Friendly Persuasions
Chapter 39
Jabbar arranged for a police escort to the border and we shaved at least 25 minutes off the drive. Only a few stray cattle and sheep slowed our fast journey to Bahrain. Otherwise, with flashing lights and the occasional siren blast, we owned the roads in this part of the kingdom.
The two terrorists had no identification on their persons and weren’t saying much to their host interrogators from the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. The prisoners apparently only spoke Arabic which made the task of talking to them all the more difficult. Using Pidgin English didn’t help either. Esperanto was also tried without success. Playing charades was ruled out early on: so things stayed quietly mute until we arrived.
That’s when Jabbar stepped up and offered his services to conduct the interrogations of the two prisoners. Everyone in the room understood the importance and urgency in finding Vladimir Booskowky, particularly Jabbar who swore a blood oath to kill the bastard with his bare hands. Although highly unusual, the NCIS supervisory agent-in-charge agreed knowing that time was of critical importance. Vlad was believed to still be in Saudi Arabia, but with a quick hop, skip and jump could soon land almost anywhere in the world, especially if he played hopscotch as a kid.
Vlad was a man of many guises who could outwit most of the law enforcement authorities he came into contact with. I didn’t include myself on the witless list since I’d never met the gentleman. Nor Pet for that matter. Maybe I was parsing my words too thinly and protecting my frangible ego, although I was technically correct about the assertion. At least I wanted to think so for the sake of my shaky pride.
Jabbar entered the interrogation room which was fitted with one-way glass and a microphone so we could watch and listen. He took a string of worry beads out of his pocket and began to move them one by one along its string while starring directly at Ahmed. An interlude without a word spoken by either of them went on for a good twenty minutes. Jabbar had chosen Ahmed to interview first after watching the two prisoners interacting in a holding cell down the hall. He quickly deduced that Ahmed was the superior in the relationship.
Jabbar then started speaking, softly at first and then raising his voice. It seemed he was delivering a monologue that he’d probably practiced and perfected over the years. None of us had the slightest idea what he was saying, although the conversation was being recorded by the NCIS in the next room for posterity and protecting one’s posterior.
He then removed what appeared to us as a small Koran and placed it squarely before Ahmed on the metal table where he’d been handcuffed. That’s when the curtain came down on the performance.
Jabbar had drawn the heavy drapes which covered the viewing window and disconnected the mic. We were all aghast and confused as to what he might be up to inside the room. Perhaps bewitched, bothered and bewildered would better describe our reactions. The interrogation room was sound insulated so we couldn’t overhear what was being said…or done.
The senior NCIS agent was about ready to barge into the room and demand to know what was happening. I stopped him and explained that sometimes things were better left unknown and unsaid and this was such a time. We needed to bring down Vlad and maybe Jabbar would be the key to finding him. He thought about what I said and finally and reluctantly agreed to let the show go on.
One of the agents mentioned that waiting on tenterhooks was sometimes the worst part of the job. We were actually sitting on folding metal chairs so I didn’t get his sketchy, hooked reference. They were tough on butts after sitting on them for about 90 minutes waiting for Jabbar to finish his little tete-a-tete with Ahmed. Apparently, tuffets weren’t standard issue in the U.S. Navy. However, outrageously overpriced toilet seats were another matter altogether for cheeky military tushies.
The interminable waiting was killing us so I went through my entire repertoire of seafaring limericks, as appropriate to the situation, about the gal from Nantucket to pass the time. After I finished the last of the 22, we all sat silent, stunned silence was probably an apt descriptor. Although I thought they were pretty clever and erudite rhymes. Moreover, they’d always been good ice breakers at diplomatic soirees. Maybe my colleagues didn’t appreciate the pearls of wisdom strewn before them since swine wasn’t usually served in the Middle East. It was most definitely haram or forbidden by Islamic law.
Jabbar finally exited the room. His snow white thobe was splattered with blood droplets and the knuckles of his right hand were bloodied as well. His height dwarfed that of Ahmed. Jabbar was a towering, imposing figure who probably scared the bejesus out of him at first glance.
“Your man in there was a tough nut to crack,” he said while cracking his knuckles and then pointing an accusing finger at Ahmed for dramatic effect. And we all patiently waited to hear what the nutcracker had to say next.
Ahmed appeared to have a serious nose bleed and couldn’t stanch the flow. One of the agents thoughtfully gave him a handkerchief that would later be used to test his blood type and DNA for cross matching and identification purposes. Who knew what might pop-up in the databases containing the identities of dangerous, bad boys?
There appeared to have been some sort of altercation, perhaps a failure to communicate on Ahmed’s part. In any event, all of us failed to notice anything was amiss. At least that’s what I’d say in my report. Early stage dementia and severe myopia were fairly common afflictions in the Foreign Service. Although 20-20 hindsight was never in short supply.
“He’s a militant fundamentalist with an attitude that needing adjusting,” Jabbar casually mentioned to our small group.
“So we had a come to Mohammed meeting as we call such things in this part of the world. I instructed him in the true teachings of Mohammed and when he didn’t learn his lesson, I’d remind him to pay more attention.”
“The guy is Yemini and was the leader of the terrorist assault team. Oh, by the way, he’s also responsible for the Luanda seaport bombing a couple of weeks ago. He was trained by Al-Qaeda in the Sudan and has fought for the rebel side in Yemen. The same group my country is fighting against.”
“I have to say that I find your American methods of interrogation to be ineffective and almost laughable. Islamic militants respect only brute force and power, things inculcated into their brains while growing up. That’s why you farm-out the dirty work to other nations that don’t have the legal constraints or compunctions to apply corporeal punishment; a nice way of saying torture.”
“You have to understand that jihad is a holy, religious crusade to the extreme fundamentalists. It’s a sacred duty and not just a political phenomenon. And the only way to fight fire is with more fire. I am a devout Muslim, but these radicalized organizations don’t represent what I and many millions of others believe to be the true faith. They are an abomination and I fear the ongoing anti-Muslim backlash will only worsen the situation.”
“By the way, Ahmed kissed the Koran and swore in Allah’s name the information was true about Vlad’s whereabouts. In our religion, such an act can’t be coerced and must come from the heart. Otherwise, it’s considered a damnable sin and his soul will be sent to the fiery pits of Hell for eternity. It’s also a sacred oath that can’t be later retracted. Unlike Catholicism, we don’t believe in doing penances. And there’s no such thing as a king’s X or truce with God in our faith.”
Jabbar then stepped down from his soapbox and handed me a slip of paper. It was Vladimir’s home address in Jubail! Actually, it was written in Arabic so I didn’t understand what I was reading, but no matter. I still got the message. Everyone except Jabbar did whooping high fives into the air. He didn’t understand the Americanism, although he’d already given us a hand.
It was time to hit the road Jack, although I meant to say Jabbar. It’d been a long day, but one I’d never forget. We now had Vlad’s location and it was simply a matter of mounting an assault on his residence. I was getting a little sleepy and grumpy to stay with the earlier Snow White reference to Jabbar’s garment. Who’s to say, maybe Dopey too!