Price For A Patriot

by F. Denis King

  “Nonetheless,” Saddam said, “the cook is a Kurd and Kurdish roots run deep. He took the American from Hassan’s home and now plots against us. Who is responsible?”

  Colonel Salaman licked his lips nervously. It was time to play his card. “The American was not kidnapped; he was a willing participant. Brandon Stiles and Hosni Asaron planned the escape, together. The American is still in Iraq, not because he is being held against his will, but because he is grateful to Asaron for his escape and in return has offered his knowledge and leadership. It is he who is the mastermind of these assaults, not the stupid Kurd.”

  Hassan Rashid jumped to his feet. “How dare you concoct this baseless fantasy to deflect the responsibility that is clearly yours?”

  “Mine? Explain to this Council, Colonel Rashid, why you deposited five million U.S. dollars in a Barbados account for Sergeant Stiles.”

  Colonel Rashid was speechless as Salaman pressed the attack. “The account is registered in his name. I have the information including the account number in this folder.”

  Salaman was standing, waving the folder above his head, a clear challenge. If Mohammed had appeared on a cloud, the reaction would have been no different. There was stunned silence.

  Salaman continued. “You had telephone calls to South America that included the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency. A man registered as Jose Escobedo traveled from Bogota to Jordan and your men drove him from Queen Alia Airport to your farm. What was he doing there? Why did you deposit five million dollars in the American’s account before the American and the cook departed? Note my words, I did not say escaped. Was he freed because he provided a valuable service or because he promised to provide one? Isn’t it obvious that you hope to overthrow this regime with the help of the Kurds?”

  A shock wave rose like a tsunami across the table and still Salaman pressed on.

  “Is it your hope to succeed our Great Leader in a new society? Does your personal ambition have no bounds? Tell us Colonel Hassan Rashid, why have you betrayed your family’s loyalty to Saddam Hussein and our great Republic?”

  Salaman, the orator, flushed and shaking, let his words echo in the chamber as he sank defiantly in his chair.

  No one spoke. From lowered heads, eyes focused on Colonel Rashid but avoided the steely gaze of Saddam. It was he who spoke next.

  “Hassan, I have treated you as I would my own son.”

  “Sir, these are lies. I would never betray you. I can explain.”

  “Take Colonel Rashid into custody while I review these charges. Colonel Salaman, if these charges are true, why did you wait until now to reveal them?

  “Sir, one does not accuse the son of the Director of IIS without an airtight case. The Mukhabarat has extensive evidence but lacks the proof that only Stiles or Asaron can provide. Thus far they have eluded capture and denied us the last bit of evidence. Charges were leveled at my Department, and at me, and you asked for an answer. I was loath to make such serious charges.”

  Saddam rose from his chair; the meeting was over. Republican Guard removed Hassan who shouted his innocence as the heavy doors closed behind him.

  Cracks In The Resistance (26 August 1994)

  The Republican Guard, police forces and Mukhabarat intensified their effort to capture the Ghost of Baghdad. Raids were conducted throughout the city nightly. Over the course of a month, several cells of Resistance Forces had been uncovered, and, since the attack on August twelfth, two more cells had been eliminated. Prisoners were taken and interrogations would yield information that, when pieced together, could soon lead to Brandon’s capture. Brandon summoned Hosni. It was time.

  “You freed me and you protected me at great personal risk. I owe you my life, but by my presence, I now threaten yours.”

  Hosni paced the small room and looked closely at his bearded comrade. “You have helped to make us a better fighting force, but more importantly, you have given us hope. Does the Ghost of Baghdad now wish to disappear?”

  “The Iraqi Authorities are searching desperately for me but are finding others. How many must die before we say enough? I’ve been privileged to live and fight with you, Hosni, but there is little more I can do for your cause. I have become a liability. The greatest service I can offer now is to surface in another country to tell your story. The second thing I can do is send money to support you. Thanks to Colonel Rashid I have a little money. It isn’t much, but it is all the Colonel would donate to Kurdish independence.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  Brandon nodded it was true but added, “It could be he just loved your cooking.”

  Hosni hugged Brandon fiercely and laughed. “My friend you have fought our fight and become one of us. We shall miss you. Tomorrow you will be in Turkish Kurdistan. The first leg of your journey begins tonight.”

  31

  SECDEF Aims For The Senate; Cry Of Treason

  The rental van was abandoned in the Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport parking lot. “It would be a shame if the police thought I dropped it off to catch a flight,” Jerry teased.

  Willy laughed. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to throw them off track, would we?”

  “Enough talk, guys, which road leads to Tucson?” Daniel spoke as he spread a road map across the Ford’s hood. “Anybody know?”

  Harold answered. “We take I-10 all the way to El Paso, no, actually, farther east than that. We stay on I-10 until we hit Sonora then we take 277 north to Eldorado and 190 from there straight into Killeen.”

  “Oh, man, my ass is complaining, just hearing about it,” Jerry griped.

  “You ride up front and bag it, Jerry. We slept in beds last night; you didn’t. Harold? It’s your turn to drive.”

  “Okay, Daniel, you’re the boss.”

  Raul dialed and Smitty answered. “Que passo, amigo, I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Que passo, yourself, you smooth talking rooster. Do you have a watch? It’s damn near one in the afternoon. No, you didn’t wake me. What’s up?”

  “We have five in a Ford with a fortune in fifties,” Raul alliterated.

  “Bring ‘em home, boys. It’s time we made an investment.”

  “We’ll rotate the wheel work and drive straight through. Should be there by oh-six-hundred. Manana, compadre. Raul, out.”

  Smitty lay in bed contemplating their next move. Before they could transfer money to an off shore account they had to deposit it. How can five million in uncirculated bills be deposited? They couldn’t just lug it up to a teller window. Smitty had to admit that neither he nor any of his coconspirators were experts on banking laws and practices. In fact, all were more familiar with Einstein’s Theory of Relativity than with high finance.

  The orderly entered Smitty’s room after his trademark single knock followed by four quick knocks, a pause, and then two more.

  “Good morning, Glory,” he said playfully, always cheerful. “Sleep well?”

  “Like a rock after those Playboy Bunnies left. Do me a favor and change the channel. I want to see if CNN is covering the latest bunny news. Hopefully they aren’t telling the world about my sexual prowess. Hell, I’ll never have a moment’s peace.”

  “You dog!” the orderly growled as he tuned it to CNN.

  “Perfect! Nothing but the same tired news, a local anesthetic.”

  “Buzz me when the Bunnies come on,” the orderly ordered. “I’m outta here. Have to go make other children happy too.”

  Smitty hadn’t yet mastered the one finger salute that once came so easily, so he held up four saying, “Henry, this is a bouquet of those.”

  Henry’s back was turned but he knew what Smitty meant so he turned quickly and flashed Smitty the bird, saying, “Of these?” as he dashed out the door.

  Resignation And A Bid For The Senate

  Smitty enjoyed news programs, but too
many TV shows tried to be all things to all people, mixing news with cooking tips and fashion. He once told Henry, “I don’t need a recipe for flan and I could care less what the movie stars are wearing or who they’re sleeping with. I just want the news.” Usually he watched CNN which seemed to be as good as any and better than most. He had surfed to a different channel when the damn remote quit working, and he’d had to endure a lengthy marketing ploy for a local auto dealer in Temple, Texas. The big shot owner had been the star of his own commercial; he was dressed as a cowboy riding a hobbyhorse. He hippity hopped all over his lot branding trucks. Did anyone think that was cute or funny? No. It was sad. Worse, Smitty couldn’t silence the skipping simpleton or turn him off. For lack of two double-A batteries, he was trapped. To the four walls, Smitty pledged, “If I ever drive again, and if I ever step into that idiot’s dealership, strike me dead.” He maneuvered out of bed and selected CNN. The news was “straight ahead,” the talking head said, and this time it was worth the wait.

  “This just in,” the familiar face said, “C.K. McNamara, the Secretary of Defense, has announced his resignation. The President, we have learned, has accepted it with profound regret, while wishing the Secretary success and offering his support in the upcoming Senatorial race.”

  The news went on to say that the Secretary had made a late entry into the political race following the death of Senator Lee Roy Haskell who was considered a shoo-in for reelection in November.

  “We have a news clip of a brief meeting with the Secretary earlier today,” the talk show host said. “Mister Secretary it’s good of you to join us. I know you’re running late, en route to an important fund raiser, and we appreciate your stopping by.”

  “You’re welcome, Charlie. It’s always a pleasure to be with you.”

  “The President has expressed his regret at losing you as Secretary of Defense. He credits you with having streamlined the military and improved our ability to respond quickly and decisively to trouble anywhere on earth. What do you say in response?”

  “Well, Charlie, I am humbled. I hope to repay the President’s confidence by backing his agenda in the Senate following the upcoming election in November.”

  “You are running for the open seat created by the untimely death of Senator Haskell, isn’t that true?”

  “That is true, Charlie. Lee Roy Haskell was a friend of mine. He was a true Texan and I hope that I will be elected to carry on his important work for our great state.”

  “That was former Secretary of Defense, C.K. McNamara. I’m Charles Blumberg, in Washington.”

  Smitty often talked to himself aloud as an exercise in forming words that once came easier than the bird that flew from his hand. He practiced now. “C.K., Screw-the-troops, McNamara, the least admired Secretary the Military has ever had, is running for the Senate. I guess he thinks arrogance is needed everywhere in our Nation’s Capitol. I hope to hell the voters see through that smarmy liar’s tall tales. What a crock! Wait until Daniel gets a load of this!”

  Free But Accused Of Treason

  The following morning, Monday, August twenty-ninth, Daniel, Harold, Willy, Jerry and Raul rolled into Killeen and unloaded the steamer trunks in Daniel’s garage before calling Smitty.

  “Get some rest, fellas, and come by after dinner. We have a lot to talk about and I want you rested and ready. Phil will be driving down from DFW after work.”

  At 5 p.m. Phil called. “Smitty, I’m on a road full of sheep. This old dog is nipping at their heels but the herd is following some law abiding jackoff who thinks 55 really is a limit. When I get on I-35 south of the Metroplex things should open up. I’ll see you when I get there. Just wanted you to know I’m trying. Don’t count me out.”

  At 6 p.m. the whole crew, minus Phil, barged into Smitty’s room.

  “Don’t you rejects know how to knock? What if the Playboy Bunnies were still here and we had something going on. That would be embarrassing for the girls and for me. You definitely don’t want to see me get riled. So what brings you guys to town, anyway?”

  Daniel answered by tossing a wrap of fifties onto Smitty’s bed.

  Smitty lifted the stack of fifties and tried his best to fan them but couldn’t. He settled for sniffing them like flowers. “Nice work fellas. Top notch. Did you hear the latest news from Washington? C.K. McNamara is running for the Senate to fill Haskell’s seat. He wants to be Senator McNamara. I hear he has a cabin out in West Texas, a hunting lease. I guess that qualifies him. Competence, obviously, isn’t a prerequisite.”

  “What about his being a scum bag?” Raul asked with a straight face.

  “I think that’s a plus, Raul, it’s certainly not a disqualifier. He’s running as a Republican so he’ll probably win the election.”

  “Listen up!” Willy boomed, and the chatter ceased. “ABC has news about Brandon.” He turned up the volume.

  “What?”

  “Shhh.”

  “Peter, this is an extraordinary bit of news. Sergeant Brandon Stiles, thought to be a casualty of the Desert War with Iraq, has contacted the U.S. Embassy in Ankara, Turkey.”

  “Jonathan,” Peter said, “What you’re saying is truly astonishing. I find myself at a loss. Have you gathered additional information about Sergeant Stiles? Where he was thought to have died, that sort of thing?”

  “Peter, the details are sketchy, but he was thought to have died in the explosion of an Iraqi ammunition storage facility at El Sharif on the day of the Cease Fire. It now appears Stiles was captured and has escaped. An American was left behind, Peter, and we now must wonder, was he alone? We will bring you the latest information as this story unfolds. This is Jonathan Wilder, ABC News, Ankara.”

  “The U.S. women’s soccer team…

  “Turn that down!” Smitty ordered.

  “Hot damn!” Daniel announced to the hushed room. “Brandon is free!”

  Hospital decorum vanished. Grown men howled in delight, hugging each other with shared excitement.

  “Praise the Lord,” Smitty croaked. “We knew Brandon was a survivor, but this is amazing. Come to think of it, this changes everything. We’ve got five million dollars we don’t need for Brandon’s release. What do we do with it?”

  “Let’s throw a party!” Jerry said.

  Harold chimed in, “I won’t object if you buy me a new car. Nothing ostentatious, mind you, maybe a small Rolls Royce convertible.”

  Willy pressed the channel button on the TV and stopped at PBS. Brandon’s escape was being discussed. “Quiet!” Willy demanded as he upped the volume.

  Jim Lehrer was rehashing events of the day and a panel of experts was on hand to discuss the situation in Iraq and “the amazing return of a POW never listed as a prisoner.”

  C.K. McNamara, seeking every spotlight was a guest on the show.

  “Mister Secretary, how is it possible that your Department was unaware that Sergeant Stiles was alive and being held prisoner by the Iraqis?”

  “Jim,” as you know, I have resigned my position as Secretary of Defense to run for a Senate seat from the great state of Texas, but this did occur on my watch. In deference to the family, we did nothing to dispel the early belief that Sergeant Stiles was killed at El Sharif. Later when our intelligence sources determined that he was alive and revealed the circumstances of his survival, we chose to withhold that information.”

  Daniel screeched, “What?”

  “Shhh,” the crowd ordered as Lehrer said, “Why?”

  “Jim, as SECDEF, my duties were many and varied. I had to weigh the merits of revealing his survival with honoring his family.”

  “I don’t follow you, Mister Secretary.”

  “Sergeant Stiles was given a hero’s burial, Jim, and his family was honored. Then we learned the truth and I had to make that decision. As President Truman said, ‘the buck stops here’.”

  “I apolo
gize for being a little slow tonight, Mister Secretary, but I don’t understand what decision you had to make, and I don’t understand how a nice funeral is more important than knowing a loved one is alive.”

  “Sometimes it’s better not to know, Jim. We knew that Sergeant Stiles was not a captive. He was not a POW. If anything, Jim, he was a traitor, and that is why I say that sometimes it is better not to know. Brandon Stiles defected. He went over to the enemy to avoid the disgrace of demotion and a less than honorable discharge when he returned home. He saw an opportunity to avoid that disgrace and perhaps to line his pockets.”

  “Mister Secretary, we have to take a break, but when we return we’ll discuss disgrace and profit.”

  “Holy Mother of God!” Jerry exclaimed over the hubbub. “What’s he up to?”

  Willy boomed, “Yeah, what’s that weasel talking about?”

  “The schemer has an angle. That’s a given,” Jerry said.

  “Damn straight, Jerry. He has an angle and he’s covering his ass.” Raul added.

  Daniel was furious. “He lied to my face, now he’s looking for camera time.”

  Smitty said, “He’s a late entry in the Senatorial race, and doesn’t have a war chest. He can’t afford the airtime he needs to compete, so he’ll milk Brandon’s escape for all it’s worth. He’ll say whatever it takes to keep his own name and face in the news. Branding our buddy a traitor and riding that sensation is how the lying, lowlife, son-of-a-bitch plans to win a Senate seat.”

  “Hold on!” Harold said, quieting the crowd. Phil walked in at that moment and was hushed rather than greeted as fingers pointed at the television set.