H.M.S. Unseen Read Online Free PDF

Iraq’s smoldering enemy across the Iranian border.
    Eilat did not approve of the drying program. But at that moment he was much more concerned with his side of the river, where the great surviving marsh stretched for 50 miles, to the border and on into Iran, toward the foothills of the Zagros Mountains.
    He rested for a whole day at Qal At Salih, regaining his strength after his sixteen-day march from Baghdad. He ate chicken, lamb and rice, fruit and vegetables. But he still risked no other human contact except for the two elderly street traders who served him. And in the late afternoon of July 12 he turned away from the Tigris for the first time and set off through the marshes for the border. His little map marked the causeways he could follow, but there were no road signs, and his navigational guides were simple. The Pole Star would show him due north, and so long as the sun rose dead ahead, he was on the right bearing.
    Eilat intended to walk until dawn, until he could see the watery landscape. That meant eleven hours, including three stops, and he expected to cover close to 25 miles in the long humid night. He knew that the moon, sixteen days after it was full, would be no help at all. And he must take care not to walk over the edge of the path, into the swamp. But he was a man with excellent night vision.
    Unsurprisingly, he met no one throughout the walking hours. The waters were low at that time of the year, and many of the nomadic buffalo herders had moved to the rivers. Occasionally, Eilat would spot the dim lights of a small cluster of houses set on poles above the water— sarifas , with their ornate latticework entrances. Outside in the shadows, moored in the high reeds, he could see the long, slender poling canoes—the mashufs , which are just about the only boat that can operate efficiently in the long lagoons and shallow lakes. Not many designs hold up for 6,000 years.
    When the sun rose, dead ahead, thankfully for Eilat, he was seven miles short of Iran. The causeway he now walked was wide and firm. For it was along here in September of 1980 that the great armored division of Saddam’s army had mounted its opening attack on Iraq’s Persian neighbors, roaring through to the old capital of the border province of Khuzestan—the city of Ahvaz, to which Eilat was headed.
    However, a patrolled frontier lay directly ahead, and the former Iraqi Intelligence officer had no wish to cross swords again with forces of the government of Iraq, or indeed Iran. He had an Iranian passport, but he nonetheless elected to lie low all day, then make his crossing by night, heading for the tiny border town of Taq-e Bostan. He ventured no closer in the daylight hours and finally made his move at 11:00 P.M. Two hours and forty-five minutes later, in the small hours of July 14 in the year 2004, he slipped into the Islamic Republic of Iran, crossing illegally the unseen line dividing two of the world’s most implacable enemies.
    He was still in the marsh, but soon the land would rise and become drier. Ahvaz was 60 miles distant, with two towns along the way, Taq-e Bostan and Susangerd, where he could eat and find water. Ahvaz was more appealing. He had arranged to pick up a letter there, and he could purchase new clothes, Iranian dress, find a decent meal, and board the train for the long journey to Isfahan, almost 500 miles away across the great range of the Zagros.
    It was eight o’clock on the evening of July 17. Directly to the south of where he walked, Eilat could see clearly the bright lights of the sprawling industrial city three miles away. All along the north side of Ahvaz were huge oil refineries, burning off excess gases twenty-four hours a day. These towering beacons lit up the city permanently. It never got really dark in Ahvaz.
    Eilat changed back into his Western clothes a half mile from the city’s boundary. He dumped his Arab robes and bag, and strolled up to the main square, Meidun-e Shohada . From there he