Midnight in Samarra by Frank Gregory Ford

Author:Frank Gregory Ford
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781510740211
Publisher: Hot Books
Published: 2019-09-03T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

ALL THAT GLITTERS

The MPs stomped through the house, barking threats and orders, ready to shoot anything that moved. I stayed calm and methodical. While the others ransacked Abu Seger’s study, and his wife shrieked with fury, I thought: No, not the study. This guy knew he was a target; he’d put it somewhere less obvious. I went into the bedroom. As I did, I was thinking my hunch was right. Seger’s wife, Sada (SAY-da), a stunningly attractive woman who was at least sixty, grew ever more frantic; I was obviously getting “warm.”

Something else got my attention in the bedroom: a large, ornate photo album. As I approached the table where the album rested, Sada tried to physically restrain me. I had one of the MPs escort her from the room, telling him to take her outside but to be gentle about it. I told her I was sorry, and I was. I didn’t enjoy inflicting this kind of pain at all.

I opened the album. Here was a human story the likes of which you don’t often find in family albums: There were pictures of Abu Seger, Sada, their beautiful adult daughter, Saga (SAY-ja), and a certain unmistakable personage, Saddam Hussein; everyone was posing together with happy faces.

A couple of days earlier, the Sheik had come to the police station and rattled my cage.

“You’d better do this soon, or you’ll lose him. He’s getting ready to leave town. What are you waiting for? The second coming?”

He was getting impatient with our lack of action in apprehending Abu Seger, the man he’d told us about who was Saddam’s banker, and I didn’t blame him. I, too, was bewildered by the bureaucratic slowness I’d observed—unless, of course, there was any face-saving at stake, in which case they were a blur of speed. Abu Seger’s house, as the Sheik had told us, was within a couple of blocks of the police station. Practically in our back yard.

We were finally cleared to pay an unannounced visit to Abu Seger. We may have been slow getting around to it, but when the night finally came, the MPs selected for the raid were pumped up on adrenaline and could hardly wait for the fun to begin. We hopped into our Humvees and were on our way.

The MPs kicked in the door and poured into the house, yelling threats and epithets. Abu Seger and his wife were taken totally by surprise. Seger—who, like the Sheik, looked entirely Western and was in his seventies, with a meek, mild affect—put up no resistance and was hustled out to a Humvee by the MPs while his wife shouted and implored. I felt bad for both of them, but we were there for a reason, to search the house for the huge stash of cash the Sheik told us we’d find.

That was when I found the photo album.

No wonder Sada didn’t want us to see it. These pictures were a representation of an impossibly complex interrelationship between this family and Saddam, involving sex, vast quantities of money, and wicked political chess moves.

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