by Adrian Levy
Maqdisi and Zarqawi had first met in Peshawar at the end of the Soviet war. After they returned home to Jordan they had launched an insurgency there. Arrested for possessing a gun and a grenade, the two became close during their four years interned at the Swaqa correction center south of Amman.
Maqdisi had comforted Zarqawi, who, feeling maudlin, composed poems to his mother and drew her pictures of hearts and flowers, declaring “Ummy [Mommy] I will never forget you.”75
What had happened to that rough but emotionally sensitive young man? Maqdisi wondered. To get his attention, he now issued a devastating ruling that he knew would be picked up and publicized by jihadists everywhere. Mujahideen should not join his former pupil on his murderous journey through Iraq, Maqdisi concluded: “It will be an inferno for them. This is, by God, the biggest catastrophe.”76
When news of the ruling reached Zarqawi, he was furious and took time away from the battlefield to write back. Maqdisi had “misrepresented me and misrepresented the facts,” he said, sniping that these days he only took orders from God. Although he thanked the cleric for showing him the path, “he does not and should not have a monopoly on knowledge, and not everything he says is correct.” Times had changed and he now regarded himself as “a soldier in the army of Sheikh Osama.” He urged his followers to ignore Maqdisi and “seek the scholars and leaders of mujahideen, such as Osama.”77
However, by the summer of 2005, Osama had also begun to worry about the direction in which Zarqawi was heading. Having followed Zarqawi’s heated exchanges with Maqdisi, Osama recognized that Zarqawi’s hotheadedness was having a negative impact on the greater outfit’s reputation. In Iraq, he now had a $25 million reward on his head, matching Osama’s. In addition to the videotaped beheadings of Western hostages, he had declared an “all-out war” on Iraq’s Shia minority, killing hundreds and horrifying Muslims worldwide. The violence was debilitating, unauthorized, and it had to be stopped.
Dr. al-Zawahiri stepped in. From Damadola, he reached out to Zarqawi through Al Jazeera, recording a subtle message that was broadcast in June 2005. When Osama heard it, he was furious with his deputy. Advertising internal squabbles publicly gave the enemy a dangerous advantage, he warned. They had to communicate by private means.
The unrestrained violence continued. Zarqawi claimed the assassination of Iraq’s oldest member of parliament, and in August his group pledged to kill anyone involved in drafting Iraq’s new constitution, while launching a rocket attack in Jordan that narrowly missed a U.S. warship.78 In correspondence with Al Qaeda Central, he reminded al-Zawahiri and Osama that when he had sworn loyalty in October 2004 he had done so on the basis that they had agreed to him “fighting the sects of apostasy,” in other words, Shias. Were they now reneging on that deal?
Dr. al-Zawahiri sent a couriered letter, explaining to Zarqawi that the primary goals of the outfit’s mission were being put in danger by his folly.79 In order for Al Qaeda to establish the caliphate in Iraq, it first had to expel the United States, while at the same time keeping Muslim support on its side. Right now “the scenes of slaughtering the hostages” and indiscriminate attacks on Shia targets were doing the opposite. “This matter won’t be acceptable to the Muslim populace,” wrote al-Zawahiri. In the absence of popular support, “the Islamic mujahid movement would be crushed in the shadows,” he continued. Zarqawi shouldn’t be deceived by the praise of zealous younger men who had dubbed him “the sheikh of slaughterers.”
Al-Zawahiri, too, had reason to seek unbridled revenge. “The author of these lines has tasted the bitterness of American brutality,” he wrote. “My favorite wife’s chest was crushed by a concrete ceiling and she went on calling for aid to lift the stone block off her chest until she breathed her last.” His young daughter had suffered a cerebral hemorrhage during the airstrike on Gardez and “for a whole day suffered pain until she expired.” To this day, he did not know where they were buried. Despite these losses, he had to constantly remind himself that the war they were fighting also took place in the “battlefield of the media.” Al Qaeda was in a race “for the hearts and minds of our Ummah,” he wrote.
Al-Zawahiri ended with a plea. Al Qaeda Central was short of funds, so could Zarqawi send $100,000 to tide them over? After all, Osama had kept him afloat for years.
Suspecting that his letter would fall on deaf ears, al-Zawahiri began to train up a new spokesman. The man’s first foray into the public arena had come in October 2004, when ABC News broadcast a seventy-five-minute speech in which he kept his face covered but identified himself as “Azzam the American.” Soon afterward, someone from his old mosque in the United States identified him as Adam Gadahn, a tech-savvy Caucasian convert from Orange County, California, who had turned his back on baseball, Christianity, and death metal to run Al Qaeda’s media empire As Sahab from a cave in Damadola.80
October 8, 2005, 8:50 A.M., Abbottabad
Sheikh Osama woke to find the ground moving beneath him. A huge earthquake had struck the heart of Pakistani-administered Kashmir fifty miles to the northeast, killing more than eighty thousand people in the region and leveling the protective wall around his compound. Exposed and frightened, Osama fretted until he realized that chaos had engulfed the whole area, with rescue workers trying to reach thousands of villages entombed in mud, putting Pakistani security forces on the back foot.
Ibrahim suggested they should use this opportunity to increase the height of the perimeter wall in places where the house was overlooked, building it up to more than eighteen feet.81 Others, too, made use of the mayhem, with mujahideen from banned Pakistani militant groups like Lashkar-e-Taiba and Jaish-e-Mohammed flooding into the area, delivering aid and simultaneously recruiting the families of victims.
As Abbottabad filled up with Islamists, Osama began to feel more secure; and when the founder of Harkat-ul-Mujahideen asked for a meeting he agreed, breaking a promise he had made to Ibrahim after Khalid Shaikh Mohammad’s arrest never to meet anyone again.
But Fazlur Rehman Khalil was not just anyone. He and Osama knew each other from fighting the Soviets in Afghanistan, at which time Khalil, a Punjabi by birth, had been a popular commander, fluent in Arabic and a skilled operator with a Stinger missile.82 His group had gained notoriety in 1995 when mujahideen loyal to him kidnapped six Western backpackers in Indian Kashmir, including the best friend of Dr. James Mitchell.
In 1998, Khalil became a signatory to Osama’s famous fatwa against “Jews and Crusaders,” and in 1999 his group orchestrated the hijacking of an Indian passenger jet to secure the release of another old friend, Masood Azhar, the leader of Jaish-e-Mohammed. Also freed was Omar Sheikh, the British-Pakistani who went on to lure Daniel Pearl to his death.
In Afghanistan, Khalil had acted as a go-between with Mullah Omar, and his forces had helped Al Qaeda infiltrate Pakistan after 9/11. These days, he operated training camps in the Tribal Areas, which he now hoped to shift closer to Abbottabad. He was in hiding himself, after being tipped off that the Americans—sick of the license given him by the ISI—wanted to kill him.83
They could not take the risk of meeting at Osama’s new home. Instead, as the earthquake rescue operation mushroomed, they chose a supporter’s house on the fringes of the Tribal Areas.84 It was the Al Qaeda leader’s first trip out of Abbottabad, and as he clipped short his beard, he told Amal he was nervous.
When the two men sat down together that night, they shared a meal of goat and rice as Khalil revealed the purpose of this risky meeting: he had brought with him a highly sensitive proposal that could secure Osama’s long-term position in Pakistan. It came from a mutual, high-wattage friend: the former ISI chief, General Hamid Gul.
During his tenure as head of the ISI from 1987 to 1989, Gul had cultivated deep ties with the Taliban, Al Qaeda, and other jihadists then fighting in Afghanistan. Legend had it that Osama had been introduced to Gul by Milt Bearden, the CIA station chief in Islamabad, as a “prince who left everything for jihad.”85 Out of the most po
werful Afghan warlords (who the CIA referred to as “the Seven Dwarfs”), Gul favored Osama’s old friend Gulbuddin Hekmatyar and he channeled an estimated $600 million to him.86
After the Soviets were defeated, Gul had become one of Osama’s most outspoken advocates, supporting Mullah Omar, too. They met twice in Sudan, with Gul later bragging about these get-togethers—although sometimes he denied them.87
A mischievous and belligerent contrarian and inveterate plotter, always ready with a scheme in each pocket and another in his sock, Gul championed the cause of Pakistani national interest.
Mostly, Gul liked to dish it out. Ad hoc Islamist lectures and provocative anti-Semitic pronouncements were his daily routine. He was especially fond of riling American reporters by insisting that 9/11 had been a Mossad operation.88 One of his favorite possessions was a chunk of the Berlin Wall that he told new visitors had been presented by the East Germans—although in truth President George H. W. Bush had gifted it to him in gratitude for “delivering the first blow” against the Soviet empire. But however hyperbolic he sounded, Gul was consistent and entertaining, and he continued to be well connected inside Pakistan’s security apparatus.
Khalil told Osama that powerful friends backed the controversial general. He pointed to the ISI’s S-Wing, the 313 Brigade formed with ISI cadre, and the assassination attempts this unit had made on Musharraf that had been assisted by members of the Pakistan armed forces, using IEDs fashioned the old ISI way.
This cabal had had an idea, Khalil said. They wanted to revive an old rumor, passing Osama off as having died from a chronic condition. It was a typical ISI smoke screen, modeled on the protective cordon thrown up around Taliban leader Mullah Omar, who had been allowed to reestablish his shura in Quetta before heading down to Karachi, where he remained hidden in an ISI safe house, sick with diabetes.89
With Osama “killed off,” Gul would use his deep contacts within the spy directorate to make sure that no one came sniffing around Bilal Town. All other arms of intelligence and security, from the regular police to the Special Branch, Military Intelligence, the Intelligence Bureau, and the Federal Investigation Agency (FIA; Pakistan’s equivalent of the FBI), would be kept away. Any intelligence that related to Arabs or the search for Al Qaeda would be funneled through the ISI’s S-Wing, to which Gul had direct access.90 Tangible proof of this deal came almost right away, with the FIA’s director general warned to “not touch any case involving Arabs.”91
Osama was not yet convinced. In an undated letter to Atiyah Abd al-Rahman listing significant Al Qaeda losses since 9/11, he had blamed Abu Zubaydah’s capture on “our opening up so much to Lashkar-e-Taiba,” something he still believed.92 Lashkar was pro–Al Qaeda, but ultimately it was a creature of the ISI that was only for itself. Khalil tried to convince him otherwise, pointing out that he would not be alone in receiving such protection. They had many friends in common who survived in Pakistan only because of their connections with the security establishment. Beside Mullah Omar, there were warlord Hekmatyar, tribal chieftain Jalaluddin Haqqani and his sons, radical cleric (maulana) Sami ul-Haq, and, most important, Lashkar boss Hafiz Saaed and Jaish emir Masood Azhar.93
Gul and Khalil had Osama’s back, and if anyone in Pakistan’s security establishment needed to reach him directly, they would act as intermediaries.
When Osama returned to Abbottabad, having agreed to Khalil’s plan, he became bolder. His letter writing increased and he got to work improving his image. Having learned that Dr. al-Zawahiri and Azzam the American were putting together a documentary for distribution to American networks, he demanded a role.
“Knowledge Is for Acting Upon: The Manhattan Raid” was to present Al Qaeda’s philosophy and feature the martyrdom videos of the 9/11 hijackers. Osama was not sure that Azzam was the best man for the job. A brash video recorded in Damadola, in which Azzam praised the “echo of explosions and the slitting of the throats of the infidels,” had recently appeared on Good Morning America, and Osama had felt compelled to write a private letter instructing al-Zawahiri to present a more considered impression.
Osama also had to address family matters. According to a recent letter from his eighteen-year-old daughter Khadija in Waziristan, the harsh environment of the tribal areas was taking its toll on her health.94 She had suffered a miscarriage, several bouts of typhoid and malaria, and had recently given birth to a daughter, Aisha, ignoring doctor’s advice against any more pregnancies. Seham badgered Osama to let her and the children join them in Abbottabad and had already decorated a room for them. The chaos of the earthquake could provide cover for their journey. Khadija and the children would travel first and her husband, the Saudi mujahid Daood, could follow soon after. “I prepared myself and the explosives belt,” Daood said in a letter to Osama on the matter, referring to the standard travel procedure for a senior Al Qaeda operative.95
However, a downed bridge and roads ripped up by the quake forced Khadija to turn back after Haripur. Traveling in a private car, those bringing her to Abbottabad needed to think quickly, and they headed west, via Peshawar, to the outskirts of Miram Shah, the capital of North Waziristan, where numerous Al Qaeda families were living. Once she was settled with a host family, she wrote to her parents.
“My dear Dad. How are you?” she began. “I hope my message reaches you and that you are well, as we are, praise God.”96 Recently, she had learned that she had two new siblings, Amal’s children Aasia and Ibrahim. “May God bless you with them and make them righteous.”
She was bitterly disappointed that she had been unable to come. “We constantly yearn for you and delight in hearing your voice in messages,” she said, reminding everyone that her eldest son, Abdallah, who had been born in Kandahar shortly before 9/11, had never known his grandfather, other than what he saw on Al Jazeera. Abdallah was working hard to learn how to read and write, “so he can send you a letter himself.”
This was not the end of the road, said Khadija, promising to try to reach them again. “We are constantly ready, God willing.”
Khadija’s letter got Osama thinking about the marriage prospects of the three teenage children who had made it to Abbottabad: Seham’s son, Khalid, and their other daughters, Miriam and Sumaiya. He did not want them marrying Pakistanis. Someone would have to find suitable Arab partners, which was not an easy matter given that the family was in hiding.
Seham had an idea. Her daughter Khadija was now better placed to help than most. Arabs had converged on the villages around Miram Shah, where she was now living. Lying in a hollow below a crucial pass over the mountains, the town had once acted as a staging post for the mujahideen, and it remained a personal fiefdom for Osama’s and the ISI’s long-term partner in jihad Jalaluddin Haqqani. His mosque and a huge religious school still dominated its outskirts.
These days, Haqqani’s son Sirajuddin had taken over the family business, and his network stretched to neighboring Mir Ali and across the border into Ghazni and down to Uruzgan. According to Dr. al-Zawahiri’s vision of having multiple fortresses dotted around the tribal zone, so that if one was attacked many others could continue, dozens of Al Qaeda’s operational commanders had also taken up residence in the area, many of them marrying into local families.
Khadija and her children were lodging with the family of an Egyptian brother who had been killed in Afghanistan, leaving behind several unmarried daughters.97 His widow had taken Khadija under her wing—helping with her new baby, Aisha. Khadija had also befriended one of the daughters, Karima, who was “pious and beautiful.” She was, Khadija thought, a perfect match for her younger brother, Khalid, in Abbottabad.
Seham was delighted. If Khalid wed Karima, the bride’s family would be indebted to Osama for life; and if Khalid moved to Waziristan, that would free up space for Khadija to come to them. Daood could take over Khalid’s job of running Osama’s media studio.
To get the ball rolling, Seham wrote to Karima’s mother. While they waited for her reply, Khalid asked his father fo
r permission to travel to Waziristan to meet his future wife.
Osama was reluctant. There was still plenty for Khalid to do in Abbottabad. Bathroom pipes needed fixing and he wanted window blinds replaced. He told his son to buy a cow and a chicken so they could have milk and eggs without going to the market, and to start a vegetable plot in the empty courtyard to the far right of the house. Osama wanted to reestablish the self-sufficient and frugal lifestyle he had adopted in Sudan and Kandahar. He had one more job for Khalid. His son was to purchase a wide-brimmed hat from Abbottabad’s main bazaar and construct a makeshift gazebo in the family garden. Osama was sick of staying indoors.
Osama’s companion Ibrahim was exhausted. He had to cover vast distances to connect disparate brothers, and back home there was no peace. Abrar was suffering from chronic depression brought on by stress. The main house was chaotic, with boxed-up possessions spilling out everywhere. The only order was in the Sheikh’s private realm. Inside his wooden wardrobe, his clothes hung on hangers or were folded into neat squares and piled up. His taped speeches sat in alphabetical rows. A large cupboard in his bathroom was filled with carefully labeled medical supplies.
Amal, Bushra, and Maryam were all pregnant again. If Khadija reached Abbottabad, that would mean three more children in the house. Where would they all sleep?
Even at home, Ibrahim felt as if he was at war, arguing with children and wives who were not allowed outside. Although a heavy double gate on the first floor separated his family from the bin Ladens, children, ever curious, pushed notes underneath and peeked through the gaps. Amal’s children, who were four, two, and one and cooped up on the second floor, wanted to play too, and they jealously watched Ibrahim’s and Abrar’s children running around in the yard.
Although the nearest neighbors were several hundred yards away, Ibrahim worried constantly about what they might overhear and say, not to mention the local shopkeepers, farmers, the imam, and the doctors and nurses at the local hospital.
