Free The Minders by Max Boroumand Page A

paperwork, checked his SAT phone, money belt, and weapon. He re-visited the folder with the asset details once more. He couldn’t carry the details on him and had to memorize it all. On foreign soil, it was always best to be a crook and not a spy. Smuggling was the best and an honorable crime, especially if you were smuggling inoffensive items like American cigarettes, cell phones, weapons and such. As for the gun, that was easy. Everyone carried one, given the lack of security and the highway robberies one faced routinely. The highway robberies were so common that you lost half of your inventory just getting through. Nothing was better than having cartons of Winston or Marlboro handy. Back home cigarettes could kill you, but here they saved your life. 
    They finally landed in Kuwait city. The plane doors opened and immediately all of the cool air left, replaced by dry heat. It felt like opening the oven door, six inches from your face, while broiling something dry and dusty. They quickly grabbed their sample cigarettes and digital merchandise in a duffle bag, and ran down the passenger stair-truck. They ran to the SUV, praying it had air conditioning and that it worked. The heat was stifling, with the first hour or two being the worst. It was a three to four hour drive to Basrah , and a two to three day stay, if all went well.
    The SUV was modern, well equipped, with spares, gas tanks, and a large repair box, including shovels on the back. On the inside, in the back, was a water tank holding 20 gallons of fresh water. It was well air-conditioned and ready for the drive. The drive took them through a hot desolate desert, as far as the eyes could see. There would be no service until the border. The best thing about the drive was the lack of any speed limit. However, you had to keep an eye out for sand drifts. It could be life ending hitting those at a hundred miles per hour.
    They reached the Kuwait-Iraq border after two hours, and refueled before crossing. A thousand dollar donation and a carton of Winston’s helped expedite the crossing. That was the safe part of the trip.
    The remainder of the drive would be through troubled parts of Iraq, albeit safer than Baghdad. Thirty minutes across the border and an hour after a SAT call, an escort from Basrah met them, sent by the Mullah to help safely get them into town. They drove an additional two hours, finally arriving in town. Traffic was the major worry. They had to take multiple routes, re-routing several times not to be stuck in a jam. That was when attacks were the hardest to avoid or escape.
    Eventually they found themselves at a building near the river. They pulled into a gated, barren yard, bursting with other SUVs, and armed people. This was Grand Ayatollah Muhammad Sadiq al-Sadr’s compound for the day. The meeting was with his son, Moqtada al-Sadr, a twenty-something, up and coming cleric with whom the U.S. had established ties in the hopes of helping control the southern Shiite population. He was an enigmatic, charming character with a powerful presence. He was, at that point, a medium ranked cleric. Yet, he was an influential political and religious figure, with a very strong and obedient following, just like his father.
    They met several times over the next two days. The most heated parts of the negotiations covered weaponry for his army, the amount of autonomy he would have over his region, and how much cash flow he should expect. The first two points were near impossible, leaving only one with which Jason could work. The U.S. would not deliver any arms, ever. Nor should he expect any autonomy. In the end, Jason did a great job negotiating. He promised him all the autonomy he knew they would eventually develop. He promised them all the arms he knew he would eventually acquire. Finally, he gave him an enticing cash flow, should they achieve the negotiated milestones, cash that the U.S. took from Saddam’s vaults after the first Gulf War.
    In short, Jason gave