The mention of the cleric’s name was enough for the officer to investigate. Fearing reprisal for the action of his soldiers and himself, he immediately sent out a contingent of guards to find the Muslims For Justice faction in the tent city and bring them to retrieve the boys.
Nasih was returned to the cell with Abdul-Aziz and Rashad, who had also undergone interrogation.
Abdul-Aziz said, “We were each taken to separate rooms. I only told them we wanted to see the Royal Palace.”
Nasih looked at Rashad. “What happened to you?”
Rashad sheepishly replied, “When the guard grabbed me I couldn’t help myself and I wet my clothing.”
Nasih shook his head. “You need to have more faith in Allāh and the Qur’an.”
A guard entered the cell and handed Rashad a rusty bucket of dirty water to clean himself with.
A half-hour later Ahman entered the room where the three were being held.
The look on my uncle’s face does not bode well for me. I better keep my mouth shut, thought Nasih.
Ahman went on a rampage. “Only twelve days ago you made a pledge to secrecy and to obey orders without question and today, when given a simple request to stay near the group, you disobeyed and the consequences were dire. You were discovered and captured! I don’t know if you’re up to the task that we’ve chosen for you!”
Nasih spoke up, “Uncle, don’t blame them. I take full responsibility for our actions. As the oldest and the leader, I should have stopped this immature act before it got out of hand. I guarantee you this will never happen again.”
“Nasih, I am disappointed in you,” said Ahman. “You’ve caused us to be severely behind schedule for our trip to the tomb of Muhammad. I expect a full apology to the group upon your return. I will not speak of this incident again.”
Abdul-Aziz and Rashad had nothing but respect for Nasih taking the blame when surely it was Abdul-Aziz who was the troublemaker.
It was a three-hour ride from Mina to Medina. Nasih not only apologized to the group, but also gave a Khutba on the lessons of patience and obedience. His ability to speak was second to none and even though Ahman was very angry with the boy for his previous actions, he couldn’t help the feeling of pride as Nasih captured the attention of all on board, raising their awareness to the teaching of Islam and encouraging them to shed any temptations, large or small.
Ahman thought as he watched his nephew, He is a natural born leader.
Arriving in Al-Madeenah, the trio left the bus and entered the sacred city. Like Mekka, only Muslims were allowed within the limits of the city revered as the second most important city in the Islamic faith.
The group went immediately to the Mosque of the Prophet, the tomb of Muhammad where it is reported that Muhammad said, “Whoever visits me after my death, is as if he had visited me in my lifetime.”
The three teens approached the tomb to pay their respects together. As they prayed, it seemed as if a spirit rose to touch them, as if the prophet himself was personally anointing them. They did not speak of this at the time, but each instinctively knew that they all had the same experience.
The three young men had bonded during the Hajj and again at the Tomb of Muhammad. This union they knew would last a lifetime and beyond.
CHAPTER 11
ENGLAND, 1983
Nasih patiently waited for Ahman to return from the ticket counter. They had been at King Hussein International Airport for more than three hours. The original flight to Cairo, Egypt was to leave at nine o’clock, but had been cancelled due to equipment problems.
Upon his return from the counter Ahman muttered, “I wonder how anything gets done in this country. Now they have no idea when the plane will depart!”
Nasih could tell his uncle was agitated more than usual. It must be my departure to England that has him so upset. His uncle appeared ready to go into another tirade when the loudspeaker announced, “Flight 391 to Cairo boarding through gate seven.”
Ahman turned to Nasih. “You’ll be met in the airport terminal by Abdul-Azim al-Jazzar. He’ll introduce himself with the phrase, ‘Yakhtassu birahmatihi man yashao waAllahu thoo alfadli alAAathe.’ (‘For His Mercy He specially chooseth whom He pleaseth; for Allāh is the Lord of bounties unbounded.’)”
“You’ll respond, ‘Waallatheena kafaroo wakaththaboo bi-ayatina olaika as-habu aljaheemi.’ (‘Those who reject faith and deny our signs will be companions of Hell-fire.’)”
“Uncle, why do we need the coded message? We’ll be in the Cairo airport.”
“It’s important for you to understand that Israeli intelligent agents are monitoring your movements because you’re my nephew. Even in England you must always be diligent and never befriend anyone unless you check with the Syrian embassy. Use your Aunt Johara to contact Nizar Eida at the Embassy, who is your initial interface. Nizar will give you instructions on how to meet with the mentors.”
Nasih was surprised by his uncle’s statement. “Aunt Johara! I thought she didn’t know about my mission!”
“She doesn’t, but since your aunt works at the embassy, she can unknowingly be your intermediary. Remember, the Mossad is always watching. They make the American CIA look like amateurs.”
“Uncle, you should have none of these concerns with me. I learned a very valuable lesson when Cleric Omar Khamayseh was assassinated. I’ll be the perfect student and my true intentions never will be revealed.”
Ahman held Nasih by the shoulders, looking directly in his eyes. “Never, I repeat never make any statement about Islam, the Qur’an or Allāh! Never make any political statement about Palestinians, Jews, Zionists, Americans or the British, especially the British!”
Ahman, as he lead Nasih to the boarding ramp, couldn’t help but admire how this young man of seventeen had such strong principles and understanding. Just before Nasih turned to enter, Ahman grabbed him and held him in his arms. This could be the last time I may see Nasih alive.
The plane ride to Cairo was an hour and twenty minutes. Settled in the seat, Nasih didn’t speak to anyone, including the woman dressed in a Western business suit, except to say, “Sabah el kheer. (Good morning.)”
Nasih observed the woman’s attire. I better get used to this form of dress. Where I’m going this will be the norm. Just like my time in Israel with the Keinan’s, the dress and appearance of woman are so radically different than what I’ve grown up with.
The woman tried to converse with Nasih, but he pretended to have a sore throat to avoid any discussion. I don’t know if this is an agent for the Mossad, or just a casual traveler, but I’ll not talk to her.
For the rest of the short trip, Nasih closed his eyes. His photographic memory allowed him to pick and choose the memorized passages from the Qur’an that gave him strength to face his enemy. He finally fell into a deep sleep.
Nasih was jolted awake by the plane’s tires hitting the runway. Grabbing his white jacket with the school name El Huda embroidered in bright red English letters, he slipped it on. Nasih’s dress was very western with jeans, a tee shirt and athletic shoes. There was nothing to make him stand out in the crowd. He was just an ordinary teenager embarking on his first trip. He carried no Islamic literature or the Qur’an.
Entering the terminal a large man dressed in a business suit walked up to him and said, “Yakhtassu birahmatihi man yashao waAllahu thoo alfadli alAAathe.”
Nasih reviewed the man’s stature and face as described by his uncle. Assured this was the man he was to meet Nasih responded, “Waallatheena kafaroo wakaththaboo bi-ayatina ola-ika as-habu aljaheemi.”
Abdul-Azim al-Jazzar shook Nasih’s hand and took the leather briefcase from him. “Are you hungry? We’ve three hours before your flight leaves.”
Nasih nodded his head, “Yes, very. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, except for some pita bread my grandmother gave me.”
Leaving his grandmother Amila had been very hard for him. Nasih knew the plan for his demise would break her heart. He was afra
id for her, but this was the price he would have to endure avenging the death of his parents.
Abdul-Azim found a restaurant. “Your uncle was wise to book you on a flight to London that was much later in the day. Adherence to domestic flight schedules is horrible, but somehow, the international fights are almost always on time.”
Abdul-Azim was a strong follower of the Muslims For Justice, but in a very discreet way. He was part of a clandestine arm that distanced themselves from the radicals who were outwardly preaching the destruction of Middle Eastern governments. He knew by placing loyalists in higher-level government positions in both civilian and the military they would be able to topple the government. It could take many years but time was not the issue, only the end result.
Abdul-Azim lived in the modern district of Heliopolis. He owned a stylish jewelry shop that emphasized elegant and expensive watches. This facilitated him in concealing his relationship with the Muslims For Justice as he worked to create a new Jihad, a new wing of terrorism.
In the near future they would unleash the Jihadist, funded by Syrian, Iranian and wealthy Saudis. This group would be known as Hamas and its debut would be ominous with the advent of suicide bombings not just against military and security forces as targets, but also against Israeli civilians.
The planning was nerve-racking for all involved. They met once a week under the pretenses of playing the ancient card game Assaba-al’-Komi, also called Basra. Together the group would discuss how to mobilize, coordinate and, most importantly, smuggle large amounts of cash and weapons to the Palestinians. The progress was slow and methodical, watching every step to avoid detection by the Egyptian Secret Police, the Mossad and other intelligent gathering organizations. The Muslims For Justice had been very successful. Friendly custom agents, bribed with large sums of money, allowed the export of money and materials to Hamas, setting in motion the attacks upon Israel.
Nasih thought that Abdul-Azim was just an Egyptian businessman who had once sold his uncle a very expensive watch when Ahman was in Cairo.
Upon completion of the meal Abdul-Azim rose, “We must go to the gate now, it’s getting late.”
Arriving at the gate, Nasih walked up to the window and stared out at the Boeing 747. With this monster of an aircraft only fifteen meters away from the window, he was amazed. I can only admire the technology that comes from the United States. But with its blind allegiance to Israel, the United States is the country hated most by Muslims.
His thoughts were interrupted by the announcement that the plane was boarding. Nasih turned to Abdul-Azim. “Shokran jazeelan. (Thank you very much.)”
Abdul-Azim walked Nasih to boarding area and shook his hand. “Ma’a salama. (Goodbye.)”
“Ma’a salama,” replied Nasih.
It seemed like an eternity as the plane sped down the runway, finally lifting to the sky. Nasih glanced around and the only person close to him was in the center section. The plane was only half full and Nasih was thankful that he didn’t have to carry on a conversation with anyone.
After enjoying the traditional Muslim meal his uncle had pre-ordered for him, he fell asleep listening to the muffled roar of the jet engines.
Awakened by the flight attendant’s announcement to prepare for landing, Nasih peered out the window to catch a glimpse of the English countryside bathed in yellow and reds, as the sun set on the horizon. He saw the outskirts of London, and for the first time on the trip, he had mixed feelings of anticipation and anxiety.
The process of finding the customs area, locating his luggage and standing in line for what seemed like forever before being called by an agent was wearing on Nasih’s nerves. He had been up since four in the morning and it was close to ten o’clock in London. With the time change he had been up twenty three hours and every muscle in his body ached. The plane had landed an hour and a half ago and he was still waiting to get through customs.
Nasih clutched in his hand a copy of Egypt and the Holy Land in Historic Photographs: 77 Views by Francis Frith, the famous Victorian photographer. His uncle had given him the book as a diversionary tool to distract the customs agents.
He remembered his uncle’s statement clearly. “They love to see foreigners with an interest in their country and countrymen. It will help give them the impression that you’re nothing more than the innocent schoolboy coming to England to get an education.”
Peering down over his glasses the custom official sized up Nasih. “Son, what is the purpose of your visit?”
Nasih replied in his best English as he placed the book in clear sight of the inspector. “Sir, I’ll be here six months visiting my aunt who works in London.”
The man continued to examine the passport. “I see you’ve been to Saudi Arabia many times.”
Nasih proudly pointed to the logo on his jacket. “Sir, I attended school there, where I was taught to speak English.”
The inspector was impressed with the teen’s manners and English skills. The book in plain sight didn’t go unnoticed. “Please step over to the inspection table.”
The customs agent inspecting the luggage contents was obviously bored with his job as he methodically went through Nasih’s small bag. “How long are you staying in the country?”
Nasih feeling like a broken record repeated, “I’ll be here six months visiting my aunt who works in London.”
“Not much clothing for such a long stay,” the customs agent grunted.
“Sir, I’ll need to buy clothing for the climate here.” How stupid is this man? Does he not know the climate of the Middle East is so entirely different? If he’s representative of the people checking passengers, then a camel could walk through and not be detected. Now I know what Ahman means when he says the Western world is asleep and we’re going to rudely awaken them!
Finally given his luggage and passport back, Nasih walked through the doors to the awaiting throngs of people.
“Nasih, Nasih,” said a female voice calling from the crowd. His Aunt Johara pushed her way through and embraced him. “Eshtaqto elaika katheeran (I missed you so much)!”
They left the airport after retrieving Johara’s car. Because it was dark and raining, Nasih didn’t get to view much of the city on the way to her townhouse at 120 Chester Square.
Less than six blocks from the Syrian embassy, the townhouse was conveniently located and Johara walked to work most days.
Nasih looked around. “Aunt Johara, you have a beautiful apartment.”
The townhouse did not belong to Johara, but to her male companion. It was the property of Sir William Nicholas Cavendish who worked for the Secretary of State of Defence, part of the United Kingdom’s Ministry of Defence.
William Nicholas Cavendish was a man to whom all things came very easily. Tall, handsome and from a family with money, he was one of the most sought-after bachelors in London. He was very used to getting his own way, especially with the women.
William Cavendish first met Johara at a state dinner held by the Syrian Ambassador to the Court of St. James. William was casually introduced to Johara as an interpreter for the Syrian embassy. Not married, he was strategically positioned by the host across from Johara for the dinner. The strategy worked, for Johara was a striking woman, with jet-black hair and dark piercing eyes.
By the end of the evening, William Cavendish asked Johara to join him for dinner on the following weekend.
After several months of dating, William finally convinced Johara to accompany him to his family estate in Kent on the weekend of June 3, 1978. William had arranged that the servants would finish with the dinner and leave the premises. That evening Johara finally submitted to his advances. He was totally surprised to find out that she was still a virgin. The weekend soon became a week as the couple’s intimacy grew. William was obsessed with Johara.
Johara would meet her section head, Nizar Eida, giving him any information that William divulged.
“More useless information from Sir William,” said Nizar sarcastically.
Nizar laughed, “I have the distinct impression that Sir William does not like the Mossad and would go out of his way to discredit their work. I’m surprised that MI5 hasn’t taped his mouth or at least rapped his knuckles. How are the two of you getting along?”
“Our relationship is more of mutual respect, at least on my part. He has asked me to marry him and I think he is very upset that I said no.”
Benjamin Werner’s Monday morning briefing was routine until one of the several charts put on the overhead projector startled him. The comprehensive report on Palestinian suspects, listed Ahman Rahman’s nephew Nasih as arriving in London, on August 2, 1983. The visa stated he was visiting his Aunt Johara Araff, resident at 120 Chester Square, London for six months.
Benjamin looked stone-faced at the agent. “What do we know about this teenager and why is he in London? Did he meet with anyone on the way? Was he carrying any papers or items of suspicion?”
Agent Mark Heckman spoke. “We only know he had a small bag of non-descript clothing, his passport and a book listed as a copy of Egypt and the Holy Land in Historic Photographs: 77 Views by Francis Frith.”
Benjamin was irate. “What the hell is that about?”
“It’s a book by an English photographer on his trips to Egypt from 1856 to 1860.”
“Spare me the history lesson. I had asked that Nasih Rahman be watched and this is all I get? We know he was in Saudi Arabia for six years. I can’t imagine they were just interested in expanding his intellectual mind. They were likely shaping him into a lethal weapon.”
Frustrated, Benjamin raised his voice as the agent quickly sat down. “Who is this aunt?”
“The London agents are checking her out.”
“I want all the details in front of me by tomorrow morning or you can find yourself in a desk job scuffling papers.”
The Third Cell Page 9