The Cobra Identity

by Frank Perry

forty kilos!”

  “Sir, I hope you will get some traction with your feet and I won’t have to carry all the weight, but if you slip, I can handle it. You just need to remain silent. If you slip and get hurt, keep it to yourself. Do you understand?”

  The Sheik was from a royal bloodline and wasn’t used to being talked to like this, but he said nothing in protest. “I understand your instructions.”

  “Good. Now let’s get you tied up.”

  He began lacing the climbing rope around the Minister’s legs and waist, understanding the indignity that the man was feeling. They would be in great peril from this point on until reaching the submarine.

  Once the harness was complete, Peter led the minister to the window and helped him straddle the rail before releasing him to climb down. The man looked terrified. Braced against the interior window frame, Peter felt the enormous weight, over three hundred pounds, sliding down the side of the house. After releasing ten feet of rope, there was a loud bang as the fat man’s foot struck the window below. He dropped the minister to the ground, expecting to hear a rush of security personnel.

  He stood motionless in the open window frame listening for activity inside the house or from the guards outside. He peered down as the minister rolled, trying to stand. He felt like yelling at the slug to remain still, but instead, put the pack on his back and passed the remaining rope through the rail, using the doubled line to descend. As he stepped over the rail, he closed the windows before lowering to the ground. Once there, he held the Minister down for a moment signaling him to remain still and silent.

  Peter recovered the rope and coiled it. “Sir, I’m going to climb that wall and pull you up, you will need to try to help climb if you can.”

  Still smarting from the drop to the ground, the Minister pulled to his feet with Peter’s help. Together, they stumbled to the wall. Peter tossed the rope over the top and climbed up the uneven stones. Once on the top, he stood upright to get leverage to help pull the fat man upward. With a heave from above, the Minister began to claw at the stone outcroppings as Peter used his strength to get the man to the top with him. The Minister slipped several times, bruising his legs and bleeding from his fingers and knees. It took over a minute to reach the top of the wall and another one getting him down into the neighbor’s grounds.

  Once behind the wall, Peter found the gate at the back of the yard leading to the alley, which they would use rather than try to scale another wall. The man was limping and whimpering as they moved. As they passed through the gate, the Minister tugged on Peter’s arm while taking deep breaths saying, “My neighbor, my neighbor is away. I know where his car keys are kept. We can use his car to escape.”

  Peter replied, “They will be using every asset searching the country for you and the roads will be blocked. We’re taking the train. We need to get a long start before they discover you’re gone.”

  The Minister looked incredulously at Peter, “My good sir, I do not travel by train. You dress me like a beggar, and now you expect me to share space with cattle? I cannot do it!”

  Deliberately harsh, Peter responded, “Look sir, I’m risking my life to help you and you will do exactly as I say, or we’ll both hang! Now, sit down for a minute, I have some really bad news for you.”

  Ali Abu Qatada pursed his lips and looked like he would pout, but sat down awkwardly against the fence in the alley as instructed. As he was lumbering down, Peter removed his backpack and pulled out scissors and a cordless shaver. “Now, we’re going to make you look like a Christian.”

  “You cannot! I beg you, my religious beliefs require that I wear a full beard and short mustache!”

  Without responding, Peter went to work scissoring ten inches of whiskers from the beard before finishing the job with the shaver. The Minister’s face looked like a moon reflecting in the darkness.

  Throwing the hairy remnants over the fence into the bushes, Peter said, “Okay sir, let’s get you on your feet and start walking.”

  He threw the backpack over one shoulder and helped the fat man to his feet. He hoped the minister could walk five blocks to the train station. Abu Qatada was a distinctive person in his native dress and beard, and would be impossible to conceal in public. But the roly-poly Christian with Peter was indistinguishable.

  As they rounded the corner at the end of the alley they were alone on the city streets walking toward the museum complex, with the train station on the other side. They were conspicuous as non-Muslims on the streets. As they walked, Peter remained vigilant, looking for any sign of discovery. As they passed onto the mall area of the museums, more people were strolling. It was still dinnertime by local standards. Many of the people were tourists, so they were ignored walking across the Avenue and down the stairway leading to the train. Peter had previously purchased enough tokens for them both to travel to the central station. They sat in a forward seat of the train car, while most of the Muslim passengers avoided looking at them or sitting nearby. The Minister sat stern-faced without saying anything. He was accustomed to people recognizing him and paying respects.

  At metro center, they were able to transfer to the main rail lines serving the country. Peter bought two economy-class tickets to Bushehr. This was done to remain inconspicuous, but the Minister was even more agitated than before. As they entered the car with general passengers, Peter selected a seat near the back of the coach with clear vision forward. Once again, the native passengers shunned them. The Minister sat by the window peering out into the darkness as the train pulled beyond the city limits. As the lights dimmed in the compartment, Peter reached into his pack and pulled out a tattered wallet that contained a driver’s license and passport for an Iranian Christian who looked similar to the Minister, but much younger. The Minister scoffed again, “I have never driven my own car. This I cannot fake.”

  “Take these and memorize everything. If you get questioned, it will probably mean the difference between living and dying if you cannot appear genuine.”

  “I shall be mentioning your insubordination to your superiors when we get to the States.”

  Peter retorted, “That shall be my pleasure, sir. At least I will have fulfilled my mission. To do otherwise will find you and me together on the gallows, where you can complain to your last breath.”

  With that, Peter slumped in the seat intending to rest. It would take eight hours to reach the coast and he could only pray that the Minister was not discovered missing.

  Wounded

  It was nearly dawn when the train approached Bushehr station. Peter was alert, sitting upright in his seat, looking out of the window. As the train slowed, he pulled his GSM phone from his pocket and dialed eleven digits. After one ring he said, “The package is secure and we are nearly home.”

  He didn’t wait for a response. This was the signal for the SEALS to meet them on the beach. Unfortunately, daylight was beginning to break along the distant mountain ridge. As they began approaching the train station, most people were still dozing, but both Peter and the Minister were looking for signs of danger. As they entered the station, the Minister had a better view farther down the ramp. He bolted upright saying, “Oh mighty Allah, there are soldiers waiting for us.”

  Peter tried to peer forward, “All right, be calm. You have papers and we don’t know if this has anything to do with you.”

  “You know they are for me! Why else would soldiers be used? I am a dead man and will die having discarded my Muslim beliefs! What have you done to me!”

  He was sweating profusely as Peter continued to peer out the window. The train pulled to an abrupt stop and the doors remained closed.

  Peter said, “Just sit still and don’t panic.” For several minutes, no one in the train car moved, but then a slow procession of travelers began passing by their window leaving the train. The soldiers were moving from car to car holding everyone in place, searching for something. He knew they were looking for the man next to him who looked to be on the verge of a heart attack. “Calm down
. You’re going to get us both killed.”

  It didn’t take long before two soldiers entered their car. One concentrated on the right side and the other on the left. Since Peter and the Minister were in the rear, people ahead were being released while they waited to be questioned. As the soldiers moved through the car, closer to the back, the Minister began turning red with fear. Peter took his hand reassuringly, but was also beginning to realize the deception was doomed.

  Finally, both soldiers arrived at the same time, having let everyone else leave the train car. One of them said something in Farsi, which the Minister answered in a shaky voice. Peter said, “I don’t speak your language, how about English?”

  The second soldier stepped forward, “I am speaking English, we must be seeing your passport.”

  The Minister had already handed his papers to the first soldier with a shaking hand as Peter produced his. The first one was staring back and forth between the Minister and his passport, contemplating what to do next. The second soldier was about to return Peter’s identification when the first one stepped backward and faced the other one, unsure about something. They looked at the two passengers then walked to the front of the coach, turning their backs while engaged in quiet discussion. After a few moments, the first soldier walked back