I climbed back into the Merc and told Raghu to return me to the hotel.
*
Bright and early the next morning I got a call from Fawaz. “Good morning, Mr. Jake. I hope you had a good night’s sleep?” he said. “For we have a big day ahead of us. When you have breakfasted, have your driver bring you to the Ministries Complex. He will escort you to the meeting venue.” And before I could reply, he hung up.
It would be just the place to tender my resignation, I thought. Get all the paperwork done in one stop. I took my time at breakfast, cleaned up, donned a business suit and went down to the lobby desk to call up my driver. The desk clerk told me he was waiting for me, and I turned to find Mr. Haroun at my elbow. “Good morning, Mr. Jake,” he said. “Mr. Fawaz told me that you took a trip across the border on Thursday and that it was very revealing. An emergency conference has been called to discuss that issue. If you would come this way, I’ll take you directly there.”
“Who will be at this conference?”
“The leading ministers and generals, other high officials, perhaps even the Emir himself. There is much urgency and concern, as you may well imagine.”
He took me to the Merc and efficiently negotiated the heavy traffic into the city center. As we passed the airport I saw that it was as busy as ever. Government trucks and packed private cars were still heading south.
The Ministries Complex was a large block of modern, concrete office buildings of five stories. He descended into an underground parking garage and took a reserved space by a bank of elevators. We rode one up and got off in a spacious but austere office corridor, mercifully air conditioned. The place was bustling-busy with men in robes and men in business suits. In the offices we passed, women—some with headscarves, some without—worked at typewriters, telephones and filing cabinets. He guided me to a door, knocked and then opened it and motioned me in. Around an arrangement of polished conference tables sat a couple dozen men. They ranged from middle-aged to white-beard elderly, and divided among medal-bedecked military uniforms, a few finely-tailored western suits, and mostly dishadasha robes and white head dress. A chairman, flanked by several others, sat behind a lectern.
Mr. Fawaz rose from one of the padded leather swivel chairs and came to us at the door. “Good morning, Mr. Jake. Good to see you. As you can see, this is a very important meeting. All the ministers are here, most of the top generals, and also leaders of the business community. Come.” All eyes in the room followed me. He led me to an empty chair next to his and announced something to the group in Arabic. Most of the men nodded approval, and some smiled. “I introduced you as an intelligence specialist I have brought from America. They are familiar with your credentials, so there is no need to mention them right now. This is a conference to discuss the matter at the border, which as you know needs our full and immediate attention. Your role here today is to observe and listen. No one expects you to render any judgments or express any opinions. That will come at a later time. For now, listen and learn.”
He pulled out the chair for me, and I took it. What choice did I have? I could hardly stand up and resign in a language most of them probably did not understand. An orderly set a cup of coffee and a fine china dish of sweet rolls down in front of me. The discussion was in Arabic, which left me out. It ranged from thoughtful and deliberate to animated and heated, with much massaging of worry beads around the table. Everyone had his say, and Fawaz whispered translations as it went on. And on. And on.
The topic of the morning was the nature of the threat across the border. Some expressed great concern. Others questioned the accuracy of reports on the size and nature of the force. Others delved into the politics of the situation. Rather than Q and A, it was more serial bloviating, and much of it Fawaz didn’t bother to translate for me at all. Eventually we reached the lunch hour and the meeting was adjourned to be continued. Fawaz took me to the canteen in the building, explaining what had gone on as we walked. “There have been a number of meetings among the various groups, but this is the first one where representatives of all the key groups have gathered. Nothing much will get settled in the early stages. It is more a matter of everyone placing his markers and offering his viewpoint. It’s almost ritualistic.”
“Mr. Fawaz,” I said. “I have given this matter much thought, and I don’t see how I can be of any help to your country. The facts of the matter are plain enough for everyone to see; and let me be frank about it. An overwhelming invasion force is poised on your border. Your own military forces could hardly slow them down, and there is not time for allied support to arrive with any effect. The only possible solution lies in negotiations with Saddam Hussein, and the intricacies of that are far beyond my capabilities. I have no alternative but to resign from this job, go back to the U.S. and return your money.”
“But Mr. Jake, there you prove your value to us. You speak the plain truth. I agree with you one hundred percent, but I could not say anything like what you told me in front of the men in that room. They would have my head. Listen to me. Sit in the meetings and pay attention. Soon the mission that has brought you to Kuwait will unfold before you.”
“I will come to your meeting tomorrow and perhaps the next day, but if I don’t by then clearly see my way to contribute something substantive, I will in good conscience have to resign the job.”
*
The next morning, I called the U.S. Embassy as soon as they opened. It took a while to get through to them owing to their being swamped, the receptionist claimed. The soonest appointment I could get to see anyone was tomorrow, Monday, with an underling Foreign Service Officer. It was a start. I gave the clerk my name and passport number (off the photocopy I always pack along), figuring maybe he’d check me out in advance to save some time. I wanted to find out what our government knew about the situation and also if there were any American evacs I could hitch a ride on. I’d had an early breakfast and taken a half hour to work out on some machines in the fitness center, so as soon as I completed the call I threw on a suit and had Mr. Haroun take me to today’s meeting.
The guys around the table looked pretty much the same as on Sunday, with the exception of one man to whom all paid deference. As I took my seat next to Fawaz, he whispered, “The Emir is sitting in today. I’ll introduce you later.”
The meeting droned on in Arabic, sounding pretty much like yesterday. One of the generals opened it with a statement and then a general question. Commentary then bounced from one man to another. Each made long, emotional declarations. “What’s up today?” I asked Fawaz during a coffee break.
“The general posed the question of leadership in the defense against Iraq. The men around the table represent the most powerful families in Kuwait. The Emir represents the Al Sabah family, obviously. In addition there is an Al Kharafi of the retailing family. The Al Bahar family controls shipping. The Al Sagar family has a strong presence in oil and petrochemicals, the Al Sayer family in trading and transportation, the Al Ghunaims in real estate, and so on.”
“Okay, so what’s the issue? They all sound like they’re in earnest.”
“It’s a matter of face. All the families have sons in the military, so they are volunteering their sons to lead the most dangerous missions.”
“That’s suicidal. Any defense put up against an onslaught by the Iraqi force we saw will be wiped out in a minute.”
“They all know that, and none expects the army brass to take them up on it. But it is part of the culture. Everything is about the honor of one’s family, one’s clan, one’s tribe. So they forthrightly offer up their sons.”
“Considering the urgency of the matter, isn’t this wasting valuable time?”
“The men at the table don’t think so.”
And so went the rest of the day. When the meeting broke up, as nearly as I could figure nothing had been decided or accomplished. Meetings were the same the whole world over. Exiting the room I guided Fa
waz away from the others.
“Mr. Fawaz,” I said. “I need my passport. I’m going to pay a visit to our Embassy tomorrow morning to see what I can find out from the U.S. point of view (I didn’t mention the part about evacuation), and I’ll need the passport for identification.”
“No problem, Mr. Jake. You’ll have your passport in all good time. What did you think of the meeting? Are you gaining insight into the matter?”
“As you translated it for me it made no sense at all. Why was the Emir here today? He didn’t say much of anything?”
“He came to underscore the importance of the problem and to observe first hand the proceedings. Of course the important decisions and arrangements will be made privately, as they always are, but it is necessary for him to be on hand for the public expressions by the various factions, which are made for his benefit. It also is important for you to observe our way of doing things. Time is getting short and the situation grows ever more urgent. We will be expecting your recommendations on Wednesday morning.”
“Shouldn’t I then be getting together with some military strategists and planners? Assess troop and equipment readiness, look at dispositions of forces and so forth?”
“No, no—that’s taken care of. You’ll see. Come as soon as you can tomorrow after your visit to your Embassy and stay alert. Trust in Allah. Come with me now. I’ll introduce you to the Emir.” And so I met Sheik Jaber Al Ahmad Al Sabah. Middle aged, he glowed with authority. He spoke English fluently, having been educated abroad. Our conversation was brief, as he obviously had pressing duties. He clearly recognized the dire situation facing his country and showed concern yet remained upbeat. He thanked me for being there to help and encouraged my efforts. He had a kindly face and a gracious smile. The Emir seemed as capable a leader as any I’d met. He left me feeling that I must do my best for embattled Kuwait.
*
I strolled over across the road to the U.S. Embassy for my morning appointment. The place was swamped with visa-seekers, most of them foreign workers. The Kuwaitis weren’t alone in contracting the skedaddle bug. I sat waiting for about twenty minutes and then a harassed-looking paper-shuffler came out of an office and approached me.
“Mr. Jake Fonko?” he asked. I nodded. “I’m Ernest Toyler (we’ll call him: I don’t want to embarrass private citizens unnecessarily). Pleased to meet you. Come this way. I’m afraid I can’t spare you much time. You can see how busy we are this morning. Inundated with people who want to leave here.” He closed his office door behind us, and we took seats. “What can I do for you?”
“Two things. Let’s tackle them one at a time. I’m working as an advisor to the Kuwaiti government on the Iraq invasion threat, and I would like to know whatever you can tell me about the situation here from the American point of view.”
“Who is your contact man in the Kuwaiti government, if I may ask?”
“Fawaz Al Sabbah.”
“Hmmm… I think he may be one of their top intelligence people. Okay, what makes you think there’s an imminent threat of invasion?” he asked.
“Fawaz took me up in a chopper and gave me a good look at the Iraqi troop buildup along the border at Highway 80.”
“Really? And you think it’s that bad?”
“Five divisions. Four hundred tanks. Yes, it’s that bad.”
“Holy shit. Excuse me. From what I’ve learned of your background, I’ll take your word for it. Our own intelligence has been sketchy about it to date. What, if I may ask, is your position vis-à-vis the Kuwaitis?”
“They expect me to render advice on dealing with the threat.”
“Here’s what I can tell you, Mr. Fonko. On July 25 our ambassador in Iraq, Ms. April Glaspie, met with Saddam Hussein. She expressed our concerns about the troop buildup on the border and told him that America wants better relations with Iraq. She told him that we have no opinion one way or the other about these perennial border disputes they have. But we at State are hoping he got the message that invading Kuwait would not further good relations with the U.S. For that matter, it would not be good relations with other Arab nations. Arab countries don’t invade other Arab countries. It isn’t done.”
“Nations don’t usually mass 100,000 combat troops on another’s border without the intention of using them. It’s rather extravagant for a bluff.”
“The Iraqi ambassador to the U.S. in D.C. has been reassuring State that they have no hostile intentions here, but, yes, I take your point. You’ve seen it, whereas none of our people stateside have, so it’s possible they’re underestimating the threat. I imagine the CIA has been monitoring it, probably Defense Intelligence too. They probably have satellite photos, but if so they haven’t shared them with Foggy Bottom. That makes the horde storming in here for visas more understandable—news and rumors must be raging throughout the city. We’ve observed that more cars than usual have been crossing the border into Saudi Arabia lately. There’s a load of anxiety about it in all quarters but no definite news or positions. Well, that’s all I can tell you about that.”
“Let me ask you this: Suppose the Iraqi army moves into Kuwait City. What could the U.S. do about it?”
“Here in Kuwait all we have on the ground is a small Marine security detachment for the Embassy, capable of moderate crowd control at best. The nearest U.S. force of any size is on Diego Garcia, 3,000 miles away in the Indian Ocean. So the short answer to your question is: damned little. But according to our diplomats an invasion is still unlikely, so nothing has been done about arranging a military intervention. What was the other thing you needed?”
“I’d like to leave Kuwait myself, ASAP. Do you have any plan for evacuating Americans? Or, barring that, could you give me any help in arranging a flight out? I don’t think I’d stand much of a chance against the crush in the airport on my own.”
“There are only about 180 Americans in Kuwait right now and we’ve not seen any need to evacuate them yet. As for arranging a flight out, I’ll keep my ears open and let you know if I hear anything. That’s all I can do right now. We’ve got plenty on our plate just now, as you may have noticed.”
“Sure, I understand,” I said. “Thank you for your time, and good luck.” I got up and left his office. He had enough to do without showing me to the door.
My visit didn’t much help with either of the matters I came about. Apparently, the State Department wasn’t too concerned about the troop concentration. I hoped they knew something I didn’t know, but I’d seen plenty of cause for concern. An invasion loomed, was my estimation, and the only variable in question was the timing.
Haroun took me to the Ministry Complex, where I crept into the meeting already in progress and took my seat next to Fawaz. He was happy to see me, but few of the others took any notice. He explained to me that today they were discussing some of the points at issue between Kuwait and Iraq, each man contributing his own perspectives to each bone of contention.
Fawaz translated the gist of every statement—typically they were long, drawn out and verbose, and do those Arab waves with their hands—as the meeting droned on. By the end of the day, no matters of military defense at all had been discussed. I sure hoped some deliberations and decisions were being carried out somewhere in private, because nothing useful had happened in three days of meetings of the cream of the Kuwaiti ruling class.
As he walked me out, Fawaz said, “So, Mr. Jake, now you have the picture. We are expecting your recommendations first thing tomorrow morning.”
“But nothing has happened in the meetings I’ve sat in on to give me any basis for recommendations. I haven’t had a single discussion with any of your military leaders, and military matters haven’t been broached in any of these meetings. I haven’t been given substantive information about available defensive forces. I know nothing about your activation procedures. I haven’t even seen a topo map of Kuwait. I can’t possibly recommend anything.”
“You underestimate yourself, Mr. Jake,” he said reassuringly. “You have seen what you need to know. Think about it. Well, here we have Mr. Haroun to take you back to the hotel. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow morning. Please be early, if you can. Inshallah.”
*
Needless to say, my head was spinning. Allah’s will seemed to dictate that I would make a fool of myself in front of Kuwait’s leading citizens, who would then have my hands cut off for stealing their money. Yet Fawaz was confident I could deliver, if I would think about what I’d seen in the meetings.
Okay. First and foremost, they seemed to be slow-walking. They were in no hurry to decide anything. Because… they very well knew the situation was too hideous to contemplate. Second, all the foremost families, clans, factions and interests were present. I wasn’t expected to resolve their disputes. They wanted me to advise them to do something that all of them wanted to do. Third, face was paramount. None of them wanted to lose face in front of the others.
Think about it, Mr. Jake.
What was it that consultants did?
Long pause.
Bingo!
*
The next morning I showed up as others were just starting to arrive at the conference room. Fawaz was there already and greeted me warmly. “Did you sleep well, Mr. Jake?” he said. “Your jet lag must be fading by now. You look good. There will be some preliminaries for the meeting as usual, but after that you are first on the agenda.”
“I look forward to it,” I said. “My remarks are brief and right to the point. I hope they are not expecting a long speech.”
“By no means. Speak the plain truth and all will be well.”
“I’ll deliver my recommendations in English. Is that all right?”
“Excellent. Most here speak English. For those who don’t, translators are at hand.”
We took our places and waited as the remainder of participants filed in. When the seats had filled the chairman called the meeting to order and, as Fawaz had said, saw to a bunch of preliminaries. Then, Show Time! Fawaz escorted me to the podium, switched the microphone on and introduced me in Arabic, getting approving nods and smiles. He backed away and left me in the spotlight.
The Jake Fonko Series: Books 4, 5 & 6 Page 48
