You can learn a lot about a person from their take on politics. Even the subtle and slight changes in gesture and attitude when discussing seemingly unimportant issues. Psychology is all about nuance.
Once I had met and established rapport with Farid, he began to introduce me to the others. I met the Israelis! the other Italians, and then . . . the ranking al Qaeda detainees.
It was after one of our morning workouts. Pasquale, Farid, and I had been working out while three of the al Qaeda detainees walked back and forth in the small yard, as they usually did. They rarely associated with anyone else, and when they did they were only exchanging pleasantries. I remember it being cool out, and cloudy to the point of almost being dark. A storm was threatening to rip the air apart and unload whatever sea water it had taken hostage.
We were cooling down, stretching our legs after the workout when the al Qaeda guys made their way over to us. There were two bigger guys who acted like minders(bodyguards) , and a smaller man with the tell-tale Ossama beard behind them. They approached slowly with the disquieting rumble of thunder in the background. None of us said much as they approached. The two front men shook all of our hands, said something to Farid in Arabic, and then turned toward me. They shook my hand in turn and then slowly, sternly, the third man approached. If I were to give you my first impression it would be, 'textbook muslim terrorist.' He had the beard, the piercing eyes, and something else that I can't put into words.
But, I suppose, the first thing that comes to mind is 'driven.' He was intent and decisive. I felt like I was supposed to bow or something by the way that everyone revered him. He slowly outstretched his hand and I did the same. Both of his hands clasped mine as more thunder growled around us. The wind started to pick up as dust and paper began to dance around us to invisible music.
"My name is Nasser," he said very clearly in slightly accented english. "I have heard some things about you."
ELEVEN
I spent the rest of that day in my cell while the windows were being pounded by rain as heavy as rocks. Under the curtain of all of that noise I was left alone with my thoughts. Because of the new situation of me being in this unit I would only be making my information dumps twice a week.
That was probably best anyway because the less times I was seen using the phone the better. This unit was so quiet that it wouldn't be much of a trick to listen while somebody was using the one phone they had available. We weren't even allowed to dial the number ourselves, it had to be handled by the screws so that they could log our calls. Somewhere that log book still exists.
What I thought most about was my new target, Nasser. He was dark complected, about 5'6", and maybe 140 pounds. His hair was starting to grey, and he looked weathered like an old sailor. He had two darkened marks above his eyebrows that had calcified from years of salat(prayer). Note: When anyone prays so much that they have permanent markings on their forehead, don't let them board the plane! Or at least, make them check their baggage on an accompanying flight. Anyway, Nasser appeared to be the real deal. And I knew that my infiltration needed to be perfect. I didn't have any room for error. He had asked me to walk with him the next time that we came down for rec, and I wanted to have myself prepared. As it turned out, chance prepared me.
I had been reading a book that had been loaned to me. It was about Carlos the Jackal and the Palestinian conflict with Israel. I chose it because I had read several Robert Ludlum books and in the Borne series, one of the main bad guys lS Carlos the Jackal. I figured it would be neat to know the real story about this infamous terrorist. By chance, I had this book with me the next morning when I went downstairs for rec. I said hello to the gang of social deviants, and made my way out to the still damp concrete. I set the book down beside my shirt and started the workout with my calisthenics routine. I was alone that morning because Pasquale was feeling a little sick from something that he had eaten the night before. "I am toilet, today," were his exact words. We were served a lot of seafood and it didn't always sit too well with everyone.
As I was nearing the end of my workout I noticed that Nasser had come out with his goons and begun his walking. I could feel them watching me; the same way that you can feel somebody watching you in an alley. You don't exactly know who or where, but you're sure that somebody is focussed on you. You just hope that it's not through the scope of somebody's .308 sniper rifle.
I finished my routine and began to stretch - a little five minute deal that keeps me from getting too sore. The goons headed inside the unit and I was left alone in the yard with Nasser. He walked toward me and nodded very graciously. He then looked down at the book about the Jackal.
"I know him," he said as he eyed the book.
I looked at the book and then back to Nasser. "You know the writer?" I asked.
Nasser smiled, "No, not the writer. I know Carlos."
"The Jackal. You know him?" I was a bit skeptical, because the book was only about six or seven years old and as of that printing Illich Ramirez Sanches (a. k. a. Carlos the Jackal) was still at large, being hunted by several countries for Terrorsts activities allover Europe and North Africa.
I knew from Farid and Pasquale that this man was an Imam(muslim priest). I also knew from television that he was an al Qaeda suspect. You see, Pasquale and I had seen a news program on Spanish Television that showed the al Qaeda pyramid. I think that it was all propaganda; part of the build up for the War in Iraq. At the top of the pyramid were two people. Of course Ossama Bin Laden was one of them. And the second was none other than . . . Nasser.
Yeah, that was one of those 'Holy Shit!' moments. Pay dirt in the spy game. So I was well aware of who he was, or at least, who the Spanish media thought he was.
"Mr. Sanchez is a good muslim now. He is in France, in Prison. He and I were cellmates," Nasser explained. Oh, gosh. He then enlightened me as to how the French made a deal with the Sudanese government for Carlos. The French agreed to stop arming the Rwandans who were fighting the Ugandans in North Central Africa. They had been selling some of the weapons to a Colonel Gurang who was in turn using those weapons in a civil war against the Sudanese government. Sudanese Intelligence then tricked Carlos and his family onto a plane and French Intelligence agents took him down. That occurred in 1997. Oh, and right after the French got Carlos, they began shipping the weapons again. Those pesky French! He had more details, but I think you get the point.
Nasser was stranger than I had expected. More real, more human. To be honest, I'm not exactly sure what I expected him to be like. I wasn't sure if he would be the fire and lightning kind of extremist that I've grown accustomed to seeing on Al Jazeera or the soft-spoken warrior-poet type. Nasser was something different.
First, he was very intelligent. He fluently spoke English, Arabic, Spanish, and French. He even spoke a little Russian. He was not a demanding man, but he was very confident, sure of his convictions. Most times he was reserved and contemplative. Then he would become animated all of the sudden while talking; then explain his point of view so clearly that you had no choice but to see his side of the issue, even if you didn't necessarily agree.
We walked that morning, talking about my time in France.
Oddly, he was much more interested in my experiences in the Legion, than in my life in America. Although, that might have just been his way of gaining my confidence. The art of indirect advance. He and I were both working each other. And I had decided early on to let Nasser dictate where the conversations went. The one who has the ability to knowingly relinquish control, of the personal dynamic to the other person, is actually the one who is 'in' control. Relationships are all a matter of bartering control. I, as an insignificant American gun-for-hire, was not going to be dictating the pace of anything when dealing with a top-ranking member of al Qaeda.
"I am Imam," he told me as we walked. "It is like a priest, but also very different. What do you know about the Muslim faith?"
I shrugged. "To be honest, I haven't really given religion much thought."
"I don't understand," he said, and he stopped walking and turned toward me. His eyes were wide and interested, searching for signs of something inside me.
I explained to him that I hadn't found a religion that fit in well enough with the world around us. with science, and life, and pain, and chaos, and suffering, and love, and racism, and fear, and marriage, and sex, and torture, and disease, and tsunamis that kill 300,000 people in a day. All of it without explanation or reason. I shrugged to him. "I just don't really have an opinion on that stuff. The world seems too ugly."
He didn't argue with me, or try to change my mind. He just nodded, patted me on the shoulder, and we began walking again. We didn't speak about anything in particular. He talked a bit about life in Algeria. He had been an Algerian Military Officer. Later on I would come to learn that he had been forced to flea Algeria for his connection to a group called MAOL(Movement Army Officers Libre). This secret group of Algerian soldiers were all muslim, and dedicated to keep Algeria from collapsing into civil war, or being ruled by corruption . . . which it was.
If you follow the history of Algeria you will note that the last several Presidents ended their rule by being assassinated. There are several factions at work in the country: Their secret service, the Algerian Military, the Algerian Police; and a group called unit 192, named for the January 1992 coup attempt and murder of several high-ranking military and political officials. The tentacles of each group seem to intertwine with the others, and there is a great deal of internal uncertainty which leads to violence most of the time. It's quite confusing.
He told me how he was notified that 'they' were coming to arrest and kill him for his involvement in MAOL. As a military investigator he was privy to a great deal of classified and sensitive material, and there was no way they would allow him to live. So he fled. He left his wife and children. His friends and family. Everything.
He made it clear to me that he understood leaving your home country when it had turned against you. He knew about saying goodbye to your friends and family, forever. That he could relate to both loving and hating the same place, for different reasons.
He then asked if I had ever read the Qu'ran. I shook my head, no. He told me that after contacting the 'brothers' that he would provide me a Qu'ran in English. And he assured me that he wasn't trying to pressure me into making a decision, or even to read it. But, if I chose to read it, then he would discuss the stories with me each day while we walked. I accepted his offer.
The next day we had our rec time in the afternoon. And as Nasser descended the stairs he had a leather bound Qu'ran in his hands. Geez, this guy moves fast. He waited until we were outside, and walking alone before he handed me the book. When he did he studied my reaction.
"It must have been a lot of trouble to get this," I said. He just smiled. "English on one side, and Arabic on the other. However, our books start on the right, and our first page is in the position of the ending of Western books." He was telling me that the book was backwards, or more likely, that we westerners were the backwards ones. I would probably agree to both.
And so, after a few minutes walking quietly beside him I said, "Tell me about Jihad."
He didn't seem surprised, or react in any perceivable way. He nodded slightly and then took my arm in his, as so many Arab men do as a show of friendship and respect.
"You tell me what you know of Jihad, and I will answer your question." Al Qaeda wanted my opinion on the 'service of god,' the highest service under Allah. Holy war.
All I could think about were those grainy images that had flashed by time and time again on CNN and MSNBC. Images and pictures of torn and smoking buildings with blood and concrete, and metal rebar splayed in every direction. Visions of people wearing sheets and blankets who couldn't do anything but wander aimlessly in the streets trying to find people that no longer existed. But the truth is, I was a dumb westerner. I was uneducated in the Muslim life and customs.
I didn't understand terrorism. And as an American, I was too arrogant to ever ask the kind of questions that we should have all been asking ourselves. Not that I was mature enough to have understood. But then, Nasser knew all of this the first time he had looked at me.
Some things you can't hide.
Some people see in you those missing parts that you might not even know are gone. And he also saw something in me that he thought was worth the investment. Pasquale told me that he had never befriended somebody like he had me. And especially an American. He had plans. So did I.
My first class at Terrorist University was about to begin. It would be the scariest class that I would ever take.
TWELVE
I need to preface the information that follows. Over the course of my various conversations and dialogue with Nasser I learned a great deal of information.
However, if I were to give you a day-by-day, diary-like account, it would become very confusing because there was no set pattern for our discussions. You see, we didn't necessarily carryover our conversations from one day to the next. They kind of just happened.
In other words, one day we talked about several subjects i the next day we might or might not talk about the same things. But over time the bulk of my knowledge and understanding evolved to a point where things started to become less convoluted. They coalesced into a much clearer picture as the details grew. Everything started to make more sense. I'm not sure if the analysts felt the same way, but it made enough sense to me. I will do my best to give you the most non-biased interpretation of what we spoke about.
Try to imagine, if you will, signing up for a Modern Art class. Nobody that you know has ever taken the class. They might have purchased books on tape, but not the real thing.
On the first day you walk in and there is nobody else in the class. It's just you and the professor. As a matter of fact, his desk is right in front of yours. The whole auditorium for just you and the instructor. In he walks and you realize that it is Pablo Picasso. He explains that he will be teaching you modern art, and that his roommate used to be Leonardo De Vinci.
You need to understand that Nasser was not just a terrorist, nor freedom-fighter, extremist, or militant. He was one of the top 2 or 3 spiritual leaders for what we refer to as al Qaeda. If there was an academy awards show for influential bad guys then Nasser and Ossama would be walking down the red carpet while flash bulbs and microphones swarmed them like starving mosquitos. They are at the top of their game.
One morning Nasser and I were watching a television set in the day room. The news anchor was telling everyone that the US Military claimed Ossama Bin Laden to be dead. That he was no longer among the living. Nasser laughed to himself and threw up a dismissive hand, waiving the television off as we headed out to the rec yard.
"You don't think that he's dead?" I asked.
"He is alive and well. He is in the Tora Bora Mountain range," he scoffed. "I could show you on a map," he added as his voice trailed off.
I later learned that Bin Laden was considered to be a great champion of the Muslim cause, but not much of a soldier or operator. Bin Laden comes from a very wealthy family, with roots in Yemen and Saudi Arabia.
Later, he did in fact show me on a map of Afghanistan. That's when he told me about Gulbuddin Hekmatyar. He came up during several different discussions. This man, Hekmatyar, is a warlord in Afghanistan who owns a great deal of property and businesses in and around Pakistan. Basically, Hekmatyar was supporting the Jihad effort by keeping supplies and money flowing right under the noses of U. S. and Afghani forces, and into the hands of the Mujahideen. Many of them were hiding in and around the Tora Bora Mountain range, in a labyrinth of caves and hidden passages. Interestingly enough, a great deal of those caves and passages were built and or financed by the CIA in the '80s when the U.S. was supporting the Mujahideen against the Soviets. Ahh, the Cold War. Don't you miss all those good times?
It was explained to me that Hekmatyar was bouncing back and forth across the Pakistan-Afghanistan border, paying-off
anyone that asked questions. Don't let the rags fool YOUi the Mujahideen are not hurting financially. There are plenty of prominent families and businessmen who support their cause. Hekmatyar had all kinds of strategies in place to move cash and enable travel for the Mujahideen. He owned busses, taxis, boats, rental car agencies, hotels, restaurants etc. I was told that he owned over 10,000 vehicles between both countries.
Now, I can't verify all that, but apparently the U.S. Government and several news agencies agree because there have been several articles about a dangerous warlord named, 'Hekmatyar'.
There is an April 15, 2004 article in the Wall Street Journal that reported a Top Lieutenant, of a Warlord named, "Hekmatyar" was arrested in Afghanistan by Peacekeepers. The man confirmed that Hekmatyar was indeed a warlord allied with the Taliban and al Qaeda. He may also have had ties to the Alkifah Refugee center in New York, which I will address in detail later.
I later conversations Nasser intent was that I would meet Hekmatyar because he was a very influential and important part of their cause. Our meeting would have probably been during the 2004 Hajj. Which, incidentally, ended just days before the Madrid Train bombings on March 11th of that year. Many meetings occur over the course of the pilgrimage. It can turn into an extremist melting pot for tal Qaeda' members. And that's something else which I need to explain . . . the al Qaeda you think you know, and the real al Qaeda are two different things.
Television and politics have created this image of a giant evil menace as al Qaeda. In reality, that name translates to 'the Base.' The word Taliban means 'Student.' There are many different groups that the media all lump under the umbrella of 'al Qaeda,' but in reality each of the different organizations have different agendas. It is crucial to the process of mediation and peace that people start paying attention to which group takes credit for an attack or threat. Under careful scrutiny you will see that many of the 'terrorist attacks' that are quickly labeled al Qaeda, are in fact not so similar. Different goals, different theologies, different targets, different reasons. Al Qaeda is a stamp placed on everything that blows up because it seems to be a good way to rally support for the 'War on Terror.' I'm not making a political statement one way or another, I just thought that it was important to know what your being fed.
Walking Ghost: Welcome to Terrorist University Page 6
