The Merchant of Death Story

1990

A True Story

Written 10/2011* 2041 Words*

#115 By Howard Yasgar

In 1990, my company, (Automotive parts Industries) was located at 4500 NW 36 Avenue in Miami.

Not far from our office, on 46 Street, was a large warehouse that was for lease.

The building was formerly owned by Jack Olshen of Olshen Overseas, a wholesale plumbing supply company.

Across the street from the large Olshen warehouse was fenced in lot that we owned.

One day, a well-dressed husky Mid-Eastern-looking fellow came by, he was asking about renting our lot.

He said his name was Tony, and he was from Turkey.

Tony said that he represented a company that was going to lease the large Olshen Overseas building, and he said they needed to rent our lot to store some of their aircraft ground support equipment.

In a few minutes we negotiated a monthly rent of $400.00 a month, and Tony paid us all in cash, which we thought was a little bit unusual.

After the unusual meeting with Tony, I became very curious as to who was going to be our new neighbor leasing the Olshen warehouse.

One morning, I noticed one of the roll-up doors on the big warehouse building was open.

So out of curiosity I walked over there.

As I walked up a concrete ramp I entered the dimly lit building, I was confronted by a big and vicious sounding German Shepard dog.

For a few seconds I thought the dog was going to rip me apart, until I heard someone yell “Down Kibbutz”, and the dog immediately backed off.

A fellow in a military looking uniform approached me asking me what I wanted.

I was sort of stunned but I said, I’m the owner of the lot you are renting across the street.

As I spoke to him, I looked around the large empty warehouse.

The only thing I saw was a pudgy looking man sitting at a card table in the middle of the empty warehouse.

The pudgy fellow raised his hand in the air and motioned with his fingers for me to come to him.

As I approached him, I could see he was a short stocky guy with a very friendly smiling face.

He extended his hand to shake mine, but his fingers were so fat that I found it difficult to shake his hand.

“Who are you?” The fellow asked me, and I said, I’m Howard, I’m the person renting you the lot across the street.

“Hello Howard, he said, “I’m Sarkis Soghanalian, and I’m very pleased to meet you, please have a seat.”

Sarkis proceeded to ask me what my business was, and I told him I was in the military parts supply business.

Sarkis appeared pleased, and he said, perhaps we can do some business together.

Then Sarkis said he also was in the Military supply business, and he planned on building a vehicle just like a miniature Hummer.

I wasn’t sure I believed him, but he then walked with me into an adjoining room in the warehouse where he had one of the smaller vehicles already assembled.

Sarkis said, “My intention is to rebuild aircraft engines in this building, but we are waiting until we are done purchasing another airport in the Orlando area first”.

I said, “You are buying an airport in Orlando”. “Yes, he said, “the airport once had a zoo on it, we are cleaning the mess up now”.

I immediately knew the airport he was talking about. It was once owned by Burt Reynolds who had bought it for his girlfriend, and I remember reading that she once had a zoo on the property.

Sarkis said, “I intend to eventually take the airplanes apart at the airport in Orlando.”

Sarkis waved his hand towards an office and yelled to someone to bring a map.

A young man in his early twenty’s appeared with a map of the Burt Reynolds airport in Orlando, and Sarkis introduced the young man to me as his son Garo.

Sarkis then asked Garo to bring another map, it was a map with Russian writing on it.

Sarkis spread it out and said, “This is an airport we own in Russia”.

He continued, I am part owner of a French electronics company, and we have contracts with the Russians to upgrade the radio system on the Russian T72 tanks, as well as upgrading the MIG-29 aircraft.

I couldn’t believe the conversation I was having with this short pudgy Guy.

After about an hour, I said goodbye to Sarkis and his son, and I went back to my office.

I thought that I had found Sarkis to be one of the most likeable and interesting fellows I had ever met.

The next day, I had an appointment with the vice president of the Pan American Bank.

While I was sitting in his office, I mentioned that I had a new neighbor, and his name was Sarkis.

My banker said, “I know Sarkis very well, He said “I am his banker, and do you know who he really is?” No, I replied.

He said that Sarkis is known worldwide as the “Merchant of Death”, he said that Sarkis was the second largest arms dealer in the world.

He told me his company, Pan American Aviation had just recently been closed by the Federal Government and the IRS.

He said that he had been indicted for selling Bell helicopters and handheld missile launchers to the country of Iraq, and Iraq was a blacklisted country.

How exciting it was to find out who my new neighbor really was.

Over the next few weeks, at every opportunity, I would walk over to see Sarkis, and soon we became the best of friends.

I would drive my M38A1 Jeep over to him and toss a few fake hand grenades, and he would toss them back, just like kids playing.

One day, Sarkis told me that he had left his business in Beirut Lebanon in a hurry because the Lebanese Moslems had issued a Fatwa on both Sarkis and his son Garo.

He said that Tony the Turkish fellow I had met, was his bodyguard, and the fellow with the German Shepard dog, was named Avi, an Israeli, and Avi was the bodyguard, who watched over Garo.

One day I walked over to their building and there was a Land Rover all loaded with military web gear; Avi said there had been an earthquake in Armenia, and Sarkis was donating several million dollars in emergency aid to them.

He said they were presently loading an airplane that was owned by Sarkis’s son Garo.

Avi said the Land Rover and equipment was for the missionaries in Armenia, so I didn’t ask any more questions.

Avi, the Israeli bodyguard said, “We are leaving soon, why don’t you come with us to Armenia”?

I asked Avi, “what would I do in Armenia”?

Avi said, “Sarkis will introduce you to the President of Armenia , and you can do business with him”.

I asked Avi, did Armenia have any money to buy merchandise from me?

Avi said, “No, they have no money there”.

So, I asked Avi how they would be able to pay me.

Avi said, “I don’t know”, so I declined the offer to go to Armenia with them.

It was on a Friday evening in 1991, when I was talking to Sarkis, just as they were closing the building for the evening.

Sarkis walked over to me, shook my hand and he said, “Howard, I will see you on Monday”.

The next day, Sunday, I was having a cup of coffee and reading the Miami Herald.

Suddenly on page 2 there was a picture of my friend Sarkis. He was called The Merchant of Death.

Sarkis was on trial in Miami that Monday for selling the Bell Helicopters and missile launchers to Iraq.

When I had once mentioned that situation to Sarkis, he had told me that he was secretly working on behalf of the C.I.A.

But it turned out at the trial, Sarkis was convicted.

I was amazed that Sarkis had never even mentioned the trial when he shook my hand that Friday

evening, and said he would see me on Monday.

Sarkis had always told me that he was a true patriot, and he did what the CIA wanted. I then read that he was sentenced to 6-1/2 years in prison.

I walked over to the big building several times, always asking if I could visit Sarkis in jail.

They said “No”.

I asked his son Garo if anything could be sent to Sarkis, like books or food, and he also said, “No”.

Everyone appeared to be evasive with me, it was like they all knew something sinister was going on.

I felt everyone knew something I wasn’t supposed to know about.

It was about a year later, when my wife and I were at Miami International Airport waiting for one of our suppliers, who was flying in to visit us.

While I was standing there waiting for the flight to arrive, someone tapped me on my back, it was Garo, and he said he was also at the airport to meet a friend.

When we went to the luggage carousel, there in front of me, bending over to get his suitcase was my good friend Sarkis, it appeared he was already out of jail.

His shirt was untucked, so I pressed my finger into his fat side, like it was a pistol.

Sarkis stood up, turned towards me, and with a broad smile, shook my hand and said “Howard, how are you?”

Sarkis told me he was on his way to France, and that was it, I never saw him again.

The official story I read in the papers, was that Sarkis had given information to break up a Lebanese counterfeiting ring and his sentence was reduced. It didn’t explain how he could just simply could leave for France.

Later, I read that Sarkis had sold a large quantity of arms to Vladimiro Montesinos, the head of Peru’s intelligence service, and those guns ended up with the rebels in Colombia.

That scandal brought down the government in Peru, and Montesinos was put in prison, and probably is still there.

It appeared to me that the C.I.A. had used Sarkis.

Sarkis had always claimed that everything he ever did was for the benefit of the United States.

Sarkis always claimed he was a true U.S. patriot helping the C.I.A do its job.

But to me, Sarkis was just a short pudgy friendly guy who always greeted me with a broad smile.

I read that in 2001, Sarkis, was still in France, but he was ill, and he needed medical attention.

He had contacted an American reporter that he trusted, he wanted to find out if he could return to the U.S. for medical attention.

The reporter told Sarkis that he checked with the Department of State and was told that there were no warrants out for his arrest, he said it was safe for Sarkis to return to America.

When the plane landed in Miami, Sarkis was immediately arrested and put in the Krome Avenue Detention Center as an illegal alien.

I tried to follow up, to find out if he needed some medical assistance, I knew he was sick, but no one would talk to me.

On Oct 8, 2011, I read in the Miami Herald that Sarkis, the “Merchant of Death” had died of heart failure in the Hialeah hospital, he was 82 years old at the time.

Unknown to me, Sarkis had been living in Hialeah, just a few miles from where I live.

The article also said that by the time my friend Sarkis had passed away, he was broke.