The Miracle of Yousef: Historical and political thriller

by Gonçalo Coelho

  “Sheik Omar!”

  “I promised I’d come when I could, didn’t I? Looks like the air of this city has done you good, lad! Somehow you’re different, definitely older, but you look good!”

  “I’ve done my best to adapt.”

  “Yes, I see you’re even wearing the shirt of a soccer team. Let me see, let me see...”

  “This one is Paul Merson’s, a very popular Arsenal player.”

  A waitress greeted them cordially and delivered a menu to Yousef – another just like it was already in front of Sheik Omar – then vanished, leaving the two Saudis completely at ease.

  “Did you have a good trip?”

  “Yes, above the clouds it’s all peace!... But tell me about yourself. How are things going for you here?”

  “Well, generally speaking but...” Yousef looked to one side, then the other and confessed, “I need action. I feel somewhat removed from what really matters: our cause.”

  “Have patience. You are not removed. Indeed, this is why you’ve come here. Events are rapidly unfolding in the Middle East.” The waitress approached to take their orders and the Sheik fell silent. He ordered first, in English that was heavily accented but grammatically perfect. Yousef picked up the menu and tried to choose without delay but the list was immense, with dozens of pages. He came to a page listing house specialties and rather impatiently indicated a dish to the waitress who wrote down their orders and drinks, then again withdrew (no alcoholic beverages or food containing blood or unclean animals such as pork, in keeping with Islamic dietary precepts).

  “Let’s wait to discuss more important matters for when we leave here. For now let us savor the food of these Lebanese. Did you know this is the first time I’ve been outside the Muslim world?”

  The rest of their conversation in the restaurant focused on trivial matters. Yousef ate little and in haste, the Sheik took his time, savoring his food with pleasure. In his anxiety to get away from the restaurant so they could take up important matters, Yousef rejoiced when he heard Sheik Omar utter the following words:

  “I’ll ask for the check. Let’s go.”

  Sheik Omar paid, leaving a generous tip, and the two left the restaurant. As they came out onto the pavement, a splendid limousine drew up alongside them. They both got in and, once they had settled in facing each other, the limousine started up.

  “You’ve been watching the news, I imagine?”

  “Of course,” Yousef replied.

  “Then you must know that a few days ago Saddam invaded Kuwait. Complete stupidity on his part. He wants to take over the third largest oil producer in the world. Saudi Arabia is afraid of being the next target. We have oil fields very close to Kuwait, and as you know, our kingdom does not have a number of troops comparable to the Iraqis. What the royal family is getting ready to do is to accept the help of the Americans. Bring them to our soil to protect us and drive Saddam’s troops out of Kuwait. Of course, they are not the least bit enthusiastic about Saddam taking over Kuwait indefinitely. The American economy is powered by oil, and this just makes it more difficult for them to get at it. Certainly you also know that the price of oil shot up in recent days and could double in the next few months as a result of Saddam’s offensive. Bin Laden is totally against the presence of American troops in our country, on our sacred soil.”

  “I understand him perfectly. How is it possible that the royal family would even think of making such an agreement with them?”

  “They are thinking of making an agreement to the effect that the American troops have to leave the Kingdom as soon as they’ve expelled all the Iraqi troops from Kuwait.”

  “That’s a little better.”

  “A little better? That will be just the excuse that the Americans needed to increase their military presence in the Arab world. That’s what Saddam’s brought about with this.”

  “Of course, I can see it! Even if they leave willingly, they’ll reinforce their positions in all of the region, starting with Kuwait itself, which will be eternally indebted to them. We drove the Russians out of Afghanistan only to roll out the red carpet for the Americans so they can come into our own house and start to dominate strategic positions in the region…”

  “And this is why we can no longer wait. I hope you are ready for your great mission.”

  “More than ever!”

  “Take this.” Sheik Omar handed Yousef a sheet of paper folded four times, but before he could open it, the Sheik interrupted him. “You have there the name of the target to strike, but don’t read it now. I only just arrived and, before anything else, there is something very important I must do. I want you to take me somewhere.”

  “Of course.”

  “Yousef, we’re going to the movies.”

  Yousef looked at him very surprised, but then gave the order,

  “Driver, to Leicester Square.”

  “If we have television and videos, why the devil don’t we have movie theaters in the kingdom? It’s something I still can’t understand,” the Sheik sighed.

  2

  The two Saudis went to see Ghost, a beautiful but sad love story in which Patrick Swayze plays a man who meets death at the hands of a thief just as he’s arriving at his home, and who turns into a ghost after he dies and tries desperately to get back in touch with his beloved Molly, played by Demi Moore. In the process, the ghost Patrick Swayze is helped by a fortune teller played by Whoopi Goldberg, for which she won an Oscar. During the film, Yousef noticed that Sheik Omar wept more than once at this dramatic love story unfolding on the big screen, but at the end he recovered his composure. When they left the theater it was still daylight (though cool by Saudi standards), and because it was summer, the sunlight lasted on into the evening. They crossed Leicester Square to Piccadilly Circus, in the midst of a sea of people walking by, and watched the famous giant illuminated advertising panels that decorated and celebrated the square on postcards and photographs all over the world. Sheik Omar looked at the brightly lit panels then glanced at Yousef who understood him instantly. It was as though he had said: you see, it is precisely this capitalism and this imperialism that we must attack. The limousine was close by. The driver was waiting for them. They got in and rode to the hotel where Sheik Omar was staying, not far from there: the Sheraton Park Hotel, in Knightsbridge. When they arrived, Yousef went up to the Sheik’s suite. The views from the suite were breathtaking. Because the Sheraton Park Hotel was a building with a shape similar to a cylindrical tower with windows all the way around, the view from suites such as Sheik Omar’s was particularly breathtaking with windows looking out on three hundred and sixty degrees of the urban panorama of London.

  “Yousef, I have to tell you, this is a beautiful city, despite everything,” the Sheik said, admiring it from the window. “See how prosperous they are. But soon they are going to suffer a rude shock.” He turned back to Yousef. “After this attack you will have to go to New York. And that is where we’ll strike next. But everything in due course. Now there is an action to prepare here.”

  “When is this attack?”

  “Whenever you’re well prepared. Never before.”

  Yousef became thoughtful.

  “And how will I know?”

  “You will know when the time comes. The plan is entirely up to you. We are completely independent, but the organization trusts us and will trust us even more when we demonstrate our success. You have enough money at your disposal. Use it in any way you see fit. You just need to come up with the plan and blow up the target. For this you received sufficient training in Afghanistan and are now here studying. Then buy a ticket to New York and the rest you know, assume a new identity and escape. That’s where your new destiny awaits you. One more thing, a man named Hassan Alaoui will contact you. Remember this name: Hassan Alaoui. You must work with him to conceive and execute the plan. He will be at your service. He is trustworthy. Now it’s up to you, and in a little while, I hope to see the heart of capitalism in this city torn to pieces.”
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  All the while, outside, greater London stirred like a vast octopus grappling for control of its own seething tentacles.

  3

  It was a glorious day, and in the late afternoon in Hyde Park, people were playing soccer on the grass, running, riding bikes and throwing Frisbees while couples walked hand in hand. Yousef checked his watch and proceeded along one of the paths traversing the immense green area, coming across a squirrel that confronted him, and then with a swift, agile movement ran off and disappeared. A few more steps and he came in view of the Serpentine. Then at the agreed upon spot he caught a glimpse of the familiar figure of a woman who had warmed his heart throughout this London sojourn. Nadia turned her body to face him, catching him in the gaze of her bright, beautiful eyes. On reaching her, he embraced her and kissed her face.

  “Peace be with you, Nadia.”

  “And with you, Yousef. Did you speak to Sheik Omar?”

  “I did.”

  “About us?”

  “Shall we walk a little?”

  “I know you. You didn’t speak to him about us.”

  “No. I didn’t think it the right moment.”

  “And when do you intend to speak to him?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Well, I know I have no right to demand anything, but I don’t like it one bit feeling that I’m living in hiding. And you shouldn’t have to hide anything, either.”

  “I know. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. I didn’t think it was the right

  moment today, and now he’s going to rest, after all he only just arrived.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Let’s find a quiet spot to sit down and I’ll tell you.”

  Nadia tried to seize Yousef’s hand but he withdrew it and set out walking on his own. She followed him.

  “Do you see? You can’t even give me your hand for a simple walk. Can’t you see that everything is different here? Can’t you see how couples kiss passionately in public, how boys and girls are constantly enticing each other?”

  “Yes, but you know very well I find this all shameful, as well as the huge quantities of alcohol people drink here, or those short, suggestive clothes women wear here, and I don’t think you should go that way. The simple fact that you walk around London without an abaya is already a source of constant concern to me.”

  “Well you know I am not like the English women, and I feel just as Muslim as before in Saudi Arabia. I didn’t cease to be one because I took off the abaya, can leave the house when I feel like it and go wherever I want, or because I say openly all that I think. Would you rather I was as unhappy as I was on the day you met me? If God had so wished he would have made us all equal, and so I am willing to suffer all the punishments that I must suffer, if that’s how it must be, but I feel good here in London with you, living this way.

  “Of course I do not want you to be unhappy. That’s the only reason I put up with your being so different. But I am a conservative man. You know what I do, you know my convictions and you know very well the danger you face by my side. Perhaps I won’t be able to take care of you suitably if …”

  “If…?”

  Nadia stopped, worried. Yousef stopped beside her.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll talk to Sheik Omar tonight about us and my intention to marry you. Didn’t I get you out of Jeddah? Well now I will make sure you lack for nothing. Now come, let’s sit down here on the grass.”

  They sat down in the soft grass of Hyde Park, side by side.

  “Are you about to do some ... some special work?” Nadia ventured.

  “The exact date I will have to decide, but it will take at least a few months, and then we’ll be going to New York.”

  “New York?”

  “Yes, now don’t ask me anymore questions. When the day arrives, take your plane ticket, go to the airport and wait there for me, and if something happens to me…”

  “We do not need to speak of this again. I will always be safe, come what may. I trust you. Let me ask you just one last question. Do you really want to marry me? Or is it just something you’re doing for the sake of your friendship with Nasser?” Nadia’s eyes sparkled, peering at him.

  “I really do want to marry you. There is no other woman who makes me feel even remotely what I feel for you.”

  “Then I am the happiest woman in the world. Now let me help you to relax, you are tense.” Nadia began tenderly to massage Yousef’s shoulders. “Relax. Sheik Omar will be pleased to learn that you’re planning to get married.”

  “I don’t know. He might find it better if I were not married. Perhaps I should not have anyone. I would execute my mission better. Everything would be simpler. And how will he react when he finds out that I used his money to bring you here?”

  “Nonsense. Every good Muslim should try to get married. You know that.”

  “I don’t know how he’ll react, and I don’t want to disappoint him.”

  “I’m sure he will be more disappointed that you haven’t gotten married by now. Relax. Just be true to yourself and everything will go well.”

  The sun was already setting on the London horizon as Yousef yielded to Nadia’s seductive powers.

  4

  The next day, Yousef and Sheik Omar went to the races at Ascot, to the west of London. They traveled in the limousine the Sheik used to get around. Yousef found it hard to raise the subject that kept getting stuck in his throat, but at a certain point the conversation took a surprising turn as they were still passing through the outskirts of London.

  “Yousef, you are now twenty-one.”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “And don’t you think of getting married? Has the idea never crossed your mind?” The question was as blunt as it was unexpected.

  “Well... as a matter of fact, I have.”

  “You know that you are like a son to me, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I know. The truth is that...”

  “Before coming here I thought quite a bit about this and realized that you really would be better off married, and no one has a greater obligation to provide for you than I do.”

  “But you’ve already done so much for me.”

  “No more than I would do for my own sons. And that’s the point I wanted to get to. You see, Yousef, what I mean to say is that I would like to offer you one of my own daughters in marriage.” The Sheik paused briefly and assessed Yousef’s reaction. “You don’t have to give me any response yet. I’m thinking of Aisha who is a wonderful girl, and will never cause you any problems. She will give you many fine sons and be an excellent mother, I’m sure of it. What’s more, she’s attentive and pretty, as well. She’ll make you an excellent companion. Here is a picture of her. Take it. Keep it as you think it over, and when the time is right, I’ll ask you again what you think about it, and then indeed you will give me a definite answer.”

  The photograph the Sheik placed in Yousef’s hands was of a very pretty girl, with dark almond-shaped eyes and an angelic beauty. At first this situation discouraged him still further from talking about Nadia, but then a new reasoning invaded his spirit: he could not keep secrets from Sheik Omar, and he had already taken decisions in relation to Nadia that were irreversible. The danger that the Sheik would catch him one day in a lie or grave omission was far too serious. In addition, it was making him feel terrible to think that he was lying or hiding anything at all. He had always taken very seriously the familiar words attributed to Mohammed, and in one of the Hadith of the Sunnah, the Prophet says: speak the truth even though it may be bitter and displeasing to others. For Yousef, the truth had to be told. Moreover, he had two strong reasons to be determined never to abandon Nadia again: first, in memory of Nasser; second, because of the feelings for her that had taken root within him.

  “Excuse me but I must tell you something. Something very important.”

  The Sheik knit his brow.

  “What is it that concerns you?”

  “It has to do precisely with this subject.�
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  “My daughter does not appeal to you?”

  “No, it’s not that. When we were in the Jaji encampment in Afghanistan, fighting against the Soviets, there was a skirmish where we were defeated by a single soldier with a machine gun who was loyal to the Government forces, do you remember?”

  “Well, if it’s the one I’m thinking of, as it turned out we weren’t exactly defeated. You stayed and ended up killing the soldier loyal to the communist government.”

  “Yes, exactly. And that was the day Nasser died.”

  “He was your best friend at that time, wasn’t he? Do you still think of him? You must let him rest, surely he is in paradise. God is merciful.”

  “I know He is, but even so, to answer your question: yes, I still think of him sometimes. I never told you this, but before he died, he spoke to me of a sister for whom he had great affection and a very special respect. He always kept her photograph in his pocket. He told me that their parents punished her a lot because she was rebellious, and that he helped her financially from a distance so she could attend University. Well, the truth is that after he died I very much wanted to be able to do something for him and before burying him properly, I put the photo of his sister in my pocket so that one day, when I went back to Jeddah, I could look for her and help her as he had done. I wanted to do that for him.”