Baghdad Journal

The Devil's Palace, part II

We head down Saddam's private highway, built especially as an escape route to the airport from the Republican Palace. We hit another Coalition checkpoint, this one in front of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, erected after the Iran-Iraq War (here, of course, they say "Iraq-Iran War").
"No civilian cars allowed on this road unless they have a military escort," the young MP tells Zeke. "Sorry, sir. No exceptions." As if on cue, the MP then waves a Chevy pickup driven by non-military types on.
Even though Zeke has driven down Saddam's highway every day for the last 10 weeks, he keeps his cool. The MP offers to get his seargant, who is lounging in the tent at the side of the road. "No, no man. I don't want to get you in trouble," Zeke says to the MP," You stay here, I'll go talk to him." Zeke walks over to the tent and a few minutes emerges with the sarge. Both are smiling. "He's OK," says the sarge.

Zeke gets a lot of mileage out of being nonchallant, good-looking and, of course, Argentinian. Squinty eyed, a lit Marlboro hanging from his mouth, tufts of his thatched hair firing in different directions, he looks like a stoner who just woke up after a particularly good all-night party. Indeed, he's totally out of place among the other military contractor types, many of whom are starchy and humorless by comparison.
"It's simple," he says. "I know how to talk to people."

Right behind the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier is another monument to the folly of the Iraq-Iran war: Saddam's Victory Arch, formed by two bronze hands erupting out of the ground each holding an enormous scimitar, which points at the other and crosses in the middle. We ask Abu Yusif, the driver, to stop and Adam jumps out, camera snapping. It is a thing to behold. The allies would have no ID on Saddam, Looie tells us later, were it not for the fact that Saddam ordered his thumbprint carved into the bronze hands of the Qows al Nasser, the Victory Arch. I was amazed. For one, I had no idea the Iraqis were victorious in their unholy war against the Iranians. For two, how stupid of Saddam to leave his fingerprints lying around, enlarged 1,000 times for everyone to see!
"C'mon c'mon man, you are going to get me killed!" screams Zeke as Adam shoots a goofy holiday snap of him and I and Sanjiv, Zeke's partner and fifth man in the car, in front of the arch. Two military convoys have driven by without a word but it's true: we stick out like Saddam's bronze thumb.

We continue on towards the airport. Zeke points out the places where soldiers were attacked by rebels. The highway is such a favorite spot for ambushers that the U.S. cut and burned all the surrounding trees and foliage to deprive them of cover. Still the attacks continue.
Airport security is handled by the Custer Bottles company, a private contractor out of Texas who hire mostly fomer special forces guys and ex-Gurkhas, the best of the bad asses. As we head into the airport area we hear a sharp concussion behind us and instinctively duck down in the taxi. It's the army destroying ammo, we figure. Looking back we see a mushroom like cone of smoke rising from the direction of the airport.

Zeke takes us to the Temporary Motor Pool office in Camp Victory, a U.S. army base situated on the airport grounds. But Camp Victory looks like nothing but a bunch of reeds and concrete rubble, suitable for its optimistic name. We keep being told by Iraqis that ever since George Bush declared victory on May 1, the Americans have been losing the war.
It is in the TMP where Zeke does most of his business. His company rents out some 100 or so Ford Expeditions and other high end SUVs to the military at $3000/month. We figure he must be raking in the dough, but he shakes his head. "Insurance here is a bitch. We barely break even," he says.
After some business with his mechanics and the two soldiers who work in the TMP, Zeke takes us to the Al Faw Palace, one of Saddam's newer palaces where the Army is now headquartered. "The soldiers are there, 30 to a room, they sleep there, they hang their underwear and socks on the windows to dry," says Zeke. "If Saddam were to see this, believe me, he'd kill himself."
The Al Faw Palace is named after a southern town that was occupied by the Iranians and then won back in a bloody siege that cost thousands of lives. It is set on an artificial lake, so still it looks like blue-green glass. All around the lake are Roman-style villas. Some of them are still being built. We are shocked to see Coalition hired construction crews all around the lake finishing the job that Saddam started. "Looks like Hyde Park," says Zeke with a laugh.
Zeke takes us to the entrance controlled by the Australian forces. They greet him warmly and say, "No worries, mate" when he asks if Adam can photograph the palace. They have five of Zeke's SUVs in the parking lot outside. We walk in to the circular shaped main hall whose ceiling is eclipsed by the largest crystal chandolier I've ever seen. It must be four stories high and looks like a glowing UFO in decent.

Near the main entrance, which the Americans now use as a gym, sit a titan-sized throne, guarded by 10 foot tall copper colored coffee pot. On the back of the huge chair is a minature carving of the gold domed al Aqsah Mosque in Jerusalem. The Arabic inscription written in gold in a parabola shaped line under the minature reads: "Victory is from God and soon we will retake Jerusalem." I sit on Saddam's throne. It is not at all cozy. You can't lean back for all the busy, Israel-themed rodomontade behind you. Adam takes my picture. A nice souvenir. Everyone takes their turn. But when Adam goes to take Abu Yusif's picture on the throne, he waves his hands frantically and stands up, away from the evil furniture. "He is Shia," explains Deena, an Iraqi woman working as a translator for Zeke, later when we are all back at the TMP. "He says if Saddam comes back and sees this picture of him on his chair, he will be angry. I tell you, Iraqi people believe Saddam is like a devil. Every day we hope for him to die but he will not die. Even now we believe this."

Posted by Brandon Sprague at August 14, 2003 08:10 AM | TrackBack