Father of Money by Jason Whiteley

Author:Jason Whiteley [Whiteley, Jason]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Potomac Books, Inc.
Published: 2011-02-15T05:00:00+00:00

Seven

MONEY BY THE BARREL

“NO WAY!” RAISING HIS considerable girth to pound on the table in the direction of the Shi’a delegates, the Sunni imam, Imam Mahmoud, usually quite calm, reacted more violently than I ever imagined.

“You know that violence against Sunni people is happening every day. Now you want us to turn in our guns and be lorded over by an army of Shi’a?” The cleric’s English was at its best, pointedly and condescendingly pronouncing “Shi’a” as if it were a disease.

Of course, the obvious point, not made by anyone at the table, was that the Shi’a had lived this way for years, being abused and intimidated by a well-armed Sunni minority who kept them so tightly underfoot that they had no chance to even practice their religion openly. It was a point that did not need to be made in this hour of triumph. The Shi’a silently acknowledged this outburst, by keeping their eyes low and their fingers flicking through prayer beads. Perhaps they even understood the imam’s frustration to a degree.

In order to keep the agenda moving, I began to outline some additional details. The sheiks or the council members would collect a supervisory fee for work done in and around their areas. This made the imam sit back down.

The conversation stayed on money. They wanted the price list for the weapons and wanted to know whether they could collect a finder’s fee for large shipments. I didn’t see why not. The conversation had started tensely, but it was no longer Sunni versus Shi’a—it was all about greed. By the end of the meeting, people could barely wait to start scrounging up weapons to sell and help people to go to work.

I thought it was a huge success. I stayed behind to talk with Said Mallek about the security force and to follow up with him on Imam Sa’ad. Heydar, another council member from Abu Discher, stayed behind to join the discussion as well. The two of them whispered back and forth with Ali. From their averted glances and nods, I could tell they were negotiating.

“Heydar wants to know the price for five hundred rocket-propelled grenades and three hundred grenade launchers.”

That was a pretty large amount, especially from mild-mannered Heydar.

“He also wants you to pick them up and deliver them to a guy he knows.”

This was a cryptic, but not wholly unanticipated, request. The Iraqis were sensitive to scenarios where they could be recorded or exposed by the U.S. Army. Selling weapons back to the army would undoubtedly place their names on a list of some sort. Although we offered the buyback on an amnesty basis, the army planned to clandestinely film it in order to learn more about the people who had access to large amounts of weapons. I was getting an education right now.

Ali went on to translate that since the fighting on the first day of our arrival, Heydar had been responsible for hiding all of the weapons for the neighborhood. Heydar, the elderly Santa-bearded

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