The Minders (22 page)

By dusk, Jason and Bobby had made it to
Piranshahr
. They spent another thirty minutes driving up and down the three main boulevards just to get their bearings, and looking for places to sleep, a hotel, an inn, or anything resembling one. There were no hotels, just inns with poor signage. Most of these were converted homes, open on their own schedule. The only reason anyone would be in that town was that they were born there, or were on their way in or out of Iraq. This was one of many cities, on either side of the border, which considered themselves part of the borderless nation of
Kurdistan
. Jason settled for the second largest square away from the main city center. It too was a large traffic circle, with a two-story shopping mall, several restaurants, and two inns around the edge.

He parked the car near the first inn. He asked Bobby to wait while he got out and walked to the second inn. He knocked on the door and waited, and waited. Eventually an older man opened the door about an inch or two, looking out with one eye, to see whom it was. He was wearing traditional Kurdish clothing, baggy pants and shirt, a black cummerbund around his waist, and a beautifully beaded and stitched skullcap. Sporting a thick white mustache with years of tobacco stains yellowing the part under his nose, he asked in Kurdish. “What do you want?”

Jason replied in Farsi, “A room for the night.”

“Are you coming or going?” the innkeeper asked pryingly.

Jason decided to tell him the truth but not the direction. “We’re coming, and on our way to
Tabriz
.”

“Well, the rooms are 100,000
Tomans
. I only have one left. How many are you?” He said looking around and behind Jason, with the door now half way open.

“Me and my nephew,” Jason replied.

“That’ll be 150,000
Tomans
. Pay now!” He said, extending his hand. His hands looked like they had toiled in the fields for decades, growing whatever would feed them.

Jason dug through several pockets and put together the money. “All I have is 140,000. Would you take it?”

The man paused briefly, shaking his head in disgust. Grabbing the money, he opened the door all the way. Counting the money, he began to walk. He showed Jason to his room, halfway down a hall.

“This is your room. It has two beds and a washbasin. The toilet is down the hall.”

Jason leaned in and looked the room over. “This will be fine. Where can we get something to eat around here?”

The man pointed in the direction south of the house. “Several buildings away,” he said, “you can get some pretty good
Ash
.”

Jason thanked him, telling him he would be back after dinner.

“Don’t be too late. I can’t open the door once I’m in bed sleeping. I’m an old man. Bad hearing you know?”

Jason smiled, leaving the house. He made his way back to the parked car. He knocked on the windshield, waving Bobby out of the car. They started walking in the direction of the soup kitchen. It was only a short block away, nestled in the corner of a building housing an industrial workshop. The sign read simply breakfast-lunch-dinner, no name. They walked inside and sat at a table near the window, a bit colder and breezy, but a better place to keep an eye on the street. On entry, everyone gawked. Just long enough to decide if they knew you, if you were an interesting stranger, or if you were dangerous. Then in a synchronized manner, they all went back to whatever they were doing, some eating, some playing backgammon, some smoking a water pipe, and some just staring at the old black and white TV perched on a shelf in the corner.

A young man pushed a makeshift kitchen on wheels over to them. There were two rusty grey gas canisters, under a wooden shelf. The cart had, on top, two burners, one with tea brewing and the other holding a huge pot of
Ash,
a popular Persian soup. This soup was rich and bursting with greens, meats, vegetables and thick noodles, favored in cold winters. The waiter poured two bowls, poured two teas, and covered each bowl with a fresh piece of
Sangak
bread. He then extended his open hand.

“That will be 10,000
Tomans
.”

Jason reached in his pocket and gave the young man the money. As the waiter pushed the cart away, they both lunged towards the warm inviting bowl, dipping their freshly made bread, soaking up the juices, and taking bites in between each spoonful. Bobby was inhaling the food. Jason loved this dish and remembered all the times his wife made it, and how wonderfully tasty it was on those cold winter days in Colorado. They ate everything within minutes.

Jason was leaning back looking through the window, taking a sip of his tea, staring at the reflection of what was on the TV. His eyes nearly popped out at seeing a full screen picture of Bobby, with a telephone number and message. He looked back to read the message. Reading, he noticed the waiter taking a picture of the screen with his cell phone. He quickly turned around to study the room via the reflections in the window. The waiter was looking back in their direction, staring at Bobby. The reflection was clear as a mirror. The waiter took a picture of Bobby.

“Bobby, you’ve been made. We have to go. But slowly!” Jason whispered.

Bobby finished what remained of his tea. They both got up. Bobby left first, without looking at anyone. Jason turned around and politely said thank you and goodbye. They walked towards their car. Jason got in and while collecting all the hidden money and the teddy bears, he studied the waiter staring at them from the restaurant entryway. The waiter made several phone calls. Jason opened the trunk and got out. They grabbed the suitcase from the trunk and walked towards the nearest inn. As they got closer to the door, the waiter disappeared back in the restaurant. Jason looked around and once clear, they both ran to the other inn. They knocked incessantly until the innkeeper opened the door. They wanted in, quickly. Finally, the door opened.  The innkeeper was mumbling about something, but neither was paying attention. Eventually he mumbled his way back to his own room.

“Bobby, go to our room and change into layers of warm clothes,” Jason said, pointing to their room. Jason peered out the window looking in both directions, waiting.

Whom did he call?

Moments later, Jason returned to the room, and he too got dressed in layers of clothing. They each filled different pockets with money. Jason took out the handgun from his belt loop, made sure it was loaded, placing it back in his belt. He placed the remaining ammo, from inside the teddy, in his jacket pocket. He then took off his Breitling watch and handed it Bobby.

“This watch has a personal locator beacon built in. Pull this integrated antenna out, which will automatically start the signal. It runs for twenty-four hours, but use it when and if you are within an hour of needing a rescue. Got it?” He stepped back out of the room, and walked to the window.

He looked across the circle finding a police jeep with two policemen. Standing nearby was the waiter. They were looking around and inside the now abandoned car. One policeman walked towards the nearby inn and started banging on the door. Five minutes of banging later, the door opened. He pushed his way in. Within minutes, he came back out. Walking straight to the waiter, he slapped him in the face. A heated discussion ensued, arms waving around, with more threats of violence. The waiter looked across the street. Tapping the police on the shoulder, he pointed to the other inn. The police paid him no heed and started looking over the car once more. The waiter shrugged and started walking to the other inn by himself. Jason waited and watched.

Soon, the waiter was at the second inn. Before he could knock and wake the innkeeper, Jason opened the door and dragged the waiter in at gunpoint, pushing him to his room. Bobby closed the door behind them. As the door shut, Jason put his arm around the waiter’s neck for a sleeper hold, pressing until the waiter was out cold. They tied him up and shoved him under the bed.

Bobby was more scared than he had ever been. They were in deep trouble, without a car and the police on the lookout. Bobby started to sputter and speak, in English, forgetting where he was and what the rules were. Three or four sentences in, Jason told him to shut up. They covered the bed, making sure they hid the waiter well. Jason tore the satphone out of the last teddy bear. He made a quick call to a number leaving a date, time and some numbers as a message. He then placed the phone in his jacket pocket. They were fully dressed for the cold night, and a long walk ahead in search of a new car. They needed a new plan for getting across the border. Jason opened the bedroom door. Standing outside were the innkeeper and two younger men. Each of them was pointing an AK-47 machine gun in Jason’s direction.

“I am a sleepy old man,” the innkeeper said, “But my sons are not, and they have great hearing.”

They pushed their way into the room. “We heard someone speak English. Are you Americans?” the innkeeper asked.

Before Jason could speak, loud banging erupted at the front door. The old man handed his rifle to one of the sons and walked out, closing the door behind himself. He went to the main door, yelling in Kurdish.

“Who is it and what do you want?” He opened the door slightly, as before. This time, the two policemen forcefully pushed their way in.

“We’re looking for a suspect,” they said in Farsi. They were not Kurds. Most police and military in that region were not. It was a matter of control.

“And, we’re looking for a waiter that came in here moments ago.”

The innkeeper told them the waiter left a while ago, and that there were no guests here. He then went on a rant, complaining about how bad business was, how the inn across the street was stealing his entire livelihood, that they were thieves, and how they were dealing in all manner of unsavory business. Finally, why harass me? He drowned the two policemen in misery, despair, and bitterness. The two left the inn, laughing at the old man, apologizing for disturbing him.

The innkeeper returned to the room. Seated on the floor, with hands on top of their heads, were Bobby and Jason. In front of them on the floor, were the gun, ammo, and satphone. The old man closed the door and sat on the bed. He looked around a bit, and then under the bed.

“So, there is the waiter they were looking for! Is he dead?”

“No. Just sleeping,” Jason said.

“Good for you,” the innkeeper responded.

“I would hate to see you kill one of our young men,” he said, telling them to put their hands down. They looked silly like that.

“So, are you American? British? Where are you from?”

Jason spoke in Farsi. We are not Americans, but Iranians who grew up in America, and were visiting relatives in Tehran where we got into trouble.

“Was it drugs?” the old man asked. “Or, was it spying?” Either one is punishable by death he explained. “Or, was it something completely different?”

Jason did not want to answer yet. He wanted to know where they stood with these Kurds. Instead, he asked, why they did not turn them in to the police. Why not let the police deal with us no matter what we did.

“Because, you are in
Kurdistan
, our country, our laws,” he said standing proud.

“We deal with our problems, in our own way.”

The innkeeper’s sons pulled out the waiter from under the bed. The larger of the two sons slapped the waiter in the face, waking him up, as the other untied him. Eventually the waiter got his senses back, scared, and nervous. Pointing at Bobby, he rattled off what he had seen on TV. Pointing and repeating himself, yelling louder each time. The innkeeper slapped the kid, hard, in the face.

“Where is your pride boy? Didn’t you learn anything from your father? You don’t call the police. You call the elders.”

The waiter started sobbing, apologizing, railing about money woes. He needed the money for his family, for medicine. He admitted to calling the number on the news bulletin as well, and showed them the cellphone photo of Bobby taken from the TV screen, which included the message and call-in number.

“You were definitely not involved in drugs. I can tell from how you made the news. You did something a lot worse,” the old man said smiling at Jason.

“You hurt the government, and that my friend, makes you our friend.”

The innkeeper stood, handing Jason his gun and satphone back, and offered to help. However, they had to move from the inn to another house. Most importantly, they had to blend in better. The city clothes had to go, replaced with local Kurdish clothing. After changing, they drove to another home on the outskirts of town, even closer to the border. They also quickly and stealthily moved Jason’s car to another, safer location.

*  *  *

Rezadad was ending his grueling day, sitting inside one of the mobile centers, reviewing the last of the asset and Center status reports. It was a blend of good and bad news. Several key assets had not reported. In one case, an entire vector asset group had gone dark. The foreign re-encryption efforts did not affect the rolling six-month backups but, sadly, it affected all other data backups. For now, the hunt for the encryption key and apprehending Bobby were top on the list of things to do. It was past midnight. It was time to go home for a bit of rest.