In spite of his outward self-confidence, Karim was nervous when he reached the hotel. He rehearsed the story that Steve had given him: If you’re stopped downstairs, say that you’re a guide and that I want to hire you, and don’t give your real name.
But there was no one at the desk, so he went straight to Steve’s room. Before he knocked, Karim wondered whether the Tuareg who had first brought him to the hotel the week before would be there.
Steve let him in and they first talked about Karim’s debriefing following the attack on the missionaries. Karim said, “All is good. Al Khalil and Hussein are happy with me.”
“Well, what do you think you know that would be of interest to me?”
“I know many things that are of great value—very important things. IMRA is strong because al Khalil knows Islam and Islam, through the Quran, is the word of Allah as told to the Prophet.”
Karim wanted to make a strong impression on the American. He had no clear plan but felt that this could be the opportunity of a lifetime. In weighing the risk of meeting with Steve again, Karim had concluded that he would not be in this situation if Allah had not first willed it.
“So, what is special about IMRA?”
“Al Khalil talks a lot about Hamas in Gaza and about Hizballah in Lebanon. We are just like them. You know, one side helps the poor and the other gives them guns to fight and die for Islam. Like me. One day I will die for Islam and go to paradise.”
He smiled in that knowledge. Steve’s expression was puzzled.
“Where do IMRA funds come from?”
“I don’t know. Only al Khalil knows—and maybe Hussein. I cannot help you. I’m sorry. Wait, maybe I could steal some documents from al Khalil’s office.”
“No, don’t do that. Don’t take any papers and don’t ask questions that you would not normally ask, for now.”
After an hour and a half, Karim had given Steve the names of all of the people he knew in IMRA, the names of IMRA supporters and sympathizers in Timbuktu, and that al Khalil was planning a big meeting in Gao.
“It is time that I go back,” he said. “Or maybe someone will ask where I am.”
“You’re right. Next time, in a week, let’s talk about the camp up north.”
Karim left without acknowledging he knew what Steve was talking about. On his way back, Karim thought about Steve not knowing if he was a savior to be embraced or a danger to be eliminated.
***
Steve moved their next meeting to an abandoned Tuareg camp two miles outside of Timbuktu. He had told Karim it was for his protection. Karim preferred the abandoned camp to the hotel. He was confident but also knew he would be summarily executed, personally, by either al Khalil or Hussein if they learned he was meeting with this American. No cover or pretext would be good enough.
Karim was fifteen-minutes late. To explain his lateness, he told Steve, “You said to come after dark,” a directive he had thought to be gratuitous at the time.
“It’s important to do things exactly as I tell you. For your safety. It’s been dark for an hour. How did you get here and what is your cover for being on away from IMRA?”
“I walked. It’s not far. Sometimes, I go see a girl I know.”
He smiled at Steve who chuckled back.
They were sitting on the sandy ground of a three-sided corrugated tin shelter when they heard voices and Karim stood up to look toward the source of the sounds. He saw a small fire about thirty yards away. The camp was apparently not totally abandoned.
Steve stood up and motioned to Karim, “We’re moving. Come on.”
They walked quietly to Steve’s car, keeping the shack between themselves and the camp fire. In the car Karim said, “So maybe this was not the safest place?”
Steve did not respond.
They spent the next forty minutes talking in the car while making their way slowly back toward the town. The night sky was bright and Steve, with directions from Karim, could drive without lights. While they saw no other vehicles, there were a few people walking toward Timbuktu. Karim understood that Steve didn’t want to give them opportunity to read his license plate.
“Tell me about the camp in the north.”
“Oh, yes. I go there sometimes. It is for training. We bring new fighters there.”
“Are there any secret storage sheds or underground warehouses?”
“There is an underground room. It’s locked. No one except al Khalil and Hussein are allowed there. I think that’s where they keep the gold. You know, from the mines?”
“And where do the weapons come from?”
“From many places. Like deserters. A long time ago, several trucks delivered weapons and ammunitions from Libya. But not for a long time. We have many weapons but we always need more ammunition. Al Khalil has contacts. Some Malian officers sell us ammunition from their warehouses. I know that al Khalil’s go-between with them is a man who owns a hotel, the Khan Hotel I think.”
Steve made sure there was no one on the street and he let Karim out of the car.
***
Two weeks later, again meeting in the car at night, Karim handed Steve a typewritten document.
“I was in al Khalil’s office this afternoon and he went to the bathroom. I saw a file on his desk and this was in it, the list of all the imams in the region who are paying zakat, a tithe, to IMRA.”
“This is useful Karim. But I told you not to take that kind of risk. What if al Khalil notices and decides you were the only one who could have taken it?”
“Don’t worry. He won’t notice.”
“I worry about you, Karim. By the way, I want to pass on thanks to you personally from John Littlecorn, head of American Intelligence. Some of your information has reached him and he wants you to know that he is appreciative. He wants to know what he can do for you.”
Karim didn’t read newspapers and did not follow international politics. However, the name John Littlecorn was well known throughout the Middle East. He often accompanied the American president on his trips and had once successfully mediated a dangerous hostage situation—dangerous for the hostages and for the terrorists.
Karim was enormously pleased. Little by little, he had learned to first trust and then to like Steve. That Littlecorn knew of him and was extending compliments and thanks was because of Steve.
“I am honored that he even knows I exist.”
“It is important for my country to understand the Muslim world. Otherwise, it will make mistakes. You are now someone who can help us reach that understanding.”
Karim listened. He understood that the United States had awesome power, that what the United States did could affect the lives of people all over the world.
“I want to help make things better. I don’t ask Mr. Littlecorn for anything.”
“Remember when you told me about your family in Oran? What is your little brother’s name? Hassan? What do you hope for him, Karim?”
Karim’s eyes watered at his brother’s name. Hassan would not live this life. He would obtain a proper education. He would become a pharmacist. He remembered that was Hassan’s dream, a dream they both knew at the time was just fun to talk about but not any more realizable than, for example, living in their own house.
“Yes, Hassan. I haven’t seen him in a long time. He is smart. I want him to go to school, maybe a school in France.”
Steve turned left to avoid the more populated part of town.
“Listen to this and tell me if you agree. I want to open a bank account for Hassan. Every month that we work together, I will put money in the account. You can have it whenever you want. By the time Hassan can go to France, you’ll have some money to give him, or to your mother if Hassan doesn’t want to become a pharmacist anymore.”
When he left Steve that night, Karim hoped to be able to work for him for a long time. He was motivated to do whatever Steve asked. At the end of the day, Hassan and his mother would have a better life. He would make it happen. He looked upon Steve as his mento
r, as his big brother.
23. Timbuktu
Once Langley was satisfied that Karim was a viable, responsive agent, Steve received further instructions:
1. We wish to replace SBCALIPH/1’S (the cryptonym, or code name, assigned to al Khalil by the CIA) current satellite phone with one we will provide. He is using a cipher that is taking too long to break in a timely manner. The replacement Trojan Horse will separate and transmit his outgoing and incoming messages to us using an encryption system we prefer.
2. To that end have SBCALIPH/4 (the cryptonym for Karim) collect the following information regarding SBCALIPH/1’S satellite phone:
A. Make and serial number
B. Telephone number
C. Color and any markings that SBCALIPH/1 might have added, such as his name or the telephone number or any other identifying markings on the instrument
D. Similarly have him identify any accessories that SBCALIPH/1 uses with the phone such as battery charger, earphones, etc.
3. Further determine where SBCALIPH/1 keeps his phone in the office, how he carries it, when he travels, whether he ever leaves it and where and when away from his apartment and office
4. Based on the above information please submit operation plan to replace phone and advise soonest
5. Regret that Cos Bamako unavailable to assist in this operation
—File: SBCALIPH
Steve had been able to obtain the requested information; al Khalil’s satellite phone was a Globalstar, but there had been too little time left before the Gao conference to replace the phone with a CIA Trojan Horse.
Steve liked the idea. He had heard during his short training that the CIA elves were adept and creative technicians. There should be little left to know about IMRA and al Khalil’s plans and activities after combining Karim’s inside information with intercepts of his satellite phone.
Steve decided he had to go to Gao to try to effect the exchange away from Tariq’s home field. He read the last sentence of the message to mean that, given his inexperience, the plan had been for Rod to come and run the switch operation. Steve felt good that Langley had enough confidence in him to go ahead without Rod’s assistance.
24. Gao, Mali
On Monday, Steve arrived at the Hôtel Atlantide in this major desert town farther down the Niger and to the east of Timbuktu. Izem met him at the airport.
As they walked outside to catch a taxi, Izem said, “The hotel was named after a story of our people. Do you know Atlantis? It was a big city on an island a thousand years ago. Then the desert came, the water went away. The island is now the Hoggar Mountains, over there.” He pointed to the northeast. “In the Sahara.”
As they got into a taxi and Steve said, “You mean in Algeria? So you could be from the old civilization of Atlantis?”
Izem smiled with pride.
“We are an ancient people.”
They stopped in front of the hotel, a one-storey building behind a low decorative barrier on which sat several young Malians. The roof was surrounded by a white balustrade. They walked past the young men who stopped talking and looked at him with what Steve thought were barely repressed urges to assault him with once-in-a-life-time proposals. He guessed Izem’s presence was keeping them from trying their luck. In the lobby the overhead fans turned noisily but too slowly to interfere with the squadrons of flies patrolling the super-heated air of their domain.
“How about waiting for me here while I go check out the room?” Steve said. “Then I’ll see about renting a car and you can show me around.”
By the time he got the car it was mid-afternoon. Nevertheless, they had time to go see Gao’s main and only tourist attraction, the Tomb of Askia, identified for preservation by the UNESCO World Heritage organization, an imposing, seventeen-meter-high pyramidal structure dating from the fifteenth century. It was the last resting place of Askia Muhammad, a Songhai emperor who had made Islam the official religion of his empire. Steve also couldn’t resist taking photographs of a mosque whose only claim to fame that his photos could bequeath was a minaret in the unmistakable profile of an aroused penis.
Izem snickered when Steve took photos of the phallic symbol.
“Are they like that in America?”
“They’re much bigger, especially in Texas.”
Steve motioned how big with his arms, causing Izem to do a three-sixty on one foot and laugh while touching his crotch.
Through his camera’s lens, Steve noticed the shadows were lengthening and he became concerned about that the light.
“Izem, did you talk to your friends? Can I go visit with them and take pictures?”
“Yes, we can go now if you want.”
***
The Tuareg camp resembled the one near Lake Faguibine: tents of black leather, tops and sides on sticks and branches planted in the ground, goats and camels off to one side. The young children ran and played games among the tents and the women and the older children gathered firewood, carried water from the well, or cooked dinner over an open fire.
The chief, the amenokal, welcomed Steve, as Izem pointed to him and said, “He is my patron, my boss, Monsieur Christophe.”
The amenokal was a couple of inches taller than Steve. His robe hinted at a rather bony body. What Steve could see of his face was all angles and planes when he loosened his tagoulmoust—the blue veil and turban that enveloped his head and neck—to eat or drink.
With Izem as translator, Steve said to the chief, “Those are very stylish sunglasses.” The amenokal took them off and proudly said, “Yes, Italian.” Steve could only guess as to their provenance but they undoubtedly added to the amenokal’s aura of leadership.
Steve spent the rest of the day with Izem’s friends, taking pictures and eating the evening meal with them. He was impressed by the Tuaregs’ appearance. Their comportment conveyed pride. Since they stayed veiled most of the time, Steve found it difficult to read their expressions. Their eyes were cautious. He found them less forbidding when they lowered the blue cloth that hid the lower part of their face to eat and drink. Their unusual height was accentuated by their tagoulmousts. The seven-foot lances and the rest of their medieval weapons, swords, knives, that they still occasionally carried as they did this day, probably at Izem’s request, Steve thought, magnified their physical presence.
To show off his knowledge, Izem said, “Christophe, show them the pictures on your computer.”
To the delight of audience, Steve then put on a slide show for the amenokal and his men from the shots he had taken that afternoon.
Then he gave the amenokal a bag and said, “Here are some things that I thought would be useful to you, tubes of antibiotic ointment to treat basic cuts and wounds from infection, and special eye ointment.”
He had learned that many of the Tuaregs, especially the children, suffered from conjunctivitis and other eye ailments.
He handed the chief a box and said, “You might also find these walkie-talkie radios useful for communication in the desert.”
As the chief opened the gifts, he handed them out. Their examination was a communal experience. Steve asked, “Izem, what are they saying?”
“They say that America should invade Mali,” and they laughed.
Steve had another bag for the kids—hard candy and a few inexpensive compasses. On their way to the camp, Izem had told Steve to give the compasses to the kids, not to the chief, because he might be offended.
“He doesn’t think he needs a compass, I’m sure of that,” he had said. “But somehow the compasses will in the end belong to the adults.”
As Steve started to leave, the amenokal asked him to wait and in a few minutes someone came to hand him a package wrapped with string.
“You have won many friends today,” the chief said. “Izem was kind to bring you. Think of us as your family in the Sahel.”
Steve left in the dark as the Tuareg men stood in front of their tents and campfires. He felt deep sympathy for them. The Tuaregs had been important
actors of the region’s history but they had been bypassed and become victims. It occurred to Steve that instead of giving candies to the kids, he should have given them books.
***
The following day, one day before Tariq and Hussein were to arrive, the advance team of Lahlou, Karim, and several additional men who would act as gofers and security guards, arrived in Gao.
Steve’s first priority was the satellite phone. He only had a few days to come up with a plan and to execute it. While Steve avoided rigid structures and planning, looming deadlines energized him. He already had three-dimensional plans of the fort from CIA Headquarters. He still needed al Khalil’s schedule and information on the whereabouts of his satellite phone at any given time.
He was in his room when he heard an urgently furtive knock on the door. He let Karim in and they shook hands.
“I’m picking up mineral water from the hotel so I have very little time,” he said.
“Okay. Any word from your mother and from Hassan? Is the family all right?”
Karim smiled.
“I don’t hear from them often but I was able to arrange a phone call with Hassan from the Oran Telegraph and Telephone Office. He sounded good.”
“I’m glad.” Turning to business, he said, “Do you have a list of the attendees to the conference?”
“Not a list, but I know the names.”
Steve wrote them down as Karim recited them.
“Is everyone still scheduled to arrive tomorrow?”
When Karim nodded, Steve produced two oversized tacks and said, “These are miniature microphones. What I want you to do is to stick one in al Khalil’s room and the other in Salim’s room. Out of sight, of course; behind or under a piece of furniture, for example. You explained to me before that Salim is important, maybe the elder statesman of the group, right?”
The Caliphate Page 18