The Screaming Eagles (26 page)

The traitors could not escape and they knew it. Your father’s rationale was that unless he killed all the traitors and eradicated all potential assassins, next time they would not miss; it was his life or theirs. He did not have any alternatives. Those people had to be caught and he had to rid his village of the danger that they posed.

I went back to my room and lay on the bed knowing Dara was right. The man had been a split second from killing me, but I could not watch him die the way they were killing him. The screams continued for many hours and it was nearly dark before I heard a single shot.

Throughout the night, I heard many different people scream. As the sun began to rise, the last single shot was fired. Each man who was tortured that night had a different voice, a different scream as he continued to beg Mustaffa to shoot him and end the torture. I discovered that no two people scream in exactly the same way. I also discovered that no matter how I tried to cover my ears with blankets and pillows so as not to hear the animal like screams, I could not eliminate hearing the sobbing and begging for their lives to be ended.”

Jalal said. “Don’t go on, it is not necessary to upset yourself so.”

Michael continued as if he’d not heard Jalal speak.

“The nightmares, I explained to the psychiatrist were always the screams of the condemned men followed by an eerie deathly silence that lasted for a long time as Mustaffa waited for the confession. Mustaffa continued to sharpen his knife on a large stone that was placed near the man’s head in his line of vision. Instead of wetting the stone with water so as to sharpen the knife, Mustaffa used my blood. In my dream, I was always the man being tortured and begging Mustaffa to shoot me. The pain was more than I could bear and when he came close to me his knife turned into a scalpel dripping my blood. He continued to make an incision then slowly tear the skin and flesh down my body a quarter of an inch at a time, then he would return to the stone and begin sharpening his knife again. After a long silence, I would hear Mustaffa moving towards me and knowing that the agony was about to begin. I would start to cry.

All my life I had prided myself in never betraying anyone’s trust. Standing up for what was morally right was my strength of character and the code of ethics that I lived by. But, as I heard Mustaffa coming closer, I was prepared to confess to anything, admit to everything, name anyone even my family, my friends, my country. I was willing to betray my country, my people, anyone, but Mustaffa would still not believe me and continued to torture me all night.

In my dream before he finally kills me, he carves out on my forehead the mark of Cain and the mark of Judas, for he has recognized my cowardice and that I am a man without honor. He has recognized that I am a man that would betray anyone, even my country and the people I love, and for this he despises me and continues to torture me. As I prepare myself to die, I know in my heart that in the life after death, those two marks of shame on my forehead will be with me throughout eternity and everyone that meets me will know that I am a man unworthy, a man without honor.”

Michael stopped talking and continued staring at Jalal. His face was ashen. Neither spoke. Finally Michael sat down letting out a deep sigh, almost a groan. He took his empty coffee cup watching it intently as it turned in his hands.

Jalal got up, took the cup from Michael, and poured fresh coffee to the brim, spilling some on the floor. He handed it to Michael.

“Drink it now.”

Embarrassed, Michael soon gathered himself and jokingly said, “See Jalal, I’m not the iron strongman I used to be. Still want to go to war with a damaged old soldier at your side?” “Nothing has changed. I’ve always trusted you, I still do. I know you will not let me down.”

“Humor me then. I believe that we can work ten times faster if you include Perry, and, Hanan. They have resources and contacts I could never come up with. Let’s use them to obtain the information we want and when we are ready to grab Sadegh, you and I will do it alone without them. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Michael glanced at his watch as he walked to the telephone. He picked it up and dialed. It rang only once.

“Perry, Michael. We need to talk.”

“Now, at five in the morning?”

“Yes”

“Trouble?”

“Yes.”

“Give me half an hour.”

Michael phoned again. Speaking in Hebrew he said, “Hanan, Michael. Remember Jalal, the Kurdish youngster who lived with me in Teheran? He’s here. You need to hear what he has to say immediately. Israel is facing a major problem.”

“Be there in twenty minutes.”

Michael put down the telephone, “Perry and Hanan are my closest friends in Chicago, and both in their own ways have years of combat experience. It’s those sort of people that can help or at least advise you what to do. Your plan is to kidnap a man you suspect of being a killer, and head of a terrorist network. Can you and I trust Perry with this knowledge, I don’t know. If we were in Israel, Hanan and I would know who to contact and how best to handle this situation. I believe what you told me, and I’m sure Hanan will also. We both lived in the Middle East and understand ethnic hatreds that go back thousands of years.

Perry deals with crime and criminals every day, it’s his business. You’ll need solid, hard facts if he’s skeptical, and I’m sure he will be. You need to understand that global strategies and intrigue might not be his specialty, but as a street fighter using street smarts where there are no rules and no holds barred, I’d match him up against anyone. You’re going to have to take some chances, Perry will be your first.” Jalal sat in the chair looking at Michael. He was obviously troubled with the inclusion of Perry, a complete stranger. He cracked his knuckles one at a time never blinking as he stared intently at Michael, not saying anything. Eventually he looked down at his hands, examining the hills and valleys his knuckles made slowly moving his thumb up and down each knuckle. He seemed stricken and unsure what to do weighing each possibility unhappy to be put into the position of meeting this stranger.

Michael continued. “Start the conversation with what you can prove, give him an in-depth background of the Middle East and how each of the four nations surrounding Kurdistan have an effect on your people. Up until tonight I don’t think that Perry has ever met a Kurd or spoken to one. Someone who has never lived with the sort of dangers and constant state of war that you and I have lived with all our lives cannot be expected to understand why Sadegh must be killed. Leave till the end what you want to do to Sadegh. Let’s watch how Perry reacts. You do the talking, you decide if you trust him. It’s your decision.”

*

When Hanan arrived, he and Jalal shook hands warmly. Politely, they discussed various places and incidents in Teheran while waiting for Perry to arrive. Hanan’s instincts warned him of Jalal’s menace. This man sitting opposite him was a killer.

Perry arrived a few minutes later. Warily, he looked at Jalal, pulled up a chair and sat down opposite him.

“If this is going to be a long meeting Michael, please get me a mug of coffee, not a cup.” Looking at Jalal, he said simply. “Hi, I’m Perry.”

Jalal nodded. “My name is Jalal.” Michael poured coffee and gave it to Perry. Jalal crossed his leg, ankle and shoe resting on his knee. Instinctively Michael realized that Jalal had a gun in an ankle holster. His hands resting on his thigh were positioned inches away from his knee, inches away from his gun. Jalal obviously did not trust Perry.

“Before Jalal starts, you both need to know the background that strongly binds me to Jalal and his people. I want to tell you how I met his father Dara. One of the reasons why I believe Jalal is that I’ve known him from the time he was fourteen years old and our lives have connected and intertwined ever since. The last time I saw his father Dara was when he was standing on the gallows about to be executed. By a strange quirk of fate, I met Jalal minutes before he saw his father hanged. Tonight, after I heard what Jalal proposed to do, I find myself in a situation where the person involved with the terrorists is a man I knew quite well. He was a client of mine in Teheran. I was not aware at that time that he executed Jalal’s father; however, I was made aware tonight that Jalal has come here to find him.

I wish I could have helped Jalal on my own for it would have been a great honor to have helped the son of my friend Dara and in a small way repay the Kurds for helping us during the Six Day War. Unfortunately, I lack the knowledge and resources to provide the urgent help Jalal needs. This is why I’ve asked you to hear what he has to say and I hope that you can be of assistance to him. I have assured him I trust you completely.”

Uneasy suspicion caused him to fidget and say nothing. Jalal looked searchingly at Perry. Michael was sure Perry knew that Jalal had a gun strapped to his ankle. Perry returned the stare looking at Jalal as he continued sipping his coffee. The silences got longer not a rattle of a saucer, spoon or cup broke into the silence that was beginning to hang heavy throughout the room.

Finally Michael said, “Damn it, Jalal, are you going to say something, or what?”

Perry raised his hand slightly. “Easy does it. Your friend doesn’t know me like you do. Mr. Jalal, I’m an FBI agent stationed in Chicago in charge of counter-terrorism and report directly to the deputy director of the FBI.” He took out his wallet, and gave Jalal his identification card.

“Mr. Jalal, why don’t you copy down the number. If you turn it over, you can choose any of those 800 numbers. They’re free calls from anywhere in the United States, so you can check me out. If you’re satisfied, let Michael call me later. I need to get some sleep.”

Jalal examined the card, turned it over and over again, running his fingers over the embossed badge. He handed it back to Perry who put it into his pocket.

Jalal shrugged, he opened his hands using them expressively as he spoke. “I do not know if you will be a friend, or if you will betray my people to our enemies. You show me a card and tell me this card will prove if you are a man to be trusted. That card is just a piece of paper. What is in your heart and your soul is more important. I cannot tell yet what you consider to be justice, fairness, or what code of ethics you live by. As a man, like all of us, you must have things that are hidden in the deepest parts of your heart. I do not know what those things might be, so I do not know, who you really are. This is my dilemma. There is no card you can show me or boss who can vouch for you, for if I am wrong, I will have made a fatal mistake, probably my last mistake on this earth.

Michael told me, I will, have to take some chances. I understand I will have to take chances, but a good general will not only prepare for his victories but also for his defeats. The proof I will show you of what I say is not the only copies that I have. I have one additional set hidden in this country and another overseas. The people who have access to the copies have been given specific instructions of what to do if they do not hear from me on a regular basis at specific times. I do not believe that I will return to my country alive and after I am killed, either, you and Michael or Hanan will have to complete what needs to be done. Can I trust you? I do not know?the 800 numbers on your card do not tell me that.

I have made my peace with my God, and have said goodbye to my family. I love my wife who is the mother of my children, for she is the only woman I have ever known. It is her face, and the face of each child that I hold in my heart. It is their support that gives me this courage, courage I never knew I had as I prepare myself to die. So Mr. FBI man, if you will eventually betray me, I am ready and prepared to be killed by you, or your superiors.”

Jalal paused, took a deep breath. He and Perry continued looking at each other, not saying a word, or giving latitude to the tension that seemed to be creeping into the direct unblinking stares they were giving each other, it was as if they were trying to stare the other one down.

Eventually Jalal looked at Hanan and said, “Let us begin, we have much to discuss.”

Talking rapidly, Jalal gave a complete background of his heritage, his people, and how he had met Michael. He then informed them that his country, Kurdistan, and the United States were targets for a hostile takeover by Iraq in a matter of days.

He paused, uncertain as how to continue.

“When I returned to our village with my father’s body, I gave Michael’s card to my mother. She recalled who he was and remembered that he had saved my father’s life. I did not know who this man was. She explained how he any my father had worked together in 1967.

Mustaffa, my uncle, was made chief as soon as my father was captured. The village elders knew that this time my father would not be rescued, for he’d been flown by helicopter to Teheran. He was caught trying to ambush and capture one of my people’s greatest enemies. Michael knew him as a friend; we knew him as a murderer.

This man the architect of so much evil, so many deaths, was always one step ahead of us. For years we tried to capture him, not kill him, though we had a few opportunities to kill him. My father knew the risk and he gambled on capturing him, but he failed and was caught instead. He was executed by Sadegh Muzahedi, may his soul burn forever in hell. Sadegh Muzahedi was a triple agent, my father found this out, that is why he tried to capture him alive. Sadegh was born to an aristocratic wealthy Iraqi family.

Sadegh was one of more than twenty children over the years that were chosen, indoctrinated and sent with false papers to schools in Teheran. He was twelve years old. His Farsi was perfect, he’d been taught the language when he was a child by his nursemaid. When he graduated school in Teheran, he was sent to the American military academy, West Point where the CIA eventually recruited him. This was an unexpected bonus, for his mission had only been to be an Iraqi spy in Teheran.

When Iranian Prime Minister Mossadeq in 1950 nationalized the oil wells saying that two dollars a barrel was not enough, the Americans panicked and tried to recruit as many agents as possible in Iran and any other oil producing countries. Sadegh, who was in the top ten of his class at West Point, was a natural for recruitment.”