a convulsive wave of fear across the United States, was only a gnat’s bite on a giant.
The real education that every terrorist should be required to have was a complete tour of America’s industrial cities, the electronics assembly plants, the military bases, the nuclear processing facilities, assembly plants and storage depots, the electrical generating stations, the ports, the highways, the sprawling medical centers and pharmaceutical research and manufacturing conglomerates, rather than the slums and storefront mosques of a few cities in New York, New Jersey and California. Even bin Laden had no real idea what he was up against. None of them did.
Time to get out, Bahmad told himself. Especially after Chevy Chase. That had been too close a call for him. At the end something had happened to McGarvey. He had been wounded or he had hit his head, but he was out of it, and Bahmad had started to turn back until the daughter had come to her father’s side. She had picked up his pistol and killed Aggad and Ibrahim. Against two-to-one odds she had prevailed.
The car arrived in the anonymous neighborhood of tall stuccoed walls with red-tiled roofs behind them a few minutes after 4:00 p.m. Two solid wooden gates sprung open, and they were admitted into bin Laden’s compound just as a sleeker, newer black Mercedes S500 pulled out. Bahmad caught a brief glimpse of the lone passenger in the back seat. It was Dr. Hassan Abdullah al-Turabi, head of the National Islamic Front party, and Sudan’s attorney general. He was also bin Laden’s longtime friend and mentor, and possibly the most powerful and important man in the entire armed Islamic movement.
The fact that he had come to bin Laden and not the other way around was significant. Something definitely big was in the wind, which was probably the reason Bahmad had been contacted through intermediaries to drop everything and come here to bin Laden’s side. It would also explain why bin Laden had not telephoned him directly by encrypted satellite phone; he hadn’t wanted to take the risk that somehow the call would be intercepted.
Four armed guards immediately surrounded the car as the wooden gates were closed and barred by another two men. Bahmad got his leather bags and got out of the car. Nafir Osman Nafeh, the NEF party’s chief of intelligence, came across the compound, his robes flowing behind him, and gave Bahmad a warm embrace.
“Did you have a safe trip?” he asked.
“A confused trip. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
One of the guards took Bahmad’s luggage, and his driver got out and frisked him. He wasn’t armed, but if he had been he would not have allowed such an affront to the dignity of bin Laden’s chief of staff.
Nafeh watched with a tolerant smile, and when the driver stepped back and gave him a nod, he took Bahmad’s arm and together they walked across the central courtyard which was crowded with a halfdozen cars and three American Humvees.
“It is good to have you back my old friend,” Nafeh said in hushed tones. “There is much work to be done before we can begin the next phase of our struggle.”
The man was an ass, Bahmad thought. He talked like a mujahedeen recruiter trying to drum up enthusiasm among young boys. But the real reason for the recall suddenly became clear to Bahmad. Dr. Turabi and the NIF had somehow found out about the bomb, and for some reason they were pressuring bin Laden into calling off the attack.
“There is-always much work to be done, because the struggle is ongoing,” Bahmad said, using Nafeh’s own words on him.
The intelligence chief beamed. “I was saying the very same thing to Osama at our meeting with Dr. Turabi this morning. And he agreed wholeheartedly.” Nafeh rubbed his nose.
Quitting was a thing that bin Laden would resist with everything in his soul because of the death of his daughter at the hands of the Americans. It was why Turabi had come here in person to give the order, and why Nafeh had stayed behind to act as Bahmad’s personal escort.
They entered the main building and took the stairs up to the second floor. There were armed guards in the corridor. But overall there was an aura of a hospital or a mosque. The atmosphere was heavy, the silence deep.
The meeting had been held in the receiving chamber and bin Laden was still there, looking out the windows. He turned when Bahmad and Nafeh came in, smiled and walked across the room to embrace Bahmad as a long-lost brother. He looked well, as if he had somehow regained his health, and the worry lines in his face, his downcast eyes, were gone.
“I am sorry to have pulled you away from your vacation in the lap of luxury,” bin Laden said.
“I am sorry that I failed you in the first phase of our mission.”
Bin Laden inclined his head slightly. “He is quite a remarkable man. But I was wrong to send you to kill his daughter. I can see that now.” He motioned for them to have a seat on the cushions. When they were settled he poured them tea.
“Now perhaps we can resolve our differences so that we can get on with our legitimate business,” Nafeh said pompously.
There were no armed guards in here, and the significance was not lost on Bahmad. Here, at this time and place, bin Laden was nothing more than an ordinary soldier in the jihad. He was being punished.
Bahmad spread his hands. “I’m sorry, but I am at a loss.” “Don’t play the fool with me, it’s not convincing,” Nafeh said sharply. “We’re searching for a spectacular operation in the United States, but killing innocent Muslim children-handicapped children — will not be sanctioned.”
Bahmad let his voice go cold. “What are you talking about?”
“The Tajikistan bomb. We know all about it. We know that it’s already in the United States, and we know that you plan on blowing up the Golden Gate Bridge at the moment President Haynes’ daughter is crossing it in a footrace. But two thousand other crippled children from two dozen countries will also be on that bridge. Many of them Muslims. Such an action against our own people could never be condoned. It is forbidden.”
“I agree,” bin Laden said. “I can now see the error in my thinking.”
He was lying, Bahmad was sure of it. “What do you want me to do, Osama? Everything is in place.”
“The bomb is in storage at the shipyard in New Jersey and it will remain there until the NIF comes up with another plan,” bin Laden said. He looked to Nafeh for confirmation, and the intelligence chief nodded sagely.
“It will not be wasted,” he said. “When the correct moment comes it will be used.”
“Then the plan to get the bomb to California is to be abandoned?” Bahmad asked, testing. Perhaps the plans had changed. Perhaps the bomb wasn’t aboard the Margo already enroute up the American West Coast.
“Yes, it is to be abandoned. Our contract with the trucking firm that was to drive it across country will be canceled. Do you understand what you have to do?”
Bahmad smiled inwardly. The bomb had never been his New Jersey and there had never been any kind of a contract with a trucking firm. So the plans were not changed after all. “Perfectly.”
“Then you know what your orders are,” Nafeh said.
Bahmad turned to him and arched an eyebrow. “From you, never,” he spat. “I take my orders only from Osama.”
“It will be as the party wishes,” bin Laden assured the intelligence chief. “But Ali will have to return to the United States immediately to make sure that everything is dismantled properly. If we mean to make use of the bomb at some future date it will have to be protected. The people already in place, secured.”
“Perhaps it is a job too difficult for him. I can arrange for several of my Afghans to accompany him.” Bahmad’s eyes flashed. “I know the men you’re talking about. They’re idiots.”
“They follow their orders, and get the job done,” Nafeh shot back. “Even simple tasks such as killing young women.” Bahmad could have killed him, but he willed an outward calmness and even smiled. “I was given faulty intelligence from the Taliban that Kirk McGarvey was dead when in fact he was not. And at the moment of our attack we were surrounded by the police. Something went wrong, and there wasn’t much we could do.”
“You left your Afghanis behind.” The term was now being used all over the Islamic militant movement to mean soldiers of courage.
“They were expendable.”
Nafeh glared at him. “See that you do a better job dismantling the operation. We won’t accept another excuse. Perhaps you will find that you’re expendable too.”
“As you wish.”
“Now leave us. Your business here is finished, and I have other matters to discuss with Osama.”
Bahmad got to his feet, his eyes locking with bin Laden’s.
