the strictest interpretation of Sharia law. Given a choice, he would have seen every woman in every country around the world covered from head to toe in a burqa, hidden from the world, deprived of an education, circumcised, and forbidden from any type of career pursuits. “A good beginning,” he would cal it. Saad bin Laden was considered by some to be Al Qaeda’s most important military advisor. He was ruthless, brutal, and streetwise.
Imam Khamiz was a member of Iran’s Supreme Islamic Shi’ite Council. He was Ayatol ah Khameini’s personal military advisor and a man abundantly wealthy thanks to kickbacks and political favors accumulated over the previous two decades. The three men were talking heatedly about Iraq and how best to turn the turmoil eating away at the country to their advantage.
“The most important battle is that of Baghdad and the rising conflict between Sunni and Shia,” bin Laden was saying, his elbows anchored to the table.
“Everyday our explosives instil more and more fear in the people. Every day the government grows more and more impotent. And every day the infidel Americans are closer to putting their tails between their legs and running home. The one thing we need to push the situation closer to the brink is more explosive devices. Many more.”
“Blessings upon you both for the many good deeds you perform in the name of Islam,” the Imam Khamiz said calmly as he put down his glass of tea. “You must understand that our factory owners have families to provide for, and they are entitled to a smal profit after they pay their workers. I’m sure you would both agree.”
The imam waited for one of the men to refute this claim, but neither did. So he went on, saying, “Now you, al-Fayez, have not paid for our aid in a year, despite your assurances to the contrary. And you, Saad bin Laden, have paid nothing since Ramadan. Am I mistaken?”
Again, neither associate protested. “Our government cannot continue to provide for your movements without the compensation necessary. It is impossible.”
“With al due respect, Imam Khamiz, have you forgotten the humiliation heaped upon us these last years?” demanded al Fayez angrily. “We have been driven from our homes and sacred Mosques and now live in the mountains fighting the infidel as if we were animals. I know the Prophet, peace be upon him, would favor our plea for more arms and more munitions. When we retake our country, we wil pay your arms manufacturers with the profits reaped from the sale of abandoned American military equipment and from the ransoms we wil col ect. You must help. Our cause is your cause. And when we win, we wil be as one nation, and no one would dare attack us. You must help. It is your responsibility in the name of Al ah.”
The man from Al Qaeda was calmer but no less adamant. “Our goals are the same, imam. We, too, wish to unite Iraq under your sacred flag. You know that. And you can foresee the benefits to Iran. We wil pay you what we owe from ransom monies we are col ecting today and from oil profits we wil reap tomorrow. You have my word.”
“I hear your pleas, my friends,” the imam said. “And I wil present them to the Ayatol ah forthwith.”
“How soon?” the Al Qaeda leader asked. “Our needs are urgent.”
“If al goes wel , I wil give you his answer in two day’s time. Let us pray that the Prophet, peace be upon Him, would approve.”
BASRAH, IRAQ
LATE ON A moonless night, five Arab men, their faces covered with lengths of head dress, hid behind rubble alongside a potholed dirt road not far from Basrah, the Persian Gulf gateway in the south of Iraq. They held captive a bound and gagged British Army sergeant named Keith Price. Despite the passing of a sandstorm, the men were patient. They knew that sooner or later a British search party would be along. The British were predictable that way: every man accounted for; no man left behind. It was a philosophy that played perfectly into the hands of gueril a fighters who were loathe to look their enemy straight in the eye.