Escape from Saddam by Lewis Alsamari Read Free Book Online Page B

status?”
    “He has just finished high school, and will start university in Baghdad in September.”
    “Who is his father?”
    “Saadoon Alsamari.” A flicker of recognition crossed the officer’s face. “You will see from the documents that he has given his permission for the application to be processed. He has asked me to accompany Sarmed today.”
    “Indeed?” questioned the officer skeptically. “He should be here himself. Why could he not come?”
    “He is an important lecturer in Mosul,” Saad replied smoothly. “A very busy man. I’m sure you understand.”
    The officer remained expressionless as he placed my documents into a folder and scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Here is a telephone number,” he told Saad. “You can call it to check the status of your application. Good day.”
    “But we were under the impression that the application could be approved today.”
    “Then I am afraid, my friend, that you were under the incorrect impression. There are a number of checks I have to make.”
    “What sort of checks?”
    “Just checks,” he replied evasively. “Now, if you don’t mind, I am extremely busy.”
    Saad looked pointedly at the empty desk. “So I see,” he said and led me from the room. “Something’s not right,” he told me once the door was closed and we were out of earshot. “There’s no reason why he shouldn’t have processed that application immediately. There’s something he wasn’t telling us.”
    We phoned the number every day for the next couple of weeks, but on each occasion the official made himself unavailable.
    “We’ll have to go there again and talk to him face to face,” Saad decided. “If you’re to get out before the end of August, time is short. Someone is leaning on this pen-pusher to delay the application, and I think I know who it is.”
    The military official was, if anything, even less welcoming this time. “Listen,” he told us impatiently, “I told you that checks need to be made.”
    “Well, have you made them?” Saad put him on the spot.
    “It’s a very busy time of year.” The official avoided the question. “The schools have all finished. There’s a great deal to do.”
    Saad eyeballed him for a few moments before leaning back in his chair and breathing deeply. “Okay,” he said quietly. “
Akhee
[brother], I am very well connected in Baghdad. People high in the military. It is only a matter of one phone call to military headquarters for me to find out what is going on. Now, are you sure you don’t want to move a little more quickly?”
    The official gazed back impassively. He had no way of knowing if Saad was bluffing—my uncle was not from Samarra, so no word of this pushy ex-officer with a false leg and a smooth tongue from Baghdad would have reached his ears—but he decided to take the risk. “You do what you have to do,” he replied. “I know my job.”
    But Saad was not bluffing. As we drove back to Baghdad he seemed quietly confident that he could get things moving. “I have a favor to call in” was all he would say. Back at his compound in Baghdad, he elaborated. “I have a contact,” he told me. “He sometimes comes to visit us here. He is very high up, a deputy minister, and I have his private number. I’ve never made any requests of him before now, and this will be a small matter for him. I’m sure he will help us.”
    That afternoon he made the call. “This is officer Saad from Al-Zaafaraniya compound. My nephew is having trouble with an official in Samarra who is being slow in processing his application to travel before he goes to university, and time is becoming short. Is there anything you can do to help things along?”
    Approval from Samarra came through the very next day.
    One final hurdle remained between me and the Jordanian border. The approval from Samarra had to be taken to the central military office in Baghdad for the final document to be stamped. Saad and I went there that day; I was