Kidnapped in Iraq: a survivor's story

By Dan Murphy
The Christian Science Monitor

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He didn't think much of it. Distant explosions from U.S. air raids and insurgent gunfire were a steady backdrop during his six months in the Iraqi desert. But he then saw a vision from another age: Bedouin raiders, some on donkeys, brandishing rifles and bearing down on his crew. His pulse racing, he watched as his guards were overwhelmed before they could reach their weapons. The bandits, wearing the checked head scarves of rural tribes, were upon him.

"They were shouting in the most terrifying, barbaric voices," said Issa, an Egyptian Christian from a poor Cairo neighborhood. "We were all forced face down into the dirt. I thought they would strip us of our valuables and kill us."

Instead, the raid was the beginning of a week in captivity for Issa and nine colleagues.

Their time in captivity illustrates the reach of Iraq's multifaceted insurgency and how far from central control much of the countryside remains.

Now back in Cairo, Issa, 39, described an overlapping network of tribal sheiks, criminal gangs and Islamists who seem to have deepened their influence and spread from Fallujah to Iraq's vast Anbar province into small towns and villages.

He told of being kept in the back rooms of homes. At the end of his captivity, he was held at a "mujahedeen prison" where he saw the interrogation of a terrified Iraqi translator who told his captors which local sheiks had met with U.S. forces. Issa also witnessed the torture of one of his compatriots.

As an Arabic speaker, Issa came to know some of his captors, and all those he spoke to were Iraqis.

He is a seasoned veteran of work in dangerous places, having installed cellphone networks during Algeria's civil war and in Yemen's sometimes lawless backwaters. So he didn't feel he could say no when his boss approached a group of the company's managers about extending Iraq's cellphone network along one of two main highways through the chaotic Anbar province. "It was up to me," he said.

His crew saw plenty of evidence of Iraq's chaos in the sparsely populated desert between Baghdad and Syria. The sight of three headless bodies along the highway reminded them of the dangers for contractors in Iraq.

Those dangers were brought home again Tuesday, when Margaret Hassan, the Iraq director for CARE International and a 30-year resident of Baghdad, was kidnapped after leaving her home.
 
Yet, Issa said he felt relatively safe. His company, Egypt's Orascom, had no U.S. ties and was providing a service that most in the region were eager to have.

Issa and his 26-man team — shepherded by a carload of Iraqi guards — set out from Baghdad before dawn on the morning of Sept. 22 on the 200-mile journey to one of their final transmission towers. They arrived at their destination at about 11 a.m. All was calm, and the Iraqi guards left their weapons in their car.

The kidnappers struck within half an hour. Issa said he caught a glimpse of their on-site guard, laughing with their attackers, and assumes he was set up. Four Egyptians and five Iraqis were loaded into cars.

They drove east toward Ramadi, with the kidnappers' rifles in their guts. The car stopped in front of a truckload of gunmen, and an argument broke out as to whose territory this was and who had the right to take captives.

The dispute settled, the kidnappers traveled west toward Syria, where the nine men were held overnight in the desert. The captors reassured the men, Issa said, saying, "Don't worry, we're Muslims and we don't kill without good reason."

An imposing, bearded sheik appeared the next morning. Questions were asked. "Were they working for the Americans? Were they Israeli spies?" Issa's T-shirt was ripped to make blindfolds, and the men were loaded into vans and taken to a town about 15 minutes away.

Their new location seemed to be a crowded house, and there were further accusations and questions. Issa said one of his Iraqi colleagues panicked and lied, saying they were in fact Israeli spies. "At this point, the rest of us began to ... pray," Issa said. "We thought we were dead." Issa said he spoke up, saying they worked for an Egyptian company and reminding the sheik that Egypt had fought Israel.

The men were taken to another house and allowed to sleep. The next morning, three Iraqi captives were released, leaving four Egyptians and two Iraqis. Issa said one captor whispered in his ear: "You're the first one to lose your head tomorrow." But another spoke up: "That's just his way of joking."

Issa said he implored the captors — all new faces — to eat with them that evening, reasoning that they then would be less inclined to kill their hostages. But things took a grim turn.

Five men in black hoods and carrying a video camera entered the room the next morning. They set up a jihad banner on the wall, a scene familiar to anyone who has seen glimpses of the videotapes of beheadings. "These guys were different — they wouldn't even talk to us," Issa said.

While the men set up their equipment, screams came from the next room. Issa said he was taken there and saw an Iraqi colleague, the one who had "confessed" to working for Israel, hooked up to electric wires. After answering a few questions, Issa said he was told: "OK, we're done. We'll talk to the emir and see if you can live."

Issa was returned to the communal room, and another group of insurgents came. The hostages were blindfolded and taken to yet another location.

The men again ended up in a mujahedeen prison, he said, dumped into a windowless room with many other men, some in chains. Issa said he watched as an Iraqi doctor and others were tortured.

Meanwhile, Orascom, Issa's company, had been working every channel. The effort paid off later that day, Issa said, and the hostages were released near where they were taken captive.

"There were so many good people in Iraq, but I've got gray hair on my chest and in my beard now, my family was terrified," he said. "I'm never going back there again."