The Imam of Tawi-Tawi

by Ian Hamilton

  Elisha reached into the bag, took out a manila folder, and slid it across the table. Ava opened it and quickly read the immigration records of seven men aged twenty to twenty-seven, all with Middle Eastern family names. Their home addresses were in Belgium, the Netherlands, Syria, Lebanon, and Australia; two were from England. Everyone but the Australian had flown back to his home country after a stay of about a month. The Australian had left the Philippines after two months.

  “What are you thinking?” Elisha asked.

  “This confirms what I was told about the students being given the option to leave, and that’s a good thing.”

  “So my morning wasn’t entirely wasted?”

  “I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I thought it was,” Ava said. “It isn’t your or Zoey’s fault that the Zakat students left the country illegally. But given what we think they’re up to, it’s logical that they did.”

  Elisha leafed through the card copies in front of her and extracted ten. “I’ll take these to Zoey.”

  “You can leave the rest with me,” Ava said.

  ( 23 )

  It took a while for Ava to gather herself together after Elisha left the suite. The news about the landing cards had stunned her, and it had taken all her willpower to stay calm. But the moment the door closed behind Elisha, she felt a sense of helplessness wash over her.

  She sat at the table and stared blankly at the pile of cards. Now what the hell will I do? she thought. And how stupid am I going to look to Poirier and Dulles? I virtually guaranteed that I would be able to confirm names and have some idea of where everyone had gone. Now I’m almost back at square one in terms of being able to positively identify students.

  She picked up the manila folder. But I’ve got these, she thought. She leafed through the cards of the students who had left the school early and separated out the one with the name Jason Said on it. He was the Australian who had left the college after two months, presumably after he was asked to make the second commitment. If that was true, then he would have some knowledge of what the students were being asked to commit to.

  She checked the date of his departure, worked back two months, and then went through the other cards to find similar arrival dates. When she finished, she had more than fifty cards in a stack. Surely he had known some of them well enough to be able to verify that they were at the college with him. This gives me something positive to talk about with Dulles, she thought. And maybe Zoey will get lucky with the Malaysians and Indonesians. And maybe Wahab can help in Bongao. She picked up the phone.

  “This is Wahab,” he said.

  “It’s Ava. Is this a good time for me to call?”

  “Sure.”

  “I have something I want you to do for me,” she said. “It doesn’t appear that the students who left the college used normal commercial transport. There’s no record of them leaving from any of the airports. We think it’s possible they went to either Malaysia or Indonesia by sea. Do you have any contacts at the port in Bongao?”

  “We have some.”

  “See what you can find out.”

  “You think they may have chartered a boat?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’ll send a man to the port today to make some enquiries.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Is that all?”

  “For now.”

  “How is it going on your end?”

  “It’s far too soon to tell. Give me a couple more days and I may have something to report.”

  “Don’t forget about us.”

  Ava put down the phone, reached into her bag, and pulled out the business card Alasdair Dulles had given her the night before. She called his number and he answered immediately.

  “Good morning,” he said. “I was just speaking to Ryan, and he told me that you and he talked last night.”

  “Yes, he told me about the banks and Fileeb al-Touma.”

  “There’s nothing new to add just yet. It’s still very early in Jordan, and I imagine it will be a couple of hours before we can do anything else.”

  “That’s not why I’m calling,” Ava said. “I have a large number of arrival cards for the students we think have left the Philippines for the U.S. and the Middle East. You said you want copies to run through your system to see if any of them applied for a visa or actually landed.”

  “You said ‘arrival cards.’ Don’t you mean departure cards?”

  “There’s a bit of a problem there.”

  “I’m listening,” he said.

  She put the best spin on it that she could. Dulles listened, and when she finished, he said, “So you have the Brotherhood making enquiries in Bongao and your contact at the immigration bureau checking with Malaysia and Indonesia?”

  “Yes. And I’m reasonably sure that the cards I have are those of students. They will give you names and passport numbers.”

  “But none of it is certain?”

  “No, it’s a best guess.”

  “That’s unfortunate.”

  “There’s another lead I want to follow that could give us some certainty.”

  “And that is?”

  “How strong are your contacts in Australia?” she asked.

  “That entirely depends on what your needs are.”

  “We didn’t come up completely dry in terms of departure cards. We found seven, but they belong to students who I think left the college early, six of them after one month and the seventh after two. The one who left after two months is an Australian named Jason Said. I’m sure he was at the college, because his landing card lists it as his destination. He has a Sydney address on that landing card and Sydney as his destination on his departure card. I’d like to locate him and talk to him,” she said. “If he was at the college for two months, then he reached the final commitment stage. That means he might have been briefed on some attack plans and might have some information on foreign cells. At the very least he can tell us how he was recruited, verify many of the things the Brotherhood told us, and give us insight into this imam Tariq al-Bashir.”

  “Speaking of the imam, I still haven’t been able to find a single reference to him, and I’ve looked everywhere.”

  “Yes, Ryan mentioned that he thought it might be a pseu­donym,” she said, disappointed at his non-reaction to her suggestion about interviewing Said.

  “I think it’s important that we find out who he is and who he’s connected to.”

  “Of course. We’ve all been trying.”

  “My point is that if we can’t find an information trail that leads us to him, we need to use a physical one,” Dulles said. “You said the Brotherhood has people working at the college?”

  “Yes, Ben and Alcem. They’re cleaners.”

  “I’d like you to ask them to get something belonging to al-Bashir that might help us identify him.”

  “You’re looking for DNA?”

  “No, that takes too long, it isn’t as reliable as television makes out, and the existing DNA databases are very small,” he said. “I’d much rather have something with fingerprints on it, like a comb, a hairbrush, a toothbrush, a pen, spoon, or fork — anything they can get their hands on that they’re reasonably sure he touched. We can do a fingerprint analysis in a few days from here.”

  “I’ll talk to my contact at the Brotherhood,” she said.

  “Great. Now, as for Australia, give me the address of this Jason Said. I’ll make some calls.”

  “I want to talk to him myself,” she said.

  “I wasn’t suggesting anything else,” he said. “But we should make sure he’s actually where you think he is, and I’ll need to bring my Australian colleagues on board before we go.”

  “We?”

  “That’s something you should probably start getting used to.”

  “I’m fine
with that, as long as it works both ways.”

  “Agreed,” he said. “Now, when are you going to get me those landing cards, so I can see if any of the students tried to get into the U.S.?”

  “I’ll bring the cards to you. Where is your office?”

  “From the Peninsula, we’re the largest building on the right side of Roxas Boulevard, about half a mile before the American embassy. Any taxi driver should know it. There’s a Mercury Drug store and a Jollibee restaurant on the ground floor. We’re listed as the Global Trading Company, on the tenth floor, but the elevator will take you only as far as the eighth. You’ll have to call me from the lobby when you arrive.”

  “Then I’ll see you in about an hour, if traffic is as bad as it normally is.”

  She put down the phone and then thought about Wahab. How would he react to another request? Maybe she should tell him she’d met with the Americans. But what would that generate except perhaps some mistrust and, more assuredly, a lot of questions? He has to trust me, she thought and reached for the phone.

  “I’m surprised to hear from you so soon. Did something happen?” he said.

  “No, but I was thinking about the imam. It’s crazy that we don’t know more about him.”

  “We’ve tried.”

  “I know. And I looked everywhere I could think of and found nothing as well, but we can’t leave it at that.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “As I remember, Ben and Alcem are cleaners at the college.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Does the imam have his own bathroom?”

  “Yes, they told me he did.”

  “Then could you please ask them to get something that has the imam’s fingerprints? A brush, a comb, a book cover — anything at all.”

  “That could be risky.”

  “Well, I think we’re at a point where some risks have to be taken, and I don’t think a missing brush will set off panic alarms,” she said. “Wahab, it’s important that we find out who this man is.”

  “I’ll talk to the boys,” he said slowly.

  “Thank you. And if they can get something, make sure they handle it with care. They should probably bag it and then you can arrange to fly it to me here in Manila. We can get the fingerprints analyzed in a matter of a few days.”

  “How would you organize that?” he said.

  “I have some friends who can help.”

  “Which friends?”

  “Some people I trust,” Ava said carefully. “You needn’t worry. They won’t ask why I want the prints analyzed.”

  “Even if they don’t, I have to say the idea makes me nervous.”

  “You’ll feel better once we know who the imam is, and this is one way of accomplishing it,” Ava said. “Call me the instant the boys have something, so I can make arrangements on this end. I won’t do anything until I hear from you.”

  “I think I’d better talk to Juhar about this.”

  “Do that, but please don’t drag it out,” she said. “The sooner we can get a fix on the imam, the better it will be for all of us.”

  “I don’t disagree, but I still think I should talk to Juhar.”

  “Do what you think you need to.”

  She ended the call with mixed feelings about how she’d handled it. She hadn’t misled him but she had shaded the truth. She hadn’t lied, though, at least not overtly. If the boys do come through for us and we get a match for the fingerprints, that’s when I’ll tell him everything, she thought as she left the suite.

  ( 24 )

  It took her close to two hours to make the trip to Dulles’s office. “God, this traffic is terrible,” she said at one point. The city had no subway and no elevated trains; all it had were roads that were clogged by cars, motorbikes, more than fifty thousand jeepneys, and thousands of pubs — small buses called public utility vehicles.

  When the taxi finally reached the nondescript ten-storey brown brick building, she was relieved to be out of the traffic and to stretch her body. She walked into a white tiled lobby with the drugstore on one side and the restaurant on the other. Ava checked the building directory and saw that the tenth floor was indeed occupied by the Global Trading Company. She phoned Dulles.

  “I’m in the lobby,” she said when he answered.

  “When you’re facing the elevators, get into the one on your right. I’ll stay on the line until you do.”

  “Traffic was horrendous,” she said, as she watched both elevators descend.

  “It always is.”

  “I’m getting into the elevator now,” she said as it arrived.

  “Okay. I’ve unlocked the button for the tenth floor.”

  When she reached the floor, he was waiting for her in an enclosed foyer with one door. “Hey,” he said. He entered the security code and opened the door. They walked down a hall lined with closed doors to one at the far end that was open.

  She handed him the paper bag. “The cards are in here,” she said. The office was plainly furnished, with a desk, a grey metal filing cabinet, and two faded leather chairs.

  “I’ll have someone start on these this afternoon,” he said. “Grab a chair. It’s been one hell of an interesting morning.”

  “Australia?”

  “We’ll get to that later,” he said, sitting behind the desk.

  Ava sat down across from him. “The bank? Fileeb al-Touma?”

  “Our friends in the Mukhabarat were far more aggressive than we anticipated. They got bank employees out of bed in the middle of the night for questioning and they started reviewing the CCTV tapes right away,” he said. “We now have an understanding of how the money was moved, and they were able to identify al-Touma from the tapes.” He spoke calmly but Ava detected more than a hint of satisfaction in his manner.

  “Who is he, this al-Touma?” she said.

  “His name is Omar Obeidat. He’s forty-five years old and, until twenty-four months ago, he was a member of the Mukhabarat.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Ava said.

  “I know it sounds far-fetched but they assure me he was, and at a middle-management level. He told them he was leaving to take a senior position at a security company. They hadn’t heard from him, or about him, since he left.”

  “Did you tell them why you were trying to find out who he is?”

  “Not in detail, but I’m sure they have some idea. Without any prompting, they told me that they remember him as a man who was moderate in most things — except in his dislike for extremists.”

  “Is that a cover?”

  “Likely.”

  “Have they spoken to him?”

  “No. They haven’t found him yet. He’s not living in Jordan under either of those names. They have an email address he uses to communicate with the bank, and they’ve asked the bank to invite him for a meeting. If he shows up, the Mukhabarat will detain him.”

  “What about bank records?”

  Dulles reached into the top right-hand drawer of his desk. “Here’s your copy,” he said, passing her an inch-thick wad of printouts. “Every deposit and withdrawal is detailed.”

  Ava scanned the first few pages. “Lots of deposits, and always in nice round numbers,” she said. “Were they all in cash, as we were told?”

  “So it seems. And one of the bank employees remembered something distinctive: at least some of the cash bundles had strips with the name ‘Paradise Casino, Beirut,’ on them.”

  “Is there such a place?”

  “Indeed there is.”

  “So he was using the casino to launder money?”

  “We don’t know, but we intend to find out. One of my people will be paying the casino a visit later today, with some colleagues from the Lebanese Internal Security Forces.”

  “This is fantastic,” Ava said.

  “
It’s a start. I hope by the time we land in Australia we’ll know more.”

  “So that’s on too?” she said.

  “I’ve booked flights for this evening. We arrive early tomorrow morning and we’ll be met by Phil Johnson, who works with me, and a friend of his from Australian national security. The ANS ran a check on Jason Said and he’s on their watch list as a low-level risk. They told us he lives with his parents at the address you provided.”

  “Will Johnson take us to see Said?”

  “Yes, but we have to involve the ANS. It’s smart to do that for several reasons, especially if Said refuses to talk to us.”

  “They can bring pressure to bear?”

  “They can detain him for up to fourteen days without laying charges if they suspect he’s associated in any way with a terrorist threat.”

  “How much proof do they need?”

  “None. Suspicion is enough, and I assured Phil that we can provide adequate information if it’s needed,” he said. “In the meantime, the ANS is putting Said under immediate surveillance to make sure they know where he is when we arrive.”

  “What time is our flight?”

  “Five after eight on Qantas. We get into Sydney at seven a.m.”

  “I guess I’d better go back to the Peninsula and pack,” she said. “Given the way traffic was today, I’ve no idea how long it will take to get there and then to the airport.”

  “I’ll meet you at the gate, or in the Qantas lounge if you’re early,” Dulles said. “Here’s your flight confirmation number.” Ava took the sheet of paper from him and stood up to leave.

  “Just a minute — did you get a chance to talk to the Brotherhood about the fingerprints?” he asked.

  She took her phone from her purse and looked at the log. There were no calls from Wahab. “They’re working on it. What do you want them to do if they come up with something while we’re in Australia?”

  “My assistant’s name is Susan Crawford and she’s been partially briefed. If they do get something, we’ll arrange for her to hook up with them. It would be best if they could fly it to Manila.”

  “Does she know who the Brotherhood are?”