Babylon's Ark Read Online Free PDF Page A

before the scheduled appointment with the minister of agriculture, I bumped into Mike and told him about the meeting. He asked if he could come along. I shrugged. Why not? Couldn’t do any harm.
    Imagine my astonishment the next day when it turned out that the minister, Fahad Salem Al-Ali Al-Sabah, had attended the same university in America as Mike. The two men spent the next half hour swapping raucous yarns about the good old days. I despaired we would ever get around to discussing the zoo rescue, but when we did it took barely a few minutes for the minister to listen intently
and agree to all of my proposals before turning back to tales of his university exploits. Tim Carney, who was also present, smiled and gave me a thumbs-up.
    I now had the authorization I needed. I was no longer just a maverick trying to hustle my way into the war zone; I was on an officially recognized mercy mission. Not only that, but the mission was supported by a strategically vital Arab ally, the neutral South African government, and the interim Coalition Administration.
    Despite the fact that they were getting a little tired of this pesky conservationist, Colonel Fikes and Major Oldfield were impressed with my new credentials. Just one small matter—could I get this on an official letterhead from the Kuwaiti government? This meant from the minister Dr. Fahad Salem Al-Ali Al-Sabah himself.
    â€œNo problem,” said, heart sinking at the prospect of more red tape. Again I contacted the Kuwaiti agriculture and animal welfare offices.
    The deputy director, Dr. Mohammed Al-Muhanna, not only got me a letter but also agreed to my proposal to take two of the zoo’s staff with me as guides and assistants. One was a trainee junior vet; the other, a trainee in animal husbandry. They would be outside my hotel at 4:00 A.M. ready to go.
    Even at the last minute, Colonel Fikes was reluctant to give the final okay. Playing my trump card, I laid it on thick: “This is not the U.S. border we are talking about. It’s the Kuwait border. And the Kuwaiti government has given me permission to cross it into Iraq.”
    Fikes resignedly picked up his pen. He had one final piece of advice: “You are the first civilian in. Keep your head down; it’s rough in there.”
    I finally had my elusive clearance permit. Despite our difficulties, Fikes was a really good man and I could see he only had my own safety in mind. I promised to phone him when I got to Baghdad.
    Adrian Oldfield shook my hand when I left. “If you survive this,” he said somewhat ominously, “I will take you up on your offer to visit you at your game reserve one day.”
    I nodded. “With pleasure. And bring Jim Fikes with you.”

    I hired a car at the airport “for business in Kuwait City,” not daring to reveal my true destination and bought supplies. I wished I had a gun, even a pistol would be better than nothing, but getting a weapon in Kuwait was out of the question. I would have to find one in Baghdad.
    That night I phoned Françoise and told her I was going in, I don’t think she, sitting alone four thousand miles away and knowing I was about to enter a war zone, shared my enthusiasm.

TWO
    N OW THAT I HAD FINALLY ARRIVED in Baghdad, I felt as deflated as a punctured tire.
    The trashed complex in front of me was the last thing I had expected. Had I traveled four thousand miles, spent countless hours on the phone with officials from four different countries, and bulldozed my way through red tape just to arrive at this?
    One glance at the bomb-blasted rubble in the park around the zoo showed with stark clarity that the mountain of bureaucracy I had faced in crossing the Iraq border was merely a pimple compared to what lay ahead.
    Seeing the look on my face, Lt. Brian Szydlik nodded grimly. “Not too good, huh?”
    He then quizzed me at length about our journey, and I could tell he was impressed we had made it all the way from