by Paul Clark
*****
In the alley it was very dark. Ahmed al-Kisani stirred, rolled to his right a little to ease the pain on his left side, and tried to swim up from the abyss of unconsciousness. The cat that’d been sniffing at his swollen face darted away and back into the shadows. Ahmed could not quite get his brain working, but somewhere some part of it decided that it was still dark, his cat had woken him as it often did, and there was plenty of time before morning, he should sleep. Another piece of his brain agreed, and he smiled a little and lapsed back into oblivion. “This is better anyway, it doesn’t hurt as much” was the last flash of intelligence before everything went black again.
In the distant northern suburbs of Paris Ibrahim bin Sultan al-Otaibi was getting a little worried. He had just finished Isha prayers in the mosque two blocks from his shabby apartment, and his main concern was finding some dinner, perhaps a lamb kebab and some shwarma, a kind of Middle-Eastern burrito. But he was also concerned about his man Ahmed, from whom he had not heard since about noon today. They did not have a set schedule for contacts when Ahmed was working on a tail job, “Perhaps,” he thought, “that would be a good policy for next time?” He made a mental note to add this as standard procedure, and to forward the idea to his control officer. “One of our biggest problems is we have to invent everything as we go along” he thought, referring to al-Qaeda, which indeed was his primary employer. “Until we know all the tradecraft, and have the resources to use it, the infidels will have the advantage.” Still, he knew that their anonymity was a nearly unbreakable code in itself, the bottomless pool of anonymous recruits from a hundred nations who could be called upon to serve the glorious cause. It was this that gave him comfort and the confidence that he could win.
“But,” he thought as he walked, “back to Ahmed. What is the problem there, or is there one? This Saudi General should be easy to follow, and Ahmed is one of my most skilled operatives, so I doubt he has lost him. Perhaps this General is just very active today? It is early after all, and Saudis dine late. If the man has met friends he will not dine until ten or so, leaving his family at the hotel. Might Ahmed have had some trouble? Unlikely. The General would feel secure here, think he was safe, and he had no help anyway. No, Ahmed must be working very hard tonight,” and at this he smiled. “Good, I think it will be a long day for him with this active General, but Ahmed should have much to report to me tomorrow, or even later tonight, God willing.” And for a moment he felt at peace, thinking of the lamb. But something did not seem quite right, and he came back to it. “No, something might not be right, and I cannot afford to let this one go. I will ask Salah to come in tonight, and tomorrow I will send him to the General’s hotel to watch. Ahmed will have a rest, and I will have his report, and just in case Ahmed has been spotted we will change up, and the General will go back to feeling comfortable.” These arrangements complete in his mind, he felt he had things in hand. There was nothing for it but to let his pieces play on the board, no use ruining this excellent lamb kebab, and he stepped into his restaurant, finding a table near the back.
