“During the Gulf War,” Stanhouse continued, “I assisted in the DOD’s efforts to determine both the kinds and quantity of chemical weapons available to the Iraqis. One that they appeared to have developed in great quantity was a cyanide-based derivative of something we called the Gehenna gas, or GG-2.”
“Get to the point,” Spitz grumbled. From where he was sitting he knew Stanhouse couldn’t hear him.
“At the request of the Turkish authorities in Istanbul, we agreed to help them investigate the cause of death of several Kurdish tribesmen. One body was shipped to us and that body arrived under quarantine in a sealed vault this past weekend.
Our examination of the remains leads us to believe that the young man died as the result of being exposed to lethal doses of GG-2. As an added precaution and to confirm my findings, I asked two of my colleagues in the department to conduct their own examination. They concur with my conclusions.”
Oscar Jaffe leaned forward and took a sip of his coffee.
“I’m no authority on lethal doses of cyanide, Doctor, but the use of GG-2 is a serious charge, isn’t it? Certainly it’s something the United Nations would not take lightly.”
Stanhouse took off his glasses, held them up to the light, and frowned.
“I must assume from the nature of your question, Mr. Jaffe, that you have heard that a prior autopsy had been performed on the body, a somewhat crude attempt that some believe compromises our findings. Well, it’s true. Some aspects of our examination cannot be verified.”
“Are you saying you don’t have proof it was GG2?”
Jaffe pushed. Stanhouse’s face reddened.
“No, I cannot prove it,” he admitted, “but I know it to be a fact and as I have already indicated, my colleagues support my conclusions.”
As Stanhouse sat down. Miller spoke up.
“Perhaps I can shed a little light on this. Last week our agent in Tel Aviv reported that he has been hearing persistent rumors of mustard gas testing by Iraqi extremists. However, he said he was unable to verify the rumors.”
Packer laid his pipe down and looked across the table at Langley.
“If we take Henry’s report at face value and assume his conclusions are on target, Peter, what have we got?”
Langley thought for a minute.
“Not a helluva lot, Pack. It looks like we’ve got a lot more digging to do to get savvy.”
Miller settled back and studied his notes.
“So far we have the body of a young Kurd tribesman that our colleague Dr. Stanhouse is convinced died as the result of a lethal dose of GG-2. We add to that a past history of Iraq’s using poison gas, and we throw in our agency reports, which, by our own man’s admission, are persistent rumors — rumors about some Iraqi extremists in the region using mustard gas.”
Lattimere Spitz stood up, walked around the table to the sideboard, and poured himself another cup of coffee.
“Not exactly overwhelming evidence that our boy Abbasin or any of his former colleagues in the north are at the heart of this incident.”
“I agree with you, Lattimere,” Miller countered, “but I believed I saw enough in all of this that I thought it was worth a little extra digging. I spent a couple of hours last night going back through our field reports. I found something that possibly belongs in our equation. Ever hear of a man by the name of Salih Baddour?”
“General Baddour?” Langley said.
“I think most of us who follow what’s going on in Iraq would tell you the general is currently the second most powerful man in Iraq. As you indicated earlier, he has developed his NIMF army into a force of some seventy thousand men. As badly as Abbasin wishes he would go away, he stays in power and he’s becoming more of a factor.”
“Why doesn’t Abbasin just move him out?” Crimmins asked.
“Risky business,” Langley said.
“Our sources tell us a number of generals on Abbasin’s staff are secretly more loyal to Baddour than they are to the government in Baghdad. We interpret that as meaning Baddour has a few aces up his sleeve.
Abbasin may not be willing to test Baddour’s strength at the moment. Keep this in mind. Our best G-2 claims it was Baddour who encouraged Hussein to use some of his chemical stockpile when things started going bad in the Gulf War.
You know the rest. Hussein decided not to and we kicked his butt. In the meantime, we continue to hear rumors that the rift between Baddour and Abbasin keeps growing. Abbasin’s supporters think Baddour is too ambitious. Baddour’s people think Abbasin is even sorter than Hussein was at the end of the war when he didn’t follow Baddour’s advice and use chemical weapons.”
“So exactly where is this General Baddour now?” Spitz pressed.
“Up in the high country, not far from Zahko, in a village near Ammash,” Langley confirmed.
“I think what Robert is trying to say, and I agree with him, is we have several pieces of a puzzle that don’t make a whole lot of sense and we need to know more before we can come to any conclusions.”
“Do we know what’s in Zahko?” Jaffe asked.
“Not much, but just a few miles up the road is this village called Ammash,” Langley said, “and Ammash is where things start to get interesting.
Tell them what you told me, Robert.”
Miller opened his attache case, removed two manila folders, and laid them on the table.
“I talked to Bet the day before yesterday. She pointed out that for one thing, there is a sizeable military installation in Ammash.” Miller spread a series of satellite photos out on the table.
“You’ll notice that the military installation consists of seventeen structures in all. Up until recently all we knew was that the two larger buildings were hangars.
The handful of planes that you see sitting adjacent to the runway are mostly MiGs, a couple of 21’s, 24’s, and 25’s, one L-39 transport, and a handful of helicopters. We also know that Baddour went into the marketplace several years ago to buy some Mirage FIBQ/EQs, but there is no evidence that the installation at Ammash has anything like that.
“The other large complex you see,” Miller continued, “is believed to be a pharmaceutical factory.
Whether it is legitimate or not, we can’t be certain. Again, many of you will recall we had a similar showdown a couple of years ago with a purported Palestinian pharmaceutical manufacturing facility.
“Finally, there is something else I think you should be aware of. I believe you’ll find this equally interesting. Directly east of the pharmaceutical manufacturing facility on the photograph marked 91800-1850Z10, you’ll see eight Kamov Ka-25 Hormones sitting on an expanse of tarmac that could easily be mistaken for a parking lot.
Next photo in the sequence, they’re gone. But they’re there again three days later, same time of day, same place.”
“I take it you think that is significant?” Spitz asked.
“It could be,” Miller hedged, “but at this point we aren’t sure what to think.”
General Salih Baddour loosened his tunic collar and eased back in his chair. The meal had been more than satisfying. The salad, his admitted passion, had consisted of khass, tamatins, tuum, and khiyaar, served in conjunction with an ample portion of kibda and kelawvi. It was the liver and kidney portion of his diet that Baddour claimed gave him his stamina. The general’s staff officers had frequently watched him go as much as seventy-two hours without sleep and remain alert throughout the period.
At age fifty-one, Salih Baddour was a tall, muscular, athletic man with dark, baleful eyes and a thick crop of raven-black hair. He was a graduate of Oxford, had attended the Ismet Military Academy in Jeddah at the wishes of his father, and in the process, dedicated his life to the military. Because of his devotion to duty, and his loyalty to then-President Saddam Hussein, he had scaled to the lofty rank of general quicker than anyone in the Iraqi Army could recall.