Sheep Dog and the Wolf

by Douglass, Carl;

  “Sounds good,” Sheep Dog said.

  The driver drove quickly down through the long parking lot next to the Amir Alami Hospital and turned into an alleyway between two large sections of the hospital. A doctor in a starched white lab coat was waiting. The Range Rover pulled to a stop, and the two SAS men helped Sheep Dog out. The doctor gave him a once over look and directed them to hurry into his clinic.

  “Are you in good health, young man?” Dr. abu-Boroujerdi asked.

  “Except for my wound, I’m fine. No allergies, drug sensitivities, or chronic diseases.”

  Dr. abu-Boroujerdi quickly removed Sheep Dog’s make-shift bandage.

  “This will require general anesthetic; no one could tolerate the pain of suturing such a wound. Unfortunately, I do not have access to such anesthetic in my clinic. We would have to move to the operating room, and there would be a lot of explaining to do.”

  “No general, doctor. Do what you have to do. And do it quickly. Time is of the essence.”

  Dr. abu-Boroujerdi shrugged. Doubt clouded his face.

  “You’re sure?” he asked kindly.

  “Yes. Let’s get started.”

  Sheep Dog stripped naked. Before the procedure started, he asked the SAS major to get him a tuxedo and shirt, no tie. Major Donald Henderson-Gruel gave him a quizzical look, but immediately got on his cell phone and called the U.K. Embassy.

  “We’ll have a fine bib and tucker for you before you are all sutured up.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Just part of The Firm’s service for the Cousins.”

  The procedure was horrifyingly painful from the initial cleansing of the wound with normal saline and Betadine to the two-layer closure. Sheep Dog briefly fainted twice, but he controlled his need to cry out. His skin had a cadaverous hue when the doctor finished. Dr. abu-Boroujerdi shook his head, reluctant to release his patient in such condition.

  It took two tries before Sheep Dog could get to his feet and begin some halting steps. He took a bundle of 500,000r Iran Central Bank notes—about $50.50 USD each and handed them to the doctor. The huge denomination notes, and even 1,000,000r notes are treated the same as cash in Iran, whose currency is worthless outside its borders. The amount he gave the doctor amounted to just over $2,000 USD, a huge sum in the Iranian economy for the work of half an hour. Dr. abu-Boroujerdi was grateful.

  “You won’t be needing to discuss this case, doctor,” Major Henderson-Gruel said pointedly.

  “It would be more than my life is worth,” the doctor said; and there was no doubt about his sincerity.

  “Now, we have to get you back to your hotel, my friend,” the major said as soon as they were out of earshot of the doctor.

  Sheep Dog looked spiffy in his new bib and tucker, although he remained pale. The driver drove out of Amir Alami Hospital and reversed the directions from which they had come. He pulled over to the curb on Manuchehn Street three blocks from the Azadi Grand Hotel.

  “Think you can make it from here? It wouldn’t do for a U.K. spook wagon to deliver you to the front entrance, I don’t think.”

  “I can make it. I don’t have much time.”

  It was quarter to one, and Sheep Dog knew that he would have to worm his way back into the hotel, collect his bags, and be ready to travel in less than half an hour. He controlled his facial expressions to keep away any indication of pain, and began his deliberate stroll to the hotel. There was little activity outside the entrance except for the four Zil limousines that were waiting to transport the delegation back to IATA-Imam Khomeini International Airport.

  Inside the lobby, there was no one except for three overly modest young women reservation desk attendants. Sheep Dog walked nonchalantly to the elevator and punched the four. No hitches thus far.

  He got out of the elevator and almost walked into Ibrahim ibn Sharif al-Tezari, the delegation head.

  “We were wondering where you were, Dr. McFarland, did you come back with the rest of us in the limos?”

  “That was the only ride possible, Dr. al-Tezari. I got off at the lobby and took a left while the rest of you went straight ahead to your rooms. I got to take in a little of the local color on a bit of a stroll. Nice, after the stuffy auditorium. When do we depart this desert paradise?”

  Al-Tezari gave Sheep Dog a little smile of agreement.

  “Twenty past,” he said, “And I’ve always thought the only difference between the moon and these deserts is that the moon is monotonous grey, and the deserts are monotonous brown.”

  “I’ll be in the lobby with bells on,” Sheep Dog said jovially, masking the grimace he wanted to make.

  He left the director and hurried to his room. He jammed his belongings into his suitcase—the delegation had only been permitted one personal bag each—cleaned every surface in the room thoroughly to be sure that he left no fingerprints or DNA behind—and made his way with the rest of the delegation to the lobby.

  At 1320, they were loaded into the Zils again, and the limo drivers sped off towards the airport.

  Steven Croyle, the British member of the IAEA leaned over to Sheep Dog as they moved along and said, “Well, chap, I have a wee bit of good news after this debacle. A little something to warm the cockles of your heart. Actually, two things. First, Sofrekheneh has been forced to devalue the rial yet again. Nasty break. And, as if that were not enough, you may be interested to learn that the Zils—the ultimate symbol of Soviet power—are about to disappear from the streets of Russia. Going belly-up, I hear, after 60 years. Seems the Krauts and the Cousins have a better business model.”

  Sheep Dog gave the smiling Brit a thumbs-up.

  Airport security was its usual stringent self, but nothing out of the usual. Sheep Dog figured that the bodies had not yet been discovered. However, he did not relax or even take a deep breath until the Air France flight to Paris lifted off the runway and left Iranian air space.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Sheep Dog made himself scarce for two weeks in the South of France for R&R to allow his wound to heal. Dr. abu-Boroujerdi had done well. There was no infection, and minimal pain once his wound had been sutured closed. He was weak for the first few days, and started his own rehabilitation on a “start low and go slow” basis. He took the opportunity to study his remaining quarries. The next man on his list was Abdel Said Badr; his name was underlined in red.

  TOP SECRET

  EYES ONLY SHEEP DOG

  Source of report: Need to know basis only

  Date of report: Need to know basis only

  Abdel Said Badr is a missionary, a tabligh, trained in madrassas in Gaza and Kandahar. He received his formal Qur’anic education there and his more serious training in the Tarnak Farm training camp of al Qaeda, a 100 acre compound in the Afghanistan desert three miles from the Kandahar airport. The wali—UBL—actually lived there with one of his wives while Abdel was there, and it was the defining moment of his life to be able “to see and hear the greatest man since The Prophet, may Allah bless him and make his name revered”. The main compound was encircled by a ten foot high crude mud-brick wall. Inside were eighty small two-story mud structures; Abdel shared a room with fourteen other men, but whatever lack of privacy or inconveniences there might have been were nothing compared to the fact that Usama—the wali—lived in the very next house. Security there was integral with the terrain—miles of open brush and sand desert that allowed a few lookouts to see any approaching threat from even afar off. Abdel was given the assignment to guard the drainage ditch near the wall on the airport side of the compound, a task he pursued with a singleness of purpose that both captured the attention of and amused the holy leader.

  Abdel Said Badr’s first assignment after leaving Tarnak Farm was to coordinate the traffic of heroin from Southern Afghanistan to the hideouts of UBL in northwestern Pakistan. He was aided by the men of the Ahmedzai Wazir tribe and made fast friends with many of them, as much as the fiercely xenophobic and independent tribesmen would allow. Funds were d
rying up from the usual Saudi Arabian sources due to the difficulties imposed by the “illegal invasion by the Americans”. Badr was an integral part of the network that provided Usama bin Laden and his followers with $24,000,000 a year in heroin and enabled the “Savior of Islam” to continue his vital planning and work.

  Afghanistan produces the vast majority of the world’s illicit opium, the raw ingredient in heroin, and more than a million and a half Afghanis depend on opium farming, and therefore, on Usama bin Laden, for their livelihood. The entire industry which cycles around farmers, traffickers, and freedom fighters totals more than two and a third billion dollars a year. Usama, himself, had personally laid his large hand on Badr’s shoulder and, in his soft voice, called the young missionary “one of God’s best”. It was the highlight of the pious twenty-one year olds life to date, and his faith was intensely enlivened. Abdel Said Badr, blessed by the man whom he considered to be next in importance after The Prophet, himself, “may Allah’s blessings be upon His Messenger”, was the servant of the cause to the death if needs be.

  Abdel is an energetic, vivacious person with a quick smile and an equally quick readiness to help. His full face beard is reddish brown and unruly like his hair. He looks more like a wild Scotsman in from the distant hills than a Muslim of fifteen generations heritage. He is modest and retiring by nature despite his outward friendliness. He has never complained, and he worked tirelessly to help his fellow freedom fighters to maintain their morale during the dark times. He is too small, has too high a voice, and his manners are too unsure and almost effeminate to be a leader, we presume, but his quick wit and native intelligence—coupled with his fanatical willingness to obey the leaders of his religion at every level—make him the ideal follower.

  UBL and select members of the Council of the Leaders of Islam recognized the young man’s intrepidity, cleverness, and dedication to the cause, without being heedlessly reckless, which were all qualities desired in a follower. It was an added bonus that Badr speaks passable English and could even pass for an Englishman with a little quality hair makeover. Usama allowed Badr to be promoted and to leave his vital role in the Islamic freedom fighter-heroin linkage and to take a role as a missionary or tabligh for the religion and for al Qaeda. The “Savior of Islam” made the assignment, and Abdel was transferred to Pemba, Tanzania.

  Funding for Abdel’s work comes from al Qaeda—originating in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and Pakistan. The money makes a circuitous but efficient journey to the freedom fighters. A Liechtenstein based corporation called Galp International Trading Establishment, which is a wholly owned subsidiary of Portugal’s principal oil company, employs a law firm called Asat Trust. That trust is the financier of al-Qaeda through links to Al Taqwa, a group of financial entities all over the world controlled by the Muslim Brotherhood. The United States and United Nations designate Asat Trust as an al Qaeda financier.

  With the freedom afforded by his al Qaeda funding, Abdel Said Badr moves freely about Tanzania speaking in a myriad of small mosques around the Zanzibar archipelago. He is sometimes invited by the older imams, but more often those men are suspicious of him and of the other tabligh who volunteer to spend forty days of each year preaching. Like the others, Badr wears traditional Pakistani clothing—a simple turban and tunic. He never fails to perform his five daily namaz prayers. After speaking in the mosques to the faithful, Badr meets with the young men, always in deep secrecy for fear of arrest by the police. Wahhabi charities provide faxed textbooks extolling an extremist fundamentalism which Badr conveys to the earnest young faithful by lamplight deep in the night. The endemic and recalcitrant poverty of East Africa produces a growing body of men who feel disenfranchised and are fertile soil for Badr’s recruitment. He is known to take pride in getting the desperate youngsters to join al Qaeda and made arrangements for them to be sent to schools in Pakistan and Afghanistan. By day the boys memorize and recite the Qur’an, and by night they learn by rote the Palestinian side of the Israeli/Palestinian conflict. They learn in secret to reject the gentle and pacifist brand of Islam, Sufism, which is popular in Zanzibar. They eventually learn to be killers, and for his part in that, Abdel Said Badr has earned a name for himself among the “men of the list”. Al Qaeda began in 1988 as the list of mujahedeen—one who wages jihad—fighting in Afghanistan. The name means “the list” or “the base”.

  Badr’s young men went to Afghanistan and to Iraq to fight and to become shahids—martyrs—and East Africa even now contributes almost twenty-five percent of the foreign fighters there. Madrassas for girls also turn out zealots ready to become martyrs, but Abdel Said Badr has sworn to live a life of celibacy and has forsworn all contact with women. He is an intense young man, and is to this day acknowledged to be the most effective recruiter for jihad in all of Islam. He answers only to UBL and to UBL’s number three, Musab Sarayrah Abdulmutallab, who directs the world-wide recruiting effort. Abdulmutallab has a bottomless purse so far as the Company can find out.

  Currently, Badr’s disciples are known to foment rebellion, suicide and homicide terrorist bombers and assassins, and to head the crime syndicate of al Qaeda in the region surrounding Tanzania. Despite the region being among the poorest per capita in the world, Badr’s outlaws have been able to terrorize and to plunder the economies of Tanzania and its border nations: Kenya and Uganda to the north, Rwanda, Burundi, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo to the west, and Zambia, Malawi, and Mozambique to the south. An estimated $100 million is extorted from these countries every year and sent to supply the treasury of al Qaeda.

  The accompanying photograph is the only one known to exist of Badr, and may not be particularly useful since it was taken several years ago. It could not be enhanced better than what you have here.

  DISPOSITION: Terminate with maximum prejudice. Must be accomplished before 1 March. CAUTION: Abdel Said Badr is to be considered most dangerous. He commands the adulation and fanatical obedience of well over 1,000 adherents, any one of which would be willing to die for the man or to kill for him.

  Sheep Dog arrived in the Julius Nyerere International Airport in the Indian Ocean coastal city of Dar es Salaam—capital of Tanzania—in central East Africa on 15 January. He and his two bags were met by the CIA Chief of Station, Glen Gabler, and were taken to a safe house overlooking the ocean. Neither man spoke until they were ensconced in the house.

  “Welcome to the United Republic of Tanzania,” Gabler said.

  “Thank you. Do you have what I need?”

  “I know where the man is, and I can get you close to him; but if you think you can take him out, or capture him, or kidnap him, you are just a dead man with a grandiose idea.”

  “Again, thank you. If you know where he is now, I want to go there no.w” Gabler shrugged, “Your funeral.”

  “Maybe. First I’ll need some less conspicuous clothes, say those of a donkeycart teamster. While you obtain that, I’ll get into disguise.”

  Sheep Dog took an hour. When he was done, he looked every bit a Tanzanian—more like a turbaned Indian pirate than a peasant teamster; perhaps, and that contributed to his authenticity.

  Sheep Dog walked out of the back door of the house and came around to the front. He knocked on the door carrying a crude cardboard sign that read: DEAF AND LAME, PLEASE HELP. A marine infantry lieutenant answered the door.

  “Ah Effendi, I must see the master of the house. I have an urgent message from an American man who met me in the bazaar and paid me to bring the message to one called Gabler.”

  “Give it to me. I’ll see to it that “Gabler” gets it,” the lieutenant said brusquely.

  “Only to Gabler,” the beggar insisted.

  The peasant was adamant, even belligerent; and finally, the lieutenant sighed and brought the man into the entryway.

  “Wait here,” he told him.

  “Yes, Effendi.”

  The chief of station walked behind the marine officer and confronted the beggar.

  “So how much do yo
u want?”

  “Ah, Effendi, you do not give me respect.”

  There was a prolonged silence. After a few uncomfortable moments, the beggar sheepishly said, “Perhaps two dollah American would be fair.”

  Gabler smiled smugly. He was an old hand, and he had been through this several hundred times. He handed the beggar one dollar and glared at him.”

  “May the blessings of Allah, the merciful be upon you, Effendi.”

  “Now, what has my dollar bought me?”

  “Only a question.”

  “What!?”

  “The question is: How is it that you are unable to recognize a fellow countryman?”

  Gabler was bemused at first, then he took a harder look at the beggar; then he took an even harder look. The man’s eyes were a striking hazel with flecks of luminescent green, and they held his attention. He reached out and clasped the man’s upper arm. It was as hard and sinewy as a healthy tree branch, not the arm of a chronically undernourished beggar.

  “Who are you?”

  “You must answer my question first,” Sheep Dog said losing his Tanzanian pirate accent and showing a smile of perfectly straight bright white teeth that could only have been made in America.

  “You are the visitor. You stood in my office not an hour and a half ago.”

  “Good job, Agent Gabler. Do I pass muster?”

  “I’ll say. You have made it one step. I hope you are as good as you seem to be. You won’t survive the day unless you are.”

  Gabler and the marine lieutenant drove Sheep Dog and his two bags inland north from Dar-es-Salaam about 50 miles on a rutted red mud track.

  “This is as far as we are allowed to go, my friend. There be monsters beyond. This is Indian country. You take care.”

  “I will.”

  “Look, I’d like to be able to help, but I am under strict orders not to do anything more. Whoever or whatever you are, I don’t want to know. I regret to inform you that there is no electronic or telephonic transmission out here. You’re on your own. God speed, man. Watch your back.”