by Nathan Ronen
“My father the king, may he rest in peace, made me swear to pledge allegiance to the new king and watch over him, and that’s why he appointed me as the minister of the interior, in charge of the police and of internal and external security agencies. However, as someone who attended a private boarding school in England, and later the prestigious Princeton University in the United States, I have a hard time witnessing our country’s economic decline, dealing with the fact that less than half of our 30 million residents can read and write, and that the GDP per capita is less than $4,000 a year.
“In summary, I think that if we plan our steps wisely, our holy country will embark on a path of appropriate growth and development, and all of you sitting here around this table, whether in military uniform or as our country’s ministers, will be properly rewarded. Inshallah—God willing.” The prince rose from his seat and dramatically inquired: “And now I want to know: are you with me till the end?”
All attendees rose to their feet enthusiastically, shouting out: “Yaish16 Prince Mohammed Fouad Al Mansouri, we’re with you to the death!”
The prince ceremoniously extended his right hand, sporting a large ruby ring. One by one, the attendees approached him, kneeled and kissed his ring. He placed his hand on the head of each conspirator and said, “Allah be with you,” and was answered with “Inshallah.”
The room emptied out, until only the prince and the head of the DGED, General Abdelhak Kadiri, remained.
“Kadiri, my friend, you’ll travel to France and start heating things up around here from over there, focusing on three fronts:
“The first front will be opposite religious leaders, especially Islamic Jihad and al-Qaeda activists in France. You’ll agitate them, motivating religious officials both over there and over here to act against what we’ll term ‘the evil Western infidels ruling our country.’ I expect them to issue fatwas and preach in the mosques. You’ll anonymously encourage and fund them. Entrust them with incriminating material about the behavior of the king and his people and transfer money to fund their activity. Don’t forget that there are about 6.5 million Muslims in France itself. Make sure they talk to the local media about their concern over Morocco’s loss of control and how it’s sinning against the values of Islam. Not a word about an Islamic revolution. No talk about a Muslim caliphate. Everything should be expressed diplomatically.
“You’ll also be in charge of establishing a Muslim charity based in Marseille, supposedly collecting funds for the poor of Morocco and assisting the families of victims of the monarchy. You’ll convey these funds to Islamic Jihad fighters who will carry out terrorist attacks in Morocco, in accordance with the locations and dates I’ll give you.
“The second front will be opposite the criminal element here in Morocco as well as in Marseille. These are people who have power but no brains. They’re motivated solely by lust for power and money. Grab hold of the strongest one who’s baring his teeth, and slaughter him in the central square, in front of everyone. The rest of them will get the message. We need them to be our executive arm. In return, we’ll look the other way when they carry out their drug deals, deal in stolen merchandise and engage in sex trafficking to Europe.
“The third front will be opposite the young computer experts we’ve already recruited in France, the hackers. During my last visit to Moscow, I was introduced to two groups of hackers working on behalf of the Russian government. The first is called Cozy Bear, or The Dukes, a group of hackers working for FSB, the Russian Federal Security Service. They’re experts on spreading paranoia and disinformation on social networks. Another group is Fancy Bear, also known as Tsar Team, specializing in hacking the emails of policymakers, military personnel and government agencies, and leaking them to WikiLeaks and the foreign press as needed. I prefer that our young people work from their own homes or other locations. I don’t want our fingerprints on this, and I don’t want the French defense agencies to start sniffing around and report us to the king and his people. All of their activity must take place in the dark depths of the internet, and any fund transfers should be carried out so that their source is undetectable. The Americans have invested massive funds in data-collection capabilities. But we’re small and have no inhibitions, and so I think we can fool the NSA and the French.”
Kadiri smiled in satisfaction as he heard the plan that he himself had conceived of and designed, which the prince was now presenting as his own ideas.
“I want you to camouflage our activity as funds transferred by the Iranians or the Qataris. Anyway, Western intelligence agencies will be predisposed to label it an Iranian action targeting Israel and the Saudis, or an action by Qataris who support the Islamic Jihad.”
“You can trust me, Your Highness,” Kadiri said, averting his eyes.
* * *
16 “Long live Prince Mohammed.”
Chapter 29
The New Mosque, Marseille
On Friday, two weeks later, an hour before dawn in the La Castellane neighborhood in Marseille, the muezzin burst from the loudspeakers, calling out, “Allahu akbar—God is great.” It was the eve of Eid al-Adha, the Muslim Sacrifice Feast, in which pilgrims traditionally make the journey to Mecca.
The masharati, in charge of waking the Muslim believers, walked through the streets, ringing his big bell, knocking on doors, and urging devout Muslims to rise early for prayer on the day preceding the holiday called Waqfat Arafat, in which Muslims dedicate many hours to prayer, listen to a sermon and vocally express their surrender to God. In this neighborhood, which was entirely Muslim, as well as in many of the other northern neighborhoods of Marseille housing more than a million Muslims, many had been rising to pray even before dawn broke.
The streets of the Mediterranean city were festively decorated, its groves shining with colorful lights in honor of Eid al-Adha. In commerce areas and malls, preparations had been made for a massive wave of shopping for food, clothing and gifts in expectation for the important holiday meal. The largest Muslim city in France had embraced the holiday spirit.
The traditional and familial nature of the holiday motivated even secular Muslims to take part in prayers and community events. The prayers and participation in religious classes and sermons enhanced the religious faith of those residents who sensed and adopted the spirit of the festivities within the neighborhood.
Despite the municipal authorities’ attempts to clean up the neighborhood in preparation for the holiday, garbage trucks were often attacked with Molotov cocktails by anarchistic, mask-clad youths, resulting in smelly piles of trash around the garbage cans. These were set on fire by unknown perpetrators, leaving behind a heavy stench of smoke that undermined the festive atmosphere.
In the lawns between the houses, sheep were slaughtered for the holiday, leaving behind bloodstains, scraps of meat and skin that attracted flies and emitted a heavy stench. In the balconies of the houses, facing the sea breeze, the skinned carcasses were hung on hooks, waiting to be prepared.
At the end of the mass morning prayer held in Marseille’s new, large mosque, thousands of congregants exited into the streets with a loud commotion, dispersing to “The Projects,” their white walls tagged with graffiti condemning the government and the municipality, and praising Islam and the Palestinians. The Muslim believers greeted each other following the holiday prayer, shaking hands and declaring “Kal am wantum bahir—have a happy holiday.”
In the spacious mosque, its size eclipsing the adjacent church, in a side room with a large ceiling fan, seven barefoot men were sitting on the green carpet. They were wearing festive jellabiyas, white skullcaps, each of them holding a Koran in a green leather binding.
The study circle was led by the mosque’s imam, Haj Nour el-Din Sheikh, sporting a white beard but no mustache. An innocent bystander might have believed he was observing an advanced lesson in Islam given by the mosque’s preacher. However, a professionally trained eye woul
d certainly recognize some familiar faces from the records of the police and the French DGSI17. These were the leaders of Jihad al Maghreb—the Maghreb Islamic Jihad, active in North Africa, who had gathered here for a scheduled assembly, along with preachers from various mosques in Muslim areas in nearby towns in the district of Provence. An impressive man dressed in a spotless jellabiya, its hem adorned with gold trim, was sitting next to the imam. He was a special guest who had arrived incognito from the old country, at the other end of the Mediterranean coast.
In the room, the imam opened the meeting with the traditional blessing before proceeding to his lesson: “Bismillah al rahim—in the name of Allah the merciful. A blessed Eid al-Adha holiday, my brothers. Thank you for coming here to this meeting under the patronage of the great Allah. According to our Muslim heritage, this holiday commemorates the date in which Muslims attained significant military victories over their enemies, contributing to the spread of Islam, such as the Battle of Badr, the Battle of Hattin and the Battle of Ain Jalut. This is the time when God blesses Muslims with victories over their enemies.”
One of the congregants cried out, “Takbir—God is the greatest,” while the attendees enthusiastically replied, “Allahu akbar,” repeating it three times.
Haj Nour el-Din grabbed hold of the Koran and cried out passionately: “The Koran is the personal word of Allah, conveyed by an angel to the Prophet Muhammad. Every word of the Koran is God’s speech, and therefore, it is not open to discussion or interpretation.”
Cries of agreement echoed all around.
“My brothers, we are currently in a new era of Islam, characterized by three stages: zhok. meaning awakening—the Muslim world was asleep, and now it is awakening and discovering its powers. The second stage is tashih—correction. And the third stage is intifada, meaning shaking off. Our brothers in the Islamic Jihad want to begin by purifying Islamic countries from a regime claiming to be Muslim, but in fact comprised of infidels. We will then have the power and might to employ what’s called dar al-harb—to use the power of the sword to deal with crusaders, Jewish dogs and infidel European and American pigs. We are already in the second phase. Islam no longer needs to surrender to the infidel Western world.”
“Inshallah! There is no god but Allah and Muhammad is his prophet!” one of the listeners shouted out enthusiastically.
The guest from Morocco, introduced as “the prince’s emissary” without naming him explicitly, observed the men before him and said in French: “Brothers, our goal is to topple the evil, anti-Muslim and pro-Western regime of the current king of Morocco, Mohammed the Sixth. I want to expose the lie of the one that Islam terms Amir al-Mu’minin, or ‘Commander of the Faithful,’ and seemingly attributes with a special air of holiness, as the descendant of a dynasty traced back to the Prophet Muhammad.”
His listeners reacted with murmurs of disbelief.
“I know that what I’m saying right now sounds like treason to you. But every one of you sitting here with us has suffered the long arm of the Moroccan Mukhabarat intelligence agency, headed by the cruel Daris al-Basri, head of our country’s security service. Am I right?”
Murmurs of agreement were heard in the crowd.
“Ever since the attacks carried out by the Islamic Jihad on Casablanca tourism and government centers in 2003, the Mukhabarat has struck out with force against the Moroccan Islamic movement, targeting and cruelly torturing our people, raping our wives and daughters and seizing our property.”
The mumbles of agreement increased in volume.
“Under the influence of the current king, and in a false presentation of democracy, his friends have founded the new ruling party, the Authenticity and Modernity Party, which, lo and behold, attained an absolute majority within a year of its establishment. Their agenda is clear: remove our Muslim brothers from the political scene, and enforce the values of the corrupt West, decadent modernity.”
The response was more cries of agreement and enthusiasm.
The prince’s emissary could read his audience like an open book. He had them in the palm of his hand now.
“Did you know that according to telegrams sent by the American Embassy and exposed in WikiLeaks, the ambassador complained in a telegram to Washington about ‘the repellent greed of the king’s associates’?”
They thirstily drank in these revelations, hostility toward the current king surging within them.
“But all that, my dear brothers, pales in comparison to this king’s heresy toward Islam itself. It’s inconceivable that the leader of the Alawite Kingdom, an Islamic king descended from the Prophet Muhammad himself, may he rest in peace, would be a person who is not into women, if you know what I mean.”
“But he’s married and has a child,” one of the attendees whispered in his neighbor’s ear.
The response was a snort of derision. “It’s all a façade. He’s a pervert.”
“We of the Maghreb Islamic Jihad are part of the brotherhood of Islam’s global Salafist battle. We believe in violent, uncompromising struggle, through military activity against the enemies of Islam. This is a sacred duty to which the individual is obligated, a goal in itself rather than merely a means for attaining one. It includes fighting against secular Arab regimes that do not govern based on God’s rules, and therefore are considered infidels, and we are justified in acting to bring about their downfall.
“We will need your help here in reinforcing our brothers fighting for the Maghreb Islamic Jihad in Morocco, through financial donations and political support in all the social networks, online, in the French Parliament, where you have Muslim representatives, and in any other way you can think of. We need you here as the foundations of the Islamic intifada we will stir up in Morocco. You will attack the corruption of the monarchy and agitate in Islamic centers in Morocco and North Africa. In the name of Allah, on this holy Feast of Sacrifice, this is the time when God blesses Muslims with victories over their enemies. Simultaneously, we will attack from the inside, with the help of our brothers in al-Qaeda.”
They rose as one, warmly embracing the “prince’s emissary,” whose identity remained unknown, for now.
He exited the mosque, walked to a nearby corner and called his master. “The first phase of Operation Emissary of Islam was successful,” he whispered.
“Excellent. Move on to the second phase,” he heard the voice of Minister of the Interior Prince Mansouri. “I’m sending Iman al-Uzbeki as your executive arm. He knows what needs to be done.”
* * *
17 The General Directorate for Internal Security, France’s internal security agency, resembling the FBI and the Israeli Shin Bet.
Chapter 30
Noailles Market, Marseille
Most tourists who arrived at the Old Port of Marseille and the beach promenade were unaware that a few blocks inland from the port’s charming façade was the Marche de Noailles, Noailles Market, where the spoken language was solely Maghrebi Arabic. The amazing part was the inconceivable proximity, a mere five-minute walk, between the welcoming European appearance of the Old Port of Marseille and a site so rife with tension that the atmosphere could be cut with a knife. A tourist wandering in from the outside would have a hard time deciding whether he was in France or North Africa.
Many of the city’s residents shopped in the Noailles neighborhood. The market was breathtaking in its diversity, its stalls offering myriad fruits and vegetables from all over the world, as well as ethnic restaurants bedecked with painted tiles, bakeries and stands offering baklawa pastries, dripping with honey, in a dizzying variety of tastes and shapes.
If there was one location where the tension between the police and the immigrant population was most prominent, it was at the exit of the Noailles metro station, leading into the heart of the market across from it. There, in Place des Capucins, at the base of a marble statue exemplifying the classic French style at its best, a
group of homeless people and panhandlers was sprawled out. Next to them was a group of gendarmes, French policemen scowling in their black uniforms. It was clear to any observer that the two groups, which were taking care not to make eye contact, had a mutual if unacknowledged hostile dynamic.
Within the market bustle, a slim, bent form was walking, wearing a hood and a striped wool jellabiya, head tilted toward the ground, perhaps attempting to evade the security cameras on the main street corners, to avoid facial recognition. Several feet behind the hooded form were two bodyguards, strolling like a pair of tourists exploring the market at leisure.
Loud whistles echoed from the direction of the market’s central square.
“What are these whistles?” the hooded form asked one of the guards in Arabic.
“Those are the ‘meerkats,18’” the bodyguard replied. “They whistle out an alarm the moment they note any strangers in their turf.”
“But they’re just little kids,” the hooded figure said, pointing at the whistling youths.
“The ‘meerkats’ are the lowest rank among the drug gangs. The gangs offer these young people a steady income that grants them social status as well as a feeling of self-esteem,” said the bodyguard, who had once been a ‘meerkat’ himself.
The hooded form paused next to a café with a sign declaring “Rashid’s Internet Café,” before slipping into the heart of the café, whose gates locked in his wake. The two burly bodyguards, maintaining a safe distance from the hooded figure, stayed behind in the doorway.
The man who entered was Rashid’s big boss, and Rashid rose reverently to greet him. The hooded man was head of Morocco intelligence, General Abdelhak Kadiri, who was directly subordinate to the king’s older brother, Prince Mohammed Fouad Al Mansouri, Morocco’s minister of the interior.
Rashid, seemingly the proprietor of the internet café, was in fact the manager of the Moroccan intelligence and defense agency’s station in Marseille, and the structure concealed behind the cafe contained residential apartments and safe houses, a well-furnished torture cellar, a sophisticated garage containing various vehicles, and a fully equipped arsenal.
