Zanzibar

by Giles Foden

  A murmur of assent rippled through the company, and then the Sheikh took up his theme.

  ‘My brothers, wherever your homeland, wherever you come from in the community of the Muslim world, I welcome you. Especially I wish to welcome Zayn and Yousef, they of brave and honourable service over many years, and their new recruit, Khaled al-Khidr. He is from Zanzibar, gentlemen, and is an essential element in a venture that will make us famous throughout the umma, bringing glory on our cause and all the doings of the faithful.’

  Zayn clapped Khaled on the shoulder. There was a burst of applause, and the young Zanzibari hung his head with embarrassment.

  The Sheikh smiled broadly. ‘How good it is to see faithful people gathered. It reminds me of the old times, when Russians came on Muslim soil. I did not know then that it was just the beginning of a long campaign against the kufr of many nations. I only intended to expel the Soviet Union. But as it is revealed: antecedent intentions cannot pierce the walls of predestined decrees.’

  He held up a copy of the Koran. ‘Because nothing happens in the world or in your souls that is not written in the Book.’

  Khaled fell into some confusion then. He had only been to a basic religious school in Stone Town, but he had studied more deeply in Sudan. He knew that the unpierceable walls were not in the Koran itself, but in a collection of mystical aphorisms. They were not God’s will made manifest, as was the Book, they were simply sayings intended to arouse holy feelings in disciples. Yet it was not for him to question the interpretations of someone like the Sheikh. He was not a mullah.

  * * *

  Miranda saw Altenburg exchange looks with General Kirby. About their eyes, there was certainly nothing soft.

  ‘What I mean to say is that we need to understand people,’ said Queller. ‘Sure, you have to accept that Foreign Service entails risks. You have no choice there. But perhaps the worst risk of all is to misunderstand those, fellow human beings all, to whom your mission is directed. Embassies used to be called that: missions. Personally, I think it is a shame the habit has fallen away. Mr Altenburg is correct to warn you of the dangers of Islamic fundamentalism. But remember too that Islam is a broad church, though that’s hardly the right way of putting it. Only a tiny proportion of the many billions who follow the Koran are fundamentalists. An even smaller proportion are likely to commit acts of terrorism. Bear in mind that a fundamentalist is not, per se, a terrorist; there may, moreover, be elements of fundamentalism one might admire. Purity of thought, single-mindedness, the patriarchal rigour of Islam – in which not to fear the Great Father, the Protector, the Bestower, is to be like a reed blowing in the wind – these things are alluring to the same degree that they are dangerous.’

  * * *

  ‘To counter these atheist Russians, the Saudis chose me as their representative in this part of the world. I settled in Pakistan first, in the border region. There I received volunteers who came from the Kingdom and from all over the Arab and Muslim countries. I set up my first camp where these volunteers were trained by Pakistani and American officers … You must understand that we were being cunning in dealing with Americans in this way, for while they thought they were using us to attack communism, we were using them to get arms. To prepare our strength …’

  He smiled, looking directly at Khaled. ‘It may seem strange now, to our younger members, that Americans came here to Afghanistan in person, their top men. They tried to make us part of their plots. To worship their idols and take up their evil ways. But we were smarter than them. We sent them away, with something to remember. And what we will do now, their nation will never forget. And other nations: all those who bow to America do not bow to our excellent Master, the Bringer Forward. Even now He is determining their fate, yes, from London to Moscow to the cities of Australia, he is preparing to sift them as wheat.’

  * * *

  Miranda sat up. This was more like it. This guy wasn’t a fantasist or a hawk or a bigot. Queller had a brain.

  ‘If the main threat to world peace is to emerge out of Islam, at least let’s understand it. It is because it is misunderstood that Islam as a whole is feared, that it is perceived as extreme in its totality. That’s way off target.

  ‘Of course, there is genuine extremism. But that is what it is, an aberration. There are many different streams in a faith, even a monotheistic one. Different cultures, different practices …

  ‘You might have heard some pretty horrible things about Islamic countries. But – don’t we need to look at ourselves before we are too hasty to condemn? So, in one or two places, they cut off the hands of criminals …’

  At this moment he lifted up his artificial arm, pulling the jacket so it slipped down, revealing the joint where the hand clipped onto the arm. A muted gasp was heard in the audience.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, with a grin. ‘Just wanted to get your attention. Yeah, they cut off hands and heads, but Uncle Sam puts criminals on death row and gives them lethal injections. Which would you prefer? My point is that if you view the Arab world as a stereotype, you’ll never glimpse the sense of social justice and compassion that is also part of Islam.

  ‘Now, saying that, there is a threat. It’s a worldwide network known, in Arabic, as al-Qaida. That translates as the Base, or the Foundation. The Base – it refers not to the moral virtue of that network, though it well could, but to the organisation of an individual called Osama bin Laden. This is a man who has sworn to undermine American security worldwide.’

  * * *

  ‘So,’ said the Sheikh. ‘That is how it was. The weapons were supplied by the Americans and transported to the mujahidin by the Pakistanis. Some of these weapons we use even today.’

  He pulled an automatic pistol from under his kameez and held it flat on his hands in front of the gathering, like an offering.

  ‘Or we took them from the Russians. The money for our struggle came from both the CIA and the Saudis, and from my own reserves and those of other Muslims. The Soviets were the enemy then. But as I was telling you, my brothers, I soon discovered that to promote Allah it was not enough to fight communism alone. We had to fight Americans also. They wanted to take control here as they had in Saudi, Jordan and many places elsewhere. Helped by hypocrite rulers in those countries, they wanted us to take up their godless ways, their Cadillacs and McDonald’s, their Las Vegas and their drugs and their pornographic films.

  ‘Soon after we had chased away the last Russian from Afghanistan, the CIA sent their man here again from Peshawar with soldiers. He wanted to bribe the Taliban to fall in love with American companies. He wanted me to talk to them, to let them pass oil through the country in a pipeline. He was arrogant. He had to be shown that Muslim people will no longer be moved around by Americans like pieces on a chessboard.

  ‘Later, in 1990, I returned to Saudi Arabia and gave my all in charity work for veterans of the Soviet fight. All that time I was discovering further how the American cancer had worked its way deep into the heart of the Kingdom. When Iraq invaded Kuwait the following year, I went to King Fahd myself and said, let the fighters of Afghanistan come and defend Saudi Arabia. But to my horror he opened the doors to American forces and their soldiers came. Half a million infidels sullying the land of the Ka’ba with the heels of their kufr boots. And some of them remain there still. It is a grave disgrace, directly disobeying the will of the Prophet.’

  * * *

  ‘He exerts control over his followers by misinterpreting portions of the Koran to justify violent actions … The perfect copy of that document, as dictated by Allah to Muhammad, is said to be kept in paradise. Well, bin Laden talks as if he has seen it himself. In plain view. Do you see?’

  He took a sip of water. ‘This assumption, this aping of infallibility is the key to him personally, and the reason for his success – he acts, in a profoundly symbolic and foundational way, as if he were the Prophet himself. It is deeply heretical, but it works. He is quite capable of persuading his followers to engage in suicide bombs. So
Tom and Mort …’

  Miranda was sure Queller had used their first names on purpose, as if he were saying ‘Tom and Jerry’. Altenburg looked furious.

  ‘– are right. Be vigilant. But do so from a position of strength. From a position of knowledge. Don’t position Islam as negation. Be reflexive, provisional. Undo your own expectations. Get comfortable with the principle of contingency. If you pick up some item of intelligence, don’t think because it is this type of intelligence, it carries this implication. With the information in hand, drawing out your scenarios, you have to be like a potter making a vessel whose shape he doesn’t yet know.’

  Once Queller’s talk was over, there was enthusiastic applause. Having fulfilled the last requirement of their course, most of the trainees started filing out of the room. The keen ones buttonholed the speakers and started asking them questions.

  Miranda picked Queller, phrasing an enquiry in her mind as she made her way swiftly towards him.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, smiling as she approached.

  ‘Miranda Powers.’ She reached for his hand, then realised it was the false one.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Happens all the time.’

  ‘I was just wondering,’ she asked, nervously, ‘if you could explain to me why, if bin Laden is really such a threat, we don’t just send in a team, like General Kirby was saying.’

  Queller sucked his teeth. ‘It’s tricky. Look at what happened in Iran when Carter sent people in to get the hostages. Look at Mogadishu. These things can go badly wrong. Besides, if you are talking assassination, there’s a moral issue. The CIA has an ordinance about that now. Congress got wise, laid it down after attempts on Castro. I don’t know what the answer is. The old “just war” line doesn’t quite hold with terrorists under foreign sovereignty. Not that that’s exactly what I’d call it, not in places like Afghanistan or Somalia. In any case, the problem is worldwide. London, Cape Town, Malaysia … this kind of terrorism’s transnational, fluid. Its structure is the whole globe.’

  * * *

  ‘Now the Americans, who had so recently been seeking my assistance, were determined to hinder my holy work. They sent people to kill me in Sudan. When that failed they put pressure on the government there to eject me from the country. So in 1996 I returned here to Afghanistan with some of my children and many loyal followers, many of whom are with us here tonight.’

  Several of the lieutenants, Khaled noticed, nodded self-importantly at this remark.

  ‘The leaders of other holy organisations, like the good doctor here, they joined me. And we made our plans.’

  Khaled looked at Dr Zawahiri, the Egyptian who had become al-Qaida’s chief strategist. He was a plump, toad-like man whose face registered no expression as he was mentioned.

  The Sheikh smiled. ‘It was in August of that year that we first declared jihad, knowing the walls of oppression and humiliation could not be demolished except in a rain of bullets.’

  He paused expectantly. A shout duly went up round the tent. Fists and fingers were raised.

  ‘Jihad! Allah be praised!’

  Then all was silent again, except for the hissing of the lamps. They waited for the Sheikh to continue.

  ‘We had come here to Khost by that time. We were ready. We issued a manifesto that all Muslims should confront, fight and kill all American and British installations. Our object being to free every place in the Muslim world that suffers foreign oppression. By which I mean Iraq, by which I mean Bosnia, by which I mean Chechnya, by which I mean, most importantly of all, the Holy Places of Saudi Arabia. Which brings me to the forthcoming operations …’

  Khaled listened intently as the Emir outlined the tasks for which Zayn and Yousef and himself, and the other team, had been selected.

  * * *

  ‘Where’s your first post?’

  ‘Tanzania,’ Miranda said, feeling pleased she’d managed to successfully isolate him from the other students.

  ‘You’ll have fun out there,’ said Queller. ‘Head across the water to Zanzibar if you can. Beautiful place – I spent some of my childhood there. My father was US consul in Stone Town, the capital, after the war.’

  ‘What was it like?’ She asked the question with what might be thought an excess of urgency, which she immediately regretted, fearing that he might think her pushy.

  ‘I was about seven when we first went. There for six years. I just have this image in my head of sea and sand. And, strangely enough, bullfights.’

  ‘Bullfights? In Zanzibar?’

  ‘I guess it must have been a Portuguese thing. They ruled the place once. We went to one. They don’t kill them there though.’

  ‘I guess that’s something.’

  ‘Anyway. I envy you having the chance to go. That place had a big effect on me. Hell, I even named my cabin after it. I’ve got this place on Cape Cod, you see. An island … that was the connection.’

  ‘You’ve got your own island?’

  Queller laughed. ‘Not at all. Aquinnah, it’s in the bottom corner of Martha’s Vineyard, I’ve just got a little patch. Since, ah, this …’

  With a twitch of his shoulders he crooked the prosthetic arm. She supposed there must have been straps around his back.

  ‘ … and my retirement, I find I’m happier there than in the city.’

  They began walking towards the entrance, where Kirsteen was waiting. Miranda saw she had begun talking to Altenburg.

  Queller followed her glance. ‘You enjoy the lectures?’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’

  ‘You didn’t think they were a bit Sesame Street?’

  Miranda laughed and gave him a shy look. ‘You did seem to have some interpretive disagreements.’

  ‘I knew Altenburg when he was an intern. He’s done amazingly well, hasn’t he?’

  She didn’t know how to reply. ‘Amazingly well’ was exactly how she wanted to do in her life – to be one of those people who leaped off their little parcel of earth to touch the highest peaks.

  ‘For one so young I mean,’ Queller continued. ‘Perhaps I should have been more of an empire builder. Got to the top of the tree. Is that what you want?’

  She laughed uneasily, shocked at how instantly he’d seen through her. ‘I guess. I haven’t got it quite mapped out yet. But – yes. I’m not, like, ruthless though.’

  ‘You don’t need to be. You just need to be fluid. Hang on to the right coat-tails at the right time.’

  She wasn’t sure if this was a dig at Altenburg or a veiled invitation. There was another silence. Could Queller be the kind of mentor she’d been looking for since her father died? This was not something Miranda consciously wondered. Its apprehension happened at a very deep level – two notions coming together like loose matter floating in the brain, a meeting on one of those perpetual deviations of the mind of which the consciousness is hardly aware.

  ‘Where you from anyway?’ Queller said.

  ‘Massachusetts too, as a matter of fact. Boston.’

  ‘Really? You should come over if you ever get down my way. I’ll give you my card.’

  He dug in a pocket.

  ‘And keep up the tennis.’

  She blushed. ‘You saw us!’

  ‘Waiting in the car park.’

  He handed her the card.

  ‘And that’s where I’ll head back now, if you don’t mind. I feel like a senior citizen round these guys. Good luck.’

  ‘Thanks. Bye.’

  She watched him walk towards Kirsteen and the two other men. He nodded politely at both but didn’t stop to talk.

  * * *

  ‘Queller hates me,’ Altenburg told General Kirby in the car park. ‘He thinks I’ve risen too far too fast.’

  ‘You’re a talented guy. There must be more to it than that. Where are you?’

  Altenburg pointed across the deserted tennis court to one of the ranks of parked cars. Nearer to his vehicle than Kirby’s, they gravitated towards it.

  ‘There is more. I’
m on a committee that wound up an operation he was still running in retirement.’

  They walked alongside the edge of the tennis court in the direction of Altenburg’s Chrysler. All the while the General was trying to get his driver’s attention, some twenty cars down.

  ‘In retirement? How’d he get the funding for that?’

  ‘Oil companies.’

  ‘But there must’ve been some State connection.’

  ‘Of course. The usual kind of thing. Back channels, old accounts. He’s well connected, Jack. Been around a long time. And was good in his day, too.’

  ‘I always heard of him as a bit of a maverick. His talk was a bit idealistic I thought. What was the op?’

  The General made a five-minutes sign at his driver. The car was a black Lincoln. The driver was in uniform. He touched his cap in response. He knew better than to drive over.

  ‘It concerns that bin Laden he was holding up as a figurehead of world terror, which is something of an exaggeration in my view. His plan was to get someone into bin Laden’s organisation and have them kill him.’

  ‘Where did the oil come in?’

  ‘Some sort of contra-deal. He would get them access to fields in southern Sudan if they put up the money to get bin Laden. That way it couldn’t be traced back to the executive by Congress.’

  The General, who had a ring on his finger, touched Altenburg’s metallic blue hood.

  ‘Sounds a great plan. What was the problem?’

  ‘It was too messy. It went too far back. We’d already been burned by bin Laden once. Queller himself was the point of contact in the field with him during covert operations in Afghanistan. Once the war was over, bin Laden turned. I reckon he was using Queller the whole time – gaining knowledge, gaining expertise he would later use against us. He was just an engineer before, albeit a multimillionaire engineer.’