THE ALITALIA FLIGHT to Italy left the last official day of spring with forty tourists, Sam and Sarah.
“I’ve been waiting for this trip al year,” Sarah said to her husband as the plane settled over the Atlantic Ocean. “Two glorious weeks in Sicily, our first time there. I’m so proud.”
“Just two weeks out of the office is enough for me,” Sam said, squeezing her hand.“But I do have to say how much I am looking forward to seeing Taormina.”
The planned motor coach tour began in Palermo, proceeded south-west to Trapani, then east to Agrigento and Syracusa, north to Taormina, and then west along the north coast through Cefalu. The scenery was incomparable. On the way from Syracusa to Taormina, Sam narrated a few minutes of island history and ended by saying, “We’l be in Taormina in about twenty minutes, and I guarantee you’l find it one of the most beautiful places anywhere. Except for the tour we have planned to the old converted synagogue on the Corso, you’l be on your own for two days, so enjoy it.
“I wil say this, the Corso is exceptional. There are no cars al owed, only pedestrians. It overlooks the Mediterranean facing to the east. You know, Winston Churchil always said Taormina was his favorite place on earth. Our tour of the old synagogue wil begin at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning in the lobby of our hotel. Don’t be late. You don’t want to miss this one.”
The group assembled the fol owing morning promptly at nine. A bus dropped them outside the Corso. The tour was casual, and Sam’s commentary was sporadic. The group strol ed past the many boutiques and eateries for which the Corso was so famous.
At the end of the Corso stood an ancient structure of questionable origins. Sam and Sarah had enlisted the assistance of a local guide for this part of the tour, and the man began with a chronological explanation of important events and dates that had affected the structure over the centuries.
“If you look above the entrance, you can see that the Star of David remains there even after al these years,” said the guide in accented English. He used an open hand to invite the group inside. It was a stately, immensely sacred structure, and it was easy to understand why the guide spoke with such pride. In a hushed tone, he said to them, “Please take note of the wood holding up the ceiling and shaping the dais. It’s hundreds of years old. And the tile there is…”
Those were his last words. A tremendous explosion suddenly blew through the structure and ensured that no human being would ever again enjoy the old synagogue. It simply existed no longer.
The headline in La Sicilia the next day proclaimed the deaths of fifty-seven people on the Corso in Taormina, forty-two of whom were American Jewish tourists visiting an important historical site. They were kil ed by a powerful explosion, believed to have been detonated by Muslim terrorists, which demolished the structure of an ancient synagogue.
11 – TRAINING - SLAUGHTER
NEW YORK CITY
DESPITE THE OPPRESSIVE heat of a July day in midtown Manhattan and the mass migration of vacationers headed for the beaches at the Hamptons, Montauk, the Catskil s, or the New Jersey shore, three very powerful oil executives flew into the city Thursday morning for a much anticipated rendezvous with a highly respected col eague who had struck a chord with them only four days before with his speech at the Refiners Association in Houston. Actual y, the heat was hardly a factor for these three. After al , they were picked up at the airport by temperature-control ed limousines and taken directly to the Davis International Building, where they were met by the sort of youthful escorts that take the sting out of any weather, inclement or otherwise, and rode a private elevator to the eighth-floor offices of the Mil ar Trading Company. The conference room inside was a temperate seventy degrees. Lunch was catered by the five-star Imperial Elixir restaurant and served by Chef Theo Blaze himself. First class would not have come close to describing it, but then, Jackson Leyland, the wily CEO of Dalton Oil; Kenneth Weidler, the chairman of the board of Castlebeck Shipping and Refinery; and Newt Hanson, founder of Hanson Dril ing and Exploration, were accustomed to luxury. A smoothly operating organization was an expectation.
There were five chairs and five place settings. The fifth was occupied by Herb Bentz, whom Alan introduced as “the former deputy director of the CIA and a close friend.” Leyland, Weidler, and Hanson were not in awe; what they were was impressed and pleased. The involvement of a man with Herb’s credentials signaled the depth of Alan’s commitment to take a stand against the terrorist factions creating havoc with their organizations and damaging their business interests.
“Herb has been a longtime consultant to Davis Industries, gentlemen, and I respect his knowledge of the intel igence world because of his under-standing of the people with whom we’re dealing. Herb’s also got a list of contacts in the intel igence world that can’t be beat.”
Herb made the rounds, shaking hands and fielding the usual niceties that he so thoroughly despised. “Thanks for coming,” he said three times and spiced it with a couple of “heard a lot about you” type accolades.
Lunch was served with iced tea and sparkling water; no one requested alcohol, and Alan didn’t offer. They talked sports and politics, and when no one could agree on the fate of the Yankees so early in the season or who the Republican nominee for president would be, they pushed aside their plates and got down to business.
Alan began by saying, “By now you are al aware that we suffered some pretty significant sabotage at our Riyadh refinery. You may have guessed that the culprits were radical Muslim fanatics, and you probably don’t need to be told that no one has been arrested or charged or ever wil be.”
“Saudi security has about as much teeth as my ninety-year-old mother,” Newt said.
“Tel me this. How did the bulk of the world’s oil supply end up in the hands of a bunch of spineless wimps who can hardly blow their noses without an American engineer holding their hands?” Weilder queried rather bluntly.
“A question worthy of the ages, my good friend,” Newt replied.
“After the attack,” Alan continued, “I needed someone to assess the damage in Riyadh, and Dan Mil ar already had arranged his plane ticket before I could even think of suggesting someone else, not that I would have.”
“Dan was murdered, col ateral damage when the plane he was riding in was blown out of the sky.”
“Dan was a good egg, Alan,” Jackson Leyland said, “smart and funny and way too young to die, much less die like that.”
“Second that,” Newt said, and Weilder pursed his lips and nodded.
“Thanks, gents. I appreciate that,” Alan said, “and Dan was more than just a good egg; from a corporate perspective, he was an invaluable asset. I believe we have a right to protect our assets, gentleman, no matter where they are, and on behalf of al stockholders, we have an absolute OBLIGATION to do so. I have to think the three of you agree since you’re here today.”
Alan al owed their server to pour coffee before sending him out. When the door closed behind him, Alan nodded toward Herb and said, “Now I’d like Herb to tel you about the real world as seen through the eyes of a man who’s been a little closer to the trenches than we have. Herb?”
“Thanks, Alan.” Herb rocked forward in his chair and anchored his elbows on the table. He looked from man to man and said, “Gentleman, if you take nothing else home with you today, I think it’s vital as hel that you recognize that America is at war today as much as we were in Korea or in Vietnam. There’s a difference, of course. We’re not doing battle these days with another nation, one with a flag and borders and uniforms. The enemy in this war is a bunch of suicidal fanatics without a country or nationalistic pride or family back home to fight for. What do these people want? They want to impose their ideology on an entire planet.
“They want to impose the kind of law that gives them the right to kil anyone at anytime for any belief or any deed that is opposed to their constantly fluctuating interpretations of their own law no matter how far afield those interpretations may be from the truth as seen by most ordinary Muslims. Amazingly, they seem to have an unlimited supply of Muslim fanatics wil ing to commit suicide in the name of murder and mayhem and Al ah. They cal their victims infidels. And what’s an infidel? An infidel is anyone not agreeing with their warped interpretation of the Qur’an––pretty simple, absolutely nefarious.”
Herb let the words sink in before he slapped the tabletop with his palm and went on. “Are they organized? Yes, they are. They even have their own schools. They cal them Madrassas. Madrassas originated in Saudi Arabia, but now they’re popping up al over the Middle East, Europe, North Africa, and Southeast Asia. It’s a pretty simple curriculum real y. They take a bunch of young, dirt poor kids and promise them eternal bliss in paradise with an endless supply of virgins, and to attain this paradise, al they have to do is give themselves up to something cal ed martyrdom. What better way to manufacture murderers? You convince a boy he has nothing and promise him everything. You tel them Al ah thinks this martyr gig is the best thing since sliced bread. You tel them the Prophet approves wholeheartedly, and it’s like leading a horse with a carrot on a stick.”
Herb went on. “Strangely, if not surprisingly, most of their victims have been the good, law abiding Muslims who just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“So what’s the best way to fight this threat? You fight it with the very people it’s hurting the most, good, law abiding Muslims who hate Al Qaeda and everything terrorists stand for as much as you and I do.
“We must find these Muslims and, believe me, they exist aplenty. Those who see the light but are hesitant to join with us might need to be motivated. You try to make them realize they and their families are the real victims today and that they have the most to lose tomorrow; failing this, simply move on to the next candidate. You must compel the Muslim world to stand up against the very people who are mocking their exis-tence every single day.”
Herb sat back now and wrapped his hands around his coffee cup. “The good news is that Alan has come up with a strategy to do just that. It’s a strategy that’s in operation right now, and it could very wel help to turn the tide.”
“Thanks, Herb.”
Alan saw that his three guests had hunched forward in their seats, and he mimicked their position without being too aggressive. Then Alan said, “I hate to use the word confidential, my friends, but this is that kind of conversation. I hope everyone’s comfortable with that.”
“Say no more,” Newt Hanson replied. “I think the three of us are counting on that as wel .”
“Lunch with a col eague and friend,” Jackson Leyland said.
“Yankee talk,” the Castlebeck chairman added.
“I appreciate it,” Alan said. “Okay, so the fanatics we’re talking about come in al shapes and sizes, but the umbrel a name we al know is Al Qaeda. So we have chosen an Arabic name for our organization to counter that. We cal our operation Adala, which means ‘justice’ in Arabic.”
“Apropos,” Weidler said, nodding his approval.
“Our aim is to put as many terrorist leaders as we can find behind bars or out of commission. If they happen to end up six feet under ground, we won’t complain,”
Alan said as he watched their faces for signs of shock, apprehension, or hesitation. If he saw anything at al that a good psychiatrist could identify, it was genuine interest.
Good, Alan thought. “Here’s how it works. Adala is recruiting young American Muslims who have come to abhor the work of terrorists and the shame they have brought to fol owers of Islam. We are training them to act as espionage agents abroad. Their mission is to travel where needed and to gather the kind of incriminating evidence about terrorist activity that can be given to foreign intel igence agencies for purposes of counter terrorism, to aid in any investigations they may be conducting, and even to aid in successful prosecution.”
“You’re recruiting and training spies, in other words,” Newt Hanson said straight out.
“Ful time, ful y committed spies. That’s right.”
“We cal them OWLs,” Herb said, “and let me tel you that the Western world is desperate for such operatives. You can pose the question to any-one in the intel igence world, and they wil tel you just how desperate they are for exactly the kind of infiltration units we’re training.”
“And we intend to fil the void or at least a part of the void,” Alan added. “We have gotten hundreds of inquiries. We go very deep before we even mention a job description, and when we decide to make an offer, we make sure it comes with a compensation package that makes it worth their while.”
“We’ve started smal ,” Herb said. “We now have six OWLs in training ful time at our facility in Texas.”
“Texas!” This was the first sign of genuine surprise on the part of any-one in their audience, and it was Texas-based Newt Hanson who expressed it.“Where?”
“Out in the middle of nowhere, believe me.”
“You just described the entire state to a tee, Herb,” Newt assured him. This caused a ripple of laughter, and the laughter defused the tension. Alan was glad to see it.
“Herb and I wil try to answer any and al of your questions, gentle-men,” Alan assured them, “but first the sales pitch. Yes, I asked you here to aid Adala. I know you won’t be surprised when I say one of the ways you can do that is financial y. It’s not an inexpensive proposition, but I intend to keep our supporters smal in number and very private. You can also help our cause by getting your own people overseas more involved. How? Just by being more aware and more alert and by giving them someplace private and secure where they can go to pass on any information they think might be relevant. ”
ADALA TRAINING CAMP, TEXAS
AT ADALA’S TEXAS training ranch northeast of El Paso, Captain Jamie Whyte and Dr. Paul Flue were deep into the instruction of six OWLs, including the Khalid brothers. The six were slowly morphing from ordinary men with average jobs and normal dreams into soldiers and technicians, agile men viewing the world through the eyes of spies and infiltrators. They didn’t talk about the things that once occupied their minds, like work and women, bowling or pool, food or religion. They talked about deception and safety, the art of lying, quiet manipulation, strength of body and mind, and most of al the excitement of going
“under,” as Jamie cal ed it.
“An OWL must be invisible at al times; a HAWK must never be seen,” he was tel ing them after two hours on the obstacle course. “Your life may depend on it. We can see from the Al Qaeda manual how much they emphasize invisibility; the Adala techniques must be even more subtle. They require intel igence, and you have been chosen because you possess that. An OWL is a thinking man who sees three steps ahead of himself at al times. An OWL is an intuitive man who anticipates opportunity as much as he does potential problems or danger. A HAWK is no less diligent.”
He looked at them one by one and was impressed with how attentive they were becoming, even with rivers of sweat pouring down their faces and aching muscles. “You do that from here on out every moment of your lives. You live as OWLs. You think as HAWKs. You never let your guard down at dinner, or when you’re under the covers in your bunk, or when you’re in the latrine relieving yourselves—Never—Is that clear?”
He was pleased at the nods. “On some assignments there wil be two OWLs playing out their parts, gathering information, living the life of a native from the moment you enter the badlands. You wil only see your fel ow OWL when you must work together in order to accomplish your assignment. If you see him at other times––he does not exist.
“Each of you is being trained to act as both OWL and HAWK. You are learning to infiltrate seamlessly. You are learning to kil skil ful y, confidently, and successful y every time. And you are learning to kil without remorse. So this evening, starting right now, we are going to discuss the art of kil ing. We are going to discuss a dozen ways to kil with your hands, with a blade, with a gun, with explosives, with fire, with a stick or a rock or a pil ow; quietly, effectively, efficiently, and most importantly, with utter deadliness.
“And since we’re almost two miles from a hot dinner, we jog,” Dr. Flue exhorted them. “We jog with clear minds and free spirits, right men? Let’s do it.”
And so they set out running, eight shadows blending in with the setting sun and the coming of evening.
“Pop quiz,” Flue cal ed to them. “OWL #1. Give us one efficient way to kil the enemy.”
“By gunfire,” Hamud Khalid cal ed back. “Shoot the target.”
“Good,” Flue replied. “And what do we need to learn about the art of gunfire?”
“First, we know our weapon—know it as wel as we know our-selves. Whether the weapon is a rifle, pistol, or automatic weapon, the shooter must be wel trained for accuracy, range, weather, versatility, and best use.”
They started up the hil in the direction of the ranch house. Heavy breathing fil ed the air. “What else, OWL #2?” cal ed the doctor, a superbly conditioned athlete who had yet to break a sweat.
“The weapon must be of the highest quality and in excel ent condition,” was the OWL’s answer.
“Good. OWL #3! What can you add?”
“Nothing, sir.”
Suddenly Jamie Whyte was in his face shouting, “Have you learned nothing?
You have to be able to kil with one shot. You must know the body so wel that one shot is al you need. Is it the head? The heart? The torso? Tonight you wil spend two hours after dinner with the manual, OWL #3, and you wil recite the kil points in your sleep. And in order to kil with one shot, you need what, OWL
#4?”
“The target must be within your range of accuracy.”
“Exactly. The head, the heart, and the torso. In that order. Are we clear?” Flue shouted.
“Clear, sir,” they responded as one.
“Pistol, rifle, automatic weapons, it makes no difference; the rules always apply.”
“Yes, sir!”
Now the former Navy Seal cal ed out, “OWL #4! Give us another method of assassination.”
“Accident, sir, or at least what appears to be an accident.”
“Example.”
“An accidental fal of more than seventy-five feet, drowning, a fire, stepping in front of an oncoming train or heavy truck.”
“Very good, #4. Remember this, HAWKs, if you choose an accident as your kil ing method, you must plan every detail down to the last split second because you wil likely never get another chance, and failure is unacceptable. Plan the kil , plan the exit, plan your extraction from the country––everything down to the most minute of details.”
They jogged. Dinner was a half-mile away. Dr. Flue shouted, “OWL #5. Another method, please.”
“An edged weapon such as a knife, dagger, ax, or foil; pointed weapons such as an ice pick, screwdriver, spike, or spear. Any or al are able to inflict a mortal wound if used properly, sir,” the trainee cal ed out.
“Sounds as though you’ve been reading from the manual, #5. Very good. Tomorrow we wil review where on the body the cutting edge is most effective and how best to make the enemy a dead enemy using pointed steel. One strike
—it’s al you get—one chance to put a terrorist out of business permanently!”
Jamie Whyte fel in next to OWL #6, their newest member. “Okay, Owl #6. Another method, please.”
“Drug overdose, sir.”
“Best drugs?”
“Morphine and heroin, sir.”
“What about poisons?”
“Arsenic, strychnine, cyanide, or even ethylene glycol or antifreeze, sir.”
“Exactly. You use what’s available. You use what the situation provides. You seek opportunity.” Jamie Whyte emphasized every word.
“You must know what constitutes a lethal dose. You must know how to inject the target. Needle, dart, capsule.” They reached the gate to the house and the former West Pointer cal ed to them. “Now quickly, one more each without hesitation.”
“Heavy object,” OWL #1 shouted. “A club or hammer.”
“Electrocution,” #2 cal ed.
“Suffocation,” #3 offered.
“Chemical gas,” #5 declared.
“Brass knuckles,” #4 said.
“Strangulation,” #6 ended.
“Good––very good,” their instructors said as they slowed to a walk.
“Now get some dinner and some rest,” Jamie Whyte ordered. “We start again at dawn.”
NEW YORK CITY
THE HEAT WAVE embroiling the eastern seaboard pushed temperatures into the high nineties. The humidity was so palpable that the only escape was someplace ful y air conditioned or a rooftop swimming pool like the one above Alan and Aly’s penthouse suite.
Alan rarely used it, but an invitation from a gorgeous woman in a bikini was not something he intended to resist. Alan changed into his suit, and Aly led him up to the roof and into the water.
“So? Any cooler?” she asked.
“Like a new man,” Alan had to admit. “This heat has been enough to drive a man to drink. It’s as hot here as it is in Texas.”
“Let’s hope this heat wave doesn’t last too long,” Alan said, leading her into the family room. “Cocktail?”
“Love one––vodka on the rocks, if you would, please.”
“Why don’t you go to the bedroom and dry off? I’l bring your drink in,” Alan suggested.
The television in the bedroom was on when Alan arrived with matching drinks in each hand. Aly normal y preferred CNN, but tonight she had switched on FOX
NEWS.
“Listen to this,” she said, a robe belted around her waist, and her hair pul ed back from her exotic face.
They stood in front of the television, sipping vodka on the rocks, and listening to a live report from somewhere along the Afghan-Pakistan border. The reporter was gesturing toward the rugged mountains stretching far into the distance and describing how Al Qaeda had re-grouped en masse in northwestern Pakistan and were, in his words, “At least as strong as they were when 9/11 occurred and better organized.”
According to the reporter, the terrorist group had supposedly formed an al iance with a number of local tribal leaders, had organized and equipped training camps, and their numbers were growing rapidly.
Alan swept up the remote control and muted the sound. He perched on the edge of the bed and sipped pensively on his drink. “You know, if Adala performs half as wel as I believe it wil , we won’t be a moment too soon.”
“You won’t have any trouble finding places to send your OWLs, that’s for sure,”
Aly said, running a comb through her hair. “The crazies just seem to be multiplying, aren’t they? There’s no end to it. What about those misguided screwbal s in New Jersey? The ones who were planning an assault on that army base? The fools didn’t even have weapons, for Heaven’s sake. But I don’t think guys like that are part of Al Qaeda, do you?”
“Look at what happened in England with those medical people––doctors, for Heaven’s sake––and they couldn’t even get their car bombs to detonate,” Alan said.
“Al Qaeda wannabes.”
“Probably. And they’re springing up al over the place desperate to share in the misguided glory of kil ing infidels, I guess.”
“Scary.”
“Scary—scary and dangerous.” Alan swal owed the rest of his drink. He carried his glass into the bathroom and studied his reflection in the mirror. “But those people in Jersey and London weren’t core Al Qaeda.
They wouldn’t make the sorts of mistakes those guys did. They cal them-selves Muslim, but they don’t give care about the Muslim people. They give their organizations clever names, but the names al mean the same thing: ‘Martyrs of Islam.’ ”
“Tough to combat,” Aly said, as she pul ed a nightgown over her head and fil ed a glass with water.
“That’s the problem. The modus operandi up to now is to wait for them to slip up or miscalculate and then pounce. It’s like waiting for an accident before you take proactive measures.” Alan turned away from the mirror and leaned on the counter. “In the meantime, we can’t tel the good guys from the bad guys, so we end up profiling al Muslims.
“Alan, that’s the absolute worst solution there is. It’s arbitrary and discriminatory!”
“You’re right, it’s terrible. Profiling isn’t even a good last resort, and we al do it. That’s one of the reasons I created Adala, Aly, to show the world that there are plenty of good, law abiding Muslims out there who hate what’s going on as much as you and I do.”
“The object is to have Muslims get up and take a firm stand. They’re silent because they’re afraid,” she replied.
“Wel , time to stop being afraid. Hopeful y we can help change that. When the world sees a handful of good Muslims taking the fight to the Al Qaedas of the world, things wil be different.”
Aly faced him. “I hope and pray you’re right.”
Alan turned back the covers on his side of the bed and stacked two pil ows against the headboard. “By the way, the day after tomorrow I’m going to the ranch to see how things are going. I might be down there a while; we have six OWLs in training and more on the way.”
“And how’d your meeting go with your oil buddies this afternoon? Did they put their tails between their legs and run for cover?”
“They did just the opposite. They broke out their checkbooks and pledged five mil ion bucks each in support of Adala; and that’s just the beginning.”
“That’s great!” Aly was pleasantly shocked. “So they got it? It made sense to them.”
“It obviously made a lot of sense to them. You fight fire with fire, and the guy with the most fire usual y wins.”
MANCHESTER, ENGLAND
“IT IS TRUE that we are citizens of the United Kingdom, my brothers, but we are Muslims first!” Abdul bin Afari said to the group huddled in the basement room of the mosque on Perrimore Avenue. The room smel ed of curry and jasmine tea, but the air was also tinged with hostility and uncertainty. “We must remember always that we are on jihad! The time and place are not as important as the message. England is no less important a battleground than Iraq. Striking against the infidels has no boundaries. We must do the same here in the birthplace of imperialism and colonialism. Al ah expects no less of us. But we must pick our targets wisely; we must gauge a man’s importance and the impact of his death. We must also gauge the recognition it will bring us in the eyes of our brother jihadists.”
“Targets? Who are you talking about, Abdul?” asked one of the group. “A politician? A minister? A scholar? These are men who travel with guards and escorts, and men of our color can’t get anywhere near them.”
“Not to mention that we are only nine in number,” said another. “Not an overwhelming force.”
Abdul bin Afari was furious. He was almost shouting when he said, “The Prophet, peace be upon him, faced the impossible in Medina, did he not?
Unbelievable odds—but he was doing Al ah’s work, and thus he prevailed.”
“And we wil do the same,”