The Third Cell
Page 1
Copyright © 2006, - 2012 by Anthony D’Egidio
www.thethirdcell.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.
First Printing – October, 2008
Second Printing – February, 2012
ISBN - 978-1-470043-88-9
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62110-064-5
LCCN – 2008922950
Printed in the United States of America
I THANK MY FAMILY
FOR THEIR SUPPORT
DURING THIS LONG JOURNEY
FOR SHEILA FLOYD,
MY FRIEND,
MY MENTOR
Contents
Acknowledgements:
Preface:
Chapter 1: Al Nakba, July 12, 1948
Chapter 2: Saudi Arabia 1948 - 1967
Chapter 3: Ramallah, 1948 - 1967
Chapter 4: The Ongoing Hostilities, 1948 - 1967
Chapter 5: The Six-Day War, 1967
Chapter 6: Black September, 1970
Chapter 7: Finding The Faith, 1975
Chapter 8: Educating Nasih, 1976
Chapter 9: The Plan Revealed, 1982
Chapter 10: Hajj (Pilgrimage), 1982
Chapter 11: England, 1983
Chapter 12: The Setup, 1983
Chapter 13: The Phoenix Has Risen, 1983
Chapter 14: Preparation, 1983 - 1987
Chapter 15: Intrusion From The Past, 1987
Chapter 16: Immigration, 1988
Chapter 17: Connections, 1989
Chapter 18: The Gulf War, 1990 - 1991
Chapter 19: Eradication, 1991
Chapter 20: Establishing, 1991 - 1994
Chapter 21: Merging, 1995 - 2000
Chapter 22: The Mission, 2001
Chapter 23: The 9/11 Aftermath, 2001 - 2002
Chapter 24: Complications
Chapter 25: The Werner Incident
Chapter 26: Middle East Turmoil
Chapter 27: The Amir
Chapter 28: The Mission
Chapter 29: The Hunt For Osama Bin Laden
Chapter 30: In The Name Of Allāh, Most Gracious, Most Merciful
Chapter 31: The Siege, Day One - December 25
Chapter 32: The Siege, Day Two - December 26
Chapter 33: The Siege, Day Three - December 27
Chapter 34: The Siege, Day Four, Hypocrites - December 28
Chapter 35: The Fallout, Economic And Political
Chapter 36: Allāh Is Exalted And The Lord Of Retribution
Chapter 37: Repercussions
Acknowledgements:
In 1988, a partnership consisting of IBM®, MCI®, and Merit Network Inc® received a contract by National Science Foundation to upgrade the NSFNET computer network.
I joined a team of men which included Peter Bade, Paul D. Bosco, Rick Boivie and many others working for IBM® in Milford, Connecticut, under the guidance of Walter Wiebe in 1989. Their goal was to raise the packet size of information that could be uploaded and transmitted on the National Science Foundation’s computer network. It was at Milford that I first became aware of the NSFNET and terms like packets, network backbone, TCP/IP protocol, T1 and T3 routers.
The use of the NSFNET would grow exponentially over the next few years, and eventually evolve into what we know today as the Internet.
I only tell you this brief chronology of the Internet that I had been fortunate enough to experience because of the impact it had on my ability to research articles of historical and scientific facts, geographic locations, the governments and armed forces of many countries, and of course religion.
Without the Internet, I doubt I could have written this novel.
See http://www.livinginternet.com/ for the complete history and the development of the Internet.
All the characters in this book, with the exception of Sheik Omar Abdel-Rahman, Saif al-Adel, Isaias Afewerki, Abdulaziz Al-Omari, Abu Ahmed al-Kuwaiti, John Ashcroft, Anwar al-Awlaki, Ed Ballinger, Fayez Banihammad, David Ben-Gurion, George H. W. Bush, George W. Bush, William Jefferson Clinton, Jason Dahl, Ahmed al Ghamdi, Hamza al-Ghamdi, Saeed al-Ghamdi, Hani Hanjour, Lee Hanson, Peter Hanson, Nawaf al-Hazmi, Salem al-Hazmi, Ahmad al-Haznawi, Leroy Homer, Jordan’s King Hussein, Saddam Hussein, Ziad Jarrah, Mohamed al Kahtani, Mohammed Awad bin Laden, Osama bin Laden, Golda Meir, Khalid al-Mihdhar, Majed Moqed, Ahmed al-Nami, Gamal Abd al-Nasser, Barack Hussein Obama, Richard Nixon, Barbara Olson, Ted Olson, Betty Ong, Leon Panetta, Shimon Peres, Jose Melendez-Perez, Colin Powell, Rabbi Isaac Meyer, Ronald W. Reagan, King Saud, Mohamed Atta al Sayed, Marwan al-Shehhi, Mohand al-Shehri, Wail al-Shehri, Waleed al-Shehri, Robert Stevens, Satam al-Suqami, Amy Sweeney, Ramzi Yousef, Asif Ali Zardari, and Sheikh Zayed are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The names, incidents, dialogue, and opinions expressed are the products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Nothing is intended nor should be interpreted as expressing or representing the view of the United States military, the Israeli military or any other department or agency of any government body worldwide.
Preface:
A cell is a method for organizing loyal factions in such a way that it can effectively elude detection. Some cells may lie dormant for years until needed.
Nakba is an Arabic term for catastrophe or calamity:
Al Nakba is often used amongst Arabs to describe the Palestinian exodus, which resulted from the 1948 Arab-Israeli War. During the conflict more than 700,000 Palestinians were forced from their centuries-old villages and cities in Palestine, which eventually became the State of Israel. Most have never been allowed to return. The Israeli government seized the land they left behind without ever compensating the displaced Palestinians.
This would lead to a bitter conflict that would soon envelope the entire world. A war not fought in the conventional manner, but one of violent attacks upon the established powers. Innocent people were either killed or wounded for an ideology. This was a war of revenge that entire armies with all their military resources were incapable of stopping.
A few determined men, championing the Palestinian cause, challenged the power and authority of nations worldwide.
Now the mightiest of these nations would have to bow to Islam, and submit to the will of Allāh.
(In the name of Allāh, Most Gracious, Most Merciful)
CHAPTER 1
AL NAKBA, JULY 12, 1948
Mahmoud Abdel Rahman was nearly asleep when he heard the sound of vehicles outside his home, followed by a loud knock on the door. Climbing out of bed he put on some clothes then turned to his wife Amila. “Stay put until I see who it is.”
Opening the front door Mahmoud was shocked to see two armed Israeli soldiers. Looking into the eyes of the first, he recognized Ephraim Levy. “Ephraim, what are you doing here?”
Ephraim had been one of Mahmoud’s closest childhood friends, a Jewish boy from a family that had lived only a few houses away.
“Gather your family and whatever belongings you can carry.” Ephraim paused, his dark eyes glaring. “And get out.”
“By what authority do you invade my home and tell us to leave?”
The second soldier thrust the cold barrel of a rifle into Mahmoud’s chest, knocking him to the floor.
Amila, hearing her husband protesting, came running from the bedroom.
Ephraim looked at the frightened Amila and shouted, “Leave this house now!”
“Where are we to go?” asked Amila.
“You will be taken with the others to Ramallah,” said Ephrai
m.
Mahmoud raised himself from the floor. “Ramallah is over forty kilometers away. Amila, get the cart.”
“No!” Ephraim said through clinched teeth.
Mahmoud pleaded, “I need clothes and food for the children. Please let me take my cart. It is such a long journey. Please.”
Showing no compassion, Ephraim pushed Mahmoud in the chest.
“Take what you can carry and leave.”
Amila with shaking hands dressed quickly, grabbing a few cloths to use as diapers and a little food, and placed the items into a blanket.
Mahmoud opened his dresser drawer. Picking up an envelope with his life savings, he stuffed it into his pocket.
Mahmoud, a stonemason and carpenter by trade, walked over to his children and lifted each of the one-year-old twin boys, Ahman and Hussam, into his powerful arms. If I continue to protest, they may kill me, leaving my wife and children at their mercy.
As Mahmoud and his family left the small home they had known for years, Amila turned to look back. Wiping a tear from her cheek she placed the small blanket with all of their belongings over her shoulder.
Outside on the main road to the village, Israeli soldiers were herding the people like cattle for the long walk that would eventually lead to Ramallah in Transjordan.
Mahmoud, watching the soldiers, stopped and put down the twins.
“They’re searching the people and taking their valuables. Amila, come here. I need to place the money and our rings where they can’t be found.”
“They’re even checking the women,” said Amila as she slipped off her wedding band. “The only safe place is on the babies. Slip the money inside Ahman’s diapers as I shield you from the soldiers’ view. Can you put the rings in your shoes?”
“I’ll try but I must hurry.” After placing the Palestinian pound notes inside the diaper, Mahmoud removed his shoes and put the wedding bands on the small toe of each foot.
“Won’t that hurt as you walk?” asked Amila.
“Not as much as the hurt in my heart,” said Mahmoud lifting the boys into his arms.
Mahmoud watched as dawn’s first light streamed across the landscape. I can see the faces of those who cried out in the night. There must be thousands.
Mahmoud looked down at his wife and children who were still sleeping on the ground. I must protect them no matter what may happen to me.
The soldiers walked among the refugees rousing them. “Get up. Get up now,” as they forced old men and women to their feet.
As the sun’s heat intensified so did tempers, but none more than the Israeli soldiers who were in charge of herding the throngs of people towards the new Palestine.
Mahmoud watched as the soldiers separated the mass of humanity into smaller, manageable groups. Parents called out to children not to wander for fear of losing them.
A young man whose sister was being separated from him shouted, “I’m not leaving my sister!” He pushed two of the soldiers as he went to grab her.
Without hesitation one of the soldiers took out his pistol and shot the young man to the horror of the refugees.
The example had been made and the protesting became mute. Only the crying of children could be heard. The refugees prayed silently for God or Allāh to save their loved ones and to survive the road ahead.
Amila glanced at her husband as the twins were becoming restless. “We need to stop and rest.”
Mahmoud looked around to see if any soldiers could observe them. “We can’t.”
“Just for a moment,” pleaded Amila as she came to a halt. “The boys are hot and dirty. I have to change them.”
Mahmoud turned to face her. “We only have six diapers. We’ll change the boys only if necessary. If they’re just wet, they’ll have to stay on until tonight.”
Mahmoud bent over and sat the twins down between them so they wouldn’t get trampled. Removing the money from Ahman’s diaper, he placed it in his shoes. Amila used her dress to hide him as he ripped small strips of cloth from his shirt and wrapped the strips around his swollen toes where the rings had been placed.
Mahmoud’s gaze darted through the sea of humanity. “If we cause a scene, we’ll be shot. Let’s keep moving.”
Amila was tired as she grabbed her husband’s arm. “Mahmoud, it’s almost one o’clock. The twins don’t cry anymore. They need water desperately.”
“At least they’re going to stop and let everyone rest,” said Mahmoud. “I need to give my arms a chance to regain their lost feeling and then I will search for water.”
Amila was looking over the refugees when she spotted two soldiers. “I see Ephraim standing guard near the end of the procession. Maybe he can help us.”
“If he wanted to help he wouldn’t have taken us away last night,” Mahmoud angrily replied.
“We need to think about the children’s future, not the past.”
“I will go to him and beg like a dog if necessary, for the children’s sake.” Mahmoud took off his shoe and removed a £P100 Palestinian note.
As he approached Ephraim, Mahmoud asked, “May I have some water for my children?”
A large water truck following the convoy was supplying the soldier’s canteens, but no water was available for the Palestinians. Ephraim shook his head. “If I give you water, everyone will expect the same. Besides I could be court-martialed and demoted for helping you.”
Mahmoud pleaded, “My sons are too young to continue without water. They will die.”
Ephraim was adamant. “I’ve no containers. What do you want me to do, give you my canteen and start a riot?”
Mahmoud continued to press, “Please take the diaper I’m carrying and soak it.” He then slipped the £P100 note into Ephraim’s hand.
Ephraim, upon seeing the money, turned away. This is a small fortune. Each Palestinian note can be exchanged for an equal British pound until September. He quickly turned back, stuffing the money into his pocket, and ripped the diaper away from Mahmoud. He returned shortly with the water-soaked diaper, tossing it to Mahmoud.
Mahmoud quickly worked his way back through the masses to his family. He wrung out the water into each of the children’s mouths and then his wife. Only the damp cloth was left when they were ordered to rise and continue on their long journey.
“You haven’t eaten anything since breakfast,” said Amila.
“I fear there will not be enough food. I have to wait until we stop this evening,” replied Mahmoud placing the damp diaper around his neck and moistening his lips to keep them from chapping any further.
Mahmoud trudged forward, praying that he would have the strength to continue and that his family would be protected.
By evening Mahmoud was on the verge of collapse when they were finally allowed to stop for the night. As they consumed a small piece of bread, he surveyed the area.
Mahmoud turned to Amila. “I need to get more food for us. I will seek out Ephraim once again. Shield me from the others as I remove one of the rings.”
Ephraim saw Mahmoud approaching and raised his hand to stop him. “I’ve already spent too much time helping you. There will be questions and I can’t afford to be caught.”
Mahmoud continued to walk up to Ephraim and pressed the gold ring into his hand. “I need food. I only want what can be spared, nothing more and nothing special.”
Ephraim, seeing the ring, hesitated and replied as he pointed to a tree, “I’m on watch at midnight and will pass by that olive tree near the road. Please go and make no further attempts to contact me until we can rendezvous tonight.”
Midnight was approaching as Mahmoud worked his way through the mass of humanity stretched out on the ground.
Mahmoud was several meters away from the olive tree when he heard the voices of several men. Is this a trap?
Lying down abruptly he unfortunately fell on a young man’s leg, which startled both of them. Mahmoud whispered, “Sorry,” then remained as still as he could.
The men passed by, but none were Eph
raim. Mahmoud continued to move toward the tree. He looked around but Ephraim had not appeared.
Have I been made a fool by giving him the gold ring so soon?
Time passed by ever so slowly; it seemed to be hours. Mahmoud finally heard footsteps. Cautiously he rose and tried to make out the figure. I have no choice but to stand by the tree.
Ephraim didn’t stop, dropping a small burlap sack and continuing on. Mahmoud pounced on the sack and, placing it underneath his shirt, he held it tightly to his chest.
Slowly Mahmoud worked his way back to his wife and children, trying not to be conspicuous and staying as close to the ground as possible to avoid the patrolling soldiers.
I must stand to get my bearings. Beads of sweat rolled down his face as he nervously rose. If I am caught with army rations, they will charge me with stealing and I’ll be shot without mercy.
Mahmoud touched the Saint Christopher’s metal that hung on his neck, given to him many years ago by his stepmother. He had been born into a Muslim family, but his parents had died during a cholera outbreak in 1918. A Christian Palestinian family had taken in the one-year-old Mahmoud, raising him in their religious beliefs, and he was like the majority of Palestinian refugees, was a Christian. God and luck were on Mahmoud’s side and no one challenged him as he made it safely back to his family.
“Amila, we have a feast,” whispered Mahmoud as he looked into the sack. “There are three small loaves of bread and tins of canned food and juice.” This is enough food to sustain us for the next few days.
Mahmoud immediately placed some of the food with his wife and put the rest in his pockets and the blanket. “Amila, give me my pocketknife that we hid in the clean diapers.”
Amila rummaged through the diapers, handing the knife to him. “Won’t they arrest you if they see a knife?”
“It’s the only way I can give the twins a drink. I have to take the risk.” Mahmoud punched a hole in the can of juice with the pocketknife. “Put it back inside the blanket,” said Mahmoud handing it back to Amila.
Early the next morning Amila was shaking Mahmoud. “Wake up, wake up. I need to change and feed the children before they force us to start moving.”