by Ian Hamilton
Wahab nodded at them. “We flew here for the sole purpose of speaking to the two of you. The imam has relayed to us what you said to him about the college. We found it disturbing, so we asked to speak directly with you to hear it in your own words. He said you are prepared to answer questions and to be completely open and honest with us. Is this the case?”
The two young men glanced anxiously at each other.
“They will tell you everything they know,” the imam said.
“Yes, we’ll tell you everything we know,” Ben said.
“Good. As the imam said, Ms. Lee is completely trusted by men who are good friends of the Brotherhood, and we trust her in turn. She has the first questions for you.”
Ava was stunned by the way Wahab had abruptly turned the meeting over to her. Her first thought was whether he had some ulterior motive. But when she saw the young men and the imam looking attentively at her, she asked an obvious first question: “I was told you work at the college. Looking at your shirts, can I assume that you still do?”
“We do,” Alcem said.
“What kind of work?”
“We are cleaners.”
“How long have you been there?”
“Nine months. We started three months after it opened.”
“How did you get the jobs?”
“One of our cousins is a cook there,” Ben said. “He told us there were job openings and we applied.”
“Did either of you have cleaning experience?”
“No, but the work is simple enough.”
“The fact that we are Muslims helped,” Alcem said.
Wahab glared at him. “But your bosses at the college aren’t Brotherhood, are they.”
“No, sir,” Ben said quickly.
“How many students are at the school?” Ava asked.
“Right now there are about sixty,” Alcem said.
“Right now? There were more or less before?”
“The students attend only for three months. The classes keep changing.”
“So in nine months you’ve seen how many students?”
Alcem glanced at Ben and the two of them began to count on their fingers. “Well, when we first got to the school, it was the last month for one class. Then there were two more full classes. And now we’re starting the last month for another class,” Alcem said. “I guess we’ve seen more than two hundred students.”
“Are all those students Filipino?”
“There were hardly any Filipinos.”
Ava couldn’t hide her surprise. “Then where were they from?”
“The world.”
“The world is a big place.”
“We met people from Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Australia, Turkey, Syria, England, Belgium, and Palestine — from all over, really.”
“How did you find out their home countries?”
Alcem leaned forward with his hands clenched. “We were told by the bosses not to speak to the students, but you can’t help hearing things. And when they talked to us, it was impolite not to answer. Besides, they knew we were Muslims and we were about the same age, so we had things in common. We talked about all kinds of things, including where they were from.”
“So most of the students were young?”
“Yes, in their early to mid-twenties.”
“All men?”
“Yes.”
“So you have all these young men coming from all over the world to attend a college in Bongao — to do what?”
“To study the Koran with Imam Tariq al-Bashir.”
“Who is Tariq al-Bashir?”
“The imam who runs the college.”
“They told this to Imam Sharif when they first spoke to him,” Wahab interrupted. “He and his local colleagues have never heard of a man by that name. The Brotherhood searched for information on him throughout the Philippines and found not a trace — no history, no background.”
“How hard did you look?”
“We used every means we could. We believe he must be a foreigner, but the senator had one of his staff run Bashir’s name through customs and immigration records and he came up with nothing.”
That was one more thing the senator hadn’t told her, Ava thought. “With students from so many countries, what language did the imam use to teach?” she asked them.
“Some Arabic, but mainly English,” Alcem said.
“How well does he speak English?”
“He hardly has any accent. He sounds American or Canadian.”
“How would you know that — I mean, apart from watching television?”
“I lived in Canada for two years,” Alcem said.
“Didn’t you find it odd for an imam to have an accent like that?”
He shook his head. “Islam is the world’s religion. There are imams everywhere.”
“That’s true enough,” Ava said. “But do you think all the students understood English?”
“They seemed to.”
“Then tell me, why would an English-speaking imam go to one of the most isolated parts of the Philippines to teach the Koran to foreign students in English?”
Imam Sharif leaned across the table and almost hissed at Ava, “He is promoting jihad.”
“I know that’s what Ben and Alcem have told you, but did they give you any real details?” Ava said.
“No. That’s why they’re here.”
“Yes, it is,” she said, hoping he would realize that his interruption had disturbed her line of questioning. “And now I’d like to continue by asking Ben and Alcem if they actually heard this imam preach jihad or were just told about it.”
Ben glanced sideways at Imam Sharif. “Tell us everything,” Sharif said.
“Well, every day after the morning prayer, the students gather and the imam instructs them from the Koran,” Ben said, his eyes cast downward and his voice a monotone, as if reciting words he’d memorized. “He tells them that our religion is under attack from the Jews and the Christians and that it is God’s will that we defend ourselves from the defilers.”
“He talks for hours,” Alcem added. “His voice is powerful.”
“Do you mean that his message is powerful?” Ava said.
He nodded.
“Was it powerful enough to tempt you to join al-Bashir’s jihad?”
Ben glanced at Alcem. “We talked about it, but we thought it was wrong.”
“If you thought it was wrong, why didn’t you see your imam sooner? Why did you wait for so many months?”
“We both left high school five years ago,” Ben said. “This is the first real job either of us has ever had. We are finally able to help our families and to start thinking about some kind of future. We don’t want to lose our jobs.”
“That’s true what the boy says — about the jobs, I mean,” Sharif said. “It’s very difficult for young men on this island.”
“We were also scared to say anything,” Alcem said.
“Why?” Ava said.
“Security.”
“What does that mean?”
“The college is like an armed camp. It’s surrounded by a fence with razor wire. No one can get in or out without going past security and without being searched,” Alcem said. “Most of the security people aren’t local, and they’re tough. The guy who heads it up meets with every new employee and tells them the rules, and the number one rule is never talk about the college.”
“So why did you?”
Alcem looked at Ben and then across the table at Wahab. “Because some students were talking about killing people in Manila,” he said.
“Killing who?” Wahab said.
“They were told to target Jews. They are planning to bomb two synagogues.”
“When?” Wahab asked, his voice becoming strained.
“In May, at the same time as the other attacks.”
“Attacks in the Philippines?”
“No. Manila is the only place in the Philippines we heard them talk about.”
“Then where else are these attacks supposed to take place?” Ava asked.
“Mainly in the U.S.,” Alcem said.
“And who’s being targeted there?”
“Mostly Jews.”
Ava tried to speak, but she stopped when she couldn’t find the words.
( 10 )
Ava excused herself to go to the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face, looked at her reflection the mirror, splashed more water, and looked into the mirror again. What am I doing here? she thought. “Get hold of yourself,” she said to the pale, drawn face in the mirror. “All you’re doing is gathering information.”
The four men at the table looked at her anxiously when she returned. A fresh cup of coffee had been set at her place. She sat down, took a healthy swallow, and said, “Okay, I’m ready to hear the rest of this.”
“Where do you want them to start?” Wahab asked.
“Bombs. Alcem mentioned bombs,” Ava said.
“They teach the students how to make them and show them how to detonate them at the back of the college property —” Alcem said.
“But not right away,” Ben interrupted.
“No, that’s true,” Alcem said. “They have to make the commitment before they’re taught.”
“A commitment to jihad?” she said.
Alcem nodded. “The students at the college don’t do anything for the first three or four weeks except study the Koran and listen to the imam talk about jihad. The same message is repeated over and over again, until their heads are full and there isn’t room for anything else. Then, towards the end of that time, the imam and his assistants meet with the students one-on-one. After the meeting, each student has to decide whether or not to commit to jihad. If they do, they stay at the school and continue their training. If they don’t, they’re sent back to where they came from.”
“How do you know about this?”
“The students talk about it among themselves. The group there now is the fourth we’ve seen, and they’ve gone through the same interview process as all the others.”
“And the students actually talk about this in front of you and Ben?”
“They’re so used to seeing us, we’ve become like the walls or the floor — just part of the building. No one cares what they say when we’re around.”
“So, counting this new group, you’ve seen about two hundred students who were given the choice between jihad and leaving?”
“That sounds about right.”
“How many refused to commit and left?”
“Maybe ten.”
“From each group?”
“No. In total.”
“I think that most of the students were committed even before they got to the school,” Ben said. “They knew why they were there. Any complaints we heard were about things moving too slowly, or about their electronic devices being taken away from them.”
Ava thought about taking out her notebook but held back, not wanting to do anything that might inhibit the boys. “You mentioned assistants. How many does the imam have?”
“Seven or eight. I’m not sure,” Alcem said. “They keep separate from the students when they’re not teaching, and they never talk to us.”
“What do they teach?”
“Bomb making, shooting, other stuff.”
“Other stuff?”
Alcem shrugged. “They tell them how to stay hidden and how to plan and execute attacks.”
“Did you say earlier that they not only make but actually detonate bombs at the college?”
“It’s a very large property, without any close neighbours. They go to the back, near a clump of trees, and set the bombs off there.”
“How do you know this?”
“We heard the bombs going off and guns being fired.”
“And they do this for a couple of months?” Ava said.
“For about a month, because for the last few weeks, after the final commitment, the focus is on where they’re going. They meet in small groups and sometimes one-on-one with the assistants, to familiarize themselves with where they’re being sent.”
“What is this final commitment? Is it different from the one you just explained?” she asked.
“Yeah. It’s their second and last chance to leave the college and return home. They’re given the chance to leave after they’ve been told where they’re scheduled to be sent and which cell they will be assigned to.”
“Did any of them leave?” Ava said.
“Over the nine months, only a handful, maybe three or four.”
“And you’re saying that the students talked openly in front of you about where they were going?”
“For a few days that’s all anyone talked about.”
“You mentioned destinations and cells as if they are separate. What did you mean?”
“In the last group, I know of at least five students who said they were going to Miami, but they were joining different cells,” Alcem said.
Ava felt her sense of foreboding return. “Did they mention why they were being sent to Miami?”
“They said there are a lot of Jews there.”
Ava’s foreboding began to take on physical dimensions, her stomach knotting.
“They were being sent all over the U.S.,” Ben said. “I knew as many who were going to New York City.”
“Because there are a lot of Jews in New York?”
“I think so.”
“And to different cells?”
“I’m not sure, but one was bragging that he was joining a cell that would bring down Times Square.”
“What other American cities were mentioned?” she asked.
“Chicago, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Boston, Dallas…and more.”
“They weren’t just being sent to the U.S.,” Alcem said. “We also heard them mention Palestine, Jordan, and Lebanon.”
“All countries that border Israel,” Ava said.
“Yes, they said it would be easy to attack Israel from those places.”
“I don’t know how easy it is to get in and out of countries like Jordan, but the United States is very difficult to get into for anyone, let alone young, single Muslim men.” She shook her head. “Did any of them have an idea how they were going to get into the U.S.?”
“They were told that an organization called the Zakat Foundation would make all the arrangements, and there wouldn’t be any problems.”
“So no one had details about how they would be travelling?”
“No.”
“Were these suicide missions?” she said, her throat constricting.
Alcem and Ben looked towards the imam. “Tell the lady what you think,” he said.
“No one ever used the word ‘suicide,’” Alcem said.
“But did they expect to die?”
“If that was Allah’s will.”
Ava took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she said, “The last group of students, the ones who left a month ago, how did they leave the college?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did they go by bus, by car, in groups, separately? How was it done?”
“We don’t know,” Alcem said. “We weren’t at the college when they left. In fact, all the local staff were given two days off. The students were there when we left and they were gone when we came back.”
Ava drained her coffee and sat back, trying to remember what else Wahab had said before she went to the bathroom. “May,” she said suddenly. “You mentioned attacks that are scheduled for the month of May. What else do you know about that?”
“According to the
boys, all the students who’ve gone overseas are in place and waiting. The plan is for a massive, coordinated attack to take place two months from now.”
“In May?”
“That’s the month.”
“And what do you mean by ‘coordinated’?”
“They will all strike at the same time and on the same day.”
“What date? What time?”
“They didn’t know, or at least they didn’t mention it in front of us.”
Ava leaned forward, looking Ben and Alcem straight in the eyes. “You don’t have any idea at all? You can’t remember a single reference to a specific day?”
They shook their heads.
She sat back. “This is terrifying. Even if only a tenth of the students make it into the United States and the other countries, the impact could be horrendous.”
She looked across the table at the imam, Alcem, and Ben, and saw blank faces. Wahab was silent. The boys lowered their eyes, avoiding her gaze.
Imam Sharif shifted in his chair and said, “Do you have any more questions? The boys have to be at work in about half an hour. We can continue this conversation when they’re gone.”
“Will they be available if we have to speak to them again?”
“Yes,” said Sharif. “They understand there is no going back now, only forward.”
( 11 )
No one spoke again until Ben and Alcem had left the coffee shop, and then it was Ava who asked the first and most obvious question. “Do the two of you really believe those boys?”
“I do. They may not have come forth as quickly as they should have, but now that they have — and at some personal risk — I think they’re speaking the truth,” Sharif said firmly.
“Me too,” Wahab said.
“Do you think they’re telling us the entire truth? Could they be embellishing? Could they be holding things back? Could they have misinterpreted what they saw and heard?”
“Any of those scenarios is possible,” Sharif said.
“You say that so calmly,” Ava said. “Did you know what they were going to tell us? Had you heard it before?”
“No, and while I may sound calm, I’m extremely disturbed,” Sharif said. “It doesn’t take much imagination to realize that if even half of what they’ve told us is true, the consequences for our local Muslim community, for Tawi-Tawi, the entire Mindanao region, and the Brotherhood would be terrible.”