“Probably best to say nothing at this point.” It was Khashar. “Dr, Ansari, you do realize that were it not for the presence of your father, you’d probably be dead.”
“What do you mean. I’ve just helped save the life of the son of Osama bin Laden.”
“Who leaves in a matter of hours and with him goes your security. You are not one of us. You are ‘Helabi’.”
“Thanks Khashar, you don’t have to translate. I know what it means.”
“Look, Ansari, this country has had twenty-two years of war. The tribal leaders may kiss his arse today but tomorrow things will return to normal. Look outside again and you will see those chaps wearing the turbans and pakols all have in their hot little hands fat envelopes stuffed with more money than their villages earn in a year. Those envelopes being passed around the elders ensures bin Laden’s future, Arab to Arab. He is a wealthy man, he knows how to impress them. That’s without the sale of raw heroin. Our gross national product is opium, which is refined in Pakistan. Who do you think is behind that, Desai? Bin Laden is a valuable commodity. But what he gives them right now in cash is enough to buy his safety in every mountain village. He’ll be far into the mountains by nightfall, keeping ahead of what will be an allied onslaught. He will escape, mark my words. They’ll never find him because he lives in the shadows. Sometimes I think he’s divinely protected. You can’t help but be in awe of the chap because he comes across as such a quiet, well bred man who’s on the side of the underdog. But you see, Ansari, he’s not frail, he’s not quiet, he’s a demon, a bloody malignant cancerous growth, using the Afghan people for his own private war on the world. He is worse than the warlords. This is Afghanistan. It’s a mountain of rubble to begin with. These village people have nothing. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing left. Men like your father and this Mullah Omar aren’t really interested in Afghanistan, they just want their pound of flesh an to control the rest of us.”
“I thought you were Pakistani,” said Mason.
“My family are from the border country, but I was born in Kabul. Now I hate this place. I’m an American and I want to go home. I don’t know why I came. I thought this was what I wanted. To fight for the freedom of Islam. But this isn’t Islam. This is wholesale bloody slaughter. These people are crazy because they have nothing to live for themselves. Open your eyes and look at this. If you stay, they’ll kill you because you’re an outsider. This isn’t the Arabian nights, this is hell and there’s no way out.”
“But if you get away Khashar, you’ll be tried for treason. You left America to come here and fight against them.”
“I hate to be the one to break it to you, my dear Ansari,” Khashar replied sarcastically, “But so did you.”
“But I’m staying. I want to help.”
“Very bloody noble of you Ansari. Are you an American?”
“Actually I’m British, but the rest of my family are Yanks. I live in Maryland. A beautiful place called Cape St. Andrew.”
“I know it. I used to drive to Ocean City for holidays and it’s on the way there, right? I always eat at ‘Smokestack Lightening’, that ribs place on the access road there before crossing the bridge. It’s the right turn, yes?”
“Absolutely! Christ, that’s funny. Eating short ribs makes for strong Jihad, right? Talk about forbidden food. This is incredible.”
“No. What’s incredible is whether I will ever see it again.”
“Do you have a family?”
“Yes. I am married with a child. My wife is English and she’s with her parents in Southport.”
“Is she Muslim?”
“No, actually she’s Jewish!”
“You’re joking!”
“Yes, I am. Actually, Fahima’s mother is from Pakistan and her father is Afghani. They fled to England when the King was overthrown.Fahima won a scholarship to study in America where she met me. Her family are happy that I am here to liberate their beloved Afghanistan. They actually support my absence as do my own people.”
“Liberating Afghanistan being part of the Jihad?”
“Ansari, I said I was here to liberate Afghanistan. I did not say I wanted to aid and abet the Taliban. But like you, I’m here to help.” They could here the sound of footsteps in the passage outside. “We’d better continue this discussion another time,” Khashar said in Pashto, not wanting to arouse suspicion.
“Dr. Ansari?” A rebel armed with a machine gun came into the room, pointing at Mason to go with him. He shoved Mason forward, grunting that he should keep walking straight ahead, leaving Khashar alone again.
Out in the passage Mason felt very uneasy. Perhaps Khashar was right. He had completed his task, the boy was doing better, his wound was manageable now. He now had no purpose and he had, perhaps, seen too much.
He was pushed into a room. Before him stood Osama bin Laden. The military image was gone now. Bin Laden was dressed in a two piece thobe, the outer garment flamboyantly trimmed in purple and gold. He held out his hands and took the younger man’s extended hand in both of his. Bin Laden’s hands were warm with long thin fingers, the nails beautifully manicured. These were the hands of a gentleman, not a soldier. Bin Laden motioned for Mason to be seated on one of the large cushions in front of a round table on which a good deal of food had been placed. There were lamb kabobs, brown rice with shredded carrots and steaming hot green tea, baskets of hot fresh flat bread and rice pudding with small bowls of warmed mixed fruit that looked like plums. Mason was delighted to see the food and his stomach growled in appreciation. He excused himself politely and bin Laden smiled appreciatively.
“Please be seated and eat your fill. There are many things I must explain before I leave. It has been my custom to never stay more than two nights in any given place. You understand, no doubt. I am very grateful for the help you have given my son. When he is well enough to travel he will follow me. I want to give you these,” he said, handing three Yemeni diplomatic passports to him. “They are more valuable than gold. They were a gift from Saddam Hussein’s son Qu’sai. They are for emergency use only and they are not counterfeit. I have used them myself quite recently, as has my other son.”
“You’ve been out of the country to a place where there was passport control?” Mason stared into bin Laden’s face, looking directly into those deep brown compelling eyes. “When? How can this be?”
“What I am going to tell you is my own personal truth. Be sure that what I say reaches your mother, who will pass it on to the people who matter.”
Mason followed bin Laden’s instruction and was seated. Once he had settled himself, bin Laden began.
“In the last days of August I flew to France, then onto London and finally New York. It was an unremarkable trip, the object being simply to validate that in an emergency it could be accomplished. I was not alone, but my party was small.”
“When did you return to Afghanistan?”
“The thirteenth of September,” bin Laden smiled.
“You were there, in America when it happened?”
“If you mean the attack on the World Trade Center, yes. In fact I watched the towers burn from the other side of the Hudson River.”
Mason was incredulous. “You were in New Jersey? You saw it all and then you left the country? How could you escape?” Mason asked. “Everyone in the world was looking for you.”
“Not in America, my dear boy. Not entering and leaving as a diplomat. You forget that many members of my family immediately left the United States in the hours after the attack. I have a large family. Some of them are American citizens too! They are lawyers, physicians and business people who head a multi-billion dollar corporate concern that is known and trusted worldwide. We have contacts, money and most of all, supporters inside your political infrastructure. You do know that my deceased elder brother Salim was one of your president’s early business partners, do you not? Our company invested in his very first start up company, ‘Arbusto Energy’. Did you think that such favors would be forgotten in
a time of need?”
“Were you responsible for the attack?” Mason had to ask. He had to know.
“Masud, I am a wealthy man. I can buy politicians, mercenaries, even countries. I did not need to attack the World Trade Center, it attacked itself. It was rotted from the inside out. The people inside it were a financial power. It wasn’t a children’s school and it wasn’t a residence. The general consensus is that most of the people inside were men that backed the biggest financial force in the world,” he hesitated, as if fishing for the right words, “ta ithu fil adri fasaadaa, er…how does one say it? A financial force that spreads worldwide mischief. Individuals should stand for Allah, and rethink and redo their calculations. We treat others like they treat us. Those who kill our women and our innocent, we must in return kill their women and their innocent until they stop doing so.”
“I don’t understand,” Mason reached for his mint tea and drank slowly, gripping the cup to stop his hand from shaking.
"Your country is corrupt,” bin Laden stared at him, driving the point home. “Your businesses are corroded. Did I mastermind the attack? If I did not, do you think I would say so? As it stands, nineteen alleged members of ‘al-Qaeda’ hijacked four American passenger jets. No one asks which single company handled the security of the World Trade Center, United Airlines and Dulles International Airport. Shall I tell you who did, or would you like to speculate? Make that a question for your mother’s task force! No one has asked why the passenger load on each flight was so low? Was it by design? A coincidence perhaps? All the airports were serviced by one Israeli company. Did you know that, Doctor Desai? And you ask if I am responsible? The highjackers believed in me. They believed in Jihad. Their aircraft became the flying bombs of a suicide mission. A crusade of the Islamic heart to destroy the infidel. But I was in America. I gave no instruction. But someone did. Could it have been another government who planned this? You are foolish, you westerners, and you are playing into my hands. I did not have to give the order, don’t you see that? You have created me out of your worst nightmare. I am your reminder and this is just the beginning. Every attack in the future will be placed at the door of bin Laden and that is excellent. I do not have to plan, negotiate or act. It is done for me, in my name. I am the sacrifice and this is my destiny.”
“You did not mastermind the attack?” Mason asked again.
“Did your Christ, who is our Isa, peace be upon him, mastermind his death?”
“You compare yourself to the Isa, the Christ, who was crucified?”
“It is the same story with different characters. It is the oldest story. The prophet said Allah will bring out from concealment, al-Mahdi, just before the Day of Judgment; even if only one day were to remain in the life of the world, he will spread on this earth justice and equity and will eradicate tyranny and oppression. There is always a leader who is sacrificed for the greater good of the people. It has always been so throughout time.”
“How did you know it was you, if you are the Mahdi? Was there a sign?” Mason was now fascinated.
“My son,” he said, placing his hand on Mason’s shoulder, “In the early part of 1986, I was part of a small force of perhaps some fifty to one hundred warriors defending the village of Jadji from attack by the Soviets. We defended the village for more than a month. As Muslims, we believe that when we die we go to heaven and I was prepared to die a thousand times to free this land and ultimately every Muslim country from oppression. It was in this time as I lay in a trench surrounded by my troops that the Russian tanks attacked from the front. The Soviet Air Force began their bombing raid and they were relentless. As I lay in the trench perfectly still, I could hear the footsteps of the Russian soldiers. There was no doubt that they were coming and that they knew we were there. Their bombs had prepared the way. I could hear them, smell them and yet all I could do was fall asleep. It was as though I had no control of my senses. I was divinely protected from harm. You see, before battle, my son, God sends a sequina or a sense of tranquility. I could not be seen by them. I was encircled by God. When I awakened from my slumber they were gone. And I knew that God had granted me the power to be invisible to them for a purpose. That purpose is the focus of my life. You see, we have proven that warrior jihadis can fight and win and that a major world power can be beaten. We are now inspired because of what happened to the Soviets in Afghanistan. And it will be the same story again. We will not die down. We will hide in the mountains and in the caves of this land and we will weave in and out of your reality until you spin in confusion. I will never be captured because I cannot be found! I will surrender only to God.”
“Surrender to God. You will offer yourself to God? A suicide?” Mason stood up facing bin Laden.
“Not a suicide, but a sacrifice. The ultimate martyrdom. I will order one of my sons to kill me and it will be filmed by al-Jazeera, in Qatar and broadcast throughout the world. My death will serve as a trigger to a new wave of terror as never before seen, that will strike simultaneously throughout the world. It will begin in Rome, and then Paris, on to London and end in Washington, D.C. Landmarks will be destroyed completely. We will penetrate the hearts of each nation. My place in history is already assured and when it is my time to die, I will control the circumstances, no one else.”
There was a knock on the door. Ghulam Ansari entered the room. “It is time, Master. We must go.”
Bin Laden looked down into the face of Mason Desai and placed his hands on the younger man’s shoulders. “My son, it is said that severe calamity from the direction of their ruler will befall my people during the Last Days. It will be a calamity which, in severity, shall be unprecedented. It will be so violent that the Earth filled with injustice and corruption will shrivel for its inhabitants. The believers will not find refuge from oppression. At that time, a man will be sent to fill the Earth with justice and equity, just as it is filled with injustice and tyranny. The dwellers, the heavens and the earth will be pleased with him. The Earth will bring forth all that grows for him and the heavens will pour down rains in abundance. He will live among the people for seven or nine years. From all the good that God will bestow on the inhabitants of the earth, the dead will come to life again. There is no God but God, Masud Desai.”
And then he was gone, like some ethereal figure, ushered out by his group of elite guards into the armored car waiting outside. Osama Bin Laden did not look back, he did not wave or acknowledge the crowd surrounding his car, or the convoy in front, behind and at his side. He simply appeared to vanish.
For a quite some time after bin Laden’s departure, his presence and energy were still very much in the room. Mason could still feel the man’s touch on his shoulders, and he could still see bin Laden’s hypnotic eyes deep into his soul. It was a mixture of fear and respect, perhaps even love. However it was described, Mason Desai fully realized the role he had to play now was that of betrayer. He, Mason Desai was nothing more than a pawn in this, the greatest game of all. He was a Judas. Whether Mason was convinced bin Laden was a holy man was inconsequential. Bin Laden would die by his own hand or by that of the allied invaders. But he would die. It was part of some cosmically ordered plan. Faced with this and perhaps with every good reason and intent, Mason Desai broke down into harsh body wracking sobs.
“Hush, my son,” his father said gently, “Masud, sometimes he affects us like this. He is, as I have said, a good and pious man, a worthy leader. But you must leave now. You cannot stay. You are no longer safe now that he has gone. Bin Laden has many enemies, some within his own family. Even his mother, the most blessed Alia is afraid. There have been several attempts on his life already. I will go after him to Tora Bora. God willing we will stay ahead of the Americans. It is not hard to vanish in this wilderness and these mountains. You must return with Amahl and Khashar to minister to the injured, after the Americans are done with them.”
“What will happen now, Father?” Mason asked.
“The Americans will push the Taliban from the northe
rn half of the country, capturing Kabul, and most of Afghanistan will fall, such as it is. This land is already is reduced to rubble. They are just making it easier to mine later on. Keep your sympathy for Iraq, the next place they will conquer. This is about the mining of minerals and oil, Masud, greed, power and money, like all wars, waged by men who are too old to fight themselves and who reserve that right for the poor and the uneducated.”
“I want to stay here. I want to help. I will go with you.”
“No Masud. Not at all. You can help only by leaving this place and going back to the west to spread the word and tell them what is really happening here. Tell them it is a country of contrast, but a country with infinite possibilities. It is a land of very rich and very poor people where women live to be thirty if they are lucky and men maybe to forty years old. A land where children die in the streets and where the only way to get an education is to attend a madrasa and serve God. Tell them we are breeding a generation of men who have never seen women until they marry one and where women marry before they reach puberty and become pregnant for the first time as soon as they do. Tell them that the Afghan people have nothing more to give except their lives. They no longer care and their only hope is to follow Osama bin Laden, and they will follow him until death and beyond.”
“I can tell them more than that. I can tell them I have seen the face of a prophet of God.”
“If you believe that, as I do, then you will survive anything.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SEVEN
The allied invasion of Afghanistan could have been a triumph for technology until the fight for Tora Bora. While the Americans and British scoured the countryside for bin Laden, they chose their allies badly; placing their trust in the tribal leaders bought and paid for by bin Laden just days before. Osama bin Laden had covered every aspect of his entry and escape into the region’s mountains. The Allies had the technical advantage but wars such as this were not won on the whims of software architects or human factors engineers but rather on a thorough knowledge of the adversary and investigation of their local agenda. The allies did not know the local leaders and ignored those who offered advice, preferring to go it alone at the wrong time. American bombers tore at the very heart of Jalalabad, where bin Laden was last reported to have been.
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