A few hours later he sent a new text: “I’m going to sleep now. Think about it for eight hours and get back to me.”
His friend texted back as soon as he woke up: “Traveling to Raqqa now sounds ***extremely dangerous.”
Sadiq wrote back saying MI6 had requested he come. That the British were going to help him with the rescue operation. Four agents from Dubai were going to assist. British Intelligence wanted to recruit him.
A few days later he got in touch again. “I’m in Raqqa. Unbelievable.”
“You’re joking!” his friend replied.
“I’m serious.”
“Keep your head down!”
Later that day his friend heard that a mutual acquaintance had run into Sadiq at the local Oslo shopping center.
* * *
Sadiq the poet had taken hold of his mind.
He had met MI6 in Hatay, he said. Four agents had flown in from Dubai to meet him. They had outlined a plan on a grand scale for extracting his daughters, he revealed.
He said he had passed the taxi driver’s exam. Now all he needed was a written statement from the police stating he had no criminal record and a certificate of health from a doctor, and he could start applying for jobs. But he spent his days at the computer.
In the wake of the terror attacks on Paris in mid-November, the president of France, François Hollande, vowed vengeance on IS. Two days later, French fighters struck twenty targets, including command centers, recruitment bases, munitions depots, and training camps. But the problem for France, and for the coalition, was that there were still four hundred thousand civilians in Raqqa who were not allowed to leave. The hospitals were in danger of running out of blood.
As the situation for the girls, and their babies, seemed increasingly perilous and life in Bærum lacked direction, Sadiq became more focused on traveling again. The rescue operations he rehearsed in his head grew ever more spectacular. British and Somali intelligence services were involved, as well as French counterterrorist units. He also featured. “I have to go in myself to save my daughters. That’s just how it is,” he told friends. But he needed to get some money together.
He was broke. The refrigerator was empty. He sent the bulk of each welfare payment to Sara and the household in Somalia every month. He had already alienated friends by borrowing too much; he could not ask them for more.
The newspaper was his only option. His contacts in Raqqa had tipped him off about a big story, he told them, and promised photographs. Bingo, 3,000 kroner in his hand.
Dagbladet ran the story on December 18, 2015. “Exclusive—272 IS fighters lying low in Europe. 150 more terrorists on the way.” Sadiq’s inventions had again led to front-page news.
“Dagbladet can reveal details of two waves of IS terrorists specially trained to strike at targets in Europe. The first wave is reportedly in place. The second contingent remains for the moment with IS in Syria, having completed training at a camp situated between Sinjar and Mosul in Iraq.” Dagbladet wrote that the information had come from “a source with intimate knowledge of IS activities.”
The journalists could also relate, based on what Sadiq had told them, that the first wave had originally numbered 300 but 28 of these had lost their lives in Syria, in bombings, and other acts of war. This left 272, who were under “instructions to lie low.”
The second wave was for the moment in Syria: “112 have completed their training” and the terrorists were traveling “in 11 cars.” The article did not lack details. “One group has been trained to martyr themselves by carrying out suicide attacks. The individuals have been described to Dagbladet as ‘completely brainwashed.’ The other type of terrorists have been drilled in performing acts of terror using firearms and fitted with suicide belts.” The journalists added, “Both methods were utilized in the terrorist attacks in Paris on November 13.”
The journalists wrote that “PST confirm that the information was known to them prior to Dagbladet contacting them.”
This was incorrect. PST had denied any knowledge of the story. The journalist who had been in touch with them had been so doubtful about the veracity of the information that he revealed the source of the story to PST: the father from Bærum.
The newspaper decided to run the story all the same. The spread gave the impression of Dagbladet being well-informed, of almost being on the ground in Syria, and being privy to IS terror plans. And it sold newspapers, as playing on fear often does. Terrorism experts in Oslo shrugged. The details were too precise to be true. It was not uncommon in the Arab world to use precise, preferably irregular numbers, to grant a dubious news story credibility: 300 terrorists, minus 28 killed, 272 left. A photograph of a building and a large crater accompanied the text. The caption read: “A source, who has previously given reliable information, claims that planning related to the attack in Europe took place at this building in Raqqa. Photo: private.”
Sadiq and Osman had delivered to order: something about jihadists, preferably Norwegian, with pictures.
* * *
The third holiday season without the girls was drawing close.
Ismael returned home from Vestfold University College. He had changed his major midway through the semester. Nanotechnology was not the right fit after all. He was now aiming to become an automation engineer, designing, creating, developing, and managing automated systems, which the prospectus stated meant “systems collecting data from sensors, supervising, controlling, and regulating processes according to given rules and purposes.”
Concrete. Tangible. Verifiable. Ismael had found his niche.
Just before Christmas, after several months without a word, Leila got in touch. It took its customary form, as
