From Baghdad with Love Jay Kopelman (top 10 inspirational books txt) 📖

by law to cross into Kuwait to drop Lava off, and the people in Kuwait can’t come into Iraq.

“It’s not looking good for Lava right now,” I write.

Then Annie e-mails him and tells him she’s leaving for Cairo in a few days and asks if there’s anything else he can do from his end.

“Unfortunately, time is running out. I am extremely attached to this animal . . . I am afraid of what will happen to him here once I leave.”

Then I e-mail John again: “I’m running out of ideas . . .”

But the guy is unstoppable. Even when I start feeling like maybe this is the end, like we’ve run out of chances (and this whole thing has been based on chance: Chances are that . . . There’s a slight chance that . . . If by chance we can . . .), John belts out pep talks—“Let’s all remember to take deep breaths. It’s going to happen”—and revs up his marketing strategy. He says he’s named Lava’s mission “Operation Get It Done” and is going to call the entire California congressional delegation again and write letters to Governor Schwarzenegger and President Bush and contact a kennel owner in Indiana who transports bomb dogs in and out of Baghdad.

I just got off the phone with Kris Parlett at Iams in Dayton. Kris says they are working with a guy who is shipping pet food and other supplies to Iraq all the time. He’s wondering if it would be possible to get Lava onto one of the transport planes. He’s also checking on other Iams personnel in that part of the world. They have a major corporate facility in Switzerland as well as Iams distributors in Kuwait, Iraq, and Jordan.

Then he adds that if we can get Lava to Jordan somehow, Delta Air Lines might also be able to get him on a flight out from there, and John can pick him up wherever he lands in the United States.

This feels like good progress! We’ll keep our paws crossed that we could still get him out on a commercial flight or transport plane . . . Mike Arms told me to keep a bag packed and be prepared to fly!

And I start thinking about this, about the chances of getting Lava to Jordan and on a flight out of Amman. It would be tough, though, a thousand kilometers from Baghdad across the “Wild West” of Iraq, only to face more chance at the border itself.

Here at Al Walid, the port of entry between Iraq and Syria, there is a congested one-lane checkpoint of sorts where we occasionally focus on “. . . so-and-so who will try to cross in an orange and white taxi . . .” or “such-and-such a truck smuggling oil out of Iraq” but mainly on vehicles with suspiciously low back ends and on any military-aged males trying to get through. For the most part, not much is happening at Al Walid.

The border crossing at Jordan is something different. The highway between Baghdad and Amman is traveled by refugees, gasoline smugglers, explosives-strapped camels, and suicide bombers stalking valuable, vulnerable military convoys. So security is tight. While the border itself is a thin line on the map, the column of vehicles crossing over stretches for miles in either direction. People sleep in their cars for days at the border. You can’t even bribe your way into Jordan anymore.

There’s another problem: Because of a rabies outbreak in Iraq, new laws restrict the flow of animals into Jordan. Lava has the paperwork, but I’ve heard that no animals are being let in at all.

There’s a chance, though. If I can meet them at the border, I can probably help get him across. So I e-mail Annie and ask her for one more favor.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

February 2005

The Jordanian Border

One thing that scares even the most seasoned Iraqi driver is passing through checkpoints before crossing over borders. The insurgency hates the Iraqi soldiers and Iraqi civilians who work for us, and because both are so concentrated at the checkpoints, suicide bombers detonate there regularly.

The other thing they’re afraid of is the US military and the Iraqi police who guard the checkpoints. It’s a tense situation when you pull up and they start checking your vehicle, because if you make one wrong move, like sneeze, they’re liable to think you’re triggering an explosive and take all kinds of proactive action.

But Annie makes arrangements to get Lava on a flight out of Jordan to the States and then finds a driver who, even when she explains the job and the likely problems with the border crossing, shrugs and says in broken English, “Sure, no big deal. Everything can be solved with money”—implying that if he is paid well enough and has enough extra for bribes, he can help anyone sneak a little puppy through.

So you don’t have to give your imagination much of a workout about what’s going through the driver’s head when Annie walks out of the compound with this puppy, bends down to say good-bye, and starts crying into his fur: Easiest money I’ll make for a long time to come.

Only Lava isn’t so little anymore, twenty-two pounds to be exact, and when Annie walks him over to the SUV and he sees the driver open the back and unlatch a crate, Lava stops and raises his hackles. Annie thinks he’s going to start his roo-roo-rooing, right? Only he lowers his head, keeping his eyes on the driver, and gives out this low, deep-down growl instead.

The driver eyes him and smirks. He opens the crate. Lava shows his teeth.

Annie can’t figure out what’s going on. “Lava?” She’s never seen him like this.

The driver smirks again.

Lava lunges.

Annie tries to grab him, but he flies through her hands and goes for the guy, who steps back, widens his eyes, and then takes off running around the SUV with Lava in pursuit. They circle twice before Annie is