Posted on 07/27/2003 8:39:54 AM PDT by aculeus
Olga Craig in Mosul reveals how Uday and Qusay Hussein were betrayed by a family friend to whom they were worth far more dead than alive
All day, glaziers from Nawaf Al Zaidan's contracting firm had been working on the windows of their employer's ornate, three-storey villa on the boulevard of Al Falaha in Mosul. Mukhlis Jubori, Zaidan's next-door neighbour and closest friend, was curious. The windows did not need replacing and glass has been scarce since the war. Where was Zaidan, he wondered? He hadn't seen him for almost three weeks.
That Sunday a week ago, as he watched the house, Zaidan finally appeared in his garden, and Jubori beckoned him to his porch. "I offered him tea and I saw how his hands shook as he reached out to accept the glass. I remember thinking how pale and frightened he seemed," he says, recalling what was to be his last proper talk with Zaidan. "He looked at me for a long time, and told me he was having bullet-proof glass installed. Then he told me why.
"He was trembling so hard his legs seemed to give way. He had to squat down on the steps of my house."
Zaidan's confession shocked Jubori. It explained, too, why his neighbour had been so elusive of late. Until a few weeks ago, it had been Zaidan's habit to take plastic chairs from his home and place them on the pavement outside his house each evening. Neighbours would wander by and drink Pepsi and sweet tea with him, discussing events.
Zaidan had money, standing and, most importantly, powerful connections. He was, in Western parlance, "nouveau riche" - his house was expensive, yet his furnishings, in keeping with his humble background, lacked taste. That said, he also had the patronage of the President before the war and his status in the town still commanded prestige. His walls were adorned with pictures of himself with the Husseins.
But the casual neighbourly meetings on the pavement had ended abruptly. Hardly anyone now saw Zaidan or Shalan, his 19-year-old son, his wife and five daughters. What neighbours had noticed, however, was a new BMW parked at the side of his house.
Five days after his last conversation with Zaidan, Jubori sits again on his porch and smiles broadly, showing a mouthful of gold fillings. "[Zaidan's] eyes were full of fear," says Jubori. "He said to me: 'They asked to stay with me in my house and how could I refuse? But I knew this would be a disaster for me.'
"He might have been frightened then but I knew he would weasel his way out," Jubori continues. "I know Zaidan, he is a schemer. Always he plots, he thinks 'What can I get out of this?' That is his reaction to everything. Zaidan did, in the end, what he always does. He made money out of Saddam Hussein. A lot of it, this time. The jackpot."
This weekend, seven days after confessing to Jubori that Uday and Qusay, the infamous, sadistic sons of Saddam Hussein were holed up in his luxurious villa, Zaidan is a fugitive. His £250,000 home is in ruins, he and his family are living in protective custody with the US military and he has been denounced as a dishonourable outcast by his former friends.
He is, however, an extremely wealthy fugitive. In their lifetime, the sons of Saddam Hussein may have showered him with money, land and favours but, unwittingly, in death, they bequeathed him much more: $30 million (almost £20 million), the reward President George W Bush put on the heads of the Ace of Hearts and the Ace of Clubs in the coalition's deck of most-wanted "cards".
Uday Hussein, the playboy sadist who branded the women he raped with the letter "U" and humiliated them further by sending money to their fathers, and his brother Qusay died holding the rank of brigadier generals: on April 4, while the coalition forces pounded the city of Baghdad, Saddam called his sons to a secret meeting to promote them. He could give them no insignia, all he could do was make the pronouncement.
Two days later, on April 6, Uday sent for Ala'a Makki, the former director of his television station. He asked Makki what the Iraqi people were thinking. "He was depressed," says Makki. "Since he was disabled in the gun attack on him in 1996 he had become increasingly erratic and inhumane.
"His final words to me were: 'This time I think the Americans are serious. Bush is not like Clinton. I think this is the end'."
Three weeks ago, increasingly isolated and running out of places to hide, the brothers teamed up, taking with them Mustafa, Qusay's 14-year-old son, and Abdul Assamad, a close family friend. They left the safe Sunni triangle of Falludja, Baghdad and Tikrit for Mosul: once there, they called in their favour from Zaidan. He was in no position to refuse.
Unknown to them, however, Zaidan held a grudge. Two years ago Sadan, Zaidan's younger brother, a drunk who traded on his brother's prestigious position, had boasted once too often that the brothers were cousins of Saddam. Such an erroneous claim carried a prison sentence and Sadan was condemned to seven years. While he was released within a month, Zaidan still brooded about the family humiliation.
For the past 12 years this once humble builder whose first home was a tiny, three-roomed building in an outlying village, has prospered greatly thanks to his President. When Saddam invaded Kuwait in 1991 Zaidan rallied the Al Bunaser tribe to respond to Saddam's call in Mosul, not a natural Saddam stronghold.
"Zaidan was an opportunist," says Shahir Al Khazraji, who lives in a pink villa directly opposite him. "He knew he could curry favour with Saddam. The President needed supporters, Zaidan delivered the Al Bunasers.
"When the first Gulf War ended Zaidan went to Baghdad and petitioned Watban Hussein, Saddam's half-brother. He insisted that, although distant, he was related to Saddam. He had been loyal, all he wanted, he said, was a letter. He got it. It made him head of the Al Bunaser tribe, a venerated position that promised an annual payment of $200,000. It also brought him patronage.
"Saddam himself never visited Zaidan's new, luxurious home, but his sons and many of his relatives did. And that led to much more.
"Uday gave him 2,500 acres of fertile farmland that had once belonged to Kurds. He gave him lucrative contracts worth millions of dinars. And in January came the biggest prize - a contract worth £300,000 to build Saddam's new mosque in Mosul. I suspect Saddam knew that mosque would never be built; that money was a payment for future help. And three weeks ago Uday and Qusay called in his debt: they turned up on his doorstep."
Raisa, Khazraji's sister, saw the brothers, Mustafa and Assamad arrive after midnight in a Mercedes three weeks ago, although she did not recognise them. It was also the last time she saw the Zaidan family.
Mustafa, who was unknown in Mosul, did the family's shopping. According to the owner of the grocery store next to Khazraji's home, the family's weekly bread order rose from 10 to 70 loaves a week. Mustafa bought dozens of cans of Coke from the nearby newsagent. When asked, Zaidan would say only: "My wife's relatives are staying."
No one, save Jubori, knew the true identity of his house guests. Their arrival had thrown Zaidan into a frenzy of anxiety. He owed everything to the brothers, he could not turn them away.
Then, on July 13, when the Americans advertised their bounty for information on the whereabouts of Saddam and his sons, he saw a rich opportunity for revenge. All he needed to do was secure the safety of his family.
Last Monday, when he told the 101st Airborne Division that he could lead them to the brothers he knew his name would soon adorn a cheque for £20 million - if he held his nerve. The next day, at 6am, he drove his wife and daughters to safety before returning home. As pre-arranged, two officers "arrested" him and his son and, four hours later, surrounded the house. A bloody gun battle ensued. The Hussein brothers, together on the first floor, fired AK 47s from the bathroom window at the first patrol that approached.
Among the soldiers below was Sergeant Ed Carr, 35, from Charlie company, the 3rd battalion of the 101st. He had known since 9am that this was an important and dangerous mission. "I did what I always do going into battle," he said the next day. "I kissed my wooden carving of Kimberly, my wife, and asked her to pray for me."
As the brothers repelled all efforts to storm the house, Carr's job was to fire tow missiles, 20 in all. When the smoke cleared, Uday, Qusay and Assamad were dead: only Mustafa continued to fire until he, too, was killed.
This weekend the brothers' bodies lie in refrigerated units at Baghdad airport, victims of greed and betrayal. As Iraqis across the country fired off guns in celebration, Saddam's dream that a Hussein dynasty would rule the country must be fast fading. The former Iraqi dictator's only hope now is that both he and Ali, the 16-year-old son of Samira Shahbandar, his second wife, do not share the fates of Uday and Qusay.
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The occupants did not hold out more than a few minutes. The fight once actually begun, was over in very short order. The time interval was the result of careful efforts by our onsite commander to assess the situation.
In any event, BR glass would have absolutely no influence on the outcome.
Now, if we could only get this drilled into the minds of Democrats!!
Quote of the Year!
My guess is the Army spent 5 hours and 55 minutes trying to get them to surrender. Then they realized that the Hussein boys were less trouble dead than alive. The last five minutes were spent pumping TOWs into their crib.
And the need for TOW missles in the battle!
THANK GOD!
A quote for the ages.
A quote for the ages.
A quote for the ages.
A quote for the ages.
Ditto in triplicate!
"Nawaf Al Zaidan is a fugitive. His £250,000 home is in ruins, he and his family are living in protective custody with the US military and he has been denounced as a dishonourable outcast by his former friends."
Perhaps Nawaf will meet with an unfortunate accident and never make it to Texas!
Still wondering why they used TOW anti-tank missiles?
Typical snide British upper-class insult.
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