My room had a marvelous view of the Tigris River. It also had cockroaches and a dirty toilet. When I checked in I was told that a message had been left for me. The note was brief.

“J, Couldn’t meet you at the airport. Will pick you up in the hotel bar at seven tonight. Think you’ll be interested in what I have to tell you. MW.

Michael Wright. He was a smuggler, an arms dealer, a man who knew just how to make a buck out of trouble. It was unusual that anyone born in America would be able to earn the trust of the characters that rule the streets of the middle east, but he managed to do just that. For some reason we seemed to hit it off. He was supplying the Mujahadin in Afghanistan in the early 80’s, during their fight with the Russians.

I met him in Lebanon when he was smuggling weapons to the Phalange Militia. In those chaotic days it was anyones guess as to who would come out on top. The Phalange were the Christians, fighting to keep control of government in an increasingly hostile muslim country.