Twice Under the Persian Sky

Chapter One

The mid-September night was warm and mild. Mahmoud, my father's friend, woke me at 3 o'clock in the morning to drive me to a location on a beach near Bandar Abbas on the Persian Gulf, where I met my contacts, Ahmad and Reza, for the first time.

Ahmad was the skipper and Reza was his shipmate. They treated me with kindness, since they could tell I was scared. They tried to put my mind at ease by showing me our transportation—a 25-foot Imemsa Panga single engine fishing boat with a 60 horsepower Yamaha outboard engine.

Ahmad and Reza hailed from Abadan, a city in Khuzestan province in southwest Iran. Khuzestan province borders Iraq on its west and southwest, and most Khuzestanis are of Arab descent and speak Arabic fluently. Their language fluency was a great advantage for me, considering I didn't speak Arabic and I probably would need to communicate with the coast guard of the United Arab Emirates at some point during my journey.

Ahmad asked me to help him carry the cargo from the Toyota pickup truck to the boat, which was sitting in a foot of water in the Persian Gulf just 30 feet away. The cargo was some 20 goats and six 20-liter containers of gasoline. We were going to need to refuel at least three times between Bandar Abbas and Dubai.

Ahmad and Reza were childhood friends and schoolmates who went into business together right after high school. High-ticket electronic goods were always in high demand because of the economic sanctions imposed on Iran, and a thriving black market for such goods had developed. Reza and Ahmad took advantage of this market by smuggling goods from Dubai into Iran, where they would sell them to make a huge profit.

Ahmad and Reza were entrepreneurs in every sense of the word. They never let a trip to Dubai go to waste. They had devised a plan to make money both going to and returning from Dubai. Instead of departing Iran with an empty boat, they would take some two-dozen healthy sheep and goats, which were much sought after in Dubai. They would also smuggle one or two passengers out of Iran—no questions asked. Smuggling humans out of Iran had a big price tag, much more than the sheep and goats would earn. The combination of goats and human smuggling would earn them several thousand U.S. dollars, which they would invest in electronic goods for the return trip.

It was almost 4:30 AM by the time the boat was ready for departure. Ahmad got into the boat taking the only thing I brought with me, a duffle bag full of clothes and two pairs of shoes. He told Reza and me to start pushing the boat deeper in the Gulf. We kept pushing the boat out until the water level reached just above my chest, but below my chin. I was wondering how much farther would I have to push when Ahmad said, "That's good enough. Get in, guys; you first, Reza." Reza did as he was told and pulled himself into the boat. The water wasn't calm that night, so they both sat to stabilize the boat before helping me climb aboard. Then Reza stood up slowly, keeping his balance. While extending his right arm, he told me to grab his hand so he could pull me in.

Once I was aboard, we all got situated. I sat next to Ahmad, who as the skipper was sitting aft by the engine. Ahmad pointed to the engine and showed me the throttle, which was connected to the steering shaft, connected to the engine. He said, "You need to know how to use the throttle and steer the boat just in case." His comment made me worry even more. "Just in case what?" I thought. I didn't have time to ask him; we had to move fast under cover of darkness and the engine noise was too loud to talk. I didn't want to yell just to ask him a question.

I knew the goats were scared because they were huddled together in the middle of the boat, where they had urinated and defecated all over. The smell was overwhelming, but I would soon get used to it. The odor was the least of my worries. So many thoughts were going through my head. "What happens if the boat capsizes? We don't have life vests!" Then I thought the life vests wouldn't help us if we were to go overboard. The warm waters of the Persian Gulf have a healthy population of sharks, especially the intimidating hammerhead. I also thought "What would happen if the naval units of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps catch us?" Little did I know that I would soon find out.

By 6:00 AM we had passed the island of Qeshm to our west and were on our way toward international waters. One hundred thirty nautical miles (150 statute miles) were all that separated me from freedom – or so I thought.