War of the Encyclopaedists (21 page)

24

The pedestrian lane went up a concrete stairway and ended at the Ped Search bunker, which spat out the foot traffic onto the sidewalk on 14 July Bridge. PFC Lo had been taken off gun duty. He was scrutinizing an ID card at the bunker's entrance as Montauk arrived. It was a fibrous paper deal with a small photo affixed at the corner, laminated with sticky paper. It seemed to have been hidden alternately in the gearbox of some grinding machine and up the bearer's ass for the last few decades. The picture, scarcely visible behind the smudging and creasing of the plastic, looked to Lo like it had been taken in high school. It depicted a smooth-faced, olive-skinned youngster. Lo looked up at the face of the laborer—tough and creased, with a huge bushy mustache; his eyes seemed to express either confusion or docility. Lo returned the card and waved the guy inside to be patted down.

Montauk gave Lo an encouraging nod. At least he was trying. And hopefully on Ped Search, he wouldn't get anyone killed.

The bunker was a rectangular room with a doorway on either end, about twelve-by-thirty, and built of HESCO bastions, large wire-mesh, cloth-lined boxes filled with gravel. It had a plywood roof. Aside from Sodium Joh, who was doing the pat-downs, Olaf was in the bunker, standing next to a stodgy, plainly dressed Iraqi sitting on a plastic chair. “Afternoon, sir,” Olaf grunted.

“Who's this guy?” Montauk asked, nodding toward the Iraqi.

“This is Ali Gorma. Our new translator. Hey, Gorma, come meet the LT.”

Montauk got caught on the word
new.
Not new like a new car, undriven, but new to you, like a used car you bought to replace the one you'd totaled. A new girlfriend to replace the one you'd dumped. Montauk's litany of tasks and unexpected urgencies had been enough to keep him from obsessing about Aladdin for the last few days. But in confronting this “new” translator, he needed a concerted effort of will not to picture the waterlogged corpse like an overstuffed and rancid sausage, not to smell the rot, which was thick enough to taste in the back of his throat.

Ali Gorma stood up like it was a chore. He slouched under Montauk's blank gaze.

“Hey,” Montauk said, extending his fist. “I'm Lieutenant Montauk. Good to have you on board.”

Ali Gorma stared at Montauk's fist. It took Montauk an awkward half-second to realize that Gorma, unlike Aladdin, wasn't hip to contemporary American hand greetings. Aladdin had probably been the outlier. Gorma shook Montauk's hand the way you might shake hands with your friend's ugly sister at a party.

“I am Ali Gorma,” he said, then he slouched back down onto the chair. Another pedestrian passed through the bunker.

“So, Ali G,” Montauk said. “You a football fan?”

“Okay,” Gorma said.

“I know everyone says Al-Shorta's the best team,” Montauk said, “but I prefer Al-Zawra'a SC. They're leading Division B right now, aren't they?” The Iraqi Premier Football League had been suspended when the invasion began, and it had just resumed last week.

Ali Gorma shrugged, unimpressed.

“Well, let me know if you have any questions,” Montauk said, hoping to create the impression that their lack of a conversation had come to an organic end. He fished out his tin of Kodiak and put in a plug of dip while looking out past the stairwell toward the pedestrians snaking up along the traffic circle. There was Monkey, rushing past the line and heading toward the stairs.

“He must have found someone,” Montauk said. “That was fast.”

“What was fast?” said Olaf.

“I told Monkey to ask around about Aladdin.”

“What?”

He'd said it in a moment of emotional extremity. But now it was really happening. There was no choice but to own the decision. “I had him put the word out that if anyone had intel on it, I'd have a reward.”

“How much?”

“Five hundred bucks.”

“Your own money?”

Montauk nodded.

Olaf stepped closer and spoke quietly: “Sir, you sure that's a good idea? That kid could end up in the river.”

“I don't know about that. He seems to get how things work around here. I don't think they'd go after the kid.” Montauk felt stupid as soon as his mouth started moving with that last one.

Monkey tried leaping into the bunker, but Lo jumped in front of him, grabbed him by the shirt, and demanded ID.

“Hey, LT,” Monkey said, out of breath. “C'mon, man.”

“It's okay, Lo. Let him in,” Montauk said.

Monkey shook off Lo's hands and strutted inside. “I got somebody who want to talk to you, man.”

“Good work,” Montauk said. He thought about telling Monkey to keep spreading the word, but he decided against it with Olaf standing behind him. “Here.” He handed Monkey a five-dollar bill. “Finder's fee.”

Monkey unfolded it, held it up to the light, and scrutinized it. Montauk felt a brief twinge of the kind of envy he and his other suburbanite friends had felt for black kids growing up in Compton after
The Chronic
came out. If only they'd had the fortune to be born into poverty, to have no choice but to hustle. If you succeeded in the world of the ghetto enough to leave it, you had undeniable respect. No one gave a shit if you made it out of the suburbs.

Monkey's whole body slumped, and he lolled his head to the side as if utterly disappointed. It was a good trick.

“What?” Montauk said. “You think you deserve more?”

“Yeah, man. I want a hundred.”

Montauk laughed, looking around the bunker. Joh was smiling, but
Olaf looked like he was moderating the GRE test. “One hundred dollars? What would you even do with it?” Montauk said, forcing amusement into his voice. “You'd have to, I don't know, get me the head of Osama bin Laden if you want a hundred dollars.” Monkey screwed up his mouth, as if contemplating how he might actually find bin Laden's head. “Okay, doesn't have to be bin Laden,” Montauk said. “You want a hundred dollars? Get me a human skull, any skull. You know what a skull is?”

Monkey smirked.

“Now get out of here,” Montauk said. “And tell whoever you found to come to the CP.” He turned to Olaf as Monkey skipped out. “I wouldn't worry about him. That kid's a little hustler.”

Olaf raised an eyebrow.

“And who knows,” Montauk said. “Maybe we'll get some real intel out of this.”

BRIEF INTERVIEWS WITH IRAQI INFORMANTS

SWORN STATEMENT

For use of this form, see AR 190-45; the proponent agency is PMG.

PRIVACY ACT STATEMENT

AUTHORITY:
Title 10, USC Section 301; Title 5, USC Section 2951

PRINCIPAL PURPOSE:
To document potential criminal activity involving the US Army, and to allow Army officials to maintain discipline, law, and order through investigation of complaints and incidents.

ROUTINE USES:
Information provided may be further disclosed to federal, state, local, and foreign government law enforcement agencies, prosecutors, courts, child protective services, victims, witnesses, the Department of Veterans Affairs, and the Office of Personnel Management. Information provided may be used for determinations regarding judicial or non-judicial punishment, other administrative disciplinary actions, security clearances, recruitment, retention, placement, and other personnel actions.

LOCATION: CP 11 DATE: 20041026 TIME: 0930

Mehmet Soufan, ~35 YO Local National Male, states the following:

I know who kill the translator Aladdin. I am working down Karada Dahil at the Al-Sulimeneyeh intersection to sell food. I sell produce. People come up to my stall and talk about all the dead people in the Tigris River in Karada. That everyone sees dead people in the Tigris River. The man is named Ahmet. He says he sees groups of men in black cars by the Tigris a short distance from the food store. I think maybe they are putting people in the river. I think they are not from Baghdad. They are maybe from Fallujah. The man Ahmet says he sees them drive black cars and park near the river.

Q, 2LT Montauk.

A, Mehmet Soufan.

Q: How did Ahmet see the cars?

A: He lives in an apartment near the water. He can see cars from his apartment.

Q: How do you know Ahmet?

A: I see him at my food store.

Q: Did you yourself see the black cars?

A: No.

Q: Can you tell Ahmet to come here and tell us about the black cars near the river?

A: No.

Q: Why not?

A: Ahmet moved away to Hit.

Q: When was that?

A: Two weeks ago.

Q: Who do you think killed Aladdin?

A: I don't know, but I think maybe Al-Qaeda or Iranian. I am Shia.

Q: Why do you suspect Iranians?

A: Because they are enemies to Iraq.

Q: I see. Do you think it may have been the Israelis?

A: Yes, I think it was maybe the Israelis.

Q: Because they are enemies to Iraq?

A: Yes. Enemies to Iraq and to America.

NOTES:

Witness actually finds it plausible that IDF murdered Aladdin. Hate/fear of Israelis is probably normal among locals and may not be indicative of credibility one way or the other. Black cars by the river sounds about right, but not very useful. No real way to locate witness in Hit. Witness wore dark mustache, smelled like cologne and rotting vegetables. At one point, he withdrew a fig from his pocket, smelled it, and put it back in his pocket. Weird tic—Google symbolism of figs? Ali Gorma acted as translator for Mehmet Soufan. Nothing follows.

SWORN STATEMENT

For use of this form, see AR 190-45; the proponent agency is PMG.

PRIVACY ACT STATEMENT

AUTHORITY:
Title 10, USC Section 301; Title 5, USC Section 2951

PRINCIPAL PURPOSE:
To document potential criminal activity involving the US Army, and to allow Army officials to maintain discipline, law, and order through investigation of complaints and incidents.

ROUTINE USES:
Information provided may be further disclosed to federal, state, local, and foreign government law enforcement agencies, prosecutors, courts, child protective services, victims, witnesses, the Department of Veterans Affairs, and the Office of Personnel Management. Information provided may be used for determinations regarding judicial or non-judicial punishment, other administrative disciplinary actions, security clearances, recruitment, retention, placement, and other personnel actions.

LOCATION: CP 11 DATE: 20041026 TIME: 1630

Walid Mahmoud Khazal, ~40 YO Local National Male, states the following:

I have information about the terrorist that killed the translator Aladdin. He is Ahmet Mohammed Ali from Sadr City. He lives in the Housseini apartment building on Palestine Way. Near the bus station in Sadr City. He is a terrorist in the Mahdi Army. He leaves letters for people who work for Americans saying he will kill them for Muqtada Al-Sadr. He left a letter for the translator Aladdin taped to his door. I know because Aladdin was a student at Baghdad University and I am a professor of Mathematics. Ahmet Mohammed Ali worked at the university as a cleaner but then was fired because he joined the Mahdi Army and was mujahideen. He was threatening university students and then was fired. He put letters on their lock boxes with tape saying mujahideen will kill their families. So
he was fired. Everyone knows he is mujahideen and killed Aladdin, but they are afraid of Ahmet Mohammed. So they won't tell the Americans and the Iraqi Police won't go to Sadr City.

Q, 2LT Montauk

A, Walid Mahmoud Khazal

Q: Did Ahmet Mohammed Ali tell you he killed Aladdin?

A: My students told me that Aladdin found the letter on his door. Aladdin was kidnapped one week later.

Q: When did Aladdin find the letter?

A: September 20 about.

Q: Where is the letter?

A: I don't know.

Q: What apartment number is Ahmet Mohammed Ali's?

A: Apartment is 306 Housseini Apartments in Sadr City. His mobile number is 01285936618.

Q: Who else lives in the apartment?

A: I don't know.

Q: What does Ahmet Mohammed Ali look like?

A: Maybe 25, beard, big and tall.

Q: Do you have anything else to add?

A: I work in Algebraic number theory. I studied in the United Kingdom.

Q: How can we contact you?

A: My phone is broken. But you can call my neighbor Aziz. His number is 01285818663.

NOTES:

Witness was eager and well composed. A math professor at Baghdad U. Copied and forwarded statement to TF3/8 S-2 for processing/follow-up. Provided CP3 contact card. No translator was necessary, as witness spoke English. Nothing follows.

SWORN STATEMENT

For use of this form, see AR 190-45; the proponent agency is PMG.

PRIVACY ACT STATEMENT

AUTHORITY:
Title 10, USC Section 301; Title 5, USC Section 2951

PRINCIPAL PURPOSE:
To document potential criminal activity involving the US Army, and to allow Army officials to maintain discipline, law, and order through investigation of complaints and incidents.

ROUTINE USES:
Information provided may be further disclosed to federal, state, local, and foreign government law enforcement agencies, prosecutors, courts, child protective services, victims, witnesses, the Department of Veterans Affairs, and the Office of Personnel Management. Information provided may be used for determinations regarding judicial or non-judicial punishment, other administrative disciplinary actions, security clearances, recruitment, retention, placement, and other personnel actions.

LOCATION: CP 11 DATE: 20041028 TIME: 0815

Nadirah Ayad, ~45 YO Local National Female, states the following:

I am the mother of Aladdin. Aladdin was at home with me when men came in with masks and put their hands on me. Six or maybe eight American soldiers with masks on, and about half of them are black. I was trapped in my room with the black soldiers, who were putting their hands all over me. When it was over, Aladdin was gone. I am having trouble hearing after the attack.

Q, 2LT Montauk

A, Nadirah Ayad

Q: You are Aladdin's mother?

A: Yes.

Q: I'm very sorry for your loss. Aladdin was a good man.

A: Okay.

Q: Do you know who killed your son?

A: It was the American soldiers. The black ones.

Q: What was the American soldiers?

A: They were.

Q: What about them?

A: They are who killed my son, Aladdin.

Q: Why would they do this?

A: So that there would be no one can tell about how they put their hands all over me.

Q: You are Aladdin's mother?

A: Yes. I tell you this already.

Q: And what did Aladdin look like?

A: You ask a mother how her own son looks? Do not insult me.

Q: I'm sorry.

A: Will you punish the blacks who put their hands all over me?

Q: We'll look into it.

NOTES:

Ali Gorma acted as translator for Nadirah Ayad. Nothing follows.