For several months, I had been working as one of the project managers for the BBC company which was building several electrical generation power stations in Iraq.    Because I spoke the Iraqi language and was familiar with Iraqi customs, I was the company's problem solver.   I was constantly being asked to travel all over Iraq.   

My company car had been destroyed in an accident, so I was without a decent car to drive.   This made my job much more difficult.   Finally, after what seemed like forever, I got a Telex message from  from the Cyprus Famagusta company  (our freight forwarder) that our new company car had arrived and was waiting for me at dockside in Beirut Harbor.   At that point, my job was to travel to Beirut and  pick up the car.   

Because of a rash of violent PLO activities in the area, all airline flights between  Baghdad and Beirut were temporarily cancelled.   I knew that a surface drive would be long an tedious, but I desperately needed decent transportation, so I made arrangements with a local taxi driver to take me the 1354 kilometers.   We alternated driving and after many monotonous  hours, we arrived at the  Beirut harbor.   

I presented our company's ownership papers to the man guarding the entrance to the dockside storage area and asked for my car.   Instantly, the guard's demeanor changed.   He became silent and wide-eyed, as if he expected trouble.   He hemmed an hawed and after pressing him to take me to my car, he said the car was no longer there.   He said that several heavily armed men from the PLO had arrived the day before and gave him a choice.   They said, "Give us the car or get shot."   Obviously, he gave them my car.   

When I asked about the chances of getting my car back, he shook his head and seemed surprised that I would ask such a ridiculous question.   He said, "You'd have better luck entering a lions den to retrieve an dead antelope."    He paused for a moment and then said, "I do have a set of the car keys and a copy of the delivery order."   

I rarely lose, so I was not yet dissuaded by his pessimism.   I took the keys and the invoice and then asked the taxi driver to drive around the city in search of my car.   We drove for hours until we were hungry, tired and  about to abandon the search when I spotted my car coming toward us from in the opposite direction.   

As it passed by, I could see, the driver and a bodyguard holding a Russian AK47 military rifle in the front seat.  The back hatch had been ripped off and two more men also with AK47's sat in the back area, each with one foot inside the vehicle and one foot outside on the bumper.   One person sat alone in the back seat.   Obviously he was someone of importance to those who guarded him.    

I urged the taxi driver to turn around and follow my stolen car.   He refused until I said that I'd drive and pay him and extra $300 dollars.   With me in the driver's seat,  I quickly caught up with my car.   I stayed as far back as possible so that I could see them and yet, not attract their attention.   

Fortunately, the pursuit was rather short.   They soon stopped directly in front of Yasir Arafat's Beirut , PLO office.    Everybody got out of the car.   The dignitary and two of the guards entered the building.   The other two sat on the steps  just outside the door.   I parked the taxi driver's car, paid him the extra $300 and told him to meet me at the edge of the city on the road toward Baghdad and that if I didn't show up, to come back to this area looking for me.  

I waited for an opportunity the steal back my car.   After about fifteen minutes the two guards at the door began to doze off.   I walked casually along the street toward my car.   When I reached the car, I simply got in, started the engine using the spare key, and drove away.   The guards didn't notice me until the engine started.   By the time they realized what was happening,  I was already moving.  

As soon as I  was safely out of site and my heart had dropped back out of my throat, I noticed that I'd need gasoline before heading back to Baghdad.   I drove as fast as I could without attracting undue attention to Syria.   My goal was  to escape the PLO guards whom I was sure would be looking for me.   I assumed that they would not spend a lot of time and effort looking for the car and also, that they'd not know who stole the car unless they went back to the harbor.   I also figured that it would be easier for them to steal another car than to spend much time and effort searching for me.

Once in Syria, I stopped at an Arabic truck stop where  truck drivers commonly stop to rest.   There were a multitude of parked trucks.   First, I filled my car’s gas tank up then parked behind the trucks so that the PLO would not see me unless they came in searching.  

After a while my taxi driver found me and he told the truck drivers what I had just done in Beirut .  They treated me like the Red Baron, camouflaging my car with old canvas bags and cooking a dinner for me and my taxi driver.   I stayed the night there and the next morning I checked the car for damages and took the thermostat out to keep the car from overheating.    

The truck drivers loaned me the tools I needed.  After returning the tools, I drove back to Baghdad.   Later, I learned that the  important person sitting in my car’s back seat was Mahomet Abbas.   Today he is  the President of the Palestine.  

You see sometimes Presidents, just like the rest of us, start from the bottom and move up.    I look at this incident as my contribution to his rise to power.   He just used my car to get mobile for his job.

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