He didn’t explain that each tack contained not only a microphone but also a transmitter and a five-hundred-hour battery.
Karim, gratified Steve took his information and personal comments seriously, smiled his assent.
“Come back when you can. Until you have some sort of schedule, I’ll stay pretty close to the hotel. I need to know where everyone will sleep and the schedule for the whole conference. This is going to be the most important thing you have done so far. But also the riskiest so don’t take stupid chances.”
He had urged caution before but was always concerned that Karim’s self-confidence and zeal would make him step over the line and make a fatal mistake. He knew enough by now to realize that, in this business, there were no second chances.
Within two hours, Steve had gained a brief background on all of the expected Salafist chiefs, all on the CIA list of active radical Muslim terrorists.
Karim was able to come late that evening. He told Steve the guards wanted him to get them beer.
“What will al Khalil think about alcohol at the fort?”
“It will be gone by the time he lands,” Karim laughed.
With the plan of the fort in his mind, Steve debriefed Karim and quickly determined the use of most of the rooms. Al Khalil had a two-room ground floor apartment in the central tower, originally used by the Fort commander. The only other room in the tower on the ground level was larger than the apartment and had been used as an armory in the past. Now it was used for storage and contained odd pieces of furniture, much of it broken. The rest of the tower was taken up by a stairway to the top, punctuated on several landings by narrow openings in the outside wall designed to be used by armed defenders. He had noted there was a small room on the second landing, but its use then and now was difficult to discern.
***
On Wednesday, Steve met Hank, a CIA technician carrying the replacement satellite phone, at the airport. As they got into his car, Hank, in his forties with a light, Irish complexion, didn’t beat around the bush.
“I have never run an operation headed up by other than a seasoned case officer. But I’m told you’re good, so I trust we can work together.”
“I’m glad you’re here. I gave the quick-plant mics to Caliphate/4 yesterday. He should have placed them by now.”
Hank nodded.
“I’ll set up the listening post in my room. From there, the conversations will be transmitted automatically by satellite to CIA Headquarters, translated, and sent back to me via Inmarsat. I’ll test the system today. I gather that we don’t have much time, which is fine with me. I’ve been in some godforsaken places but…” he looked out the window at the arid scenery, “this has to be the worst.”
“Hank, how long will you need once we get Caliphate/1’s phone?”
“Count on one hour. Could be less, could be more; depends. I also want a chance to call headquarters if any special problem comes up.”
Hank received the first transcript shortly after he set up his equipment. Since Tariq and Hussein were scheduled to arrive by road later the same day, and Salim wasn’t due until the next day, the main purpose of sending a transcript back at all was simply to test the system.
The little audio picked up was clear enough, but the transcript showed how Murphy’s Law applied universally. A desk that had been in Salim’s room had been moved. Unfortunately, Karim had planted the tack-microphone underneath that desk. It sounded as if it was now located in the room where the Salafist leaders would eat their meals. Rather than have Karim take the risk of moving the tack-microphone, Steve looked on the bright side; the new location might provide interesting conversations among the Salafist guests. He therefore decided to leave well enough alone. Hank agreed.
During their Wednesday meeting, Karim told Steve, “Tariq and Hussein are here. Tariq used his satellite phone almost right away to call Salim. He doesn’t get here until tomorrow. The only time when Tariq doesn’t carry the phone with him is during prayers. He leaves it in his room, I think.”
With a hand-drawn sketch in front of them, Steve told Karim, “Show me the room assignments.”
Acting like a zealous pupil, Karim asked, “Do you need to know about locks? There are no locks.”
His face brightened as if he was personally responsible for this fact.
“Most rooms have no windows, except high up, like in the room where I sleep with three others.”
After trying to understand the sketch for what seemed to Steve like an unusual length of time, Karim pointed to his room triumphantly.
“Is this the tower? Yes, you go in over here,” he pointed, “and al Khalil sleeps here. He has a window. It opens on this side. It’s a real window.”
“Does his window open? Or is it one of the high ones you can’t reach?”
“He has a desk in front of the window and he can see the courtyard from his desk.”
He smiled and looked very pleased with himself.
Steve smiled in return and gave him a pat on the back.
“That’s good Karim.”
Together they decided the best time to effect the transfer would be during the Friday prayer. Al Khalil, they hoped, would leave the phone in his room, or he would give it to Karim when he served as his bodyguard, as he sometimes did during that midday period. Karim would take the phone to Steve when everyone else was in the mosque, a room in the fort that al Khalil had so designated. Hank would then make the transfer, and Karim would take the gift from the CIA elves back to the fort.
25. Aéroport de Tombouctou
On Thursday, Hussein went with Karim, the driver, to welcome the Salafist leaders. Hussein saw a tired, rumpled and short-tempered group.
One of the new arrivals looked in the van and, looking toward Hussein and Karim, said with an Egyptian accent, “There was no water on the plane and now you have no water for us. Can things get worse?”
Neither Hussein nor Karim replied.
The promising outline of the Hôtel Atlantide prompted the Egyptian to say, “At last, a place to stretch out and have something to drink.”
But Karim continued past the hotel and about a mile out of town to a high-walled structure.
Hussein, who sat on Karim’s right up front, turned to the men in back of him and said, “That’s where we’re staying. Not far from town and very secure. We have it to ourselves.”
“I’m sure we do,” said Talal Kawar, who had identified himself to Hussein as the Jordanian Ikhwan chief. He wore black pants, a blazer and an ascot. His shiny black hair was combed straight back. The scent of his cologne wafted throughout the vehicle.
“It was built and used by the French Foreign Legion,” Hussein said. “It was ceded to the Malian Army after independence.”
The fort was the same color as the sand that surrounded it. On one side grew several tall palm trees creating shade for a small group of blue-clad Tuaregs sitting on the ground while their camels looked haughtily down at the world. A solid black flag with no design was waving in the intermittent breeze from the top of a crenellated tower rising from an inside courtyard. The tower and its flag dominated the external walls in the style of medieval castles. A massive front gate and a row of vertical slits about halfway up were the only openings in the fifty-foot-high wall.
Karim took the new arrivals to their rooms. These had uniformly high ceilings, with one small barred window about fifteen feet above the floor. The furniture consisted of a cot with a burlap-covered straw mattress, a chair, and a small desk, on top of which was a carafe of water and a plastic glass. Down the narrow corridor were a common toilet and a separate washroom with several large jars of water.
Tariq greeted each of the delegates as they came into the former military fort and, during the rest of the afternoon, visited with them individually. Everyone took note that al Khalil took a brief walk in the courtyard with Ibrahim El Maghrebi, the Algerian AQIM leader, before taking him to his room.
He asked Hussein, “Have somebody bring us some tea. I wa
nt to share some of our financial realities with my brother Ibrahim.”
***
At sunset, they all came together for prayers after which they broke up into informal groups until dinnertime. They prayed again at nightfall. Everyone was awaiting the next day, Friday, when Tariq would give the khutbah, or sermon.
Steve and Hank also waited for the khutbah that would give Karim his chance to steal the phone. Late in the day, they received a partial transcript from Langley of the take from the tack-mic in the canteen. They were in Hank’s room. He sat in the easy chair and Steve sat on the bed. Although Hank had a portable printer, Steve read the transcript on Hank’s computer.
Voice number one: I don’t understand why we can’t meet in Paris or in Geneva. Next thing we know we’ll be whipping ourselves bloody like Shiites.
Voice number two: [identified as AQIM chief Ibrahim el Maghrebi] Stop whining. In Algeria we’re fighting with bullets not with cocktail shakers.
Voice number three: As long as we settle on positive action, I don’t care.
Voice number one: We all know the problem we have to solve. Not enough funding and not enough progress to show—one leads to the other.
“My guess is that al Khalil was not there,” Steve said.
“Is al Khalil the main actor in this play?” Hank asked. “I’m surprised we received this transcript so fast. Once the National Security Agency in Fort Meade receives the signal, it has to find it among millions of messages, process it and get it to the CIA building. In this case, because we’re trying to do this as close to real-time as possible, we have a translator working on the Arabic text at CIA. Then it goes to African division where someone has to read it and decide who needs to see it. You should feel lucky. Your operation is getting priority attention.”
***
On Friday, Tariq made his awaited sermon in the Mosque room.
“Glory to God Most High, full of Grace and Mercy,” he began then preached on the remembrance of Allah before launching into the substance of his message.
“You have seen our banner, our black flag flying from the tower. Some of you know that it is a replica of the Prophet’s battle flag, may Allah sustain Him. It was the Quraysh tribal banner, the flag the Prophet flew during his military conquests. We will use it to come from the desert as he did and vanquish the apostates, the false leaders of the lands that used to be in the fold of the Caliphate. The lands now outside Islam revere ways that are depraved, trivial, and wanton. Their people revere the false Gods of materialism and technology. They spend more time taking care of their lawns than they do trying to please Allah, the Most Blessed, the Merciful. Satan is their only God, temptation their opiate. Jews are in the positions of power. Their very existence is an insult to Allah, may he favor our ways to please him.
“We are Allah’s soldiers, his disciples on earth. Islam will rule all of mankind. Only through jihad can we bring about the rule of Islam on earth. Jihad is not only the sword; it is also the war to bring about mental and intellectual devotion, most importantly subservience, to Allah.
“Islam is the complete answer. It will bring all people from the darkness and into the light.”
The rest of al Khalil’s speech was borrowed from the Ikhwan’s master plan, couched in dialectical rhetoric reminiscent of the Communist Manifesto. With the final goal of establishing an Islamic State, Tariq struck his familiar themes of temporary cooperation with nationalist groups, the avoidance of unwinnable confrontations, and the support for Jihad across the Muslim world. He also encouraged the use of the Palestinian cause, the use of social, health, and educational institutions to create local Islamic centers of power, and the use of self-criticism and constant scientific evaluation. He reminded the congregation that he would be talking with each and looked forward to their specific recommendations for implementing his plan. He also reminded everyone that the immediate need was for more funds.
***
At the Hôtel Atlantide, Steve and Hank waited for Karim to show up.
“Where is your boy?” Hank asked. “He should have been here an hour ago. Either he got caught or he got cold feet. It’s going to be no good if I have too little time. I told you an hour.”
Steve caught the implication that Hank had lost his trust in him, that he was not a “real” case officer, not one of the elite operations officers from the directorate of operations, the CIA’s small but defining segment—what his father Marshall always referred to as “the tip of the spear.”
What was he doing in Gao anyway? Maybe he was in way over his head, as Hank seemed to believe.
He left the room and bought cigarettes at the reception. From a non-smoking family, he had smoked somewhat in college, all part of becoming independent, and had smoked in Moldova, but not since then. He walked outside vaguely conscious of the harsh taste of the dark tobacco in his unfiltered Gitane Brune, only thinking of where Karim might be.
I told you a thousand times to be careful, Karim, he thought. You’re too macho, trying to prove something. It’s not worth it if you get caught.
The air had cooled with the sunset but he was still sweating, and not entirely from the temperature. He wondered if he, too, was trying to prove too much.
He went back inside and found Hank checking the Trojan horse phone. One half of the plastic outer shell was face down on the small table and he was examining the electronics laid bare.
He looked over Hank’s shoulder.
“Maybe Tariq’s speech was declared a command performance that everyone had to attend.”
Hank didn’t look up.
“Did you give him a cover, something he could say, in case he got caught with the phone? Did you give him a logical reason? How was he supposed to explain it?”
“There’s nothing he could say.”
Steve felt guilty he hadn’t discussed possible worst-case scenarios with Karim. But there was so little time. Had Karim been caught? Was he, Steve, responsible? Was Karim even alive?
They took turns staying in Steve’s room, going to dinner separately. Around 10:30, they gave up.
***
After his Friday sermon, al Khalil met with all of his leaders in the canteen. An unusual discussion took place, reflecting discord in the ranks, bordering on a minor rebellion on the part of Talal Kawar, the Jordanian, and Walid Fahmy, the Egyptian. Since each enjoyed close ties to the Muslim Brotherhood, Tariq listened.
Karim and several other guards and helpers sat on a blanket in a far corner of the sparsely furnished room. Al Khalil and his lieutenants sat at a long wooden table cluttered with cups, plastic bottles of water, tea, coffee and two platters of finger food—dates, peanuts, mango slices, and sugar biscuits on one and slices of dried fish on the other. The one ashtray was overworked for the task at hand since they all smoked, El Maghrebi incessantly. Cigarette butts surrounded the table.
Fahmy was a beefy individual dressed in suit pants and a short-sleeved, Hilton Pyramids Golf Resort polo shirt.
“As you have explained to us in the past, Sheikh al Khalil, the subversion of the Sahelian countries is a worthy objective,” Fahmy said. “And it will happen. But to go forward, we need funds and, in spite of our efforts and of blessings from Allah, progress is slow. Our financiers expect results in their lifetime. We need a splashy event that the world will notice. If it happens in Egypt, the population will respond. Egypt must be the core, the focus, of our action. It is the rock on which we can lever the entire Middle East.”
Kawar had taken his ascot off and was fanning himself with a magazine.
“Jordan has one of the few remaining kingdoms left in the world. It is ruled by an illegitimate dynasty installed by the British. Over half of the population is Palestinian. We’ll have a groundswell of support if we strike in Amman.”
Hussein, who usually said little in these strategy sessions, saw an opening to achieve his life goal.
“The Assad family has killed many thousands of our Muslim brothers in Syria, my father among them. What
could be more right, more pleasing to Allah, than to strike the Assads?”
El Maghrebi, who had been quiet, pinched his cigarette from his lips.
“You all need to do more than talk. I only hear planning for possible future actions coming from most of you.”
He took a long drag on his cigarette.
“You need to start somewhere. Nothing will take place unless you take military action. There is no better time to start than right away. We in AQIM are the only real revolutionaries. You can come to Algeria and I’ll show you. But leave your fancy clothes home.”
Fahmy and Kawar answered in loud voices speaking at the same time.
“You are so successful that you have to live in the desert and move your camp every day,” Kawar said. “In my country, open warfare is not the answer,” Fahmy said.
Al Khalil stood up so quickly that his hand brushed his cup from the table. It broke as it crashed against the hard floor.
“I have listened to all of you. We will have a strategy before we leave. The Sahelian initiative must go on. But I agree that it is a long term program that is too subtle for our donors who suffer from strategic myopia.”
Salim was at one of the tables but said nothing. He got up to leave with al Khalil.
***
Karim knocked on Steve’s door at 11:30 p.m.
“Here it is,” he said with a nervous smile. “I couldn’t get my hands on the phone until after al Khalil went to bed. He always opens his window at night and he keeps it on his desk right under the window. I have to get back right away before anyone notices. I’m the night guard tonight. I’ll come back for the phone in a couple of hours, whenever I can. The phone needs to be back in his room before he gets up for morning prayers.”
With that he was gone. Steve’s questions remained unasked and unanswered.
Hank first looked at all the external aspects of the device to see what he had to do to make the CIA gift identical. He noticed a slight nick on the side of the grey Globalstar 1700 and carefully nicked the new one identically. He plugged al Khalil’s satellite phone into his computer and, using CIA-developed software, quickly found al Khalil’s password, “1141346.” He then transferred all the settings in Tariq’s phone to his computer and from his computer to the new phone. He placed the old battery in the new phone as well. He needed no advice from CIA Headquarters, but called his support team in Langley to inform them that he had finished his task. After a few questions to double-check his work, his CIA team signed off. And the waiting resumed.
The Caliphate Page 19