Breaking Cover Page 22

  The last few days of November were jam-packed with phone calls, e-mails, and a thousand logistical details. We had to coordinate every piece of the planning puzzle with numerous entities, which was a communications challenge since we were dealing with people in at least four different time zones. Joseph slept only a few hours each night, waking up at 3 and 4 a.m. to connect with Slovak officials, who were six hours ahead of Eastern Standard Time (EST), and Father Douglas and his team in Iraq, who were eight hours ahead of us.

  I woke up the morning of November 28 filled with anticipation for our departure from Orlando International Airport to begin the final chapter of this massive project. That anticipation was dashed when I learned from Joseph, who had been awake for hours, that all flights into Erbil had been canceled. Apparently, Russia had informed Iraqi officials that it would be launching missiles across Iraqi airspace to hit ISIS targets in Syria, and as a precaution, Iraqi officials canceled all flights in and around the affected airspace. They anticipated that flights would be disrupted for at least forty-eight hours, after which authorities would reassess the situation based on further input from Russia.

  This extremely unfortunate development foreshadowed what would turn out to be the most difficult challenges we faced since the inception of the project, as there is no logistical challenge greater than trying to plan a huge event involving hundreds of people in an active war zone.

  When discussing when we might be able to get into Iraq to prepare for and then execute the mission, the company we’d chartered to provide the evacuation aircraft noted, “Every carrier has told us that their policy on flying into Erbil is a moving target at best. We are staying on top of it, but there is always the possibility of last-minute surprises. As one carrier put it, ‘You can’t make us guarantee service in an uncertain environment.’ We will keep you in the loop as things progress.”

  Over the next two days, flights were booked, flights were canceled, flights were rebooked, and then flights were canceled again. We weren’t able to depart Orlando until November 30, pushing our landing in Erbil back to December 2.

  The next few days were a blur, which we would not have remembered had we not had a full camera crew capturing the lunacy of so many political, cultural, security, and logistical challenges.

  The film crew didn’t capture every challenge we faced. On December 4, Joseph and I were eating a late dinner at our hotel. The restaurant was empty—until a group of diplomats sat down at the table right behind us. They didn’t waste any time with small talk; they dove straight into business. They spoke in concerned tones about “the threat issued today” and “ISIS plans to attack.”

  After exchanging an alarmed look, Joseph and I carefully leaned back in our chairs, straining to catch as much of the conversation as possible. We quickly realized that this party included European and American diplomats, along with a local Iraqi bishop.

  Having been on the collector’s end of this scenario hundreds of times, we knew exactly what was happening. An intelligence service had obtained a clearly identifiable threat and had alerted all potentially affected parties because of their duty to warn.

  They had just learned of a credible—but frustratingly vague—threat from the Kurdish authorities. ISIS intended to attack targets in Erbil with a VBIED, aka a car bomb. Collectors had no knowledge of the time frame or specific methodology of the attack, or that information would have been shared in the threat warning.

  Joseph and I immediately realized the significance of the threat to our project. We were working with the priest in charge of Mar Elia, which was located on the edge of town, in the section of Erbil closest to the front lines with ISIS.

  We embodied all the targets ISIS loves to hit: We were a significant grouping of former American officials and media representatives, hanging around the courtyard of a notable Iraqi church whose compound served as a temporary shelter to more than five hundred internally displaced Iraqi Christians. The church building, administration trailers, and living quarters were not set back from the surrounding streets, which made them vulnerable to attack. There was minimal security around the compound—just a simple fence in the front and a small concrete wall that stretched around the back perimeter. We couldn’t have been a bigger and more obvious target. One well-placed car bomb could take us all out.

  Furthermore, we were preparing for the historic airlift and relocation of 150 of those displaced Iraqi Christians to Europe, something that all of Erbil seemed to know about because so many Christians were inquiring how they could get on “the list” to leave.

  Joseph and I were used to dealing with threats as counterterrorism officers, but this was different. Along with Father Douglas, we were responsible for the well-being of hundreds of persecuted Christians who had already been severely traumatized. Many had lost family members to the terrorists, as well as their homes, businesses, possessions, and entire livelihoods. The last thing they needed was to feel vulnerable again, to think that ISIS was coming to Erbil.

  We shared this information with Father Douglas, but as it turned out, he had heard about it that day through his own channels. It seemed that much of Erbil was aware of the heightened threat situation. For Joseph and me, it added to the stress of needing to get the evacuation accomplished as quickly and efficiently as possible.

  Finally, December 6 arrived. Our flight was scheduled for the morning of December 7, which meant that this was the last full day before the first group of IDPs left Iraq for new lives abroad.

  Naturally, we had carefully choreographed the events of those two days, including a full program of activities leading up to the boarding of the aircraft, as well as activities closely coordinated with the Slovak government following the IDPs’ arrival on the seventh. Given how long it would take to get everyone and their luggage onto the buses for the move to the airport, we planned to start loading buses early, around 3 a.m.

  Nervous anticipation built throughout the evening of the sixth as members of the group said their last good-byes to friends and extended family members who would remain in Iraq. That evening, Father Douglas performed a mass in Mar Elia Church to bless the evacuation and pray for all those heading to new homes. He prayed for those trying to rebuild their lives in Erbil and for those displaced all over the country.

  After the service, hundreds of people would come together for a special dinner in the Mar Elia courtyard to mark the group’s last night in Iraq. We would begin loading the buses just a few hours later, and most families decided to stay awake until then. Things were finally going according to plan.

  Then in the middle of the mass, Joseph started receiving strange texts claiming that Erbil International Airport would shut down at 10 p.m. Apparently, Russia wasn’t finished with Iraq’s airspace yet.

  By the time people sat down to eat dinner, official word started trickling in, confirming our greatest fear—the evacuation would not begin in a few hours after all. Every detail, every plan, every preparation came to a grinding halt. We all went into shock, unsure what to do.

  This was more than just your average delay. We had reserved the plane only for the seventh. Since that plane would not be able to land in Erbil, we would have to scuttle to find a replacement—and fast. Considering all the hoops Joseph had to jump through to get the first plane, we had plenty of reason for concern.

  Informing Father Douglas about the airport closure was one of the most difficult things Joseph had to do. After they spoke, Father Douglas looked dazed and confused.

  Over the next few painful days, Joseph and his logistics team worked nonstop to figure out when the airport would reopen. It was almost impossible to book an aircraft when nobody knew when flights would be permitted to resume or how insurance companies would feel about covering flights into and out of what the industry described as “an active war zone.” Joseph could barely eat or sleep, worried about how he was going to get the group to Slovakia in a timely manner.

  Even though the delay was out of our control, we knew that any
major hiccups could result in Slovakia opting to refuse a second round of refugees. We needed this to go smoothly to build the government’s confidence that such missions were not as problematic as they had believed.

  Having tentatively scheduled a flight out of Erbil on December 9, we decided to collect everyone’s luggage the evening of the eighth.

  I quickly texted my prayer group, which was comprised of my dad, Art; my stepmom, Crystal; my sister, Julie; my cousins Jenna and Nerina; my aunt Mary; my grandma Nerina; and my close friends, Stephanie and Cher.

  We are collecting and weighing all bags now in faith.

  December 8, 6:54 p.m. / 10:54 a.m. EST

  I had promised to keep them informed as the mission unfolded, and in turn, they promised to pray for whatever help we might need. And we needed it. Just collecting and organizing the luggage was a massive undertaking. Of course, it didn’t help that the temperature outside was hovering near the freezing mark.

  We brought the travelers into the courtyard in waves to avoid being overwhelmed with too many people and too many bags at the same time. Eager to avoid any unnecessary drama at the airport, we had gathered, weighed, and color coded the luggage before setting it aside in a special room for placement in the luggage trucks the following day. It took three hours to process all the bags.

  No sooner had we finished weighing and moving the last bag than Joseph called me over and told me the bad news. He had just received word that the flight we had booked for the ninth had just been canceled. I could not believe it. It was one setback after the other.

  Once again, I texted the group.

  The charter company just changed their mind. We don’t know what that means or why. But looks like it’s off again.

  December 8, 9:11 p.m. / 1:11 p.m. EST

  Joseph and his logistics team were in discussions with multiple companies trying to identify which one was able to meet our short-fused requirement. Unfortunately, given the security circumstances, it was tough to pin any of them down. We were told “yes” when they meant “maybe.” Or they would agree in order to secure our business and then be forced to admit that they did not have a plane on the ground and were uncertain when they could pre-position an aircraft in Erbil for our requested departure. Others wanted to help but weren’t as adept at making necessary flight arrangements for Iraqi airspace.

  Every time we told the travelers the trip was back on, the aircraft would slip through our fingers. Those poor people. They had already been through so much. No doubt many of them were beginning to wonder if we actually were going to get them out. They had been conditioned by events in their lives to expect the worst.

  It was an emotional roller coaster.

  And they weren’t the only ones beginning to lose hope. That evening Joseph and I hit the wall as well. Between jet lag, all of the frantic last-minute preparations, and trying to buoy the spirits of all the travelers, we were physically and emotionally spent. Even worse, I felt spiritually empty. I had felt like such a spiritual warrior for the past four months, with faith-filled prayers easily rolling off my lips. But now . . . To make matters worse, I was starting to get sick, possibly from being in the cold for so long while helping with the luggage. I don’t know how Joseph kept going physically. Clearly (and thankfully) his immune system was better than mine.

  As I lay in bed with a massive headache, a raging sinus infection, an aching body, and my mind numb at the continued negative turn of events, I lost my ability to pray. I summoned a teeny bit of energy to text my family and friends, telling them how very exhausted and washed out we felt. The next text I sent reflected this frustration:

  I will not bother you guys again with any updates until I can send one that says “wheels up.” You must be sick of me—I AM sick of me . . . giving updates. Sheesh.

  December 8, 10:01 p.m. / 2:01 p.m. EST

  Immediately, my family texted back saying that they wanted as many updates as we could give—no matter the circumstances. They asked that we keep them informed so that they could continue praying for us. The outpouring of love and positivity warmed my heart and provided the encouragement I needed.

  Joseph and his travel assistant worked late into the night trying to find alternative aircraft.

  After hours of fruitless phone calls, Joseph thought he had found a local carrier willing to work with us. Because they were based out of Kurdistan, they were much more capable of operating in the volatile airspace. Unfortunately, this particular company couldn’t fly us out of Erbil until December 12 or 13. Those dates were not going to work. The Slovak government was anxiously awaiting our arrival. They were managing numerous logistics requirements on their end, which included working with various ministries, airport staff, church officials, and logistics companies to receive our large group. Every delay on our end caused problems on theirs.

  Plus, because we had already weighed and stowed all of the evacuees’ personal belongings, each extra day we spent in Iraq was a hardship for the families, who were now limited to the clothes on their backs and were essentially living day-to-day off the generosity of others for food, formula, diapers, and other basic necessities. We really needed an earlier departure.

  One of our contacts in Dubai suggested that Joseph meet directly with the airline’s CEO at his headquarters in Erbil first thing the next morning. We needed help in appealing to him and currying favor for an earlier flight out of Iraq—if the airspace reopened. To that end, Joseph called another friend of ours, a political consultant in Washington, DC, who had high-level government contacts in Kurdistan. Joseph explained our situation and asked if there was anything he could do to reach company executives. Our friend said he couldn’t make any promises, but he’d try.

  That morning, in a desperate bid to nail something down, Joseph left the hotel for the company’s headquarters. He carried a massive burden, and there was little, if anything, I could do to help. I lay in bed in a sick stupor, which compounded my emotional and spiritual fatigue.

  That afternoon (and his morning), my dad sent the following text:

  Psalm 28:7-9: The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in Him, and I am helped. Therefore my heart greatly rejoices, and with my song I will praise Him. The LORD is their strength, and He is the saving refuge of His anointed. Save your people and bless your inheritance; shepherd them also and bear them up forever.

  December 9, 2:13 p.m. / 6:13 a.m. EST

  A couple of hours later, he lovingly informed me that he was stepping in to do what I could not.

  Praying for the aircraft.

  December 9, 4:56 p.m. / 8:56 a.m. EST

  I thanked my dad for that prayer. In the middle of our operational fog, he and others came through. Their lips lifted up the prayers that we, emptied of energy after fighting so hard and so long, could not. They prayed for wisdom, they prayed for strength, and my dad prayed for a plane—the aircraft that seemed to be so elusive, and the only remaining requirement to complete the puzzle.

  Meanwhile my sister, Julie, texted me.

  What’s the news today? Did the airport open?

  December 9, 4:50 p.m. / 8:50 a.m. EST

  Although I had not heard from Joseph all day and had no idea what was happening on his end of things, I passed on what I knew.

  The airport is open but the charter companies have been slow to agree to restart immediately. J and our logs guy spent all day trying to nail down another aircraft. In this part of the world where nothing is for sure, it’s been hard to read between the lines. Meanwhile, the group waits patiently (not sure how—we have all of their luggage).

  December 9, 5:15 p.m. / 9:15 a.m. EST

  In the ensuing texts, everyone made it clear that they had been praying hard for a miracle. What we did not know was that a miracle was in the making.

  About ten minutes after Joseph arrived at the airline’s administrative office, the CEO stepped into the reception room where Joseph was waiting. He looked distraught. “What is this about Slovakia?” he demanded.
“I had to shut down my phone because I received 170 phone calls about this last night. I had to turn my phone off so I could sleep!”

  Joseph was just as surprised as he was. “I have no idea who made all those phone calls.”

  “I don’t even have a contract with you, Mr. Assad,” the CEO snapped, “so I don’t know what’s going on here. What is it that you want?” Judging by his tone, Joseph didn’t hold out much hope that the man was willing to jump through any hoops for us. Joseph said, “Sir, I really need a flight from Erbil to Slovakia as soon as possible.”

  Despite his surly attitude, the CEO surprised Joseph by calling his air traffic manager into the office to review flight schedules.

  “When do you want this flight?” the CEO asked.

  “Today,” Joseph responded.

  “That’s impossible,” the traffic manager said. “We don’t have an aircraft prepositioned to do that.”

  More employees were called in to deliberate on the matter, discussing aircraft availability and flight schedules. The CEO finally turned to Joseph and said, “I am willing to cancel an existing passenger flight in order to accommodate your request. We can schedule your flight for tomorrow, December 10, but we need to quickly execute a contract in order to file flight plans, obtain flight clearances, and move forward.”

  Joseph was more than happy to comply. It seemed that God had indeed provided a plane.

  Joseph spent the rest of the day running around Erbil completing contract requirements and conferring with airport authorities to ensure there would be no unforeseen challenges to our travel the next day. He returned from the airport not feeling particularly secure about it all. He’d met with various security officers but did not get the sense that he was making any headway. Joseph had done everything humanly possible to grease the skids, but this was the Middle East, where problems in communication and hierarchical structure caused unnecessary complications, no matter what steps you took to avoid them.

  Once we received the fully executed contract for the aircraft on the morning of December 10, we started to think that this might actually happen. Father Douglas notified everyone in Mar Elia, and the people—once again—prepared themselves for the great departure that was to occur—God willing—that evening.