The Imam of Tawi-Tawi

by Ian Hamilton

  “Is ‘mesmerizing’ your word for him?”

  “No, the English student’s, but I thought it fitted,” he said.

  “I heard that the imam has an accent that isn’t Middle Eastern or Filipino, or Australian, for that matter.”

  He nodded. “No one in the class could identify it. Some thought he was American or Canadian, or maybe a foreigner who’d been educated in North America.”

  “No one asked?”

  “You didn’t ask questions of or about the imam, or his assistants.”

  “But they asked them of you, correct?”

  “What are you driving at?”

  “Well, you told me you were asked if you would commit to jihad. I’m sure that, before that happened, you were questioned about your faith and your level of devotion.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And then after you went through weapons training, you were asked to make another commitment, a final commitment.”

  “How do you know that?” he asked.

  “You aren’t the only person we’re speaking to,” she said.

  “I was the only person from my class who left the college then.”

  “Yes, but there were other classes and other students, and some of them left too.”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to,” she said. “What I’m interested in knowing is how this final commitment was presented to you and why you responded the way you did.”

  His face contorted. “I wanted to say yes to them.”

  “Say yes to whom?”

  “I met with two of the assistants in an office in their wing. It was just the three of us. I know that’s how they did it with everyone — two assistants and one student in a private meeting. They told me that my work had been outstanding and that I’d been selected to take part in a very special project.”

  “Where?”

  “Miami, Florida.”

  “You were to go there by yourself?”

  “They said they have several cells already in place there, and that if I agreed to go, I’d be assigned to one of them.”

  “How many people in the cell?”

  “They didn’t tell me.”

  “Did they tell you about the project?” she asked.

  “Yes. They said there’s an American Jewish Congress conference scheduled to start there on May fourteenth. Two separate cells are going to orchestrate an attack during the opening ceremony. They said there will be thousands of wealthy and influential Jews assembled in that one place, and they asked if I could imagine how much damage thirty ghazi could inflict in such a confined space with unlimited firepower.”

  “Ghazi?”

  “Warriors.”

  “So that means there are presumably fifteen people in each cell.”

  “I guess so. I never took the time to think of it that way.”

  “And the date May fourteenth was specifically mentioned?”

  “It was.”

  “And you said no to them, just like that?”

  “No, I thought about it for two days before I told them.”

  “What was there to think about?”

  “One of the assistants started talking about that day — about May fourteenth — as a day of reckoning. He said they have thousands of warriors in place in the U.S., France, and England, and in countries surrounding Israel, ready to strike. He said they are going to obliterate the Jews — the Jews who matter, the wealthy Jews who keep Israel strong. He said that if we bring them down, Israel will follow.”

  “What was your objection to that?” she said.

  He lowered his head and said, almost regretfully, “I know too many Jewish people who have been good to me and my family. The construction company my father works for is owned by Mr. Loeb. My father says we wouldn’t have a decent life in this country without his generosity. And not only us. He sponsored my father’s brother and his family, and one more Lebanese family I know of. My father mentions him in his prayers. He and his wife have been guests in our home. He loaned my brother, with no interest, the money he needed to go to teacher’s college. How could I kill a man — any man — just because he is Jewish? What if he was related to Mr. Loeb?”

  “Did you mention Mr. Loeb to the assistants?”

  “No.”

  “What reason did you give for not making the final commitment?”

  “I said I want to fight for the creation of a homeland in the Middle East. I said I want to be a ghazi, a soldier, but I have no interest in killing civilians in Miami.”

  “Did they argue with you?”

  “No.”

  “They just let you leave?”

  “No. They offered me a different assignment in New York City, but it was more of the same — an attack on the Bank of Israel. I said no.”

  “Were they angry?”

  “More confused, and a bit annoyed.”

  “At any time, Jason, did they tell you how they planned to get you and the other students into the United States and those other countries?”

  “They seemed to take it for granted that they could. It didn’t get so far with me that they went into detail, but some of the other students were already talking about what they would do when they got to places like New York.”

  “So you said no to them and you made it stick.”

  “I did, and then they told me I had to leave the college within an hour and that I wasn’t to talk to any other student,” he said. “They gave me the money to buy a plane ticket home.”

  “It was that simple?”

  “I wish it was,” he said. “They told me that they know where I live and where my family works and lives, and that if I speak to anyone about the college, they will kill us all.”

  “And here you are talking to me,” Ava said gently.

  “I’m not entirely stupid,” he said. “You found me. You obviously know a lot about the college. This can’t end well for them.”

  “No, I don’t think it will,” Dulles said.

  “What about me?”

  “Have you been completely honest?” Dulles said.

  “I have.”

  “I don’t doubt you. If nothing changes our mind on that, then what I said to you at the beginning of our conversation still holds. What was said here will remain between us and I’ll tell Mr. Pinson that you’ve been entirely co-operative.”

  “I told you the absolute truth.”

  “There is one thing I’d like to ask,” Dulles said. “What specific reason did the imam give to justify his determination to attack Jews?”

  “He said they’re godless.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Godless parasites, and that the world won’t have any peace until they’ve been completely eradicated.”

  ( 29 )

  Mrs. Said looked terrified when Ava, Dulles, and her son entered the living room.

  “We’ve finished our interview with your son,” Dulles said. “He’ll be staying home with you.”

  She brushed tears from her eyes.

  “You have every reason to be proud of him,” Dulles said. “He’s obviously been raised in a fine household.”

  “Are we finished?” Pinson asked.

  “Yes, that’s it. We have everything we need for now. Jason has been co-operative,” Dulles said, and then turned towards the young man. “Please don’t take any trips in the immediate future. We’ll need to know where you are in case we need to speak to you again. And please don’t make phone calls to any of your acquaintances in the Philippines.”

  They thanked Mrs. Said for her co-operation and left the house. When they reached the car, Dulles said to Pinson, “I can’t thank you enough for this.”

  “My pleasure,” he said.

  Then Dulles turned to A
va. “You were fantastic in there. If you ever need a job, let me know. Good interrogators are hard to find.”

  “I hardly consider it an interrogation,” she said. “He’s just a scared, confused kid.”

  “That’s why you were so damn effective. When we spoke to Chang about you, he said one of your strengths is your ability to get all kinds of people to trust you.”

  “You spoke to Chang?”

  “I know you said you knew him, but in our business we can’t take anything at face value,” Dulles said. “But don’t sound so worried; he doesn’t know we’re working together. We didn’t speak to him directly. We had a third party, a businessman, call him. I hope that doesn’t offend you.”

  “What if it does?”

  “There’s nothing we can do about it now and we’re both in too deep. But I promise you, no more due diligence.”

  Johnson stood by the front passenger door of the Commodore. “So what now?” he asked.

  Dulles looked at his watch. “It’s going on nine-thirty here, which means it’s one-thirty in the morning in Lebanon. Can Manfred take us to your office, Phil? I have a man in Beirut waiting for me to call him.”

  “No problem,” Pinson said.

  The four of them got into the car. They fell silent, and Ava took advantage of the quiet to close her eyes, rest her head against the back of the seat, and replay in her mind the conversation with Jason Said. Did she believe him? There was no other question that mattered. She thought about what Ben and Alcem had told them and knew there were no discrepancies between their story and Said’s. In fact, the only reason she had to question Said’s tale was its enormity. If he was correct, he would have joined a cell in Miami that had about fifteen people in it. She guessed that 150 students had gone through the college. If each had joined a cell of a similar size, how many terrorists were waiting for May 14? More than two thousand. The number made her tremble.

  “Are you okay?” Dulles asked.

  “I’m thinking about May fourteenth, so no, I’m not okay.”

  “Me neither, but we’ll talk about Lebanon when we get to the office. It may help,” he said.

  “I don’t know if that’s possible,” she muttered.

  Pinson drove for close to half an hour before stopping in front of a looming office tower in a crowded commercial area. Ava and the Americans piled out. After another exchange of thank-yous with Pinson, they went into the lobby and Johnson led them to a bank of elevators. Five minutes later they exited on the forty-eighth floor and walked into the office of the American Center for Pacific Rim Studies.

  “They’re with me and they don’t have to sign in,” Johnson said as he led them past a receptionist and then through a door that required a security code.

  “I need some privacy, Phil,” Dulles said.

  “You can use the boardroom,” Johnson said. He walked down the hallway and opened a door, motioning for them to go in. “My office is at the end. I’ll leave the door open. Come and get me if you need anything.”

  “Thanks,” Dulles said.

  “When do you intend to leave Sydney?”

  “That depends on the conversations I’m about to have.”

  “Naturally,” Johnson said.

  The boardroom was long and narrow. Ten seats surrounded an old wooden table. Dulles took the chair at the end. Ava sat in the one on his right. “Did you tell Phil Johnson anything about why we’re here?” she asked.

  “Are you asking if I mentioned the college?”

  “Yes.”

  “It wasn’t necessary.”

  “And he’s not curious?”

  “I’m sure he is, but he knows better than to ask questions.”

  “I’m not quite so disciplined,” Ava said. “What the hell is going on in Lebanon?”

  “We’re about to find out in more detail,” he said, taking his phone from his pocket. “Bobby Delvano, one of our people in Beirut, was the person I was speaking to at the airport. He was at the Paradise Casino earlier with some people from the Lebanese security forces, and they spoke to the manager. Our man is known to the manager only as Fileeb al-Touma, and he’s a valued customer, what they refer to in that business as a whale — a gambler who plays for huge stakes. The story is that al-Touma plays blackjack in the private high-limit room for ten thousand dollars a hand. The manager maintains that he’s been winning consistently for two years.”

  “He’s been making large weekly deposits. I know enough about gambling and blackjack odds to know that it’s impossible to win that often and that much.”

  “Bobby and I agree with you, but it isn’t an opinion the casino manager shares.”

  “What other information have you got out of him?”

  “That’s another problem. The manager is reluctant to tell us anything beyond the fact that al-Touma is a regular and highly prized customer,” Dulles said. “How someone can win millions from a casino and still be considered a prized customer is a bit of mystery, but then I’m not in that business.”

  “They’ll have complete financial records related to his buy-ins and cash-outs, and they’ll have filmed all of his play.”

  “I know, but he’s not prepared to make any of that available to us. He said they’re a private business and those are private records.”

  “Can’t the Lebanese security forces help? Can’t they lean on the owner?”

  “Let’s find out, because that’s exactly what we asked them to do,” Dulles said. He hit a number on his phone and placed the device on the table.

  “Delvano.”

  “Bobby, it’s Alasdair. I have you on speakerphone and Ava Lee is with me. She’s the woman who I told you is helping me on this project.”

  “Hello, Ava,” Delvano said.

  “Hello.”

  “Well, what do we have?” Dulles said.

  “Until a few hours ago, one very frightened manager. The Lebanese boys here did a number on him. To give him some credit, he didn’t budge on revealing much more about al-Touma. He said that had to come from the owners, and when we pressed him on the ownership, he coughed up two local names. They’ve just left the casino.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Two quite ordinary businessmen.”

  “Does the service know anything about them? Are they connected to any Muslim organizations?”

  “Alasdair, they’re both Christians. They’re Maronites, a branch of the Catholic Church.”

  “What the hell?”

  “They claim they have nothing to do with running the casino. They said all those decisions are made by the operator, Pinetree Gaming,” he said. “And when I pushed them on al-Touma, they told me the same thing. They said they obviously know of him but that I have to talk to Pinetree.”

  “Bobby, the casino is owned by a numbered company in Liechtenstein. They must have shares in it.”

  “They readily admitted that they do, but the actual operations of the casino are contracted out to Pinetree. They have zero day-to-day involvement.”

  “We’ll come back to Pinetree in a minute,” Dulles said. “Tell me, why did they set up the casino as a numbered company in the first place?”

  “It wasn’t their decision. They were asked to invest in the business by a mutual friend, and they said they owed him some favours and obliged. He established the structure and controls everything.”

  “Who is this friend?”

  Delvano hesitated and then said, “Tom Allison.”

  Dulles leaned forward until his mouth was directly over the phone. “Are you fucking with me?”

  “Only if they’re fucking with me, and I don’t think they are. We did some research on Pinetree Gaming. It’s an Atlanta-based and relatively small-time casino owner and operator. It was bought three years ago by the Harvest Group, and of course the principal shareholder and controlling partner in Har
vest is Tom Allison.”

  “God help us.”

  “I don’t think you’re being ironic, but I wouldn’t blame you if you were,” Delvano said. “And now it gets even stranger. I phoned Pinetree, explained who I am, and told them that we need information on a Fileeb al-Touma who gambles at the Paradise Casino in Beirut. They informed me that he’s a preferred customer on a very exclusive list, and that access to any information on the list has to be approved by their ownership, the Harvest Group.”

  “Who in the Harvest Group did they have to talk to?”

  “They didn’t give me a name. When I pressed them, they said if I provide the details I want they’ll pass the request along and get back to me.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “I know, so I went one step further. I called the Harvest Group head office in Dallas and asked to speak to Tom Allison. I figured I might be able to shake things up by doing that.”

  “What happened?

  “Nothing. They took my name and number and said someone would call.”

  “I know Allison,” Dulles said.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “I mean I’ve actually met him,” Dulles said. “When I was in London acting as commercial attaché, he approached the office for help in securing U.K. government contracts for some equipment company he owned. We had lunch and a couple of dinners together. They eventually did land some contracts, and he sent me a thank-you note and an expensive bottle of Scotch.”

  “Maybe you should be the one to call him,” Delvano said.

  “I think I should.”

  “Do you want the office number?”

  Dulles looked at his watch and did a quick calculation. “The office will be closed now. Besides, I think I still have his cellphone number and personal email address in my Rolodex.”

  “Who keeps a Rolodex anymore?”

  “I do. They’re hard to lose and not that easy to steal.”

  “Well, good luck with that,” Delvano said. “Now what is it you want me to do here, besides keep trying to find al-Touma?”