Bombs began raining down, destroying the village. Once the bombing had stopped, armoured vehicles drove into the village, supported by helicopter gunships. Troops armed with machine guns then shot indiscriminately at people both outside and within the bombed-out houses. Haleema Shihab grabbed her seven-month-old baby and the hand of her five-year-old son, and started running. Her fifteen-year-old son Ali ran alongside her until Shibab was hit by a bullet that fractured her leg. Another shell injured Shihab’s left arm. The baby remained alive in her arms but her two boys lay dead. Her stepdaughter Iqbal managed to catch up with her as they attempted to hide in a bomb crater. American soldiers scoured the area. A soldier kicked her to see if she was alive, and she and Iqbal lay as still as they could while pretending to be dead. Before dawn, two large Chinook helicopters descended and offloaded a few dozen more troops. The soldiers set explosives in the Rakat villa and the building next to it. They left minutes later in the Chinooks and the explosions turned the buildings into rubble.
The Mukaradeeb wedding party massacre took place not long after the Abu Ghraib prison scandal. In this American prison, Baghdad civilians had been physically and sexually abused, tortured, raped, sodomized, and murdered. Another PR disaster loomed and needed to be avoided at all cost, leading the US army to begin a cover-up operation.
Only days after the massacre, all participants were debriefed and relocated to locations far from Iraq and from each other to more desirable posts, such as the Marine Corps Base in Hawaii, the Sigonella Air Station in Sicily, the Morón Air Base in Seville and the Naval Support Activity in Naples. Many were assigned as security details to US embassies throughout the world.
Tony
I couldn’t look the man in the eye. God knows I’m not holy; I’ve committed enough sins in my own life that can never be forgiven, regardless of what those religious nuts say, but here I was sitting next to a man involved in the killing of children.
The Marine reacted as though he’d seen the same reaction as mine many times before. “Look at yourself – you travelled to a foreign country to do harm, you will hurt and probably kill a guy because you hate him for what he did. Don’t deny it. We both know you aren’t here to pat him on the back, so there are some similarities between us, aren’t there?”
“I didn’t travel to a foreign country to kill women and children!” I replied.
“You didn’t come to a foreign country to kill kids, and I didn’t go to Iraq to kill them either, but that wasn’t my decision to make, was it? When I got there the village was full of dead kids, women and men, but that was after the bombs. The pilots didn’t want to kill kids either, and neither did the commander, but we weren’t there for a Sunday walk. Do I give a fuck? Of course not; these people kill! They kill because their religion tells them to. They torture animals to death and call it ‘Halal’ because their religion tells them to. They eat that shit every day and it makes them violent. They kill, rape, and torture, and when they go home, they put their wives in burkas and beat them. So no, I don’t give a fuck that those Muslims died. As far as I’m concerned there’s only one way to fix the Middle East, and that’s nuking the fucking place. And no, I don’t give two fucks about what you’re going to do with that guy once you find him.” After finishing his rant, he pulled out his smartphone and searched online for something. When he found it, he handed the smartphone over to me:
Frank Reitz Corporate Investigator
Threat & Risk Investigations
Company Background Check and Due Diligence
UC Building, 28th floor
Silom Rd. 654/21, Bangkok
“You should talk to this guy,” the marine said. I copied down the details and nodded my thanks. We chatted a little more, but by this point our conversation had run out of steam, and soon after I downed the last of my drink and returned to the apartment in Thonglor. The following day I tried to get an appointment with the corporate investigator, but only managed to get through to him late in the afternoon, meaning yet another lost day. The good news was that he was available to see me the following morning, so there was only one more evening to kill. This time I decided not to go out and spent the rest of the day at the Centre Point building where I was staying. There was a complete floor dedicated to a spa and onsen (Japanese hot spring), outdoor and indoor Jacuzzis, and there was a business lounge with an upscale-dining room on the floor below. I spent a few hours relaxing in the Japanese-style onsen, and then in the outdoor Jacuzzi while I watched the sunset before getting ready for dinner. As I entered the lift, two women stepped out. I realized one of the women looked somewhat familiar, but shrugged it off, and didn’t give it further thought.
The BTS Skytrain was a great way of avoiding the traffic and congestion of Bangkok, and I had no trouble getting to the office of Frank Reitz, the corporate investigator. He was dressed in a polo shirt and casual trousers – not your typical office attire – and carried a slim file. He guided me into a glass cubicle meeting room and opened the file on the table. It contained a report and some photographs of several people.
“This information is all in the open,” he informed me. “Most foreign embassies are very well aware of what’s going on. In fact, I prepared the report you see in front of you a few years ago for an embassy here in Bangkok. In Thailand, investment crime first occurred on a large scale when the American SEC, the main federal government agency responsible for protecting investors, outlawed these activities in the US. Non-bona fide firms moved to countries that had laws more favourable to them, or more ideally, where such laws didn’t exist at all. Many moved here to Thailand. In theory, investment firms here are subject to some regulations, but these are rarely enforced due to the incompetence of the relevant authorities, and of course as always, due to the rampant corruption. The guys you’re after aren’t involved in just bogus investment schemes. It’s not as if they can invest their earnings in the stock market. They also have their fingers in illegal gambling rings and prostitution. The money they spend on paying off police and other key figures makes them almost inv
ulnerable. The American and other governments send out warnings, but there isn’t much they can actually do because these things are out of their jurisdiction, and let’s be realistic – no one is pointing a gun, and this is hardly terrorism. It’s the perfect crime.”
He handed me the folder. In addition to the photos and some other documents, there was a copy of the Facebook page of the guy I’d been looking for.
8
Chapter 8
Tony
She immediately caught my eye as soon as I stepped into the hotel lobby in Bangkok. I recognized her this time. How could I not; how many Thais have green eyes? Yayee said she was here to service a customer, and so wasn’t in a position to talk much, which was fine by me. I felt a little uncomfortable to be seen with a ladyboy, even though this one wasn’t recognizably so. She introduced me to the friend who’d been with her in the lift the previous night.
“I’m Nid,” she said. She had a fresh and young appearance, and I wondered how she’d got involved with a ladyboy prostitute. Yayee soon disappeared to join her customer in his suite upstairs. Apparently he was a Chinese guy who had something to do with computers. In Yayee’s absence I decided to invite Nid for a drink in the hotel bar. She used to work at a 7-Eleven store and was surprisingly good company, well-spoken and well-mannered. Only after a few minutes of talking did it become apparent that she also sold sex. She was exactly my type – high heels, a cute ass and small but firm boobs – so I took her up on her offer.
She came out of the bathroom wrapped tightly in a towel that revealed her gorgeous figure. I asked her to replace the towel with her high heels and nothing else. After a moment’s hesitation, she smiled and did as I’d asked. She had a shaven pussy which smelled fresh and her ass looked delicious. In my opinion, Thai women are among the cleanest in the world. Unfortunately for me though, there was no way my cock was going to fit in there, so I made her suck it first and then let her ride it. She spat on my cock and rubbed the head before positioning herself over it to make a smooth insertion. I was amazed at how such a small body could take it all, and she kept her hips moving until I exploded inside her. She continued nonetheless, squeezing her pussy until the last drop. Even after finishing I liked her too much for her to leave, and so I asked her to stay until the following day.
Besides being a skilled hooker, she was pleasant company, as I’d discovered earlier, and had her own opinion about almost everything. When I told her I’d like to watch a Muay Thai boxing match, she was immediately on the phone to make a reservation for a match at Impact Arena in the Muang Thong Thani stadium on the outskirts of Bangkok. When the reservation came through, I asked her to order a taxi, and she said it was more convenient to take her own car. I was again surprised that Nid was truly much more than just a hooker.
Nid’s story: Ten years earlier
The tiny shack was fully exposed to the sun. There was no furniture, and a woman, bathed in sweat, lay on the sheets of cardboard strewn over the bare floor. The pre-teen girl sitting beside her couldn’t help much, but she tried to cool her mother’s face with a wet towel. She had collected rainwater from the tin roof and tried to make her mother drink it from a plastic bottle, but to no avail; the woman was no longer able to swallow. It was clear she was going to die. The girl was exhausted from taking care of her mother for weeks and there was no money for food. She had to leave her mother alone each day to clean dishes at a pavement restaurant. She earned very little, but each day the owner gave her some leftover food. After her mother finally appeared to be asleep, Nid collapsed beside her and fell into a deep comatose sleep herself. By the time she awoke it was late morning. Her mother’s body had already stiffened. She didn’t cry though, since in the slum the death had been around her as long as she could remember, and she’d reached a point where her mother’s passing felt like a relief. Male neighbours carried the body over to the local temple where monks performed chanting sessions before the cremation. The reduced fee of three hundred baht was waived.
Later that same day, the village head delivered the girl to a nearby Christian orphanage. The orphanage was urgently looking for new children to keep the donations flowing in, and in return for supplying a new child the village head received one thousand baht in cash.
Thailand’s orphanages
“Orphanage tourism” is an increasingly common problem. It means that longer staying tourists pay to work as volunteers in orphanages for pre-arranged periods while on vacation. This type of tourism has become particularly popular among young western backpackers. The relations between the orphans and the backpackers last only a few weeks or months, not long enough for the children to form any lasting or stable emotional bonds with the often well-intentioned westerners that are temporarily caring for them. The children go through repeated cycles of getting close to these volunteers only to say goodbye before having to start afresh with a new set.
This cycle is of course very damaging to the children’s emotional welfare. Sometimes they’re deliberately underfed and given only basic accommodation in order to make volunteers feel sympathetic and give larger donations. There are numerous examples of backpackers that have raised thousands of dollars through online appeals to fund these orphanages. Such young westerners then pay to do sponsored volunteer work that will enhance their resume later. In other words, vulnerable children have become a commodity in this lucrative industry.
Religious orphanages are a problem that is centuries-old. The well-being of children in these institutions is secondary to spreading the religion to young children that are vulnerable and impressionable. Ninety-nine percent of people indoctrinated with a religion during childhood will never change their faith.
Gates and walls often imprison the children inside the orphanage homes. They are allowed to leave the premises only on Sundays when they’re expected to attend a church service. During the week, they’re cared for by the tourist volunteers recruited through churches or other religious organizations. The children are made to sing Christian hymns and pray before receiving their meals. Religious orphanages were among the first to sell sponsored volunteer work to backpackers and other westerners. Also, for religious types, the money is just too good to ignore. Numerous local orphanages face financial difficulties because they don’t enjoy the steady flow of money from foreign religious organizations or sponsored volunteers.
9
Chapter 9
Orphanage life
Nid’s life changed dramatically from the day she went to live at the orphanage. When she arrived, she was bathed and her clothes taken away and replaced by the institution uniform consisting of a flannel shirt and a knee-length skirt. A fine-toothed comb was scraped painfully across her scalp in search of lice and nits. Her orphanage life had begun.
In unison with the other children, Nid recited prayers before and after eating each meal and before going to bed. On Sundays, the orphans were marched to church for the morning and evening services. Nid didn’t understand what the prayers meant, they were very different to the ones she was used to at the Buddhist temple, but it seemed a small price to pay for a roof over her head and food in her stomach.
The Christian charity that ran the orphanage enforced strict discipline and a rigid schedule. There was little, if any, tolerance for creativity or fun. Each morning, nuns came around to wake the orphans at six, then breakfast was at seven, followed by kitchen duties and cleaning 30 minutes later. Classes lasted from nine until five, with an hour’s lunch break at noon. The dorm had a communal shower, which was used by ten girls at once and offered no privacy. Nid had no problem being naked in full view of the other girls, and soon realized that no one was interested. She soon caught herself examining the other girls’ bodies. One day she met her classmate Tukataa in the shower room. The girl was in the same class as Nid despite being two years older. “Hi, Nid!” shouted Tukataa. A skinny girl with a boyish hairstyle, her breasts had just started to develop. Her nipples were like small dark buttons and her ribs were clearly visibl
e. She was one of many ragged children who had dodged between cars begging and prostituting themselves before arriving at the orphanage. They would wait at traffic junctions with thin pinched faces and anxious eyes to tap on car windows in a desperate attempt to sell their goods. The police had brought her to the orphanage just a year earlier when she was 13. Tukataa had bruises and marks on her bottom where she’d been disciplined for running away from the orphanage. Those caught trying to run away got sixteen strokes distributed equally between the hands and bottom, and administered in front of the entire school. It was a matter of pride not to cry while receiving the strokes. Weeping not only lost you sympathy, but also exposed cry-babies to jeering and bullying from the other orphans.
Tukataa became Nid’s best friend within just a few weeks of arriving at the orphanage. They showered and slept together, helped each other with their homework, did their cleaning chores together and giggled at the boys who lived in the boy’s dorm.
They were both enrolled in Matthayom, which in the Thai education system is the third school for pupils up to the age of 17. The school provided only basic education, but western volunteers wishing to gain experience also offered some English-language teaching. Despite having missed a lot of classes at the temple school, Nid easily caught up with the other orphans. But Tukataa had problems focusing, probably due to the molestation and yabaa (the drug made of methamphetamine and caffeine) she had taken before arriving at the orphanage.
The Second Poison Page 5