The Secret of Rocks Hyraxes

The quirky little critter cleaned his paws with his darting tongue. He prided himself on fastidiousness. Rocks Hyraxes did not think of himself as a rat, but as a member of a unique old family whose every member knew the thoughts of each Rocks who had ever lived. Rocks assumed that other mammals possessed this trait.

Rocks stood on his hind legs and surveyed his surroundings for predators. Seldom were there any. Rocks had seen to that, but it never hurt to be sure. Confident, after a few minutes, the creature returned to all fours and climbed a twenty-meter stony incline. Upon reaching the summit, Rocks scanned the horizon and the splendor of the sun’s rays, then sighed with contentment and headed toward home.

On the trail, Rocks caught something rising in the distance; a small puff of dirt followed by a cloud, then a mountain of dust. Beneath his feet, the ground rumbled. Rocks was not afraid. He was curious. The other Rocks already knew what was happening

He slid behind a boulder to a tiny hole in the ground that opened into a tunnel. He skipped through and headed down, down. That’s where home and his brethren were. No angst. No struggle for food or survival. They did not fear the arrival of these new things above their home. The interlopers would leave, one way or another. They always did and they always would. It had been that way for as long as Rocks Hyraxes could remember. And, the Rocks’ memory was long. For they were old; mighty old. Eons.

CHAPTER 1

Blood poured from the wounds. By the eighth strike he collapsed against the stocks, held only by the two soldiers at his side. This prisoner’s punishment was 35 lashes.

Monty studied his face carefully. Did Anthony have the inner resolve required to get through this barbarism. At least Art had successfully negotiated the Iranian magistrate down to ten lashes. This offered a slight sense of relief. He clung to the hint of positivity, what else could he do? Except stand there in support of his young friend and colleague.

The scientists grimaced throughout the entire beating, silently hoping this prisoner’s punishment would never end, as their friend and colleague was next. There were three prisoners to be punished today, Anthony second in the assigned order. In spite of his own imagination, Monty was shocked at the extreme spectacle of this public deterrent.

They arrived at Evin Prison at 2:45 for the 3:00 scheduled scourging.

Many Iranians spoke about being forgotten in Evin. To believe Anthony would actually be freed sounded like an absurd possibility. They hoped the officials were not lying.

Constructed in 1972 at the foot of the Alborz Mountains, the Evin grounds included an execution yard, a courtroom and separate blocks for common criminals and female inmates. Originally designed to house 320 inmates, it now had a population of 15,000 hardened criminals. Rapes, beatings, brutal interrogations and murders of inmates were a constant occurrence. Anyone perceived as a threat to the Iranian regime were placed in the confines of Evin. Besides thieves, rapists, and killers, Evin was the holding pen for some of Iran’s most prominent intellectuals, activists, and even Ayatollahs, earning it the nickname Evin University. But the inside dealings made it clear to anyone with the misfortune of landing in this system, this was no school.

The unique design of the facility provided ideal theater for state sanctioned punishments and executions. The courtyard was lined by four brick walls, similar to an old basketball gymnasium in America. A narrow colonnade atop three of the ten foot walls surrounding the courtyard served as a scenic overlook for the hoi polloi, clamoring to witness any punitive torture.

Like Americans crowding the field of a championship football game, about 500 citizens squeezed around the top of the courtyard, with another 500 pushing to be included. Inside the brick arena were nearly 1000 prisoners leaning against the rock walls around the yard.

Monty was surprised at the extent of the public interest. At precisely 3:00 pm, when the doors along the taller North wall were opened, the prisoners below and the townsman above began to cheer loudly. It reminded Monty of what it must have been like in the Roman Coliseum when torturing Christians in 200 A.D.

The reel replayed on a continuous loop in his brain. Monty marveled how this memory was already seared on his mind.

When the three inmates were dragged into the courtyard in shackles, the roar of the crowd grew louder. Anthony was the second prisoner escorted into the square. The final man that entered the open quadrangle was the executioner who wore a black mask with slits for his eyes, and a sleeveless shirt with his bulging muscles covered with the half moon and star tattoo of Islam on each bicep. After a minute or so of chanting and cheering, the executioner motioned to quiet the crowd. Monty was amazed at how quickly they complied while the first prisoner was chained to the stockade in the center of the square. When General Golzar entered the arena from the north door the crowd had cheered wildly. Like a Matador, Golzar arrogantly tossed his right hand to the crowd, then motioned for silence. Instantly they complied.

Anthony stood in the wings, a condemned man awaiting his punishment, while General Golzar read the name of the first inmate in his foreign language, then had motioned for the prisoner to be disrobed and strapped to the pillory, wearing only an undergarment covering his buttocks and genitalia. The punisher took his position, stretched the whip out between his two hands and assumed the stance for administering a blow, and upon the wave of General Golzar’s hand, the beating began. Monty shuddered as he thought about this entire scene being replayed in like fashion in only a matter of minutes with Anthony. With each strike upon the man’s body, the prisoner shrieked and screamed, and the crowd counted the number of blows in their local dialect, Khuzestani Arabic.

Thirty-four. Thirty-five.

The prisoner, drained of all defiance, was unstrapped from the pole, dragged to the open door along the north wall and removed from site. The crowd cheered louder.

Monty and his co-workers helplessly watched from afar. Monty strained to capture Anthony’s attention. He believed his look might somehow provide a tiny amount of support and encouragement to his friend. But their eyes did not meet. Even though Monty, Milton, Art, Lex and Connie were physically present, it was definitive, Anthony must face this overwhelming, incomprehensible challenge alone. How would he manage?

The soldiers followed their usual process with Anthony. They walked him to the pillory; his hands were strapped above his head to the top of the post. He naturally leaned into the stockade. General Golzar read the sentence in what sounded like Farsi. Then announced he would read the sentence also in English. At the mention of America, the crowd booed and hissed. They had deep seeded hatred for the United States. Monty heard some yell Imperialist Pigs. Some spat down into the arena, which incited the prisoners lining the wall who jeered and gestured obscenities back towards the Iranian citizens. For a brief moment the American scientists were afraid for their own safety.

Anthony Billings, guilty of drug trafficking on Iranian soil, Cannabis. Sentence, 10 days’ incarceration in Evin Prison, served, and 10 lashes.

While he read the sentence, the cheering continued with each word. Upon completion the mob yelled at a feverish pitch. Golzar let the cheering continue for about a full minute before he waved his hand for silence. He thoroughly enjoyed this.

Singh Prokar was shockingly quiet. Monty felt Singh had even appeared slightly sympathetic and even compassionate towards Anthony. This behavior surprised each of the archeological team.

A soldier handed the man who carried out the punishment a new 20-inch-long flagellum which included three leather straps with tiny shards of metal woven into each strand, in order to tear the superficial flesh more thoroughly. The executioner casually tossed the old flagellum aside, then exaggeratingly pulled the strips of leather between his hands, assumed the position to perform the beating, and awaited General Golzar’s command.

The crowd again began to cheer. Golzar smiled as he motioned the crowd to get louder. The sound grew to a roar. He smiled excessively, then began to laugh. His sadistic enjoyment of human suffering was disturbing.

I can’t watch this. Connie turned away from the arena and hugged Monty. He held her tightly, intently watching Anthony’s every move and facial expression.

General Golzar took his elevated arm over his head, threw his hand down to his side, and in distinct English shouted enthusiastically, Begin.

The first blow struck Anthony. Monty thought the soldier had used even greater force on Anthony than he had with the previous inmate. The crowd chanted out each number, most in Arabic, but some in English. Anthony’s face grimaced and he whimpered with each blow. It appeared he’d somehow found the determination and inner resolve to not scream during the beating.

Eight. Blood poured from his wounds. He remained upright. He wobbled but regained the strength to withstand the next blow.

Nine. His knees buckled. He struggled to get up. After a couple seconds he stood erect on his own power. The two guards, one on each side stood ready to assist him. He refused their help.

Ten. The whip hit his back. The force was so great the entire crowd heard the snap of the leather on his flesh. For a split second some moaned, then a collective roar rose into the air.

The final blow caused Anthony to completely collapse. For a moment Monty thought he’d fainted. But he hadn’t. He slowly and methodically stood to his feet. The soldiers untied his hands.

He spread his feet a bit wider in an attempt to remain upright. He turned to walk and fell down. The soldiers began to lift him up, but he motioned for them to get away. He slowly crawled to his feet and began the fifty foot walk back to the open door along the north wall. With each step he looked dazed and weak. Monty and each of the team silently cheered for their comrade. They prayed for strength for him to walk out of the arena under his own power. His inner drive and determination had instantly become an inspiration to each of them.

At about the half way mark he collapsed again. This time it took him longer to get to his feet. It was clear the pain was growing increasingly severe. Monty wanted to yell out to his friend some words of encouragement. But he felt paralyzed in this foreign land, and in the hostile environment. The crowd booed, hissed, and chanted hateful slang towards the USA. Each American now wanted Anthony to walk in under his own power not only for him, but for the entire country. Anthony found the guts to do just that. He stood upright and walked through the door.

The team witnessed the birth of another American Patriot. A modern day hero from the least likely source. A humble and youthful man who stood up against the tyranny of a dictatorship and the constant threat of terror and acted more bravely and courageously than any of the Iranians they’d met. He showed what made every American proud, he showed unyielding valor in the face of a dishonest oppressor. He showed what each of us hoped we could also show if ever placed in a similar situation. He showed True Grit.

Every bone in his body ached. Anthony had survived the cruelest beating of his life. He’d been drug to a cell and thrown into the corner. He lay against the cold cement, his wounds seeping. In and out of consciousness he began to think back to those events that led to this torment. Wasn’t he innocent here. Wasn’t this beating unjust? With each heart beat the physical pain slowly began to subside. He was numb. Could he recover from this? Was he dying? His physical body said yes, while his brain and psyche said no. He lay collapsed on the concrete floor in a pool of his own fluids, in and out of consciousness, pondering.

CHAPTER 1.5

Kaboom. Anthony sat up in bed reflexively. The noise startled him awake. For a split second he tried to shake the fog from his brain. He was suddenly awake.

Let’s go. He felt the firm grasp on the back of his neck. He was dragged from his slumber. The pain intensified as the soldier twisted his arm and squeezed his neck.

Ow. Alright. I got it. Stop hurting me. Anthony wasn’t sure whether he should speak. The cognitive part of his brain instinctively cautioned him to shut up. His emotional side involuntarily spoke.

*

Monty woke to a pounding on the door of his apartment. The person pounding was relentless. It was 6:30 am.

Hold on, I’m coming. A groggy Monty Palmer said. He grabbed his robe and approached the door to more pounding.

He unlocked the door, flung it open to find Arthur Fritz standing there, panicked.

We have a problem. Art was out of breath as he spoke. A group of Iranian soldiers came and dragged Anthony Billings out of bed. He’s still in a T-shirt and boxers. They wouldn’t let him dress. They’ve been extremely brutal. They’ve hand-cuffed him and have him locked in the back of a military truck.

Why?

Art offered an explanation, while Monty ushered him in and threw off his robe then pulled on some pants a shirt and some shoes.

He’s broken some rule. They wouldn’t tell me what. I’ve got King standing outside with the soldiers and the truck trying to prevent them from driving off. They promised they’d wait until I got you.

How’s Anthony?

He’s scared to death. He’s in tears. Art looked as if he might cry, too.

Where’s Prokar?

Monty slammed his door and they hurried to the outside of the science building. The sun was just cresting the horizon. It was about 95 degrees, before dawn.

Prokar is on his way. I told them nothing could happen until we spoke to him. Art said.

You’ve done the right things. I want to speak to Anthony.

They ran around the corner. There was the paddy wagon, and about ten soldiers as well as King standing in front of the truck. Singh Prokar was nowhere in sight.

What’s this all about? Monty approached the officer.

Your man has broken our Iranian law. And it’s a serious infraction. The Iranian Captain spoke in his deep Middle-Eastern accent.

What law has he broken?

I’m not at liberty to say. We must be going. I must have him before the magistrate by noon. It’s a four-hour drive to Tehran.

Can I speak to the prisoner? Monty desperately wanted to speak to Anthony. He needed to know Anthony had not willingly done anything wrong. He also wanted to assure him he’d get all the legal help he needed to get him out of this.

You cannot speak to prisoner.

Where’s Singh Prokar?

He’s on his way. He’ll be here soon. But we are leaving now.

The soldier said something to the other soldiers in their language, they climbed in to the truck, and the officer hoisted himself in to the front passenger seat. The driver started the truck and drove away. The back tarp was closed. Anthony could not be seen.

Art, Monty and King stood silently watching the truck drive away. A sick feeling came over Monty. He didn’t trust Iran or the Iranians. He knew being thrown into jail in any country was a scary proposition, not to mention potentially dangerous, even possibly life-threatening. He also was angry. All the times he’d wished Singh Prokar wasn’t available, there he stood. But today, when he actually needed him, of course, he was nowhere to be found.

After a few minutes they decided to go into the dining hall and sit down and have some coffee and wait for Singh. They discussed the possibilities for how Anthony may have broken the law. They were clueless. Had he been on some inappropriate website? Had he been asked to assist Iran with spying, and he succumbed to the bribe? Did he say something offensive to Singh or one of the Iranian workers or soldiers? They really had no idea.

Around 7:00 a.m. the door from the underground garage leading into the entertainment room off the dining hall opened and in walked Singh Prokar. He saw the men sitting at the table and smugly smiled, then sauntered over to them.

Where have you been. We have a crisis on our hands, Mr. Prokar. Art began the conversation.

Oh, I know. Your Mr. Billings has broken a serious law. Singh was condescending as he spoke.

What law? Monty was immediately irritated with Singh Prokar.

I think you know.

Cut the crap, Singh, tell us what’s going on. We don’t have a clue. Art was getting angrier by the second.

Typical Americans. You come to my country and don’t have a clue. I do agree with you. You are without clue. Singh paused and looked at each man. He reveled in being the one who got to tell the Americans something negative about one of their own. After he had drug this on long enough he finally said: Mr. Anthony Billings is a drug dealer.

Monty, King and Art each looked stunned.

That’s impossible. Monty was the first to speak.

I agree, he’s no more a drug dealer than I am. Art stated.

Oh, you too deal drugs? Singh attempted to be funny. There wasn’t any humor to be found in this situation.

I know Anthony, he’s not a drug dealer.

That’s funny. He sold cannabis to one of our soldiers. As Monty heard the allegation he began to piece things together. He knew Anthony smoked marijuana for medical purposes. He suffers from fibromyalgia and this is the only medicine that works for him. He also knew about this up front. He’d had discussions with Art and the executives of Global and X-Stem, and they agreed if Anthony had medical clearance that including him on the team was appropriate. The Iran laws were fairly lenient for users of small amounts of marijuana. However, any seller or dealer of cannabis was punishable by 30 to 50 lashes or up to the death penalty completely based on the amount of cannabis being sold. What now concerned Monty, had Anthony been approached by one of the Iranians, or had he been set-up? Had someone asked for him to give them some of his meds and he’d done so? Or worse yet, had he been asked, and then accepted money for the drug. If he had, regardless of Anthony’s reasons, he could be in a lot of trouble.

Art and I and any of the rest of the team whom I approve will be handling this on our end. Our attorney must speak to your attorney. Monty stated to Singh.

Oh, in these cases, the court appoints an attorney. Singh said.

When will this case go to the judge? Or is it a trial? Art asked.

No trial. Just a judge. We aren’t like you Americans. We like swift justice. Anthony Billings will be standing before our judge by noon today. He’ll be tried and sentenced at that time. I don’t see how you can be of any help for him. We have video proof. Let me restate that, for the first time, Singh stumbled on his words, we have eye witness.

Singh’s faux-paux confirmed what Monty feared all along. The Iranian’s were spying on the Americans. They must have cameras set up throughout the facility. This repulsed Monty. He’d been skeptical of the Iranians, but this justified his skepticism.

Art, let’s go. We need to get to Tehran. King, go get Milton, I want him to come along. Art, call X-Stem and have them arrange for an American attorney who knows Iranian law present. Also, grab Anthony’s medical file and bring it along. King, tell Connie she’s to take care of Milton’s lab and the animals. Have her check each of the dig sites. Tell her to wear her head covering, and make sure Anna does too. Give them an update on what’s happened. God willing, we’ll be back here with Anthony by sundown. I’ll meet Art and Milton here in 15 minutes. Monty handed out instructions as he turned to head to his apartment to change clothes, when he noticed Singh Prokar sitting at the dining table, smiling and shaking his head from side to side, the universal response for no. Singh didn’t believe Anthony would be coming back to the facility anytime soon.

Mr. Prokar, you’re coming with us. Monty pointed to him as he spoke. The tone in his voice stated loudly, this is a direct command, not a request.

CHAPTER 2

His face was pale. There were several bruises on his arms. He stood in his boxer shorts, a t-shirt and no shoes. His eyes were red and excessively blood shot. It was evident he’d been crying. He leaned against the witness box. His hands cuffed behind his back. His hair was messed up. He had a couple days of stubble on his face from beard growth. His eyes caught ours as we entered the court room, he faintly smiled.

Monty’s heart immediately went out to Anthony. He couldn’t imagine the fear a younger man in his late twenties felt in this setting. They sat down and waited for the court to begin. Anthony was on the docket at noon. It was 11:50.

At 11:52, an Iranian man in a turban leaned over the row and asked if one of us was Arthur Fritz. Art said he was, and the man asked him to come along with him. Art arose and left the room.

At 12:00 on the nose, Art returned and sat down. A woman, fully covered in a black chador and a Birka, and an Iranian man in a dark Bisht and Thobe followed behind, but kept walking to the front of the court room, as Art turned at the row of chairs sat down.

Those two are our legal counsel. Art whispered, just as the judge entered the court.

All rise the bailiff stated. This is the 2nd District Court of Iran. Judge Mohammed El-Habiz residing. State of Iran versus Mr. Anthony Billings, Drug Trafficking, second level, first offense. All of this was stated in the native language. The accused is American. We will continue in English for the accused benefit. You may all be seated." The bailiff finished his comments in English.

The room rose and sat appropriately. After the bailiff spoke, the judge then asked for the defending attorneys to identify themselves. The Iranian public defender stood and said he represented the state of Iran. The judge then turned to the two people sitting in the front row in the plaintiff attorney seats, motioned to the male and asked, You the plaintiff attorney?

No your magistrate. I’m a body guard. The crowd laughed out loud.

Order. No outbursts. Who’s the attorney?

I am. The woman covered from head to toe in black answered meekly.

You’re the attorney? But, you’re a woman?

I know I’m a woman, your honor. Do I need to prove it? The female attorney spoke more firmly.

Of course not. The judge replied. It’s unorthodox to have a woman in my court. The judge paused. He appeared perplexed. Since this is an American case, I’ll be lenient. But watch yourself. Any misstep and you’ll be in contempt.

Yes, your honor.

Monty and Milton each looked at one another then at Art. They couldn’t believe in Iran, the attorney he found was a woman.

The case began. As Monty had suspected, Anthony had either been set up, or was just acting naively. An Iranian soldier had befriended him. He talked to him each time he was around. After a couple of weeks of talking, one afternoon the soldier approached Anthony and said, I see you smoke the cannabis for medical purposes. He said he had run out and he wondered if Anthony would give him one joint. Being unsuspecting and kind, Anthony agreed.

Anthony forgot the incident. Three weeks passed, before he was awakened to soldiers at his door. They had busted open the locked door. Anthony was jolted out of bed. Soldiers with guns pointed at him told him to get down on his knees and put his hands behind his head. They slapped hand-cuffs on him. They were rough. They threw him on the ground. They even turned over everything in his apartment looking for his stash of weed. He kept it in his office at work. He would have told them where it was. He had nothing to hide. But they wouldn’t tell him why he was being cuffed and taken away.

The female attorney began asking her own questions. She asked Anthony to retell his story. She stopped him at certain junctures and asked him for clarification.

After about 25 minutes, the other male attorney began his cross examination. You smoke weed for what?

Fibromyalgia.

You have large bag of Cannabis here in Iran?

Anthony denied the bag was large. He explained his disease and why this medicine helped. He explained that a doctor in America had prescribed it.

Do you know who you sold the weed to? The attorney tried to trip Anthony up.

I think I could recognize the soldier. But I didn’t sell any weed to him. Anthony tried to remain calm.

Do you recognize this? The defense attorney asked for the lights to be dimmed. He then switched on a projector and showed video footage of Anthony speaking with an Iranian soldier, handing him a joint, lighting it for him. And then taking a couple Rials from the soldier.

Isn’t that an exchange of money? the defense attorney questioned.

I suppose it looks like that, but that wasn’t for the weed.

Oh, not for the drugs. Then why would the soldier give you money. A gift? The Iranian people in the courtroom laughed at the attorney’s joke.

Object. Anthony’s lady attorney spoke. Let the accused speak before drawing wrong conclusions.

I’ll allow the remarks.

Explain please. The defense attorney gave Anthony a chance to explain.

It was change for the soda machine.

Anthony had given the man the joint. He did not ask nor want any payment. Coincidentally, at the same time, the soldier asked if Anthony had any change for the soda machine. He said he did. But the video didn’t show the soldier receiving any money in return. It only showed him giving Anthony the change. Part of the video is missing. If you’d kept running that video for a couple more seconds you’d see me giving back the same amount in smaller coins. Anthony tried to defend himself.

Interesting, why would we stop the video prematurely. We have nothing to gain.

A way for harassing my American client. The woman attorney offered her explanation.

Of course, this isn’t about right or wrong, the defense attorney responded. This is about harassment and my country hating America. That’s always the claim. Never is it that an American did anything wrong.

I’m not saying never. The lady stated. I’m simply saying it’s highly coincidental that the footage my client describes isn’t on the video.

Perhaps he’s lying. Americans are known to lie all-the-time.

Oh, I’m to keep my political opinions to myself, but you can offer running political commentary. The woman was correct. The defense attorney was living by double standards.

I can because I am Iranian and I’m a man.

There it is, Magistrate. This is a set up. And you and your defense attorney know it.

With those words the gavel slammed hard on the judge’s desk. That’s enough. You’ve said more than you should. You can now pay the court 100 Rials for contempt. The judge was finished with this case.

Each side gave closing arguments, then the judge said it was time for his verdict and sentencing.

Monty and Milton stared intently at Anthony. He appeared faint. He was slumped over, against the witness stand.

"The American is guilty of second level drug trafficking.