The Screaming Eagles (27 page)

Perry interrupted, his face twisted into something just short of an incredulous smile. “The CIA are extremely thorough with background checks. It is hard to believe they were fooled that easily. I really don’t know where you’re going with this, but I don’t know how accurate your information is.”

“Good point. I’ll give you an answer in a minute how they were fooled. America suddenly realized how reliant and vulnerable it was for Middle Eastern oil. This is when total paranoia took over. The State Department frantically set about establishing warm relations with the Arab nations, who up until then were just considered to be desert barbarians, illiterate camel riders, who lived in filthy tents with their many wives. These barbarians who smoked hashish all the time were sitting on the largest reserves of oil in the world. American industries were making huge profits by being able to factor into their costs of production oil at two dollars a barrel. If it went up to three dollars or more, profits would fall dramatically and they’d be forced to lay off workers. Unemployment meant recession. Recession could lead to a depression. For politicians this was suicide.

Think tanks in Washington were sure that it would not take too long before the Arabs would discover their ability to hold America hostage. Because of this scrambling and haste, Sadegh slipped through the cracks, for his background was not thoroughly checked. Iran is a closed society to foreigners. Who could check him out? Where would they start? In this manner, he became a triple agent. Does that answer your question?”

“I’ll go with that. Sounds reasonable.”

Jalal continued. “My mother petitioned the Council of Elders, explaining how important it would be for the village that I obtain an education so that I could think like our enemies. My mother argued that, to defeat people who continuously kill us, we had to know them first, understand them thoroughly, then we could deal with their weaknesses. She strongly believed that living in Teheran would not endanger me, and if I could get in touch with Michael, eventually through his contacts, I might be able to get to Sadegh. If Michael were found to be working for Sadegh or Savak, I would kill him. Having met Michael, she felt that he would prove to be a good friend and not a collaborator or spy for Sadegh Muzahedi.

Iran is Iraq’s sworn enemy of many thousands of years. The Iraqis also fear the Kurds. Muzahedi suddenly found himself in a position of being able to get information about them from the Americans through the CIA. Now he had access to information on both of his enemies, the Iranians and the Kurds. He used this information brilliantly to betray Iranian and Kurdish agents all over the world. They were systematically killed off when the Americans, whom we at first trusted, unknowingly gave Muzahedi information about our networks of spies. That was another reason for us to be suspicious of Michael.

However, my mother proved to be a wise woman, for in the two years I lived with Michael, he never spoke about his past and never tried to extract from me any of our military information. Michael also became my teacher about international affairs, politics and trade. He opened up a fascinating New World for me, and I soon realized that our concerns were without merit. He also encouraged me to try to perfect my English, explaining that it was the only common denominator language if I ever traveled overseas. I could see how he enjoyed his work, and that he would never have worked as hard as he did if he was a spy, for the business would only have been a facade.

The night before my father was hanged, I was permitted to visit him. He pointed to the man in the cell next to him and told me how, this man was recruited to be a CIA agent by Sadegh. The man was a drug lord, and for three years had been Sadegh’s partner. Sadegh hanged him the same day as he hanged my father.”

Jalal looked at Perry. “Do you know what an N.O.C. is?”

“Sure, non official cover. People recruited by the CIA, drawn from all walks of life, to infiltrate potential terrorist groups such as cults, anarchists, white supremacists, any group trying to commit treason, murder or to try to overthrow the government. The N.O.C. could be a man or a woman.

Why they do it, no one knows. Maybe they’re bored housewives, CEO’s looking for adventure or college kids. We don’t know their reasons, but there sure are plenty that apply. Very few do it for the money. If they’re caught, official policy is we don’t know them, won’t rescue them, we’ll deny they exist. In the FBI, if we’re going to make an arrest or a raid, we always check first to see if there are any N.O.C.s that we need to be sure not to injure or kill.”

“The drug dealer was an N.O.C.,” said Jalal. “My father was sure that inadvertently he’d stumbled on something that could incriminate Sadegh, that was why he had to be eliminated. By putting him to death as a criminal of the state, just another person who’d broken the law, Sadegh’s hands would be clean.

The drug dealer told my father that night that Sadegh’s share of the profits had to always be converted into dollars. The payoff was picked up, every three months by the same person his wife. The drug dealer personally drove her to the airport with his escort of armed men to ensure that she got there safely. When they arrived at the terminal, and he handed the porter her luggage, on the luggage tags he always saw the destination address, Chicago. This is why, when I came to look for Sadegh, I decided to contact Michael, for Chicago was the last address I had of his.

Whenever Michael 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 that 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 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 contents of Michael’s filing cabinet. Looking through Sadegh’s file, I made a list of all the properties that Michael 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 Milton Leffeld who lives in Highland Park, a suburb in the north of Chicago. We learned that he is a wealthy businessman and we believe that Leffeld and Sadegh are the same person. We also think that Leffeld who changed his facial appearance, probably with plastic surgery, masterminded the busses, bombings and suicide attacks in Chicago.”

“What proof do you have? I sense that you’re drawing a hell of a lot of conclusions that I hope you can substantiate,” said Perry.

“I can. You’ll see. Give me just a little more time,” said Jalal. He drank long and slowly, draining his coffee cup. Michael got up and poured another cup for him.

“Any one else?” Hanan and Perry held out their mugs, which he filled.

Jalal continued, “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 destroyed the bunker. My cousin Hamid was one of those blown up. Abdel Amir’s reason for killing everyone was to ensure that no one could inform the world of his plans to provoke the Americans into eliminating Iran.

I got there too late to save my cousin, but I found the tapes that he’d hidden in the ceiling of his room. His room, which was on the perimeter of the compound, had not been damaged by the blast. Among the tapes I also found copies of faxes that were given to the Iraqi President confirming each day’s progress of the attacks that took place in Chicago and the seizure of the TV station. All the faxes originated in Chicago and were signed by the same person, who used the code name ‘Eagle One.’

Before the faxes were sent, some one would call the Iraqi president Abdel Amir on the telephone and he would make his way to the room where the Fax machine was located. The President would stand there and wait for the faxes to arrive. President Amir would read the faxes, make a few notes, then, burn each fax. No one knew what the faxes contained. However, sometimes when the President was busy, he would send my cousin to intercept the faxes as they were arriving through the machine. Hamid would then make a copy and hide it folded in his socks.

With Leffeld 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 busses. He would also have been 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.

Leffeld has to be Eagle One. If he is, I will have found the man that murdered my father and who is planning the destruction of my people.”

Looking directly at Perry, and only him, Jalal said, “Perry, Michael says that you are his friend here in Chicago, and Hanan, whom I knew a long time ago in Iran, is also comfortable with 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 all us 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 is 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 contents that they collected. Unfortunately, all were killed. I pray that your God and my God, Allah, who brought us together this night, did so because you are one of the persons that can help me with this difficult thing that I must do. Having lived in the Middle East, Michael and Hanan know a lot more about petrodollars and Hezbollah than you and most Americans do. This was the reason 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 we all will be faced with is just how fast we can go into action. Also, how fast we can find a way for me to get to Sadegh before the authorities do. Finally, who can we trust with this information, because some very high up people in your government are involved with Sadegh.”

“You’re making a serious accusation, 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 can’t allow me to tell my story. When you see my proof, you will help me, arrest me, or walk out of this room. Okay?”

Grudgingly Perry nodded. “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 it 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 we died. He forgave Egypt seven billion dollars of debt to line up forty thousand 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 ten thousand soldiers. Neither country fired a shot at the Iraqis or were in the front lines. They were used purely for window dressing to show how massive Bush’s support was. 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 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 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 one hundred and fifty 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 were 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.