Deals
John Quincy Adams known to his friends as “Q” (and by the
military as Staff Sergeant Adams, John Q.) was mulling over a problem that
would affect his family as well as his career. His next duty assignment or “rotation”
(transfer) was rapidly approaching and the army wanted him to move to Germany.
That didn’t seem so bad on the face of things, but in reality it would leave
his family alone most of the time among strangers in a strange land.
He
wanted to return to the base in Georgia where they had lived prior to Alaska.
It was a place where his wife and daughter would be within reach of family and
friends should something happen to him. In his real line of work something bad
was always likely to happen to him. He couldn’t even tell his family about what
he did as it was far beyond “top secret” and would put them at risk.
Q. had been kept extremely busy with assignments and couldn’t squeeze in the time to address the transfer issue. It always seemed to be that way. Keeping him too busy to attend to personal matters until the last minute was a familiar psychological ploy that he remembered from classes at Quantico.
Tremendous pressure had been put on Q.
to take the duty station in Germany which he told the detailer (assignment
officer) he did not want. The words “operational necessity” were thrown at him
repeatedly. There was never anything straight forward when dealing with the military
(or government in general) it was always a chess game.
Other offers that were really terrible
were pushed at him so that the alternative (their real preference) would always
look better. Isolated duty in the Antarctic and northern Greenland were brought
up as possibilities. It had been proven ad
infinitum in the three years that Q. was stationed in Alaska that where he
was assigned did not matter; he could do his job from anywhere.
The work that they cared about was
not done where he lived anyway. Only his air traffic controller “day job” was;
and they weren’t really concerned about that part. What Q. did wasn’t listed on
any job resume or even talked about; if you wanted to stay alive.
SSG Adams was a member of a unit of
soldiers which worked for a part of the military known generically as “black
ops.” They were the shadow people who weren’t there and only existed in the
darkness of secrecy. That group carried out assignments which were “outside”
(for whatever reason) of the missions given to regular units.
As was common in any unit or career field, military or civilian, there were always deals to be made for choice of assignments. This is the story of one of those deals as told to me by the man who lived it.
The Good Deal
The call came in while I was at work in the control tower. I had to arrange for my duties to be taken over so that I could go to the communications center. Once I arrived there I could respond via the necessary "secure" line.
The call came in while I was at work in the control tower. I had to arrange for my duties to be taken over so that I could go to the communications center. Once I arrived there I could respond via the necessary "secure" line.
Inside the heart of Communications
Central there are rooms which are supposed to be “listen proof” and use the
highest security protocols. It was in one such room that I was connected with
the senior member of the unit that I worked for. Conversations with the unit
commander were always conducted this way.
He was on the east coast and it was
very early in the a.m. in his time zone, but the call hour was his choice. My
superior was not alone in his secure location as I was to find out before long.
I was told up front that if I would
take the mission being offered (and successfully complete it) I would be
guaranteed to be stationed in Georgia as requested. There were prompts being
given by someone else, to which my boss would reply, “Yes Sir” and then modify
what he said to me.
Since he was the senior ranking
member of our entire unit and reported directly to… let’s just say, very close
to the top of the chain of command, it caused me concern to hear my boss in a
subservient role. Whoever was in the room with him had a lot of juice on the
hill.
We reached an agreement and the deal
was done. I would have agreed to anything to get my family back to Georgia
instead of the overseas duty station which would have required me to leave them
alone among strangers, and they knew it. So, yeah, I was played. Politics is
all about deal making and the military was in no way immune from it.
There are probably already questions
as to why a soldier was “asked” to do anything. I mean we were the order
obeying group, right? If it were a straight forward duty assignment, in a
regular army unit, you would be right.
Life was more complicated than that. When
what you were being tasked with involved a certainty that rules would be broken
and lives would be lost, including possibly your own, it was best to have a
“volunteer.”
The Mission
A missing teenager is always an
upsetting situation, but rarely requires military intervention, even when it is
a white, blonde, and cute female. Historically those are the criteria that
usually command the most reaction in our society. But, when it was the child of
a sitting United States Senator, things accelerated and unusual methods and
resources were brought to the table.
I was sent to a foreign country
without benefit of customary identification or procedures. There would be no
support, or local law enforcement presence, unless I messed up. The up side was
there were also no limits or rules placed upon me to create “red tape.” I had
“blank check” authority.
Why me you ask? Because I was
trained, experienced, had contacts in the region, and most of all … I was
expendable. Hold onto these two words forever regarding the government:
plausible deniability. Whatever I did, whatever went wrong, they wouldn’t know
a thing about it. No records, no paper trail. I was also very good at what I
did, as evidenced by my still being alive. I got “results” every time.
The girl in question had been
grabbed in Istanbul, Turkey while wandering the Grand Bazaar along with two
other American teenage girls. The other girls were found twenty-four hours
later, beaten and raped, but alive. They were released (according to their
statements) because they were not blondes.
These events had transpired well in
advance of me being brought into the picture. As anyone who has ever been
connected to a missing person case can tell you, time is everything. The more
time that has passed, the worse the prognosis becomes.
It was not as bleak as that though,
there had been action taken immediately by a federal agency with whom I was
used to working. Through their in-country agents and local contacts, it was
determined that Gail, (not her real name), had been moved out of Turkey and
into Egypt before the other girls were released.
I was on a plane to Washington, D.C.
when I received an update on her movement. It may sound odd that I was able to
get messages in flight, but I was being transported by an agency that we referred
to as “The Company”. The same “company” whose agents were providing the
information from Turkey, and Egypt.
After landing and then a fast ride
in a black windowed SUV, I was deep inside a building in our nation’s capitol.
Where I was, I couldn’t have said for sure. The vehicle drove down a ramp into
a basement parking structure which had guards and barricades.
From there it was into secure
elevators which had card readers and guys with bulges under their left armpits
waiting for us on whatever floor it was we stopped at. It was pretty
freaky to ride on an elevator with no floor indicators and which took multiple
entries on the keypad to select your floor. Keep in mind that this was 1978,
well before the public had internet, laptops, or cell phones.
The purpose of my stop in Washington
was to be briefed on the particulars of the mission. The briefing officer (not
my boss, nor the Senator, they were already distancing themselves from any contact
with me on this assignment) gave me the same information that I received via
secure phone.
I got pissed off at the amount of
“non-disclosure” in the meeting and told the junior agent to stop wasting my
time and get my boss on the phone. He left the room and I packed up my notes
and put on my jacket. My thoughts were all about how to get out of the building
and back to Alaska.
“Junior” (the young agent) never returned,
but his boss did. That (obviously more senior) agent had a better outlook on
sharing information. Pertinent data started to flow and my questions were met
with answers, instead of the infuriating “I’m not authorized to share that.”
My freshly updated information
showed that Gail was being held and transported by a white slavery group that
supplied the needs of Middle Eastern and Asian markets. Their customers had
more money and power than many small countries. They were not afraid to snatch
any target that would fit a customer’s request.
From that bit of information I knew
who I was up against, at least to start with. Things could change rapidly when
you were far away and not in control.
The bigger problem would be which
buyer she was en route to. She was a white, blonde, attractive, and teenaged American
female. Criteria which would fit many requests I’m sure; meaning that she could
be bound to anywhere.
The other possibility (and the one
that I considered the prime option) was that she was the daughter of an American
politician. As such she could be used as a bargaining chip in a ransom, or a
blackmail plan. Or she could be a prime “trophy” for a collector of women.
Those options would narrow the destination to a few Middle Eastern locales,
known to the company.
I did not question the explanation given
by the junior agent regarding Gail’s different last name being a ruse for
safety sake while traveling -- until I asked to speak to the other two girls
and was denied. Those things, combined with lack of civilian authority involvement,
set off alarm bells in my head. The incongruities rattled around in my head
while the senior agent talked… until I had stewed about it enough.
Call it a gut feeling, but I stayed
alive by listening to my gut, so I stopped the briefing. I told the agent that
I didn’t like being lied to and I needed the truth to do what was asked of me.
He picked up the telephone and dialed two digits, (so they were in the
building!) and spoke to my boss briefly. Apparently he got permission to tell
their version of the truth, because he was forthcoming and even more
cooperative after that call.
Gail was the illegitimate daughter
of the Senator. Her existence was something not known of by the public, and he
wanted to keep it that way. Her mother had already passed away. Gail lived with
her grandmother who thought the Senator was just taking care of his deceased
secretary’s daughter out of loyalty to her.
Per my request I received a current
photo of the young lady, but had to ask again for her vital statistics and
private details. It was absolutely imperative that I could identify her from
whatever glimpse, photo, or description I might obtain. The field agents knew
the value of rapid identification and insider knowledge, but the office types
were hampered tremendously by political pressure.
Gail had a birthmark on her lower
abdomen, just to the inside of her left thigh, which was the color of melted
chocolate ice cream. Today such a mark would be public knowledge and probably in
a photo on her Facebook page. That was not the case in those days of enforced
modesty for young girls.
I sincerely hoped that it didn’t
come to that detail to identify her. I asked if there were any other details or
secrets that I should know that would help, but the Senator had shut down the
information feed. That was a mistake.
While we were briefing and the
supply officer was gathering the gear I asked for, new intelligence information
came through. Gail had been seen being put aboard a private jet in Cairo bound
for Jeddah in Saudi Arabia. We had to move faster if I was going to catch
up with her.
I was in the air again in less than
thirty minutes. A fast “company” Jetstar II jet with a crew of three and long
range fuel tanks had been assigned for my transportation needs. I was traveling
solo, bound for Jeddah with a fuel stop at Tenerife. Once in Saudi Arabia a
quick assimilation into the local populace would be essential.
Fortunately for me, I still had
longer than military standard hair (left over from my last mission) and a good
mustache. That made adding a beard and some color to my skin the only body
alterations necessary. My hands were calloused and tanned from years of working
outside with tools and exposure to the elements. I would fit in well with the
working class of people that I would be moving through.
At my request the plane was driven
right inside of a cargo hangar upon arrival in Jeddah. I exited the plane
inside of that hangar already in native clothing and met up with my Saudi
contact. That man was my connection, not the company’s, and I made sure that
the pilots never saw his face. Little things could cost lives in that business.
The plane moved out onto the line on
the International side and parked for refueling. They were heading for Turkey after
an eight hour crew rest and would stand by at the U.S. air base there. I had
hoped that they would not have to wait long for my call.
My local man, Hamid, (not his real
name) put my dirty brown leather bag in his beat up Fiat and locked the trunk.
We worked moving cargo for several hours so that I could be seen by the local
security forces. Those guys had itchy trigger fingers and always had their
machine guns pointed towards us.
At adhan (the afternoon call to prayer) we lined up outside on the tarmac
facing Mecca, which coincidently, was not that far away. I stayed close to
Hamid and focused intently on performing my prayer ritual without looking
around. It was a good thing I did because the other men were watching me
closely, as my partner noted as he glanced around.
Back inside the hangar Hamid made a
telephone call to his men who were trailing the movement of the kidnapped girl.
It was now eighteen hours since I received word of her flight to Jeddah. It
was hard to be patient when I knew how critical time was.
Hamid signaled me to get in his car
and we took off through the security gates and eastbound through the city.
Twenty minutes later we arrived at his apartment and had barely gotten my bag
in the house when two young men knocked on the door. They were very wary and
never took their eyes off of me as they talked excitedly with Hamid.
My host shut the door and told me
that we had to go to the coast right away; Gail was being moved again. We
grabbed some cheese, bread and wine to consume on the way and got back into the
Fiat. That car honestly sounded like it was going to self destruct.
Thirty more minutes found us at the
coast and engaged in negotiations with a boatman to take us across the Red Sea
to Port Sudan. I kept my mouth shut, but listened closely. My hand was on my
pistol under my robes, just in case things got ugly.
We would have been in a mess if the
boat owner was more suspicious than greedy. He could notify Saudi police, or the
military, or even local pirates if we didn’t reach an agreement. It was very
fortuitous for him that he elected to take us across the sea that night. I
would not have left him breathing otherwise. He could have gotten me
killed.
Crossing the Red Sea in the dark is
not a pleasant journey in a small boat. There were many ships and many more
small craft making the journey through these waters. Most of the large ones
were lighted and cruising the north/south routes.
Other medium size craft were
cruising the coastlines all a glow with dinner guests and music. In between the
commercial craft were a few night fishermen trying to make an honest living. It
was a busy place at night.
And then there were the boats like
ours; small, fast and fueled by cash. Many of these ran without lights, some of
them using black market night vision like our captain. Hamid was asleep as soon
as we cleared the Saudi coast, trusting that the deal we made would be honored
by the boat owner. I was not as trusting and while I rested, I did so with my
eyes on the driver and my firearm in my hand.
Port Sudan was a commercial shipping
city, but also an outpost for Red Sea gangsters and pirates as well. Multiple
languages were spoken there and it became quickly apparent that anything and
everything could be bought and sold there; including people.
The new oil pipeline which had just been
completed from Khartoum brought more wealth to the few in control. It did also
bring some work in for the hungry masses that never had enough to live on. A
trade boom was happening and many foreigners were passing through looking to
make their fortunes.
It was very much an Arab controlled
place, with black labor and Indian and Asian business men. Dressed and behaving
like Arab businessmen we were able to move about without question or
interference. Those engaged in commerce were always welcomed.
I learned in my short time in that
city, that humans were regularly trafficked through there. The citizens of the
United States have no idea just how little value is placed on human life in
this part of the world. People were commodities to bought, sold, and used.
There had indeed been a sale of
women in the inner city of Port Sudan, but it was over before we could find it.
Sources we questioned had information that there were three blonde white women
on the auction block that morning but could not identify Gail among them.
The men that we spoke to could not
say that she was not there, but were equally unable or unwilling, to say yes
for sure either way. They were scared to death of being found out as an
informant. Death comes to those deemed disloyal to the masters of the city.
On My Own
Hamid had used up his day off from
work and had to get back to Jeddah; he would arouse suspicion and possibly lose
his job if he failed to report on time. That left me on my own to pursue the
leads we were given. He was able to give me a list of contacts to help me in
several locations.
Armed with the telephone number and instructions,
he was to report my progress to the company. He departed back across the sea to
Saudi Arabia and safety, such as it was at the time. The man was ultimately safer
traveling without me; he was a simple Arab among Arabs.
Our informant told us that two of
the blonde white girls had been taken southwest to Khartoum, and the remaining
girl, north towards the Egyptian border. Without any further identification or
intelligence, I had to go with the better odds and caught the train for
Khartoum.
It was already warm enough with
temperature being in the nineties, but with my gear carried partially in my
bag, and partially hidden under my robes, it was a sweaty journey. I could not
take a chance of showing any of my weapons and causing a search.
Even though I was carrying no U.S.
identification (or made-in-America labels) the American dollars I had would
start questions that would make life difficult for me. As I found out on that
train trip, nearly every man was armed and I suspect many of the women were
too. I had to keep thinking ahead and as I got more tired that got more
difficult.
Khartoum, Sudan
Khartoum was three times the size of
Port Sudan and had a more sophisticated feeling. I walked into a coffee house
and found myself a corner spot near the back door where I could see who came
and went. I did my best not to look at anyone -- while I watched them all.
A couple of hours passed and a man
finally entered who looked around the room and made his way to me. We exchanged
the customary greetings and he asked me about which coffee I preferred.
The agreed upon code words had been
given and we spent another hour drinking coffee, so as to not arouse suspicion.
It would be safe to say that everyone was suspicious in Khartoum. I would not
have been surprised at all to have had someone enter with guns blazing… such
was the feeling in that room.
Sayeed took me to his humble home in
a poor neighborhood and fed me well on lamb and couscous, but thankfully no
more coffee. The tea he served was very sweet, especially after the abuse my
taste buds had been given by the bitter coffee. I was very tired so I took a
chance and caught a two hour nap before it was time to move again. As always, I
slept fitfully and armed.
The Harem
Under the cover of darkness (and with
the hope of ending this hunt) we set out to follow up on the leads that Sayeed
had developed while I slept. Both of the blonde white girls had been purchased by
the same wealthy man and were just outside of the city in a small palace. Sayeed
had gained information from a delivery man about the location and the layout of
the property where the girls were being held.
Before I continue, I must say again
that I was not on a polite diplomatic mission. The people I faced were more
than willing to kill me, and would do so given any opportunity. The girl that I
sought was only valuable as long as she didn’t present a problem for the buyer.
My orders were to retrieve the girl
at any cost, no rules, no strings. If I failed, they didn’t know anything about
me. The fact that my usual assignments outside of the control tower didn’t
include getting “live results” should have caused more thought on my
part.
We parked the truck well down the
road from the palace and walked quickly through the small village of servant
homes, some of which were tents, and all included livestock. Camels grumbled
and dogs snarled and barked at us all the way. We acted the part of unimpressed
Arabs on business. The human life between the truck and the palace was not
concerned with us and didn’t even look up from their cooking pots.
Once at the compound I located the
security posts and watched them for thirty minutes to establish their habits. My
life and that of the girl I was trying to find depended upon my diligence. There
were no radios, no cameras, and no guard dogs to deal with.
The back side of the walled estate
had a three story tall wall with peepholes (or gun ports) at strategic spots,
all unmanned. The main point of entry for vehicles had a motorized double gate
with two men in evidence there, but they were far from the main house.
Much more troublesome was the huge
fellow with both a giant sword, and an UZI. His robe could cover the Rolls
Royce in the driveway and he wandered the grounds like a prowling cat. I would
not take a chance with that opponent.
In order to protect Sayeed, I sent
him back to the truck, telling him to catch some sleep but not to leave without
me. It would have been a liability to have him with me. I didn’t want to worry
about him getting hurt as he was our ride out of there.
I put silencers on both my pistol
and rifle and put on my night vision gear. I found a spot where I could get up
onto the wall and then waited for the big man to walk by on his rounds. Once he
got far enough ahead of me to cover the sounds of my footsteps on the wall, I
walked along behind and above him.
Fortune smiled on this monstrous
guard dog of a man that night. As I ascended the wall I found a spot where I
could see into the palace rooms on the second floor and as luck would have it,
directly into the hareem.
In that large room with its loud
colors and lots of silk drapery, were not only the two blonde white girls I had
followed, but six more young ladies of various hair colors and skin tones. They
were completely naked and engaged in a group bath while a fat older man sat in
large stuffed chair watching them. By his rich garb and the gold braid agal holding his keffiyeh on his head it was obvious that he was the sheik.
Putting the binoculars on the girls
I determined right away that neither blonde was Gail. I did watch long enough
to get a good look at the other six ladies and none of them had the tell tale
birthmark. I had to be sure that she hadn’t had her hair dyed before I backed
off.
There were collectors who wanted
physical purity, and others who wanted things to look like they wanted them to.
They would often dye the hair of normally dark haired ethnicities blonde or
red. All of these girls were all natural, and appeared to all be having
fun.
Decision time was upon me. I knew
that at the very least, the two blonde girls had been auctioned off at Port
Sudan. It was likely that the other six had been obtained in similar ways. The
question remained what if anything should I do about it?
The girls did not appear to be in
danger -- there were no handcuffs or restraints on them. All of the girls were
laughing and appeared happy and physically well.
My target was not among them, so I
had no reason to kill the guards or the sheik, and it would delay my search for
Gail. I made my decision and departed the palace grounds and walked back to the
truck.
I would have Sayeed contact Hamid
and forward the information on to the company as to the whereabouts of these
women, with their descriptions, and let them work out the problem of extracting
them from their happy harem. Time was being wasted and I had to catch up with
blonde number three.
Sayeed took me to the Khartoum train
station and we called a friend of his regarding the other girl, whom we now had
to assume was Gail. That young girl had been taken north to Abu Simbel in
Egypt.
Egypt
Crossing the Egyptian border was a
bit more difficult than entering Sudan, but there are always ways to do what
you need. My problem was not only the weapons that I had on me, but the lack of
a passport or official papers. Both problems were solvable with time, but that
was my biggest shortfall, I did not have extra time.
I made my way to Wadi Halfa in northern Sudan and hired a
boatman to take me north on Lake Nubia, which became Lake Nasser in Egypt.
Whatever name you called it, this was still the Nile River and had a lot fewer
police and military checkpoints to deal with.
My waterborne taxi driver had a
cousin with a truck on the Egyptian side of the border and that would be my way
into Abu Simbel. As always I had to depend upon the trust of my network of
contacts, but wouldn’t hesitate to “terminate” our friendship if my life was
threatened.
I watched carefully as we crossed
the “dotted line” (on my map) and made our way up a side channel on the west
side of Lake Nasser, always ready to dump my bag over the side if a police boat
approached. Not only did none approach us, but I never even saw one
anywhere on the water.
After a long, dusty, bumpy ride in
the back of what must have been a WWII vintage truck (it had long ago lost its
brand logo), we arrived in Abu Simbel.
This was tourist land and there were
lots of foreigners and many cars and trucks zooming around. It was a good
environment for me to speak to local contacts. I went to the boat landing and
checked for the first guy on the list that Hamid gave me, but he was out on a
trip with tourists, so I went looking for number two.
It was during this walk about that I
spotted the suit following me. I changed directions, doubled back and delayed,
all to see what he would do. He was obviously a company man because he operated
by the book, so why was he tailing me? If we made contact it would be like
pointing a finger at me.
I could take him out, or cause the
locals to attack him, but he might have a message for me. I had to wait until
dark and then lure him to a quiet location and make contact my way. The extra
attention made it difficult to pursue my contact and find Gail. At that point I
was quite willing to shoot the man for putting me and my mission at risk.
While I watched and waited, my Abu
Simbel contact, Mohammed, found me. He also had spotted the very white guy with
a military haircut and American mannerisms following me. Mohammed, as you might
guess, was very well connected in the area and arranged for the suit to be
captured and detained.
An hour later we entered a small
house to find the young agent tied up in a chair with a bag over his head. He
was OK and not in danger of being beheaded, but he didn’t know what was going
to happen to him.
Since I had control over what
happened with this young man, I was not worried about talking to him. He could
not speak to anyone else without my permission, or go anywhere.
Company interference
The agent was following me to find out what I knew and
what I was doing, but not to help me. They got my message about the kidnapped
girls in Khartoum, but did not go after them, instead forwarding their
whereabouts to the countries law enforcement agencies who had reported missing
girls who matched my descriptions. But that was all he was willing to say.
Mohammed spoke to one of his men and in a few minutes he
came back into the house with a car battery and some electrical wire. They
stood the still “bagged” agent up and removed his pants and boxer shorts and then
sat him down again.
I whispered a suggestion to Mohammed
that it would be more effective if the agent got to see the battery brought in,
so he signaled his man to take the battery back outside. The other helper then
was instructed to remove the hood. Once the young man’s eyes could focus, the
battery came back in the door.
There are expressions that we refer
to as “priceless” now days, what I saw next definitely qualified. The young
agent processed the appearance of the battery along with his pants being
removed, rather quickly. His face formed the most priceless expression, one
that almost caused the rest of us to laugh, except that we were completely serious.
The connections and contacts that I
had been working with Hamid, Sayeed and Mohammed, were life and death serious.
Any compromise of this network could and possibly would, result in the death of
one or more members.
Something as simple as causing a
policeman to detain or question any of the players, could necessitate the
breakdown of an entire network. Torture is routine in this part of the world
and the only right you have is to scream when it hurts.
Our guest with no pants, who we
called Sam, was already terrified. So when I stepped in front of him and
touched two wires together and made sparks, it was understandable that he
should pee. I also understood why Mohammed had me do it, the guy peed on
me.
I told him that he had one chance at
the truth before I made his testicles look like Rudolph’s nose and made the
wires spark again; he was very willing to cooperate.
The question was posed to him, “What
are you doing in Abu Simbel following me?”
He stated that he was to delay and
hinder my progress as much as possible, on the orders of the same company
bosses that had briefed me less than three days earlier. The chess game
continued it seemed… was I a knight, or a pawn I wondered.
I asked him very quietly and in
desperate seriousness, “Have you reported any of my contacts or compromised
them in any way?” His answer would mean his life if it were the wrong
one.
He stated that he had not and was
only ordered to interfere with me. I believed him, his reactions and face told
me that he spoke the truth and had no desire to be a tortured hero.
Since I was under orders from my army
unit and not the company, I was not inclined to worry about what they liked or
didn’t. I really didn’t care for their constant politics and lies anyway.
The issue of compromise was so
important, that the young agent’s life was in question for much of an hour. I
was finally able to convince Mohammed that holding young Sam for a week while
they checked for leaks or compromise would give them the time needed to change
their contact information.
Mohammed was worried about the many
people that he was responsible for and showed a tremendous amount of courage
and faith in what he saw in my eyes. If I had lied or was a double agent all of
those lives would have been forfeited.
The week delay would give me enough
time to do my job too. It wasn’t likely that they would send another agent
until they knew where Sam was or what happened to him. I counted on what I knew
about the company and my own gut feelings to be right.
I was able to sleep until sunrise
while Mohammed’s network worked for me. I had gained major respect with the
locals from the events of the previous night and it was paying off in
information. The sheik who bought the third blonde girl had traveled through
Abu Simbel and had stopped at a local hotel. The local employees would have
loads of information for me.
The Not So Nice Sheik
I was riding in a nice looking
Mercedes, if you didn’t mind the bullet holes in the door, when the sun was
less than an hour old. It was heading northwest away from Abu Simbel on what
were laughingly called roads, toward an encampment near some lakes that I had
never heard about.
There we would find the recently
fired driver of the sheik I was looking for. The driver, Abdullah, had returned
to his family camp located just north and east of the biggest lake, and the
only one with good water.
We found the lake, and by just
following the road on the east side we located the camp of the desert people we
sought. Stopping in front of the largest tent we got out and accepted the
hospitality of the occupants. Hospitality was a sacred obligation of the desert
tribesmen and not something to make light of if you wanted to live.
I was travelling with Mohammed’s son
Benjamin (named for Benjamin Franklin, a hero of Mohammed’s) and one of his men
that I called “Ibn”. He was real proud of his lineage and spouted ibn after ibn
until it was all that registered with me. Ibn means “son of” in Arabic and he
was definitely a “son of” something. The fact that Mohammed sent his chief
enforcer (to use a gangster term) along with us showed me that he was worried
about trouble finding us.
The camp that we were having tea in
was not the right family but they wanted us to stay and eat with them anyway.
Such is the way of hospitality in the desert. We made our excuses and begged
their forgiveness for having to go, but it was important that we get on with
our search.
Meeting the Blue People
Several kilometers north on the same
dirt track (road) we found the correct camp and with it Abdullah’s family. The
camp was well organized with a very large tent in the center and farthest away
from the road. Other tents formed a protective semi-circle extending on either
side. Numerous camels, goats, horses and a few cows were in evidence behind the
tents, with boys on foot attending them. Everywhere I looked as we approached I
saw intense eyes looking back at me.
The appearance of the gold colored
Mercedes with the bullet hole accents caused a flurry of activity as we eased
to a stop on the road and shut off the engine. Riders on flashy Arabian horses
came from both ends of the camp and cut off any avenue of escape. From the
tents, armed men with blue turbans and veils over their faces walked towards
us.
Benjamin exited the car first giving
greetings and proclaiming our peaceful intentions. Just like that, the mood
changed; the riders took off, and the women went back to work. When the
potential threat had been reduced to merely traveling strangers, our hosts went
into hospitality mode, preparing tea, coffee and increasing the size of the
meal being planned to accommodate three more. There was no “hurry” in these
matters, especially if you wanted something from your hosts, and we did.
I noticed a problem in the body
language of the men who surrounded the chief of the tribe whenever Ibn was
anywhere near their patriarch. There was hate in their eyes and they were
tensed up like cats waiting to strike. They knew that I didn’t fit into the
Egyptian countryside, but there was no hostility directed my way. Getting
Benjamin’s attention, I signaled for him to come over to where I sat and speak
with me. Benjamin had also noticed the friction and quickly filled me in on the
problem.
The entire Middle East had been in
turmoil for years and not surprisingly, Ibn was a soldier during many of them.
His religious leanings were decidedly Muslim and of a sect that was not opposed
to torture and killing to get what they wanted. The unit he belonged to had
been stationed in the same region as this tribe and it seems that Ibn had taken
his knife to the former leader of the clan. The big goon had threatened to skin
the leader’s younger brother (the chieftain we sat with) if he ever saw him
again.
Bad to Worse
Things were about to boil over in
that big tent and as perceived associates of Ibn, if it went bad we would have
been targets too. I had my pistol in my hand under my sleeve as I sat
listening, trying to appear relaxed and I had to assume that everyone else in
the circle had a grip on their weapon of choice too.
As I feared would happen Ibn snapped
under the strain and lunged for the chief with his big dagger in his hand. There
was a loud bang and the round from my pistol knocked him backwards instead. He
had earned a third eye with which to view the world more clearly.
The chief was on his back with two
men covering him with their bodies, more than willing to give their lives to
protect him. The other men in the tent had blades in their hands and adrenalin
pumping through their veins. Only young Benjamin was still sitting at his spot
with his tea cup in his hand.
The chief was helped back to his
cushion and his first words were “Masha
Allah” which means “God has willed it.” Young men in blue veils grabbed
Ibn’s arms and drug him out of the tent and out of sight. What they did to, and
with him, I did not know.
Because of my actions I had gone
from a stranger receiving hospitality to family with that one split second
decision. The tribe saw it as an act of heroism. It was really an act of
self-preservation I must admit, but one that would pay great dividends in the
future.
Once the drama and hostility were
gone the tribe was a lot more helpful. Abdullah was on his sleeping mat in a
tent at the far north end of the camp. He was ill, which was why he had not
been a part of the greeting party. When I entered his tent I could see, and
smell, that he was both ill and injured.
The illness I recognized from having
seen it before, Sleeping Sickness. It is caused by parasites which are carried
by the Tse Tse fly and Abdullah had been in southern Sudan which was
experiencing an epidemic of the disease. Allah smiled on this camp again
because I had Pentamidine in my medical kit, just for such a problem. I gave
him my bottle and told the woman caring for him, through Abdullah who spoke
English, to give him one pill (and only one!) each day with his evening
meal.
The injuries that the huge man
sustained were more common to their lifestyle where cuts, scrapes, bruises and
punctures happened routinely. I did not think that they made a habit of putting
out lit cigars on each other’s faces though.
Abdullah said that he had objected
to the abuse and degradation of a young girl by the sheik and he was attacked
and held down by the bodyguards. The sheik was in a rage and attacked his
driver with the cigar that he had been burning the girl with, nearly burning a
hole through his cheek.
For good measure the bodyguards tied
him up and then beat, kicked, and stomped him. Round two had the sheik cutting
the expensive suit off of Abdullah, leaving him with cuts all over his body.
Then for added humiliation the bodyguards relieved themselves all over the big
man’s face, which earned them praise from their master.
They tossed his naked body in the
bed of the truck which carried the fuel for the three vehicles and left him
there until they departed the next morning. About twenty kilometers out of Abu
Simbel they dumped him in the dirt, still tied and naked.
The next vehicle which traveled the
road stopped and the driver untied him and gave him a robe to wear. He had been
lucky enough to connect with a large truck going all the way to his family’s
camp. Since arriving home he had fallen seriously ill.
I pulled out the picture of Gail and
asked Abdullah if she was the blonde girl his former employer had with him. He
said that he never saw the girl’s face because the sheik had ordered her head
covered since before she joined the group in Port Sudan. That was certainly
strange, but so was the sheik. I asked Abdullah how many were in the party.
He said that in the lead car were
himself and two girls in the front seat and two girls, two even younger boys,
and the sheik in the back seat. Abdullah laughed and said that the sheik was so
paranoid of assassination attempts that he made the women sit next to the
windows and the young boys sat on either side of him.
The second vehicle had the four
bodyguards with AK-47s and UZIs on their persons at all times. The last vehicle
was their supply truck which carried fuel for the three vehicles, food and
water, and a large tent for when the sheik wanted to stop between hotels. It
had a driver and a helper who were required to sleep in or under the truck and
were not allowed inside the hotels or restaurants.
Normal procedure was for each
bodyguard was to hang onto one of the women and the two boys were always glued
to the sheik whenever they were in public or traveling outside of the vehicle.
Abdullah had to get the doors, fuel the vehicles, take food to the truck driver
and his helper and whatever else the sheik wanted him to do.
Abdullah was able to say the blonde
girl was about 1.6 meters, small breasts, pale skin, maybe 45 kilos, which is
all about the same size as Gail.
The biggest break of all was that
the entourage was heading for El Kasr
and would stay there for a month. I would be there as soon as I could arrange
transportation and I would guess that Abdullah has some interest in visiting as
well.
El Kasr
There were no grand hotels in which
to stay in El Kasr. The large fortress of a palace that the evil sheik would
call home for a month was three hundred years old. It was made of large earthen
bricks of the same color as everything else in El Kasr, mud brown.
Inside the plain brown dwellings were
more colorfully tiled and decorated and had life to them. There was no sense
wasting time and effort on the outside creating something that the desert sun
and winds would just destroy anyway.
Abdullah had a cousin in that small
community and we were invited to stay with them. It was a difficult challenge
to remain as invisible as possible and not create any talk about my presence.
Such talk would have been disastrous to my mission.
I had been able to scout the
location where the sheik and his party had taken up residence. Along with the now
twelve members of the traveling party, there were two housekeepers and several
more girls. I had sent Abdullah to the market place to drink tea with the
locals and find out what the routine of the house was.
I traveled in the concealment of
darkness as much as possible and watched and looked for positions of advantage.
There were a couple of buildings nearby which allowed for observation from their
rooftop terraces. It was on the best of those that I spotted a tattooed arm
peeking out from under a robe sleeve.
Asato
What a surprise! My old friend Asato was on the roof with a spotting
scope pointed at the same building that I was interested in. He and I had
worked together before and he was rock solid and trustworthy. It isn’t often
that can call a member of the Yakuza a “good guy,” but he really was.
I had made myself known (made
intentional noise) before I approached him and could hear him chuckle. He said
that he had watched me walk up the opposite side of the street and pass the
building. Asato said he was pretty sure it was me when I disappeared into the
shadows and didn’t come out for thirty minutes. When I crossed the street and
circled around the building before approaching it he was sure.
After my old friend finished giving
me the business about having a predictable routine I was finally able to ask
him what he was doing there. He was tracking a missing girl from the Japanese royal
household at the request of one of the royals.
I noted out loud how odd it was to
have the two of us not only trying to keep a target alive (not in keeping with
our usual jobs), but doing so in the exact same location. It made us both
nervous as neither of us believed in coincidence.
We spent three hours on that roof
with his long eyes and my night vision trained on the rooms that we could see
into. One room was productive, but the others were not. We needed another
vantage point and more intelligence to formulate a plan of entry.
When the streets were completely
quiet we departed in different directions and met up again three streets away,
satisfied that we had not been followed. Several times we split up and
regrouped as we traveled the unfamiliar territory, always looking for anyone
tailing us.
Back inside the home of Abdullah’s
cousin we were able to listen to what the big man had found out, besides that
he needed to duck his six foot six height when he entered the house. He had
whacked his forehead on the wall above the door when he came home in the dark.
The marketplace tea room was very
productive as it was the favorite hangout of the “palace” cook and she talked a
lot in the little back room where the women sat. Abdullah has positioned
himself at the table nearest to the backroom and sipped tea all afternoon
listening to her talk.
Inside the palace there was an
“outsider” woman who was bossing everyone around and who the cook seriously
disliked. There were also six girls of various descriptions, with the common
factor being that they were all teenagers. Those girls had been there for several
days before the sheik arrived with the four additional girls and the two young
boys.
There was a party for some high
ranking military and secret police happening the very next night. The cook and
the housekeepers were to prepare all of the food and drink and then leave. They
had to sleep in one of the outbuildings instead of in the main house that night
which irritated the cook and made her very talkative.
The most important news for me was
that a blonde girl had been the first to arrive of all of them. She was
delivered by two tall blonde American men in suits and aviator sun glasses along
with the beautiful Egyptian woman who gave orders.
They had driven the blonde girl
there a week earlier in a closed limo all the way from Cairo. The American men
left early the next morning after sleeping a few hours. The Egyptian woman woke
the household that same morning screaming about the blonde girl being an impure
fake.
Abdullah said the Egyptian woman had
called the cook and a housekeeper into the room to hold down the naked teenager
while she examined her. The bossy woman was even more agitated and violent
afterwards. The girl was blonde on her head, but dark brown “below” which
started the yelling.
When the young girl was examined and
found to not be a virgin the woman started throwing things and cussing all the
American whores. It was that same day that she was first injected with heroin
and physically abused by her female captor. The cook heard her yelling
repeatedly that the sheik was going to kill her for being an impure
whore.
Every day and night since her
arrival she had been kept naked and repeatedly injected with heroin and harmed
in one way or another. I had a very strong and sinking feeling that it was
indeed, Gail.
Asato interrupted and voiced the
thought that we all had, this is not the way you would treat a valuable
acquisition for a harem, but what you would do to a captive that you intended
to use badly and dispose of. There was no argument.
He asked Abdullah if there had been
any mention of the Japanese girl. The big man said yes, she was the last to
arrive before the sheik and his party rolled in. The cook made special mention
of her delicate features and pale beauty. She had been taken to a room and a
bath drawn for her immediately like she was a particular prize. She was there
and OK, so far as he could tell.
Abdullah said that it was well known
that the sheik preferred young boys for sex and he abused and tortured the
young girls he bought until he tired of them. Then they would be sent to the
brothels or, if they were lucky, to a military officer with a lot of pull or a secret
police commandant who could stay out of President Sadat’s party member sights.
The entire group surrounding the
sheik was vocally against Sadat and his plans of peace with Begin of Israel.
They had much worse things to say about President Carter interfering with the
Arab world.
Party Night
Abdullah spent the entire day in the
tea room at the marketplace and noticed a lot of traffic from the very
beginning. The groups were arriving in Mercedes limos and military staff cars
from all directions, including Libya, Sudan and all over Egypt.
Most noticeable to him was that they
were all from the hard line anti-Sadat party and appeared to be mostly all
Muslims from outside of the local sects. Abdullah was Tuareg and as such, not a
strict observer of Islam. His comment was, “They worry me.”
The housekeeper appeared early in
the day with payment for the many and varied supplies for the party. She
flashed it around before she paid for everything in fresh new American money.
Now THAT worried me.
Asato was the essence of a ghost
operative. He could walk through a crowded room and nobody remembered seeing
him. Of course if you ever saw him in the bath house and viewed the full body
suit of tattoos on his body, you would never forget him either.
My “Japanese Arab” had spent the day
sliding in and out of buildings and found a way up to the top of another
building within viewing range of the palace. He also had the disturbing news of
crisp new American money passing between military officers and the feared
secret police of Egypt.
Abdullah had to avoid being
identified by or to the bodyguards or the sheik so he had to hide his face from
the palace staff and not make any impression on the recent arrivals. I advised
him to lay low as his imposing frame would certainly cause comment and his
burned face would give him away. He would get his chance to avenge his injuries
and disrespect.
By the time the sun was low on the
horizon, the little settlement of El Kasr was buzzing with talk and activity.
The number of important strangers and vehicles had the locals stirred up and
gossiping. It was very dangerous for us to move around.
Abdullah’s cousin had heard that the
sheik knew of his presence in El Kasr. His size and the burn on his face had
given him away just as I had feared. We were not going to be able to rescue the
girls that night unless things changed far more than I thought possible. It
could be bad for the girls.
We had to maintain surveillance so
Asato and I made our way to the new building and through an apartment and up
onto the locked rooftop. My ghostly friend had made us some mud colored cover-ups
during the day and we became part of the mud block building. The view was much
more productive from the new hide and the party was already underway.
It was a political planning meeting or rally primarily, with side “entertainment” of sadism and abuse. The sights we saw were not pretty or nice. Most of the action was on the second floor in what appeared to be an interrogation torture room or modern dungeon.
There was a woman with a completely
shaved head and body being assaulted repeatedly in all orifices by multiple
men. They appeared to be doing their best to damage the poor thing. I was not
sure who it was, but I had my fears.
Asato gasped, which really shocked
me, I had never heard him make a sound in the field no matter what we were
doing. The Egyptian woman came into view dressed in a Dominatrix outfit,
complete with a huge strap-on penis. She directed two men to suspend the naked bald
woman at waist height.
She assaulted the girl with such
violence and ferocity that it took two more men to hold the victim in one
place. The bald girl was visibly bleeding when she finished. One of the bodyguards
appeared with a syringe, injected the girl, and then they just dropped
her.
My partner nearly jumped over the
edge of the roof when the also naked Japanese girl was brought into view. She
was bent over bench and anally assaulted by the Egyptian woman. The woman didn’t
try to kill her with effort like she did the first girl. The young Asian girl
was then put on her knees and had to orally service at least a dozen men. By
this time all of the women were in the room and being used by those in
attendance.
If we attacked then there would have
been little chance of getting the girls out. We could have killed several of
the attendees, but with no guarantee of getting the sheik or the Egyptian woman
either. It was one of the worst nights of my entire life. I know my friend
Asato had died a bit too. We were helpless to save them.
The compound had constantly roving
security guards with UZIs or AK-47s and armored vehicles stationed at the front
and rear gates. There were snipers on the roof who would have seen us if not
for Asato’s mud colored tarps. We did consider going in anyway, even though we
likely would have been killed before we reached the girls, such was our anguish
at what we had seen. In the end training and experience suppressed emotion.
We waited all through the night for
an opening but the guards never faltered in their duties. The sick bastards in
the torture room never gave up hurting women either. When the sun came up the
girls were collected by the body guards and taken back to wherever they slept.
The bald girl was carried out like
so much garbage. Her face had cigar burns all over it, as did most of the rest
of her body that we could see. Asato and I both spotted the birthmark, it was
Gail. I can not express the depth of rage and pain that I felt with that
knowledge.
The apartment was occupied when we
had the opportunity to descend to ground level so we had to stay where we were
through the beginning of the work day routine. The military vehicles began
departing and within thirty minutes they were all gone. The Mercedes limos
pulled in, loaded up and departed next.
While we watched, a limo with
blacked out windows arrived and two tall white Americans got out, took a bag
out of the trunk and went inside. They returned with the Egyptian woman all
dressed up like a Wall Street business executive. The men opened the door for
her, loaded her bags, and drove off.
There was no doubt in my mind at all,
Company agents. They had delivered Gail to the sheik, along with a huge sum of
American cash. To a group that was dead set against the Peace Talks between
Egypt and Israel. I thought, “What the Hell was I in the middle of?”
Gail died that night of the party
from the brutal injuries she received and an overdose of heroin. The Japanese
girl broke a window in her room and slashed the femoral artery in her leg, also
dying. The remaining women were loaded up in a Mercedes and driven to Cairo to
be sold into prostitution.
That night there were more deaths in
the palace. The sheik was shot in the forehead, and beheaded. All four
bodyguards had their throats cut, after they were beaten severely by someone
with very large fists.
Inside the palace were found documents
with my name on them. The Egyptian Secret Police were looking for me, no doubt
due to whispers in their ears from blonde guys in suits.
I told Asato to take a chunk of that
American cash and get out of the country as quickly as possible, before someone
tied him to me in all of this. I gave Abdullah another bag full of cash and
told him to get somewhere safe and exchange the money as quietly as possible or
he would be arrested for having American dollars in such quantity.
I headed south and got as far as Mut in one of the trucks from the
compound. When I got out of the truck to put fuel in it I was approached by
Egyptian army soldiers with guns.
Deep trouble
I figured that I was done for good.
Somehow they had already gotten the word out about the sheik and his goons and
the secret police would be using their filet knives on me in an hour or so.
The decision to not carry any
firearms on my exodus was looking like a really bad choice at that point. At
the very least I could have gone out in a blaze of glory, saving the last round
for myself. That wasn’t happening. I had a bag over my head and my hands tied
behind my back and was unceremoniously dumped into the bed of a Toyota truck
and hauled off.
It was rather humorous in a stupid
sick sort of way. I was so tanned, filthy and smelly that they failed to
recognize that I was a white American looking person. They questioned me and
then beat me for not answering, in a language that I could barely speak any of.
The instrument of punishment was a
soft leather bag filled with wet sand. They could beat the Hell out of you and
not leave a mark. It was easy on their hands too. I decided to stick with my
not answering routine because from what I could understand, they didn’t have me
for the murders, just stealing the fuel in the back of the truck. I was
obviously too poor to afford that much fuel, so therefore, I was a
criminal.
When they got tired of beating me
across the back, just above my kidneys, they tossed me into the large holding
cell with the bag still over my head. I guess they didn’t want to be recognized
because I knew that they were going to steal the fuel on the truck I was
driving for their own use.
The cell was so full of men that we
all had to stand up. There was no place to sit or lie down without being
trampled. I had the bag off pretty quick when I started getting groped as I was
shoved inside the cell. Roughly every fifteen minutes or so, we would start to
walk around in a circle, all together to keep the circulation going in our
legs.
After a few hours a couple of men fell down and were trampled by the masses in the cell. A little while longer and a couple more men hit the dirt. The night passed and the guards opened the door and I was close to the door as we rotated around the cell. I was directed to drag the dead men out of the cell and out the back door and onto what was probably the same Toyota truck that I arrived in. I was given a shovel and joined three other live men sitting on top of the dead ones.
The truck drove us away from the
settlement into an open area and we were directed to dig a grave, just one, for
all those dead men, and us I suspected. The guards were not the
professional soldiers I had encountered previously. These men were bumbling
local thieves with a convenient job that gave them a way to profit from the
misery of others.
My fellow survivors and I dug the
mass grave and were dragging the unfortunate deceased men off of the truck in
the heat when opportunity knocked. The biggest and meanest of the two guards
had gotten lax and turned his back to me. I did not hesitate, I whacked him on
the back of his head as hard as I could with that shovel and pulled his gun and
shot the other guard in the eye. Then I shot the first guard for good measure.
I had the other prisoners throw the
guards in with the dead prisoners and told them to fill in the hole. I motioned
to the prisoners get in the back of the truck and we drove to the next
settlement where I made them get out. They waved at me as I drove off like long
lost relatives, because they knew that we were all going to die that day and I had
changed that.
From there using a map I found in
the truck I headed for Abdullah’s family camp as quick as I could drive. He was
there and had his family put the truck inside of a tent and scraped the
identification off. When it got dark we moved it back out and drove to an
airport where a private plane was available for hire. We both knew that I had
to get out of Egypt immediately and the roads would be watched at the borders.
The pilot was a member of the
chief’s family and placed himself at great risk by flying me out, but he knew
what I had done for the chief, and for Abdullah; I was family to them. We
figured if he could get me to the Algerian border I could avoid capture by the
Egyptian secret police or their friends in Libya.
We flew across Libya with the fear
of military jets intercepting us all of the way, but they were occupied by the
US Navy along their coast for the entire time that we buzzed across westbound.
Refueling was paid for with crisp new American money (courtesy of Abdullah) at
each stop and not once did the seller hesitate to accept it.
There was a branch of the family
still running caravans across the Sahara and they would take me across Algeria
and into Morocco. The Tuareg are an honorable people and fiercely loyal to
family and friends. No one would know a thing about where I had gone.
I was delivered into the arms of the
Blue People and never felt safer or more welcome anywhere on earth. A story similar to the journey across the western Sahara can be read in “Time of Sands.”
Once in Morocco I made connections
to get picked up by my Army unit people. The same company Jetstar picked me up
like nothing had ever happened.
Epilogue:
I know that you have questions; what
did the Senator know? Was the search for the daughter actively interfered with?
Did he ever learn the truth?
I can’t prove that the
company snatched Gail from Turkey and delivered her into slavery and worse,
even though I know that they did. That is the way that real world bad
things often happen… no proof.
I will always feel like they (the
company and its bosses) were trying to derail the Peace Accord that President
Carter engineered with Sadat and Begin. There was an awful lot of money
and information being handed to the anti-Sadat people by “suits.”
I had my suspicions that the Senator
was cleaning up loose ends with the removal of his love child, because her
grandmother died in a car crash while all of this was going on. How convenient.
It was interesting that his secretary, Gail’s mother, had also died in a car
crash a few years earlier. Yes, I do still know who he was.
Going on gut instinct I told them
that I never did find Gail, but learned from reliable intelligence that she had
died of an overdose of drugs and aborted the mission and made my way back to
Morocco.
I believe it was this version of
what happened that allowed me to live on. It kept me separated from the heinous
political doings that would have necessitated removing me.
Asato caught up with the Egyptian
woman in Cairo and cut her head off with his sword in her office at the secret
police building and nobody saw him enter or leave. If there is ANY justice in
this story I count that as it.
P. S.
SSG John Q. Adams got his assignment
to Georgia … and left the army at the next re-enlistment opportunity. He had
had enough.
Character resemblance to anyone alive
or dead is… interesting.
