the head of the 4th ID’s military police had a special relationship with the Tikrit officials, my meeting with Basim would have to be arranged by them. The commanding officer agreed on the condition that the interview took place at the military police headquarters and under no circumstance would we be allowed to arrest the driver.
Basim might have been about forty-five, but the desert sun had aged him at least ten years. Several more years, and a few pounds, had been added by hard drinking. He seemed happy to help and anxious to please, knowing that he needed to appear to be in full compliance with the arrangement his uncle had worked out. But he wasn’t about to give up any useful information about his former employer.
“Why were you arrested, Basim?” I asked, trying my best to come off as friendly.
“I used to be Muhammad Ibrahim’s driver,” he replied. “You are looking for Muhammad Ibrahim. The police thought I could be of help.”
“Can you?”
He shrugged, smiling serenely.
“How long were you his driver?”
“For two years.”
“Did you see him every day?”
“Not every day.”
“Did you drive for him after the war?”
“Yes, I was still his driver.”
“Are you still his driver now?”
“I have not seen him for a month.”
“But you’re still his driver.”
Basim spoke slowly, as if he was explaining the facts to a child. “I was arrested,” he said. “Then I was released. He no longer trusts me. He thinks I am a spy for the Americans.”
“Are you a spy?”
“Yes. I swore to my cousin that I would do everything I could to help you.”
“So help us.”
He smirked. “How can I help?”
“Where did you last see Muhammad Ibrahim?”
“I was walking down the street. I saw him drive by in a car.”
“Why weren’t you driving him?”
He sighed. “I told you, mister. He no longer trusts me.”
“Where is Muhammad Ibrahim now?” “I don’t know. I will try to help you find him.”
“How will you do that?”
“I will lay low for a while until he starts to trust me again. Then they will come to me.”
“Who is ‘they’?”
“Muhammad Ibrahim has many people.”
“Who are the ones closest to him?”
“Abu Drees.”
“Anyone else?”
Basim shrugged again. The fact that he had named Abu Drees wasn’t surprising. He must have known that we had arrested him and there was no downside to implicating the old man. What was revealing was the fact that Basim hadn’t mentioned Thamir Al-Asi or his two sons. If he was really committed to cooperating with us, he would have offered up anyone and everyone he could think of who was a friend or associate of his former boss.
“Will these people help you find Muhammad Ibrahim?”
He nodded. “They will take me to him. Then he will look me in the eye and decide if he trusts me.”
Basim was not the first to tell me that an Iraqi could stare eyeball-to-eyeball and decide whether someone was loyal. I didn’t have that ability, but I didn’t need it to know that Basim had no intention of helping us find Muhammad Ibrahim. As long as he had the protection of the cousin, the chief of security, there was no incentive for him to cooperate. Maybe he was still involved with his old boss or maybe not. All he had to do now was lie low and see which side, the Americans or the insurgency, best served his interests.
As soon as I was finished questioning Basim Latif, I took Kelly aside. “We need to arrest that guy,” I told him with absolute conviction. “He’s lying through his teeth. I need an honest Basim and I’m not going to get that until he’s scared. Really scared.”
“You are going to have to sell it to Bam Bam,” Kelly said and together we went looking for him.
We found him in the dining room. Sitting down at the table, the three of us discussed the available options. I ran down what I had heard from Basim, what he claimed to know, and what I thought he was concealing from us. I wanted to make sure that Bam Bam understood the connection between Abu Drees, Basim Latif, and Thamir Al-Asi. They were the three men closest to Muhammad Ibrahim. They all knew each other and, between them, I was sure that we would be able to track down our primary target.
Basim was the next logical step, but we all knew that by arresting the driver, Bam Bam would be taking a huge risk. It was ultimately his ass on the line and he’d have to take the heat for any political shit that hit the fan as a result. But at the same time, both he and Kelly knew that I might be onto something big. The fact that we never mentioned Saddam by name didn’t mean we weren’t all thinking of the possibility of his capture. It was that unspoken but very real potential that was being weighed in the balance.
“What do you want me to do, Eric?” Bam Bam asked, cutting to the chase.
I thought for a moment. “I want you to listen to Basim when I question him,” I said, slowly and deliberately. “I’ve told you what I think he knows. If you don’t agree that he’s lying or holding back information, then I’ll stop asking you to arrest him. But if you think I’m right, then we need to take him into custody and treat him like any other prisoner.”
“What’s he going to lie about?” Kelly asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “But I’ll get him to do it and when he does, you’ll know he’s holding back. I guarantee it.”
“Listen, Eric,” Bam Bam said, and his tone of voice got my full attention. “This is going to draw more attention to us than we ever wanted. And it can blow up in our faces. We’re supposed to be leaving this country someday and when that happens we’re going to turn it over to our allies. Right now, one of those allies is the governor of Tikrit. He’s more important in Washington and Baghdad than you or I will ever be.”
We sat in silence for what seemed like a long time. “So what do you want to do, Bam Bam?” Kelly finally asked.
He looked at me and I could see in his eyes the weight of the decision he had to make. “Let’s go talk to this son-of-a-bitch, Basim,” he said.
It would be a few days before the 4th ID could arrange the meeting. I spent Thanksgiving with Bam Bam, Kelly, and the terps. The rest of the shooters had been called to Baghdad to serve as a personal security detachment for President Bush, who had come to Iraq for a holiday morale boost.
It might seem like that Thanksgiving was a lonely interlude in a hostile country a long way from home. But instead it was an opportunity for me to reflect on everything I had experienced over the last several months. In that period of time I had become completely engrossed in my work. I realized I had no real idea what was going on in the rest of Iraq or, for that matter, back in the States. About the only connection I maintained to my former life was the Sooners. I needed them to win more than ever. There was a relief in watching those games in the late hours of a Saturday night, seeing all those joyful, innocent fans fill a stadium and basking in the pride of the Sooners. The fact that they were dismantling the competition was an added bonus. For a few hours I was able to escape from the tensions and anger and deception that I dealt with every day.
I called my wife and children as often as I could. But there was something about hearing their voices so far away that made me understand that I wasn’t really doing all this for them. I needed this war and I needed to be a part of it for my own selfish reasons. The bottom line was that I’d signed up to be a warrior. Soldiers are happiest when they are fighting. Rebuilding a country was a noble goal, but the real reason we were there was to destroy the enemy.
That Thanksgiving night, I found myself thinking about my friend Casey again. I pictured him sitting at that bar in heaven with the other heroes in my life. They were warriors, too, and I was still trying to earn my place next to them.
