Jalal glances at me before continuing. “Whenever Jay flew overseas, I opened his filing cabinets, photographed all documents pertaining to his clients, and detailed each and every property purchase of Sadegh and other people who we considered our enemies. In this way, we could gather information about clients of his who were of interest to us, Sadegh in particular. Our informants in the Mujahidin in Teheran told us that they hadn’t blown up SAVAK headquarters, so we were sure that Sadegh himself had arranged the explosion that was supposed to have killed him as a cover so that he could disappear.
“It was only a few months ago that I remembered the photos of Jay’s filing cabinet documents. Looking through Sadegh’s file, I made a list of all the properties that Jay had sold him. Using an attorney in Washington who specialized in real estate title searches, we traced each property that he had bought and did title searches on all of them.
“About a year after Sadegh disappeared, the properties were all transferred to a Martin Seymour, who lives in Highland Park, a suburb in the north of Chicago. We learned that he is a wealthy businessman and we believe that Seymour and Sadegh are the same person. We also think that Seymour, who changed his facial appearance, probably with plastic surgery, masterminded the bus shootings, bombings, and suicide attacks in Chicago.”
There is a dark, abrasive glitter in Josh’s eyes. He looks sideways, bringing me into what Jalal’s answer will be, “What proof do you have? I sense that you’re drawing a hell of a lot of conclusions that I hope you can substantiate.”
“I can. You’ll see. Give me just a little more time,” says Jalal. He drinks long and slow, draining his coffee cup.
I bring three more fresh cups of coffee and sit at the table Josh on my left, Jalal on my right. His foot no longer rests on his knee.
* * *
Jalal continues. “When the various incidents in the States were completed, the Iraqi President ordered everyone to be in the bunker so they could partake in a celebration breakfast. A bomb blew up, destroying the bunker. Conveniently, Abdel Amir was in the toilet. He was the only survivor to emerge alive.
“With Seymour based here, it is easy to see why Chicago was chosen as the city to blow up the TV station, United Global Air, and massacre the people in the buses. He would be in a position to coordinate and hide the suicide bombers. He could also arrange to have the explosives brought to them when they were ready to begin the bombings. Seymour, or Sadegh, has to be Eagle One. If he is, I will have found the man who murdered my father and who is planning the destruction of my people—and America.”
Looking directly at Josh and only him, stress taking residence in his voice, Jalal says, “Josh, Jay says that you are his friend here in Chicago, and he trusts you. For that, my heart is relieved that you are in this room with us. However, my brain still has a few doubts and I know that as a thinking man, you understand that I am not in any way trying to insult you. It is my culture and my upbringing. It is the way of the mountain people. Trust develops over a long period of time, not overnight.
“In a few minutes, we will open this suitcase, but before I do, I need you to understand it is not just a suitcase.
“In the suitcase are fifteen years of work, information that was painstakingly collected by my best friend, Hamid, who was killed by President Abdel Amir. Many others have died, men and women far braver than I will ever be. They died so that one day, somebody would examine the information and documents they so carefully collected. I pray that your God, and my Allah, who brought us together this night, did so because you are one of the persons who can help me with this difficult thing that I must do.
“Having lived in the Middle East, Jay knows a lot more about petrodollars and their use to take over the world. This is why I spent the last hour giving you some background of a situation that for the moment, you can dismiss as theoretical speculation. In this suitcase is my proof. The problem with which we are faced is the speed with which we can go into action. Also challenging is how rapidly we can find a way for me to get to Sadegh before the authorities do. Finally, who can we trust with this information? Some very high-up people in your government are involved with Sadegh.”
Josh looks at the younger man, studying his earnest face. “You’re making a serious accusation, Jalal. I take it you have proof. If you don’t have proof, you’re talking bullshit. How much longer are you going to give me a history lesson? Cut to the chase. Let’s get on with this. Enough history, talk about now and about tomorrow.”
“I ask for just five more minutes to give you background. Grant me five more minutes of your time. I must be sure that you understand exactly what is at stake and why your government cannot allow me to tell my story. When you see my proof, you will help me, arrest me, or walk out of this room. Okay?”
I sense a brushfire is beginning to burn between them. Grudgingly, realizing he is crossing a threshold, Josh nods. “Okay.”
“It is fashionable to talk about a homeland for the Ukrainians, Bosnians, Latvians, Serbs, Croats, and dozens of other small communities that were taken over by larger and more powerful countries. People stand up in the United Nations and speak passionately about these countries and they become popular causes. Kurdistan and the Kurds are never heard of. We are thirty million people. Our population is about the same size as all those countries’ populations put together. We are fighting to be recognized by a world community who is blind to us because countries that supply most of the world’s oil surround us.
“Our country is in the mountainous part of southern Turkey and we border Iraq, Iran, and Syria. In 1922 and again in 1974, the suppression became so bad that we fought back. Both times, treaties were signed and we stopped fighting. Promptly, the Kurds were forgotten. In 1991, your President Bush promised us that if we would attack Saddam Hussein from the north as America attacked from the south in the war you call Desert Storm, he would recognize our help and protect us. He also indicated to us that we should apply to the United Nations to become an independent nation. He lied—and Kurds died.
“Your President Bush forgave Egypt $7 billion dollars of debt to line up 40,000 soldiers with the American army. Syria was given the freedom to take over Lebanon just for being part of the allied army. The Syrians sent 10,000 soldiers. Neither Egypt nor Syria fired a shot at the Iraqis or had troops in the front lines. They were used purely for window dressing—‘The Coalition of the Brave’ to show how many nations supported Bush.
“We attacked from every part of the mountains and were the only Arabs to fight against Saddam. Tens of thousands of our people were killed by his Republican Guards. Desert Storm was a joke, not a war. The most modern weaponry ever assembled by the Americans was used, yet more allied soldiers were killed by friendly fire than by Saddam’s army. Bush forgot about the military support he promised us when Saddam’s Republican Guards attacked us. We called for the promised air strikes, the missiles to be fired from the aircraft carriers, all the logistical support your Secretary of State James Baker promised, but nothing arrived. We were betrayed and totally helpless. The Iraqis slaughtered us when we ran out of ammunition. We retreated with the Iraqi army following us and overrunning our villages of Irbil, Mosuland, and Dahok. A million and a half of our people became refugees.
“The people who ran to escape and hide were civilians who had lived in towns, not the mountains. They were shopkeepers, teachers, factory workers, old people, and children. When winter came, because of the snows and intense cold, we buried a thousand babies in three months. The people who had lived in houses could not survive in the mountains and literally starved to death. After the first winter, more than 150,000 thousand people had died. We ran out of places to bury them, for the ground was frozen, too hard for us to dig graves. In desperation, trying to cope with the amount of dead bodies that appeared every morning, we laid them out in a valley as big as a football field. The corpses froze and we had to cover the bodies with stones, for wild animals tried every night to eat the meat. Each morning, our children w
ere given the task of covering the bodies once again with stones.
“When spring arrived, instead of digging holes in the ground for each person, we buried them in a shallow mass grave. No one now walks in our valley where I used to play with my friends when I was a little boy, for we cannot walk on the graves of the dead. America promised us friendship if we would help them. We found out that they could not be trusted. President Bush and James Baker were as treacherous to the Kurds as Saddam Hussein. The only difference was that Hussein was killing us with guns, whereas Bush was killing us because he would not supply the guns he had promised us. We believed him to be an honorable man and someone we could trust. He was far more interested in telling the rest of the world what a brilliant success his war had been. But that is history and happened many years ago.
Josh and I simply sit, hands around mugs of coffee, listening the Jalal’s soft voice recounting the tragedy.
“After Hathami, the president of Iran, was assassinated, Iraq attacked what it perceived to be a leaderless country. Abdel Amir, Iraq’s president, guessed wrong. The Iranians under Musavi were far more formidable and Amir soon realized he was going to be defeated. However, he came up with a brilliant plan to fool you Americans into destroying Iran. Abdel Amir recruited fourteen of the finest fighting men from his Republican Guard, and five air force pilots. They were given training so that they could become kamikazes. These nineteen men trained for their mission for eight months. They were also instructed intensively in Farsi. Many Iraqis already speak Farsi as a second language, for they have a common border with Iran.
“Abdel Amir called the nineteen men the ‘Screaming Eagles.’ The name was well chosen, for when an eagle hunts its prey, it can soar hundreds of feet into the sky. Wind drafts and thermal currents move it silently as it searches for its prey. When it sees an animal, the eagle flies away from the sun so that as it descends and nears the animal on the ground, its shadow will not startle it. The animal never sees a shadow, or hears anything, for the eagle dives at tremendous speed. The aerodynamic falling of the bird is likened to a missile. Wings and talons are tucked next to its body, head and beak extended forward, its keen eyes focused on its prey. As the eagle is about to hit the animal, it suddenly extends its wings, and stretches its talons forward. They are curved like hooks so that they can pierce the skin and hold the animal tightly so that it cannot slip out of the eagle’s grasp. The extension of the eagle’s wings is the last thing the animal hears, but it is too late. The talons pick up the prey and jerk it up and down with lightning speed, snap its neck. The eagle soars upwards and continues squeezing its prey to death. That is the time the eagle lets out a long and loud scream of triumph. The eagle is a truly magnificent, deadly, killing machine. Unlike man, the eagle kills for food, not for pleasure. Abdel Amir created nineteen such killing machines.
Josh glances at his watch; it’s been more than five minutes, but he obviously wants to know more.
“The date chosen to massacre you Americans was Christmas Eve, when airports would have the most passengers and least amount of security, but Iran was overrunning the Iraqi army so fast, Iraq could not hold out for more than four weeks. Nine months and eleven days ago, Abdel Amir instructed his Eagles to attack. Eleven died in the attacks. Eight Eagles are still in the United States awaiting their orders.”
Josh shakes his head. “Jalal, that is one hell of a story but it’s too bizarre to be credible. Who will believe you? By the way, I agree with your assessment of Desert Storm.”
Jalal sucks in air through his teeth, his words wrapped in sarcasm, “Josh, for the past fifteen years, I have commanded the largest Kurdish guerrilla army in Iraq. My code name is Little Hawk. My father, who worked with Jay and was executed, was called Hawk. We have cooperated with the CIA for many years. I’ve led raids on military installations and captured the latest Russian weapons and their manuals. I have trained my men to use them. Today, we are not a ragtag bunch of amateurs; we are a miniature army becoming a force to be reckoned with. I can shoot a shoulder missile launcher and bring down a helicopter. Helicopters don’t come looking for us anymore.
“Fifteen years ago, I instructed my best friend, my cousin Hamid, to infiltrate the Iraqi military. I gave him false papers and luck was with us, for he was made a colonel after he discovered a plot to assassinate General Abdel Amir, the man who became Iraq’s president. As an additional reward, he became the trusted aide to Amir.
“When Abdel Amir blew up the bunker, Hamid was killed by the blast. I was less than half a mile from the camp and heard the explosion. I ran as fast as I could, fearing the worst. Neither Hamid nor I thought Amir would kill all the men who had helped to plot the Screaming Eagles, let alone his friends and family. We had secretly arranged that I would meet Hamid outside the compound the following night so he could hand over all the evidence he had been collecting. I realize now Amir could not have living witnesses. He did the smart thing. He killed everyone, including his own son.
“After the explosion, I found the tapes, transcripts, plans, and maps where Hamid had hidden them in the ceiling. I also found a list of senators, congressmen, bankers, and businesses that are friendly to Iraq. All of these people support Iraq secretly and receive monies in Switzerland in payment for their services. This is the proof you are looking for, Josh. Hamid had miniature cameras and tape recorders in pens and his cigarette case. As you are about to see shortly, Hamid was an industrious and meticulous spy.”
Jalal opens his suitcase and starts stacking tapes secured by rubber bands on the table. Each is neatly dated, showing the year and the time of day. He then pulls out bundles of folded papers and also stacks them in some sort of order.
Looking at Josh, Jalal says, “The tapes have all been translated into English for you.”
Watching in total disbelief, too stunned to speak, Josh and I see Jalal move to into the living area and continue unpacking his suitcase. He takes out dozens of photographs, stacking them in a pile, one on top of the other. He hands me two of the photographs.
I immediately recognize the first photograph. It was of me and Sadegh sitting in the Japanese restaurant eating sushi in Fort Lauderdale in the early 1970s. The second photograph was taken in Teheran. Sadegh was smiling and had just handed me the signed contracts for the properties Sadegh purchased in Chicago the previous week.
The photograph had been taken on Family Day. Sadegh and I were standing near the gallows where Dara was hanged an hour later.
CHAPTER FOUR
Josh stands up and starts pacing, his head inclined slightly to one side. The muscles along his jawbone move rapidly, as if he is chewing gum. He looks straight ahead, purposefully detached, ignoring us. He clears his throat, his fingers beating a slow rhythm on his muscular thigh. I sense the anger, the smoldering of an eruption building in his body language as he opens and closes his fists.
Heated anger crawls through him, “Children, fucking children, trying to play with the grown-ups. Are you two out of your frigging minds? Has everyone gone mad? This isn’t a fucking game. Jalal walks into this apartment a few hours ago with some sort of Machiavellian plan that he and his twelve wise men dreamed up in their mystic mountains. Martyrs might be considered the greatest thing since sliced bread in your religion, Jalal, but in my religion, we try to survive and live for as long as we can. We try to survive, sometimes at any cost, whereas you are a man who’s resigned himself to a martyr’s death.
“Jalal, you’ve come to terms with the fact that your death will occur in a few hours or a few days, doesn’t matter which. It doesn’t matter if Sadegh kills you, the Iraqis kill you, or the Americans kill you. The $64,000 question is not if you will die, but when you will die. You’ve told us many things, but not how you want us to send your body back to the mystic mountains. Do you want it in a body bag or ashes in a samovar or maybe there’s a special Kurdish way to send your pathetic remains to Paradise. Heaven forbid that I should deny you your glorious afterlife in martyr’s special heaven.
Josh continues pacing, careful not to step on any of the documents and photos Jalal has spread on the living room carpet.
“However, Jalal, there’s a little point that you’ve overlooked that’s causing me a real, real bit of discomfort. When you’re dead and gone to the great mountains in the sky, I will be faced with a problem.”
Josh pauses for effect, his sarcasm aggressive in its viciousness. “Guess what, my new-found friend. Your enemies will become my mortal enemies. They’ll not be searching for your family hidden away in the mountains, they will be searching for us, Jay and me. We’ll be the new targets. Sadegh, or whatever his new name is, will send his kamikazes after us. Not to mention the people in my government you’ve named as collaborators, as well as the CIA, will all, and I mean all, be after us. Hunting licenses will be issued to bring us back dead. They won’t even want a little life to be left in our bodies. It’ll be open season on us. While you’re enjoying your afterlife, we will be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our miserable lives. The President, my commander-in-chief, will need us to be very dead very quickly, so that his spin-doctors can do the necessary damage control. He won’t want to leave witnesses around, anymore than the Amir did. Our President will find it in his very best interests to get very rid of us and make sure our bodies are never found. I think I speak for Jay when I say that I don’t want any of those motherfuckers chasing me because in a moment of weakness, Jay and I helped you.”
Returning his stare, Jalal says quietly and carefully, “So you won’t help me.”
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