Screaming Eagles

by Michael Lawrence Kahn

  “You already have said goodbye to your wife and family and are ready to sacrifice your life so your family and people in your village can live. I was jealous of your motives and somehow you touched a raw nerve, and I acted spitefully, childishly, and disrespectfully. I was stupid and totally out of line. Your focus and readiness to sacrifice your life unnerved me, magnified my shortcomings, for suddenly, I was forced to remember how I too, many, many years ago, headed for far horizons that continued to recede and seemed always to be out of my reach. Maybe I was disgusted with what I’ve become and I hated your motives because I recognized how shallow mine were in comparison to the purity of yours. I searched my motives for some sort of rational explanation, but could find none, for my life has become too complacent. I ask you once again to forgive me. Can you give me another chance to provide the help you asked me for?”

  Jalal searches for betrayal or a trap in Josh’s eyes, but finds none, for he hears the agitation tremble in the man’s voice. Jalal has known all along that Josh can help him more than I would be able to. He places the gun on the table and extends his hand to shake Josh’s.

  Clearing his throat and nodding, Jalal says, “Josh, I accept your apology. It takes the courage of a strong man of honor to speak humble words in front of a witness. I sense those words that came from a deep place in your heart. You spoke them with surrender, yet you have not surrendered. Instead, the words did you much honor. We will work well together. I know we will.”

  Josh returns the gaze, the severe lines transform on his face. “Thank you, by forgiving me, you honor me with your trust, which I will never betray.” They shake hands and both begin smiling.

  It was the first time that Josh had seen Jalal smile. His teeth are white and as his angry frustration falls away. He seems younger and small wrinkles at the corner of his eyes become pronounced as he continues smiling.

  Seizing the moment, unsure how long it will last, I surge in, “Jalal, interrupt if you disagree. I think you and I should work alone, Josh has to go through channels and cannot trust his superiors. We should make our plans without involving him.” I share my skeleton plan with the two others.

  Caught by surprise, Josh breathes out heavily. For the briefest time, his eyes become disconnected from mine. A brief disappointment slides across his mouth.

  I don’t wait for him. “Josh, if you’re caught, the minute they detain you in a cell, you’ll be killed, they’ll use your shoelaces to say that you hanged yourself. You can be a great help to us if we’re able to have contact with you so you can pull strings without anyone being suspicious and supply us with the things we need. We, Jalal and I, are going to interrogate and torture Sadegh and eventually kill a terrorist. I need you to hear me one more time—this person is not an American. He is trying to kill Americans. He is the number-one terrorist in the world, so as an American citizen, I would be killing a terrorist whom I found accidentally.

  I take a deep breath and continue. “I’m ready to take my chances on this and I am sure so is Jalal. This is not something you can help us with. You are part of the system; you cannot break the law. All of us have a job to do. If Jalal and I fail, for we do not know if he has surrounded himself with bodyguards, you are the only back-up we have. They can’t kill all three of us at the same time. You have the most connections, the right people to talk to, so you should immediately start working on a Plan B back-up plan. It needs to be ready and in place by tonight. If we don’t contact you periodically over the next few days, you will have only a few hours before Sadegh finds you.”

  Jalal agrees. “I am positive that we will not find a way to break into Sadegh’s house. His alarm system is bound to be the best money can buy. None of us can go to the reception tonight, for if he suspects us, he will kill you tonight or have his bodyguards do it when you leave. Without a doubt, Sadegh knows Jay lives in Chicago and I’m sure, Josh, he’s kept a dossier on you, your associates, and your friends. Perhaps even your sister. I will go to see him. I have his photograph. I know what he looks like. I can confront him, then walk away so he can follow me. I do not want him to follow me back to this apartment, for if he does, and finds Jay lives here, he will surely kill every one of us tonight or tomorrow. Josh, you know this city better than any of us. Help us find a motel where streetlamps don’t light up the area, so when he follows me, he will find me and when I catch him, no one will notice, or come to his assistance.”

  Josh reads the merit in what we are suggesting, point and counterpoint. “Jalal, I like it. However, it will be impossible to interrogate him at a motel. The walls aren’t soundproof and too many nosey people could be watching your room.”

  “Don’t worry about where we will interrogate Sadegh. I have a place in mind that is outside Chicago. Leave that part to me,” I say.

  “Where is this place?”

  “Better you don’t know because if you are questioned, you cannot describe a place you know nothing about. Josh, you drive your car and we’ll follow in mine so you can show us exactly where to go, then leave us at the motel. Jalal will book in a room there. I have your beeper number. I have some thoughts I’d like to run by all of you, so let’s spend some time and talk this through.”

  I face Josh, “No detector on my car, cell phone, or air surveillance. You absolutely must not know where I am taking Sadegh. When you need to take a lie detector, you will come out clean, so please do not have me followed.”

  * * *

  I blow over the edge of my cup; the coffee is still hot. Three hours have elapsed since Josh left. I’ve begun writing notes on a yellow legal pad. I ask Jalal if there is anything else he can think of. Wearily, Jalal shakes his head.

  “Okay then, let me read back to you what we’ve planned. Stop me if anything is not clear or if you want any changes. We’ll also go over the checklist of items I need to buy.”

  It takes us another hour to review Plan A. The only interruption has been faxes arriving.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Much later, Jalal and I leave my apartment. Each of us carries a large duffel bag. Jalal wears one of my formal dark suits. In one of the pockets is a typed note. The fax is folded neatly and packed at the bottom of my duffel bag. The list of questions I will ask Sadegh is eighteen pages long. Josh organized with a pharmacy to courier me antibiotics and a saline drip with which to prolong Sadegh’s life by fighting any infections as they develop. I intend on keeping him alive long enough to give answers to all the questions.

  I am dressed in the clothes I use when I go hiking. My boots come up to just below my knees and are thick enough so that if I inadvertently disturb a snake, the fangs will not pierce the leather.

  I own a large, black V-8 Jeep Cherokee with tinted windows, which I use when moving new products from the warehouse to one of my stores. I quickly unscrew the license plates and replace them with the Indiana plates Josh brought over just before we left.

  When I get into the driver’s seat, I feel tiny droplets of sweat bead on my forehead. I whistle to myself as I start the Jeep and drive out of the garage. Our first stop is at Pets Outlet Emporium. There, I open the back doors of the Cherokee, fold the seats down, and walk into the store. Jalal stays in the car.

  Ten minutes later, I walk out the side door, pushing a trolley with a four-by-four wire cage on it, the kind used to crate a big dog, a German Shepherd or Great Dane. Behind me, a young shop clerk pushes another cart containing half a dozen smaller cages. When we get to the Jeep, I climb in the back. The clerk passes the small cages to me. I stack them on the side then he helps me maneuver the large cage through the doors. It is a snug fit, with a few inches of space on either side. He gives me a coil of rope, wire, and a folded fishing net. I tip the young man, who smiles when he sees the $5 bill.

  At Camper’s Corner, I quickly find what I am looking for and return to the Jeep in a few minutes. I dump oversized paper bags behind Jalal’s seat. They land on the floor with a thump, the noise of the iron and metal stakes clanging loudly against the lar
ge hammer in the second of the two bags. I place tightly folded sheets of plastic on top of the bags.

  “We’ve got everything. Let’s go.” I punch in Josh’s number on my car phone. “Meet you at the corner of Halstead and Roosevelt in about ten minutes.”

  At Roosevelt, I park the Cherokee in a parking garage and we wait for Josh to pick us up.

  * * *

  The sun has set and it is nearly 7 o’clock. We’ve been driving in Josh’s car between the railway repair shops and light industrial zones located in South Chicago Heights. This area has dozens of transient motels catering to the railway personnel who arrive daily, spend a few days completing the repairs to railcars, then return to the towns they came from.

  Josh explains why he’s brought us here. “Storekeepers, motels, even taxis are used to seeing strange new faces every few days on these streets. No one will give us a second glance. First, we find a run-down dump where no questions are asked. The lighting is important. If the parking areas in front of the rooms are well lit, it’s no good for us. The fewer cars the better—means the place is probably empty. Some of the motels here rent out their rooms by the hour. Prostitutes in the area use rooms not too far from where they work. If the cops are called, you might be bumping into them. We’ve got to find the motel that doesn’t rent by the hour, but by the night.”

  At Eighteenth, just south of Maxwell Street, we find the Maxwell Motel. Half the neon sign is blacked out, but intertwined Ms flash above the office. The VACANCY sign shines from the office window and we see the head of a man sitting behind an elevated counter. No cars are parked in the lot and the building is long and narrow as it disappears into the darkness. None of the rooms are lit, and the streetlight at the entrance is not working. Other than a light in the office, the Maxwell Motel is in darkness. No houses are nearby, only factories.

  Josh edges his car forward past the motel, stopping fifty yards further along the street in front of a large gate with barbed wire on top. The two sections of the gate are held together by a heavy chain that sags in the middle and is connected with a padlock. The area is dark. Far off in the distance, the lights of Chicago’s skyline pulse with frenetic energy.

  Josh gets out of the car. He drags a duffel bag lying between the front seats and takes out four large bath towels. Unbuttoning his shirt, he takes it off and wraps two towels around his waist, bunching them a bit. He then secures the towels under his chest with a belt, the towels giving him the fat belly he wants. He unbuttons his pants, pulls them down over his knees and winds a towel around each thigh. He secures each towel using two more belts, then pulls up his pants. Then he pulls on a dirty sweater two sizes too large for him, but it fits snugly over the towels.

  “The false moustache and longer sideburns I’m putting on are made from my own hair, which our tech guys cut from our heads and mold into whatever disguise we request. If someone becomes paranoid while we’re working undercover and pulls the moustache, it won’t come off. We have a special solution similar to acetone that releases the skin; otherwise, it sticks like Crazy Glue.”

  Pulling a Chicago Cubs cap from the duffle, he puts it on back to front, rolls up two wads of cotton balls, and pushes them into either side of his mouth. Finally, he put on a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses. Arms extended, thighs apart, waddling slightly as he walks back toward the motel, Josh enters the office.

  The man is watching a small television. Josh waits. In the center of the room stands a worn desk, a table, and an open filing drawer. The man’s jacket hangs from a nail on the wall. The man has seen him in the mirror, but continues to ignore him. Finally the man turns, opening the desk drawer and takes out a gun. He puts it on the desk, his hand inches away from the weapon. He is a small man with thick, sweet-smelling gel plastering his hair.

  He looks earnestly at Josh, chewing tobacco rolling it from one side of his mouth to the other. “It’s loaded, Fat Boy, and I know how to use it good and fast. Boy, rooms cost $22, plus taxes, even $25 bucks. Understand me now, Fat Boy, unless you got your own towels and blankets, you give me another $20 deposit. If you don’t need towels or a blanket, you give me only $10 deposit. When you check out in the morning, providing there ain’t cigarette burns or such, you get your money back, whichever. Understanding me so far, Fat Boy? Good. You got a car, boy?”

  “No, sir, friend of mine dropped me on Maxwell Street. He be picking me up tomorrow about 9 o’ clock. Don’t worry none, sir, won’t cause no trouble, sir, I just want the furthest room away from the street, sir, so it be nice and quiet sir, so’s I can sleep good, sir.”

  The man wipes his mustache with his fingers, as if searching for crumbs that might be stuck in between the hairs.

  “Boy, I’m ‘bout ready to close up and go on home. Can’t stand here talking all night, $25 or $45. What’s it gonna be?”

  Josh pulls out singles and a ten from different pockets, carefully counting, then putting them on top of the desk. Sheepishly, he says, “Guess I’ll sleep in my clothes, sir. Only got me $25, plus ten for your deposit, sir.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, the man scoops the notes into his pocket, takes a key from the row in front of him, and puts it on the desktop. “Room’s at the end of the yard. On the wall next to the door handle, press the rubber button. The light above the door will burn for fifteen seconds, then it turns itself off. Understand, Fat Boy? Fifteen seconds. You want to use a telephone, use the call phone, one outside the office.”

  Josh picks up the key, bows his head slightly. “Thank you, sir, thank you kindly. Don’t you worry none sir, I don’t cause no trouble.” He turns, opens the door, and walks into the darkness.

  In the office, the man smiles to himself as he unfolds the bills, smooth’s them out, and puts the wad back into his pocket. He sticks the gun into his belt, turns off the lights, and the neon sign. Then he locks the door and walks toward Maxwell Street, humming to himself.

  Hidden in the darkness, Josh watches the man leave.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Martin Seymour is enjoying himself immensely. H. J. Yu, International Executive Director of Cored, the guest speaker, has just completed the induction of Dr. Ada Li, the new president. Seymour is working the room saying his good-byes. The reason for his enjoyment is that in approximately three months, at least a quarter of all the guests attending the dinner this evening will be bankrupt. At gatherings like this throughout the United States are hundreds of people who will be wiped out. Lemmings, all going over a cliff together.

  Before the dinner, he had spent most of the afternoon concluding the paperwork that finalized the sale of his last remaining properties in the States. His Treasury bills, shares, and dollar currencies had long since been converted into gold and deposited safely in Switzerland. The 270 Fortune 500 companies he’d targeted with the Saudis over the last six years would be the first to fall. Using the dummy companies in various strategic areas, a Wall Street panic would start when the Saudis began massive selling and dumping of shares in the targeted companies.

  The dollar and all countries tied to the dollar currency, especially the ones with large dollar reserves, would also crash when the panic began. For years, he and the Saudis had been slowly positioning themselves to collapse the American stock market.

  Black Monday had been triggered purposefully to see how the US government would react. Now, with the new regulators to automatically correct any market swings, it was comparatively simple to sell off shares and decimate highly leveraged, vulnerable companies. They would crash and the market would crash with them. The regulators would be powerless. He was counting on the fact that when the Russians smelled blood they would also come in for the kill.

  Tomorrow, I will be leaving the States for Switzerland, and the man known as Martin Seymour will disappear forever, he gloated silently.

  The plastic surgery that created Seymour will now create a new person with a new face. This new face will in a few years be known throughout the world when I am proclaimed President of the Greater
Iraqi Nation, which by then will include Iran, Syria, Kurdistan, Lebanon, Turkey, and Israel. The Saudis will annex all the other sheikdoms on the Arabian Peninsula.

  Arranging to assassinate his cousin Abdel Amir, the present ruler, would not be a problem. All the plans are progressing perfectly. The lemmings are getting closer and closer to the edge of the cliff, and it couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of pompous, opinionated, vulgar assholes.

  Seymour’s thoughts whirred as he watched the tuxedoed and gowned guests circulate.

  I remember with great clarity, after graduating from West Point, how I was taken secretly to visit and sit at the feet of the old Imam, the holy man who had explained the Spiritual Power of Hudna. Hudna was a blessing bestowed only on the greatest of Allah’s children, and I, Sadegh, had been chosen. That minute, that hour, on that day, was the beginning of my true life. My journey through life from that moment on was to convince the enemies of Islam to feel complete security, and then to attack when they are least expecting it. This honor of Hudna is the most sacred and greatest of the Prophet’s teachings. My mission was, and still is, to lull the enemy into thinking that I am one of them, a part of them, proud of them, knowing that one day I will kill them. Kill them in the same way I step on a cockroach with my shoe, when it dares to look at me, and not run and hide. The Hudna allows the Islamic faithful to have a cease fire or accommodation with its worst enemy for a period of time, while the True Believers secretly work to re-group, strengthen, and re-arm, re-build, and plan the destruction of the enemies of Islam.