by J Randall
Medhat offered, “We have contacted many cousins and those that can are coming to Baghdad. Some have contacts in the religious community and may be able to learn something. Our cousins should be gathered here within the next two days. Until then, I would recommend that you remain in your compound. I’ll contact you and arrange the next meeting—if there are no objections.”
“I’ll wait until I hear from you.” Bill rose and shook hands with the cousins.
As an afterthought, Bill reached into his shirt pocket, withdrew a light tan notebook bound in stained leather and extended it toward Medhat. “Would you take a look at this and tell me what you make of it? I can hold a simple dialogue, but that’s the limit of my Arabic abilities.”
Medhat took the three inch square book from Bill and studied the front and back before thumbing through its half-inch of pages. “It appears to be an address book…with an occasional quote from a religious sermon…Here’s a strange entry.”
“What is it?”
“I have studied the Qur’an, but I don’t recall reading anything like this. The literal translation is, “Followers of Islam, put aside internal strife and make ready for my return. Take up no arms against the infidels but gather together those tools of destruction from our enemies that they would use against us and keep them in the cave for my return. Our enemies shall provide the means for our triumph. When you have gathered up the enemy’s tools, one of my family will return and show you how to multiply them and how to use them. It is the will of Allah. Muhammad.”
“Is there a connection between this book and the cleric at the mosque?”
“I’m not sure,” Bill lied. He took the book from Medhat and slipped it back into his pocket.
He was still unsure how much he could trust these men.
“One of my men found it by the gate at our compound.”
Bill placed the kaffiyeh on his head and grinned at Omed. “Perhaps next time I’ll wear a ten-gallon Stetson.”
Omed looked up at Bill expectantly. “What’s a ten-gallon Stetson?”
“That’s what all of the cowboys in Texas wear.” This got a laugh from the older men.
Bill left and drove around the city, not wanting to return to the compound from the direction of Hilal’s house.
His thoughts were occupied by the memory of the cleric glaring at him across the street.
He realized that these ‘cousins’ offered him his best opportunity to get an inside track on the cleric.
* * *
Bill drove back to the compound and parked the jeep in the motor pool, where he was met by the duty officer.
“Bill, there’s something I think you need to see.” Chuck Finney’s voice was somber.
Bill saw the pained look on Chuck’s face. “Lead the way.”
Back in the communications center, Chuck reached over to his desk, opened a drawer and removed a small plain envelope.
With a shaking hand he offered it to Bill. “A little less than an hour after you left one of the men stuck his head in the door and said there was a funny looking guy sitting in a car parked out front.”
Bill took the envelope from Chuck and inspected it curiously. “Did you recognize him?”
“When I approached the gate to see who it was, I realized it was a Muslim priest. But he had a long beard. Not trimmed like the others. Looked like one of the Smith Brothers on a box of cough drops. He tossed this at me and drove off.”
Bill lifted the flap of the envelope and slid its contents out on the desk.
“That bastard!” he said in a hushed, quivering voice. “That bastard!”
Bill was staring at Billy Dumont’s UN identification card.
“Who else have you told?” Bill’s stare might have turned the duty officer to stone.
“No one. I wouldn’t let anyone know before you were told.”
“Chuck, keep this between you and me. It has become personal.”
“Sure, Bill…But I don’t understand.”
Bill stuck the ID back into the envelope and slid it into his pocket.
He headed toward the door, then stopped. “Not a word to anyone!”
He was gone before Chuck had a chance to say anything.
CHAPTER 45: ADDITIONAL PLAYERS
WALTER ASKED HIS PERSONAL ASSISTANT to request an appointment with Mr. Bittermann and was told that the Executive Chairman of UNSCOM could spare fifteen minutes if Mr. Terrance could come over right now.
“Come in, Walter,” said Bittermann. “May I offer you coffee?”
There was no time for a drink and chitchat.
“Thank you, no.”
Bittermann motioned to a chair. “Walter, what do you have for me?”
Walter stroked his high cheekbones. “The Saudis aren’t volunteering anything about the mysterious cleric.”
“Not unusual for the Saudis. I’ve talked to William Holden. He has seen the cleric in Baghdad and knows where he is.”
Walter perked up a little. “What do you suggest we do?”
“Nothing at the moment. William’s evaluating the situation and will contact me before any action is taken.
“The British and US governments will give us the logistical support we may need and they agree that the UN should take the lead on this. Our people can still move with minimal restriction, since up to now anyway Saddam Hussein isn’t interfering.”
Walter returned to his office and buzzed his personal assistant.“Amanda, please locate Ms. Caruthers and ask her to come to my office.”
“Yes…Mr. Terrance, the Israeli envoy rang twice while you were out. He said it was important and asked that you pay him an office call at 1400 hours. I laid the messages on your desk.”
The intercom buzzed. “Ms. Caruthers is out of the building and will return at three. I left a message for her to come here directly.”
* * *
Walter was led to the office of the envoy and waited for the young male assistant to announce him.
“You can go in now, Mr. Terrance,” the assistant said, holding the door open for him.
Levi Yanai got up from behind his desk and extended his hand. “Thanks for coming on such short notice. It has been very hectic today. I arrived back from Israel last night and the bureaucracy continues to grind away whether we’re here or not. Please have a seat.”
Walter waited until Yanai sat down behind his desk then seated himself in one of the chairs facing it.
The dark circles that were a permanent fixture around Yanai’s eyes were more pronounced than usual and made Yanai look even balder, if that was possible.
“I understand what you mean, Levi. Some days I wonder whether I oversee the Investigative Agency or it oversees me. I hope you had a pleasant trip.”
“Unfortunately, no. I attended a funeral.”
Walter dimmed his facial expression appropriately. “My condolences to you and your family.”
“Thank you, Walter, but it wasn’t someone in my family, although I was closer to him at times than to my own brother. Were you acquainted with General Saul Yadin?”
“I never met him, but of course I know who he is. Was it his service you attended?”
Yanai nodded. “The same cancer that took his wife eventually took this once vibrant man. He was one of a close Circle of friends who took measures few were aware of to ensure the security of Israel, though some wouldn’t agree.”
“I’m sorry to hear of his death.”
“As many were. But so is life, Walter. We are born to die. He’s the reason I’ve asked you here.”
Walter’s ears perked up, but Yanai seemed to leave the point.
“I give you my congratulations on finding the missing inspectors. It’s a pity that you didn’t find others when you made your rescue. It would have answered many questions. Israelis have also been victims of the mysterious cleric.”
Walter tried not to sound surprised. “You know about the cleric?”
“We’re aware that members of his sect have been causing
havoc with their perceived enemies. We have lost contact with some of our reconnaissance teams in the Golan. It’s as if the mountains had swallowed them and refused to leave a trace.”
Walter nodded. “The Hezbollah could be responsible. They have some competent people.”
“That’s true, but they wouldn’t remain quiet if they were behind it. We would have heard about the executions and gotten the bodies back or they would have requested twenty of their brothers in exchange for one of ours.” Yanai practically spit this out.
“No, it wasn’t the Hezbollah. It was bound to happen sooner or later and there’s no one to blame but ourselves.”
Walter ran an index finger along his mustache. “I’m not sure I follow you.”
Yanai stood up. “Listen to what I’m going to say. You’ve already heard part of the story and I’ll furnish the rest.”
He began to pace back and forth behind his desk and the story tumbled out. “In the ’Eighties we had a project for a nerve agent, which was no different from other nations, including your own. Survival was on everyone’s mind, with our nemesis being the Arabs and yours facing you across the Iron Curtain. Times were hard and the hands of the world clock were close to twelve. We could feel Armageddon’s breath but didn’t accept it as the end. Perhaps we were foolish or stupid or both, but survival doesn’t depend on who wins the final war but on how you rebuild afterwards.”
Yanai stopped pacing and glanced at Walter, then began pacing again before speaking.
“The Russians understood this during World War II. They sacrificed their women and children as soldiers to hold off the German hordes. Everyone fought and it made no difference how many died. When the war ended, they took their labor from the vanquished. They had them disassemble their own factories and reassemble them in Russia, where the rebuilding process began.”
Walter squirmed. “You’re implying slave labor.”
“That’s right, Walter, I’m saying what every nation in this sinful world of ours has either taken or had taken from it since time began. We knew that when the battle took place we would survive, but we had doubts if we would be able to rebuild. That was the purpose of the nerve agent. You have seen what it could do to your inspectors. During another time things might have been different, but under Rabin’s stewardship and peace initiatives the fate of the nerve agent was sealed. General Yadin tried to save the project, but was unsuccessful. With his death, the Circle has been broken and is finished—that’s why I’m telling you this. Everything was destroyed but the canisters in the hands of the clerics.”
“How did they get ahold of the nerve agent?”
“That’s unknown, but you’ve seen what they’re capable of doing with it. Walter, they present a threat to every member of the United Nations. They must not be allowed to hold on to the agent. That’s why we’re having this meeting. From hindsight I realize the mistake we made and I suggest we work together.”
Walter drew back a little at this overture. “I appreciate your honesty, Levi. What you’ve said today clears up a lot of the rumors and stories we’ve heard. We have a canister of the agent and are aware of its capabilities. I’m not sure what assistance you can give us, but I’ll pass it on to my superiors.”
Yanai held up a hand like a policeman. “No, Walter, I’m not asking you to convince your superiors to accept our help. We’re ready to insert agents into Iraq and take the mosque in Baghdad, with or without your cooperation.”
Walter blinked.
Yanai lowered his hand. “That’s right, We know where the cleric is and that the UNSCOM man, Holden, is working on a plan to get the cleric. I’m not offering you help—what I’m telling you is we can work together and resolve this problem once and for all…or Israel will act alone. Do you hear what I’m saying, Walter?”
Walter bristled. “I hear you, but you must be aware that there are more people involved than my agency. I’m willing to work with you, but I don’t have the authority to speak for everyone…I’ll get back with you.”
Yanai smiled. “Of course, my friend. Talk to Samuel and get back with me. There’s a time line to everything. I hope I hear from you before eight tonight.”
Walter stood up, unsmiling. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. I ask one thing. Don’t be hasty. It could jeopardize the safety of the UN representatives in Baghdad.”
Not getting a reply, he left the Israeli envoy’s office and followed a direct path to the office of Samuel Bittermann.
* * *
“That bald headed son of a bitch threatened to go into Baghdad and take over the mosque! They’re the ones who made and lost the nerve agent and now they want everyone to jump to their tune. Who the hell does he think he is?”
“Calm down, Walter, there’s really no need to get excited.”
“I am calm, damn it! I don’t appreciate being given ultimatums from an envoy whose country wouldn’t have survived this long if it weren’t for us.”
Bittermann’s bushy eyebrows and pudgy figure took on an avuncular aura. “There was nothing personal meant in what he said. He realized that you took it that way when you stormed out of his office.”
Walter looked up sharply. “What! May I ask how you know?”
“Levi phoned me after you left. He wanted me to convey his apologies if you took it hard. Ambassadors aren’t always easy to work with, as I’m sure you’re aware. They’ll use sugar when they think it’ll serve their purpose and threats at other times, but seldom will they take a stance in the middle of the road. He understood his mistake as it left his mouth.”
“I can accept that, but it doesn’t make it any easier.”
“I know,” confided Bittermann, “but I think this gives us the opportunity to have a professional working with William, though he won’t be one of ours.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Israelis have one of their own on his way to Baghdad. He’s an Israeli-Arab with family ties in Iraq. Levi assured me that the man is capable and loyal. I’m afraid it’s our best option in this matter. I’ll contact William tonight and give him the information.”
“I’ve been considering sending another one of my people to Baghdad—with your approval, of course.”
“Do you think that’s necessary, Walter?”
“…Perhaps not…William’s a capable man, as we saw by his action in the cave. But he’s not a professional operative. I fear for his safety. And I…don’t trust the Israelis.”
Hearing the term ‘professional operative,’ Bittermann knew that his colleague wanted to send one of his own operatives.
“I see. Of course, you’ll contact William and let him know if you do—I don’t want a surprise dropping in on him.”
Walter relaxed at this tacit approval. “Yes, sir, I’ll give him a heads-up if I decide to send someone.”
“Walter, I would appreciate it if you would talk to Levi and tell him we’re pleased to be working with him and accept his offer. One thing I learned as a young man in the diplomatic corps: Never tell your superior you cannot do something unless you can offer an option. The egos of the powerful will never accept no for an answer, right or wrong. But when you offer them the chance to save face, they’ll jump at it.”
* * *
Back at his office, Walter found Amanda and Gloria in a huddle over a new boutique a short distance from the UN.
“Gloria, I need ten minutes. I’ll buzz Amanda when I’m finished.”
The telephone talk with the Israeli envoy was less painful than he had expected. Yanai actually apologized and promised to buy him lunch later in the week.
When the conversation was over, Walter remembered Bittermann’s comments and realized that sugar had just been dispensed and he had licked it up.
“Amanda, send Ms. Caruthers in, please.”
Gloria closed the door and seated herself in the chair Terrance indicated.
She studied the wrinkles on his brow as he read his memos and knew that something was troubling him. His mu
stache even seemed distracted.
She remained quiet, knowing he would get to the purpose of her being summoned when he was ready.
“Things are beginning to come together in Baghdad. Bill Holden has unearthed the cleric responsible for abducting the inspectors and is working on a plan to get him.”
Gloria’s emerald eyes sparked. “I assume the plan’s to take him alive?”
Walter made his hands into a tent on his desk. “There’s more than just the cleric, there’s the nerve agent. The Israelis are sending someone to assist, but I have to admit, I don’t trust them. They lost the nerve agent and of course they want it back. They want it back desperately and that alarms me. I believe they would sacrifice our people to regain it.”
Gloria leaned forward. “What do you want me to do?”
“You know Holden and his men, most of whom are on paid leave and out of Iraq. I want you to watch his back.”
“Does he know I’m coming or is this covert?”
“Until I gather more insight, your presence there will remain between the two of us. If Holden knows you’re there it’s possible the Israelis will find out.”
“You don’t trust them?”
“Let’s just say allies with a different agenda don’t always make good bedfellows.”
A quirky smile ran across Gloria’s upper lip. “Okay.”
“You’ll go in with French press credentials. I hope you’ve kept your French current.”
“Oui Monsieur. Where do I pick up my documents?”
Walter handed her a manila envelope. “The information on your contact, plane tickets and hotel are here. After you dye your hair, have photos taken and drop them off with Amanda. We’ll have your passport, credentials and Iraqi papers waiting for you at the Air France desk at La Guardia. You’re scheduled on the 8 a.m. flight to Paris tomorrow. Arrangements for the flight to Jordan will be waiting for you. You should be able to catch a bus and be in Baghdad sometime late Monday evening.”
Gloria put the envelope into her purse and stood up, her smile radiant.
“I’d better get going if I want to be as stunning with black hair as I am with red.”
Walter’s eyes softened. “Don’t forget the contact lenses. There are very few Arab women with green eyes.”