Ubaydullah operated like a travel agent. People who wanted to journey to Syria would call and he would arrange a meeting in a place where no one could eavesdrop, whether a parking lot, a gas station, or a rest stop. Dilal witnessed boys go from being mildly curious to thoroughly convinced, devoted Islamists. At times she quarreled with him about whether these young men actually understood what they were getting themselves into.
“They could die down there!”
“You’re worse than the infidels!” Ubaydullah complained.
Sometimes she accompanied him when he went to offer travel advice. She remained in the car, watching them work out plans and decide on the best route to take. The boys were instructed to shave their beards and dress in Western clothes to avoid arousing suspicion. Their friends and acquaintances were often enthusiastic about the trips. There was competition to be the one driving the fighters-to-be to the airport, with cars often packed with well-wishers from the Prophet’s Ummah eager to see them off. When Egzon left, several of his friends accompanied him to Albania on the first leg of his journey. Traveling to Syria to fight would not be proscribed under any specific domestic terrorism law until June 2013.
After a while Dilal listened with half an ear, brother such-and-such got in touch, Ubaydullah called up brother so-and-so, and there were code phrases: the bird has flown and the nest is ready.
At times Dilal did have doubts about the whole thing, about them, their feelings for each other, the marriage, but Ubaydullah would talk her into coming around. “Remember! Your family will never take you back, and if they did, it would only be to kill you.” One night after an argument he disappeared and returned with a cat. “This is all you need,” he said. “What do you want with a family who want you dead when you have me?”
When Ubaydullah began to talk about having children, the reality of her situation started to sink in. No, I can’t bring a child into this, she thought. It’s madness. I have to get out. Get away. I need to go home. Talk of a child made things seem so tangible, so final.
But the trees turned green and she was still with him. She looked out at the street. They lived on the thirteenth floor. It was a long way down. The miniature people below went in and out of shops, got into cars, drove off. All she had to do was sneak out while he was asleep. But where would she go? She had no home any longer, she had broken contact with her family. She had nowhere to go. Oslo had become a scary place.
So she stayed.
* * *
In early May 2013, the Akershus County Authority made their decision. Headwear covering the face was forbidden on school premises, both indoors and on the grounds.
The principal informed Ayan of the resolution in an e-mail. “I can understand if you are disappointed, but we have to abide by the decisions made by our politicians. That applies to you and me both.”
Ayan’s response was immediate. “This pathetic show of friendliness won’t do you any good at all. I have showed you ample respect and tolerance by contacting you in the first place and doing as you requested afterward. Do not expect the same friendliness or respect from me in the future.”
Hanne Rud stared at the screen. The tone was harsh, the message uncompromising.
She stood up and looked out the window. Some pupils ambled past. Others sat in groups on the grass. Exam time was just around the corner, summer after that. The e-mail had stirred her up. She sat back down. Then she forwarded it to the school’s liaison at the Asker and Bærum police station. The police sent it on to PST.
* * *
In a neighborhood on the east side of Oslo, Hisham’s wife was becoming increasingly unwell. She was spending more and more time in bed. She took no interest in life around her, hardly had anything to do with the baby, and was prone to sudden panic attacks.
Her father believed that supernatural forces were at work, that she had been possessed by jinn—small demons. He got in touch with a man at the Rabita Mosque. The Algerian who sometimes called the faithful to prayer was known to be able to exorcise spirits. They agreed that he would recite some verses of the Koran over her. These verses were believed to have a blessed, healing effect.
Several members of the mosque were inclined to explain illnesses by evil spirits taking control of a person’s body, especially if the illness was psychological. You read from the Koran, placed hands on the afflicted, sometimes holding the person down forcibly, and sometimes striking the individual, because the struggle the demons put up was powerful. But the devils would eventually be driven out by the words of the Koran. Because God was almighty.
Rabita Mosque is one of the largest in Norway, with more than twenty-four hundred members. It is open from morning to night, and surveillance cameras are in place at all the entrances and exits. Some sections are reserved for women, others for men. The mosque spreads out over four floors. It also houses common areas and rooms that can be locked. It was to one such room that Hisham’s wife was brought in the middle of May 2013.
She was instructed to sit on the floor. The Algerian began to read from the Koran. He thought he heard her call out in a deep, diabolical voice, far too low pitched to be that of a woman. He read. She groaned. He continued to read. She shouted something. As though the devil was talking through her, the Algerian believed. Then he began hitting her. The spirit fought. He struck her across the back. The spirit would not give in. He took off his plastic sandal and beat her. Eventually the girl was silent.
Basim Ghozlan, the leader of
