Honor Among Thieves

Al Obaydi sat at his laden desk for some time, considering what his next move should be. He wrote a short list of headings on the notepad in front of him:

M.o.l.

State Security

Deputy Foreign Minister

Kalmar

Al Obaydi glanced at the first heading, M.o.l. He had remained in contact with a fellow student from London University days who had risen to Permanent Secretary status at the Ministry of Industry. Al Obaydi felt his old friend would be able to supply the information he required without suspecting his real motive.

He dialed the Permanent Secretary’s private number, and was delighted to find that someone was at his desk.

“Nadhim, it’s Hamid Al Obaydi.”

“Hamid, I heard you were back from New York. The rumor is that you’ve got what remains of our embassy in Paris. But one can never be sure about rumors in this city.”

“For once, they’re accurate,” Al Obaydi told his friend.

“Congratulations. So, what can I do for you, Your Excellency?”

Al Obaydi was amused that Nadhim was the first person to address him by his new title, even if he was being sarcastic.

“UN sanctions.”

“And you claim you’re my friend?”

“No, it’s just a routine check. I’ve got to tie up any loose ends for my successor. Everything’s in order as far as I can tell, except I’m unable to find out much about a gigantic safe that was made for us in Sweden. I know we’ve paid for it, but I can’t discover what is happening about its delivery.”

“Not this department, Hamid. The responsibility was taken out of our hands about a year ago after the file was marked ‘High Command,’ which usually means for the President’s personal use.”

“But someone must be responsible for a movement order from Kalmar to Baghdad,” said Al Obaydi.

“All I know is that I was instructed to pass the file on to our UN office in Geneva as we don’t have an embassy in Oslo. I’m surprised you didn’t know that, Hamid. More your department than mine, I would have thought.”

“Then I’ll have to get in touch with Geneva and find out what they’re doing about it,” said Al Obaydi, not adding that New York and Geneva rarely informed each other of anything they were up to. “Thanks for your help, Nadhim.”

“Any time. Good luck in Paris, Hamid. I’m told the women are fabulous, and despite what you hear, they like Arabs.”

Al Obaydi put the phone down and stared at the list on his pad. He took even longer deciding if he should make the second call.

The correct course of action with the information he now possessed would be to contact Geneva, alert the Ambassador of his suspicions and let Saddam’s half brother once again take the praise for something he himself had done the work on. He checked his watch. It was midday in Switzerland. He asked his secretary to get Barazan Al-Tikriti on the phone, knowing she would log every call. He waited for several minutes before a voice came on the line.

“Can I speak to the Ambassador?” he asked politely.

“He’s in a meeting, sir,” came back the inevitable reply. “Shall I disturb him?”

“No, no, don’t bother. But would you let him know that Hamid Al Obaydi called from Baghdad, and ask him if he would be kind enough to return my call.”

“Yes, sir,” said the voice, and Al Obaydi replaced the phone. He had carried out the correct procedure.

He opened the sanctions file on his desk and scribbled on the bottom of his report: “The Ministry of Industry has sent the file concerning this item direct to Geneva. I phoned our Ambassador there but was unable to make contact with him. Therefore, I cannot make any progress from this end until he returns my call. Hamid Al Obaydi.”

Al Obaydi considered his next move extremely carefully. If he decided to do anything, his actions must once again appear on the surface to be routine, and well within his accepted brief. Any slight deviation from the norm in a city that fed on rumor and paranoia, and it would be him who would end up dangling from a rope, not Saddam’s half brother.

Al Obaydi looked down at the second heading on his notepad. He buzzed his secretary and asked her to get General Saba’awi Al-Hassan, Head of State Security, on the line. The post was one that had been held by three different people in the last seven months. The General was available immediately, there being more Generals than Ambassadors in the Iraqi regime.

“Ambassador, good morning. I’ve been meaning to call you. We ought to have a talk before you take up your new appointment in Paris.”