Eagle Two or Three. Who knows. Can we tap into their communications?
“I’m positive their communications will be in code. We change our codes regularly. I’m sure they do, too. To crack their codes will take time, and that’s a commodity not available to us right now.”
I shake my head. “Aren’t we losing sight of the fact that according to the tapes, everything is already in place and probably currently progressing according to a predetermined timetable? If that’s so, what we should be concentrating on is how to throw a wrench into the operation, delay its progress, force him into some sort of changes, and in this way, maybe get the time we need.”
“I’ll buy that, but how?” says Josh.
“I don’t know. If we can find that solution, whom can we trust? That list on the tapes has some very big names. How long before they discover what we are doing? For example, can we speak to Dinah?”
“No, too dangerous for her and her family. Law enforcement anywhere in the world is generally totally controlled by political entities of one sort or another. Even though the politicians say that covert operations and committees are at arm’s length, they really aren’t. There are far too many politicians’ names on the tapes and transcripts. Contacting anyone who’s in touch with a politician puts us in immediate danger.”
“Can we threaten him that we will go public? I can ask Lexi to get her friend Irene, who came out of hospital last week, to do a live interview with Jalal on ATN.”
Josh shrugs. “Won’t help. Unless Seymour’s in solitary in our custody, he’ll escape. If that happens, it’ll be impossible to have him extradited from Iraq, and all he has to do then is continue with his countdown, using Baghdad as his base instead of Highland Park in Chicago. According to Jalal, there are still eight Eagles unaccounted for. If he feels it necessary, he could activate them. If they’re still in the States, it might be a little inconvenient for him, but the end result will still be a disaster for our country. If all else fails, though, we go public. Before that happens, we might have to get a guarantee we’re able to go into witness protection.”
Surrendering to my greatest fear, I say “Who will guarantee the guarantors to get us into witness protection, and how do we know that someone somewhere won’t sell us out if the price is right? Let’s keep on looking along the line of finding that wrench.”
I get up. “Excuse me. I need to go to the washroom. Must have eaten something I shouldn’t have. My gut’s killing me.”
Walking past Jalal, I pat him on the shoulder and smile at him as I make my way to the washroom.
I close the washroom door, locking it. Jalal’s evidence is so overwhelming and meticulous that there is no doubt whatsoever in my mind that he has stumbled on a plot by Iraq, which has outmaneuvered America and succeeded brilliantly.
I need some quiet time with no interruptions, and don’t want to be blindsided if Josh tries to mix in with Jalal. I cannot understand Josh. His anger is visceral. He is goading Jalal and to what purpose?
The genesis of a plan of action began creeping little by little into my mind hours ago when I first realized the extreme danger to us all and the hopelessness of our situation.
I had lived in Iran when it collapsed. The same sense of impending disaster hovers now. My throughts spin. In the short term, cash out and get rid of all assets and turn it into gold, keep a low profile and leave America. Maybe send transcripts of the tapes to various media anonymously and leak the news on a daily basis. Sadegh has the ability to jump-start and implement his operation at any time, and that time will come sooner once he hears of the leaks to the media. Possibly a solution can be found before the economic destruction begins, but how?
If Jalal goes directly to selected TV stations, our lives will be in danger once the American President finds out what evidence we have and discovers who the three of us are. The President will have no alternative but to shut us up permanently or his government will collapse and he will be impeached.
My alternative plan is crazy, but I can’t delay it any longer. Crunch time is now. There is no other way to prevent us from being assassinated by the CIA or FBI or other group. I need to see if Josh will consider my plan as the only viable option.
My hatred burns slow and continuous when I think of this new evil Sadegh is forcing on me. First Dara and the gallows, now he plans to destroy a country and its people’s way of life so they can conform to his new world order. He has to be stopped. Killing him is the only way. That is the wrench in the works.
Saudi Arabia and Iraq will have to tread cautiously if Sadegh is missing and can’t be found. They will be cautious about pouncing on America, fearing a trap or an ambush. This will buy time, how much I don’t know, but at least the clock will stop clicking for a while.
I know that I cannot involve Josh; I will have to do this with Jalal. The exercise of brainstorming to use our minds and creativity in case we stumble unexpectedly onto a different solution that might work has turned out to be useless. It has been necessary, but so far, we’ve come up with nothing. I know we’ve run out of time.
Many years ago, when I was still working in CIA counterintelligence, one of my instructors explained how they had located and killed one of the masterminds of the blowing up of the US barracks in Lebanon, in which over 200 American soldiers were killed. The man had been captured in Afghanistan and the CIA knew it would have been impossible to smuggle him out of the country. They took him up into the mountains and killed him slowly by having rats eat his flesh a little piece at a time as they interrogated him. They’d kept him alive for five days using saline drips and were astounded by the information they received. The commando unit was able to thwart terrorists from launching attacks two months later on five schools simultaneously in New York, as well as two universities. The attacks were all to have occurred at the same time on the same day: the anniversary day the soldiers had been killed in Lebanon.
The instructor said he realized as he watched the man die that when another human tortures or maims a victim, the person mentally will resist and fight back until the very last breath, no matter how extreme the pain. The person being tortured holds onto his hatred fiercely, the ferocity of the pain lessened by the hatred of the torturer, and the slim hope that by some miracle he will be saved. Part of his brain goes onto autopilot, encouraging the victim to hold on just one more minute. Just one more minute would be their last thought as they died.
However, people have no thought of rescue when attacked by a predator, an animal killing to eat for its survival, not to try to inflict pain or torture. The only autopilot for being eaten alive is the fear of pain and how long death will take—and the absolute knowledge of no rescue.
I sit on the edge of the tub, retrieving and reliving memories. For a while, I relax and close my eyes, feeling the tension drain out. I will borrow my instructor’s methodology to extract answers from Sadegh.
I need to find a way to pull every secret Sadegh has hidden away in the deepest recesses of his mind. Only then will I let Sadegh die. If Sadegh has a back-up person or plan, I’ll find it. The remaining eight Eagles have to be identified, found, and eliminated immediately.
Subpoenas, a court of law, or interrogation in a jail cell will not work. A ticking time bomb is about to explode and no one is aware that the fuse has been lit.
I fine-tune my plan. Divide what needs to be done into three stages. Locate and find Seymour. Capture him. Torture him an inch at a time.
Finally, after several more minutes, I flush the toilet so they can hear, wash my hands, and open the door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Josh has a fax in his hand when I return to the kitchen.
“Remember the fax that had to do with Seymour’s hobbies. Nothing unusual, typical rich guy’s toys—a pool, yacht. Belongs to various charitable organizations, is not identified with any political parties. However, what caught my eye was an interview given to Chicago Style, a glossy magazine read by many in the business community.
Josh wags the fax at me. “Seymour was interviewed last year when he was elected president of the Strategic Think Tank, the Chicago-based division of Strategic Think Tank International. He was elected to serve for a year. Why I read the article was because a few years ago, I was also a guest speaker. My topic was ‘What peace had brought to America.’ I did not meet Seymour, though he was probably a board member at the time. However, as a courtesy, every year, the Think Tank sends me an invitation to attend the induction of their new president. I received the invitation last week, and sent my apologies as I have done every year. I will now call them to say that I will attend tonight as Seymour’s term of office expired last week. The new president, Dr. Ada Li, takes office this evening at a dinner to be held at the Hilton Hotel. So we have a number of options that I can think of, and I’m sure you two will have some ideas as well.”
It seems that fate might be playing into our hands. The dinner might be just the right opportunity to reach Seymour/Sadegh.
Josh goes on. “First, we know Seymour will be in Chicago at least until tonight. Second, we know exactly where he’ll be. Third, I could easily get into the dinner. This would allow you two to go to his house in Highland Park, see if you can get in and do whatever, or wait until he returns.”
I nod, a grin starting to appear as I think of various possibilities. “Carry on, Josh. I like the way you’re thinking.”
“I’ll go to the dinner. He might or might not know me and even if he does, he won’t connect me to anyone. When he leaves, I’ll follow and call you from my car phone to alert you and Jalal that he has left the hotel. If he doesn’t return to his home, at least I can follow and when he stops, or goes somewhere else. Wherever it is, we’ll at least know his location. You guys can come to where I’II be waiting and watching and together we can intercept him. If you want to wait until he returns to Highland Park, it will be an additional option for us if I follow him there.”
I am still determined to proceed with my previous plans, realizing that by a stroke of luck, I might be able to get to Sadegh sooner than anticipated. But the only way to make Sadegh talk would be to torture him; that plan cannot be changed. I will need to find some way to let Josh allow me to take Seymour away on my own with Jalal. I can’t tell Josh what I have in mind. I have to shield him from involvement.
The three of us sit silently, absorbed in our own thoughts, mulling over each of the possibilities and searching for a plan that might be better.
Neither Josh nor I see Jalal put down his coffee mug and slowly withdraw the gun from his ankle holster. Jalal levels his gun, aiming it directly at Josh. Quietly, he says, “Both of you, put your hands on the table top where I can see them.”
Irritated, I sigh, “Jalal, this is stupid. We’re your friends.”
Jalal watches Josh carefully as he turns to face the gun.
The young Kurd moves half a step forward, the barrel still aiming only at Josh. Josh recognizes his error of not having taken the gun from Jalal when he had the opportunity.
No one moves.
“I, too, have a plan, but mine is not to be voted on. When you catch Sadegh, who will make him talk? Which one of you has knowledge of how to do this? Who of you knows what to ask him so I can save my people, who are about to be slaughtered? Your Americans are in the same danger? Which one of you will know when he is broken and you can trust his answers? He will lie. He has lived a lie all of his life; lying is his life. If you do not catch the lie, hundreds, thousands of people could die. Who will finally kill him? How will you kill him? Where will you kill him? You do not understand the evil that is this man.”
Looking directly at Josh, blood pools in Jalal’s cheeks. His face hardens, daring Josh to try to take away his weapon. “You would not allow me to take part in your planning. That was your privilege, Mr. FBI man, and I obeyed. This gun that you sneered at has a hair trigger. It has taken away your privilege to tell me what I can or cannot do. As you can see, it is aiming at your heart. If you still feel this gun will not kill you, why don’t you try taking it away from me?
“Personally, you mean nothing to me. Sadegh means everything to me. If I have to kill you so that I can get Sadegh, I will. For the way that you insulted me, I have every right to kill you here and now; however, if we all get out of this alive, you and I personally, on our own, will settle scores. You will choose our weapons. This will be a matter of honor for you and for me. Until then, we must work together, for your country is now facing destruction in the same way as mine. I do not have time, nor do you, for us to fight each other, so if you agree and swear an oath in front of your friend, who tells me you are an honorable man, I will give you my plan. Your call.”
For a long moment, Josh’s eyes lock on Jalal’s. There is no indecision, “Fuck off.”
Jalal’s body stiffens. Coldly watching Josh’s eyes, a hot rage builds between them. The fire in their eyes signals that neither will back down. Face flushed, the muscles on Josh’s face quiver as they knot, contorting as he readies himself to attack. He is about to say something when I shout and jump between them, drilling my eyes into Jalal’s, grasping for the muzzle.
“Stop it. For fuck’s sake, stop this insanity. What is it with you two? You’re like two spoiled brats. We have a fucking major crisis here that needs a solution immediately. Stop your fucking macho acts right now. Stop right where you are. Do you hear me, you pieces of shit, or do I fucking well kick you both in the balls to get your attention?”
Filled with a rage at their craziness, I scream my frustration, “I mean it, you fucks, I mean it.” Putting myself between them, I push them both away angrily, furiously looking from one to the other.
“This is truly a bad idea. You want to kill each other, fine, but not in my house. Both of you get the fuck out of here. Kill yourselves outside in the street or wherever you want, but not in my fucking house. Take your guns and stupidity outside and kill yourselves, now, get out.”
Josh sees the jagged desperation in Jalal’s body, the slight tremble of his loathing, and instantaneously, a violent jolt goes through the big man’s body, piercing the hotness of his anger. Josh taps in and reminds him that Jalal had asked his only friend in Chicago to help him, but for some reason that escapes him, he resented the man’s request. Josh knows that he is not helping. He acknowledges to himself that it is probably jealousy, envy, or some other emotion just as stupid. He feels ashamed, seeing the lines of stress on Jalal’s face, the strength of his chin, the power and fierceness in the younger man’s eyes. He senses the strain just below the surface and wonders what is holding this man together. He sees the determination. Jalal is not afraid; no fear burns in his eyes.
A tiredness folds into Josh and he sits down wearily on the edge of the table. The anger diminishes and suddenly evaporates. Josh knows instinctively that he’s wronged Jalal greatly and done so with a foolish bravado. Not only has he wronged him, he’s insulted him. I watch as Josh finally acknowledges his jealousy for a man ready to die absolutely and unequivocally for a cause; whereas Josh’s life on the line as an FBI agent comes with a paycheck every month.
Over a period of 30-odd years, the cause for justice sometimes dims into just another job, crossing over and blurring lines of duty and what he truly believes in. Leaning slightly forward, he puts both hands to his forehead , elbows resting on his knees, and covers his eyes, the tips of his fingers kneading each eye as if to remove an itch. In this position, he rocks ever so slightly, the movements barely perceptible, but nevertheless, his body telegraphs its regret and humiliation.
It is minutes before he looks up. He extends his hand toward Jalal, as if wanting to shake it, even though Jalal is at the other end of the room. Hesitantly, Josh begins to speak, his voice dry and hoarse, thickly showing emotional agitation and a slight edge of sorrow layers his words.
“Sorry, Jalal. I apologize. Jay is right, I’ve acted badly. I’m ashamed that I insulted you. I don’t understand what was deep in my heart, nor do I understand why
my anger was directed at you, when all you asked for was help. You only asked for my help. Please accept my apology for everything that never should have been said. I am really, really sorry.”
Unsure, Jalal follows Josh’s gestures warily, watching him for guile and treachery. Josh has difficulty returning Jalal’s gaze. Jalal, embarrassed as to how the conversation has moved to an unexpected apology, instead of a killing, knows he was mere seconds from shooting Josh.
Slowly, the young Kurd sits down, still unsure how the atmosphere has changed so suddenly. He knows that Josh would not have given an inch and he would have had to kill the FBI agent. The gun still in his hand, he slowly lowers the barrel.
I am thunderstruck by what is playing out in front of me. Trying to diffuse the tension, I say roughly, the irritation plain on my face, “Let’s hear what your plan is, Jalal. Come sit here at the table. Let’s decide together what to do about Seymour.”
In the silence, I move to the refrigerator to pull out cheese, bread, and cold cuts, then retrieve plates and silverware and place everything on the table. None of us has eaten for hours.
Josh looks carefully at Jalal, his eyes scarcely leaving his face, the blades of apology still floating thick in the air of the kitchen, the unspoken thoughts hanging between them.
Josh laughs nervously, feeling the flush on his face, embarrassed by the turn of the conversation. “Jalal, two minutes ago, we were at each other’s throats. Now we must talk as men who respect each other. I extend to you once again my deepest apologies for the many times I insulted you in front of Jay. I don’t know why I was so angry at you. Maybe I felt ashamed because I get paid to do what I’m doing, and you opened places in my heart that for a long time have been closed and blocked off.
Screaming Eagles Page 23