The Third Cell

by Anthony D'Egidio

  Jack checked in at the Safir and waited. In less than five minutes of arriving in his room the telephone rang. Surprised by how quick they were to make contact, he picked up the receiver. “Hanif here.”

  The caller on the other end was brief. “If you have the device, please be ready at seven in the morning.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  The following morning Jack was greeted by a knock on the door. It was the same man who had met him previously. “Let’s go. People are waiting.”

  This time Jack was not blindfolded, but was still accompanied by the two bodyguards.

  They left the hotel traveling west to Omayad Square. At the circle they went northwest to Al Rawda Square, turning right on Al-Afif Street. For a moment Jack thought they were heading towards the American Embassy where he had previously spent two years on assignment, but the vehicle turned into a small office complex. They exited and walked over to the entrance labeled Clinic of Dr. Sara Atheem Jamil, Cardiologist.

  Jack grinned. It’s a woman doctor. How interesting.

  The clinic was modest in size with a small waiting room and receptionist desk. Led through the only door to the medical area, Jack was taken into the doctor’s office where Dr. Jamil and Ahman were waiting. She was a thin woman, middle-aged, about five and a half feet tall.

  Dr. Jamil peered over her glasses at Jack and in English said, “Please sit and tell me about this item you want me to insert.”

  Jack carefully removed the transmitter and antenna from the box labeled Metronic pacemaker, who was a non-existent manufacturer.

  Dr. Jamil meticulously inspected the device through its clear plastic enclosure, which was labeled, “Validated Sterile Unless Package Environment Is Compromised.”

  “This is an interesting name for the pacemaker. Is this label fake also?”

  Jack thought, this doctor is very bright. “The manufacturer’s name may be bogus, but I can assure you that the contents are sterile and the electronic components are of the highest quality available. As you can see, the product is made of the finest titanium alloy. It’s designed to do the job intended and will function without failure.”

  “I don’t know the actual intent of this device and I prefer not to,” stated the doctor.

  Detailed instructions were enclosed and Dr. Jamil studied them for fifteen minutes in silence. All she knew was that the device was to be implanted in a volunteer whose name she didn’t know. She was being paid 125,000 Euros for this operation. A sum almost three times her annual salary.

  Dr. Jamil then motioned to Ahman and Jack. “Follow me. You’ll dress in sterile surgical garments and will scrub up as if you were part of the medical team, but you’re not allowed to touch anything.”

  The two men walked with the doctor to the scrub room. After they were prepared, the doctor led them into the operating room. For a small clinic, it was well equipped. Dr. Jamil’s patients were wealthy and avoided the pitfalls of going to a government hospital where sanitary procedures could be compromised. At Dr. Jamil’s clinic they got the best of care during and after the operation, with twenty-four-hour personal attention. She had a waiting list of patients, not only from Syria, but also from other countries in the Middle East.

  Inside the room were the anesthesiologist, two assistants and the patient Nasih, who had been prepped for the operation by the shaving of his chest hair. His face had been covered with a mask and the anesthesiologist was administrating a general anesthetic called Halothane. Most pacemaker implants were done under local anesthetic, but Doctor Jamil, not knowing the exact nature of the procedure, elected to use a general anesthetic that allowed her greater flexibility.

  Jack tried unsuccessfully to get a view of Nasih’s face, but was restricted by Ahman.

  The anesthesiologist indicated that Nasih was ready for surgery. Dr. Jamil proceeded by first making an incision in the left subclavian area, opening the chest.

  Under normal pacemaker implanting, the wire would be attached to the heart. But in this procedure she had to open an incision near the neck and thread the wires under the skin to the left shoulder and then to within an inch of the neck as the directions indicated. Having never done such a procedure before, it took all of her expertise in using a fluoroscope to complete the wire implants. She tested the leads, using an analyzer to assure she had continuity. Satisfied that the procedure was complete, she closed the incisions with absorbable sutures, completing the operation.

  Ahman and Jack were instructed to leave the operating room while they finished up. The whole procedure took less than an hour.

  After they removed their scrubs and returned to Dr. Jamil’s office, Jack handed a small package to Ahman. “This contains the activation device which is a ring with a small but powerful magnet under the onyx face.”

  Ahman opened the package, taking out the ring. The onyx had the Islamic crescent and star carved into the stone.

  Jack gave detailed instructions to Ahman. “When the ring is passed twice over the transmitter vertically it will activate, showing the person’s location. To activate the transmitter to invoke an attack, you must pass the ring horizontally over the transmitter three times, followed by passing it once vertically. It will then transmit a different signal. This sequence prevents accidentally invoking the attack transmission.”

  Ahman was curious, “Why would I invoke the transmitter prior to the time I want the attack to take place?”

  “If we can monitor signals in advance, it will give us time to position the ships or planes that will be involved. If we wait until an attack signal is received we may not have the proper weapons to inflict the greatest damage.”

  Ahman reluctantly bought the explanation. “It will be a while before you’ll get any transmission. None will be coming before he’s in Pakistan. I’m not willing to take the risk.” Ahman got up from the chair. “I want to be with my nephew when he awakes. The men will take you back to your hotel. We’ll never meet again.”

  Jack rose and before Ahman left he said, “We’re engaged in the same purpose, though I can never condone the actions your organization took against the United States. If you hadn’t put the plan in place, al-Qaeda would have never gotten in the position to destroy the nuclear reactor sites. For this we can never forgive you.”

  Ahman turned to Jack and quoted from the Qur’an, Chapter 26 Ash-Shuara (The Poets), verses 078 thru 082:

  “Allathee khalaqanee fahuwa yahdeeni

  Waallathee huwa yutAAimunee wayasqeeni

  Wa-itha maridtu fahuwa yashfeeni

  Waallathee yumeetunee thumma yuhyeeni

  Waallathee atmaAAu an yaghfira lee khatee-atee yawma alddeeni.”

  (Who created me, and it is He Who guides me;

  Who gives me food and drink,

  And when I am ill, it is He Who cures me;

  Who will cause me to die, and then to life again;

  And Who, I hope, will forgive me my faults on the day of Judgment.)

  Jack responded in fluent Arabic also from Ash-Shuara:

  “Qala innee liAAamalikum mina alqaleena Innee akhafu AAalaykum AAathaba yawmin Aaatheemin.”

  (He said, I do detest your doings Truly I fear for you the Penalty of a Great Day.)

  The response in Arabic caught Ahman off guard. I didn’t expect the infidel to quote from the Qur’an. He turned and left the room.

  The Mossad

  Unbeknownst to the CIA, the Muslims For Justice, Ahman Imad Rahman and his nephew Nasih, the Mossad had feverously been hunting for the cell members and the Amir. The disappearance of the Air Israel airline crew and the killing of one hundred sixty Jewish hostages on the plane would not go unpunished. They had been unable to find where the Muslims For Justice terrorists had escaped. A worldwide hunt for the killers was being forged by the United States, but the Mossad had branched out to uncover where the Amir, Ahman Imad Rahman was located. There had been rumors of contact between the CIA and Ahman, but not confirmed.

  Ahman was a foe that never revea
led his whereabouts, though it was heavily suspected he was in Syria. The Mossad was tracking every move that his sister-in-law Johara Araff made. They knew her daily routine of morning walks from her fashionable apartment on Abu Rommaneh Street, past the Damascus Community School to Al-Jahez Park. Johara always brought bread for the pigeons and would sit for at least a half hour feeding the birds before leaving for Abo Doulama, a café where she would have her morning espresso with nutmeg coffee cake, which she covered with mounds of butter.

  Every step Johara made was videotaped, but her life was of daily walks, shopping and reading at the Al-Assad Library. There was nothing exciting happening in Johara’s life and she rarely went out in the evening except to attend a recital at Solhi Al-Wadi Music Institute or to Dar Al-Asad Opera House. She always attended these events alone. It didn’t matter to the Mossad, and the boring everyday routine was still followed and taped. They were waiting for the day she would be contacted.

  The Quest

  Nasih returned to Latakia with his uncle as the wounds from his surgery healed. He could feel the wire running under his skin above his shoulder but soon even this sensation disappeared. The activation ring he wore on his finger was of brightly polished titanium, with a black onyx insert. It would have been inappropriate to have a gold or precious metal ring, which many Muslims considered to be ostentatious. He looked at the ring. They are smart enough to know small details about Muslim culture, but not smart enough to reach out to the masses.

  Within a week the sutures had been absorbed by the skin, only a brightly reddened scar remained. Daily they treated the incision with hydrogen peroxide and an iodine solution, carefully monitoring it for any infection, for they would not return to Dr. Jamil’s office. By the second week the scar had lost its telltale red color and the skin was starting to appear normal. Nasih was preparing to leave.

  Ahman couldn’t accompany Nasih to the airport for it was too dangerous for them to be seen together in an area under constant surveillance. They went to lunch at the al Dolphine restaurant, spending almost three hours reminiscing of their times in Ramallah and of Mahmoud, Nasih’s grandfather who was an inspiration for the entire family.

  Ahman spoke about his father, “I doubt your grandfather would approve of the decision you are about to embark on, for he believed that peaceful negotiations was the only acceptable way to end a dispute. I could never agree with his Christian views but he was a man of his word and that transcends any religious beliefs.”

  The men returned to the apartment for their final goodbye.

  Clutching together, knowing they would never see each other again in this life, they recited Chapter 112: Al-Ikhlas (Sincerity).

  “Qul huwa Allahu ahadun

  Allahu alssamadu

  Lam yalid walam yooladu

  Walam yakun lahu kufuwan ahadun.”

  (He is Allāh, the One and only;

  Allāh, the Eternal, Absolute;

  He begetteth not, nor is He begotten;

  And there is none like unto Him.)

  The taxi ride to the airport was lonely as Nasih reflected upon his life and his mission. I miss my children, who will be ostracized for the rest of their lives by my actions. I only wish I had done more to protect them. He thought of Maria and the times they had together. At one time I truly loved her and I was always afraid my emotions would have upset the mission.

  “We’re at the air terminal,” announced the cab driver.

  Awakened from his reminiscing, Nasih exited the cab.

  After checking in at the ticket counter as Issa Abdullah Gara, he went to the security center for gate clearance, setting off the metal detector. He handed a letter from Dr. Jamil to the guard who did a body check with the handheld wand. The guard gave the man identified as Issa Abdullah Gara a puzzled look when the metal detector went off when placed over his shoulder.

  Nasih only shrugged his shoulders and opened his shirt to unveil the new scar stating, “This is the first time I’ve gone through security since my operation. The letter should explain all.”

  The guard after reading the letter didn’t question Nasih any further, but did a through body search before letting him proceed to the gate.

  Nasih was scheduled for a Sunday evening flight to Tehran. From there he would continue on to Mashhad, Iraq. Nasih, through an arrangement by the Muslims For Justice, would meet with the Ayatollah Muhammad Allam Shahriar, where he would present him with a gift of five hundred thousand Euros for his mosque. The Ayatollah was an outspoken critic of the western lifestyle and especially the United States. He was also known to fund insurgents in Iraq and the Taliban in Afghanistan. He was going to be the catalyst for introducing Nasih to key leaders in Pakistan and Afghanistan.

  The flight to Mashhad was at five forty-five in the morning. Nasih’s arrival in Tehran at nine-thirty at night was too late for a hotel. He found a couple of empty chairs near the airline ticket counter and curled up uncomfortably. His left arm was still tender from the operation and he changed positions several times, getting only two hours of sleep before leaving for the gate at four-thirty.

  Mashhad, Iran

  Nasih slept restlessly on the flight arriving in Mashhad at seven-fifteen in the morning. He took a taxi to the new Homa Hotel on Khayam Boulevard. He had booked an apartment in the hotel for a three-month stay. He had no idea how long it would take to make the necessary contacts for travel into Pakistan. The new Homa Hotel was a luxury hotel built soon after the Islamic Revolution in 1979. The older Homa Hotel was moderately priced and didn’t fit the image that Nasih wanted to present. He needed to look and smell of money. This would facilitate his quest for meeting key personnel in the al-Qaeda network who were always pursuing funds.

  Arriving at the hotel, he called the Razavi University of Islamic Sciences where Ayatollah Muhammad Allam Shahriar headed the department of Islamic philosophy and theology. He left the message that he had arrived and was looking forward to meeting the Ayatollah. He then spent the day resting, taking a swim at the hotel pool and relaxing in the spa. Refreshed, he would be ready tomorrow to begin his quest.

  Nasih rose early, just after sunrise. He would first perform a complete ablution, the cleansing of the body as required by Islamic law, prior to performing the morning ritual, Salatul Fajr, which is the act of bringing together an individual’s communion with Allāh.

  During all the years in the United States posing as Jonah Meyerson, this was the one prayer ritual he would perform in the silence of his study before the rest of the household awoke. It was almost impossible for him to complete the daily five prayers required by the faith, for the chances of being discovered was too great a risk.

  Nasih left the hotel for the Holy Shrine of Imam Reza, where for the first time since leaving for England in 1983 it would be possible for him to perform the Salatul Fajr at a Mosque together with fellow worshippers. It was of the highest priority for him to finally be in a Mosque, especially one of the holiest sites in all of Islam where thirteen million of the faithful made the pilgrimage every year. Even in Syria, he had practiced his faith in private or with his uncle, fearing detection by attending a Mosque. In Iran he had no such fears.

  Afterwards Nasih left the sprawling complex walking to the famous bazaar near Falaha Ab Square, where he found a small coffee shop and ate a modest breakfast of soft-boiled eggs and naan, an Iranian flatbread with butter and honey. The food of Iran was different with its roots driven from Iran’s ethnic mix of fifty percent Persian, twenty-five percent Azeri. Arabs made up only three percent of the population.

  Nasih returned to the complex of the Holy Shrine of Imam Reza, where the Razavi University of Islamic Sciences was adjacent, for his meeting with the Ayatollah at ten o’clock. He located the department of Islamic philosophy and Kalam building and entered.

  A young guard wearing the uniform of the Guardians of the Islamic Revolution stopped him. Nasih handed him the letter from Dr. Jamil.

  “Raise your arms,” the guard said, as he passed
the metal detector wand over and around Nasih’s body.

  Nasih heard a voice from behind.

  “Do a complete and thorough search leaving no area untouched.” The implication was that Nasih’s private parts would also be inspected.

  The new guard answered nervously, “Sir, I’ll perform my duty as if I was executing a complete ablution upon myself.”

  Nasih, curious to see who gave the order, turned his head slightly and to his amazement he gazed upon a familiar face. It was Iyad al-Ibrahim who was part of the contingent that had fled to Mashhad.

  Nasih slowly turned his head back towards the guard who was performing the body check. Nasih kept his facial expressions under control but his heart was beating so hard, he thought the guard could hear it. If I’m discovered now, the entire operation will be jeopardized. I must maintain my composure. What are the chances that I’m in the presence of a man I’ve known for almost fifteen years? Of course he was with the Guardians of the Islamic Revolution when recruited by the Muslims For Justice, but with two million people in Mashhad, it’s just my luck he’s assigned to protect the Ayatollah!

  As the guard completed his search he took the gift that Nasih was carrying and brought it to the x-ray machine. Once satisfied, the guard declared it was all right to proceed.

  Iyad announced, “I’m on my way to the Ayatollah’s office. I’ll personally take him.”

  Again, Nasih’s heart jumped to his throat, yet he showed no emotion. Iyad led him to the office complex speaking about the Ayatollah and of the Holy Shrine of Imam Reza. It was apparent that Iyad hadn’t recognized him as he engaged in the small talk. Nasih could only thank Dr. Ziyad al Dayeh for performing such an excellent remake of his face that even a cohort of so many years couldn’t identify him.