Jihad

CHAPTER 73

Marid Dabir stared at the television screen, watching the report of the deaths in Turkey. The authorities clearly had been tipped off to the pending attack, or otherwise they would not have had so many men in the area when the bomb exploded.

Dabir avoided the obvious conclusion until a photo of the dead attacker flashed on the screen. The European al-Qaeda organizer recognized him immediately: it was one of Asad’s bodyguards, the one who stayed closest to him during Dabir’s visit to Istanbul.

That made it all too clear who the traitor must be, didn’t it?

Asad bin Taysr was the only person outside of Dabir’s trusted circle who knew the target in Germany — yet didn’t know the plan well enough to allow the police to stop it. The bodyguard who might have implicated him had been eliminated. Most likely the man had been urged to his death by Asad, who would have been sure he would kill himself as soon as the police spotted him.

A traitor to his brothers, to his religion, to God.

There would be more betrayals. Eventually, the traitor would lead the Crusaders to Osama bin Laden himself.

He must be stopped before that happened.

Dabir rose from the table and walked to the counter of the airport lounge. He scratched his chin as he ordered another coffee. He’d shaved off his beard for the first time in more than five years and dyed his hair silver gray, matching the old picture in the Belgian passport in his pocket. He had a flight to Moscow in three hours. Though he hated the city, it was a place where he knew he would be safe.

This was not a time to be safe. It was a time to act. He would have to eliminate Asad bin Taysr now, before it was too late. Only he was in a position to do so.

Asad would go to the U.S. to deliver instructions for the rest of the attacks there. Al-Qaeda protocol decreed that the final orders be delivered in person so there was no chance of interception and no mistake in interpretation. Perhaps he was already there. Perhaps it was too late to stop him.

Dabir refused to consider that possibility. If Asad had gone to the U.S., he would meet with only the most secure and committed cells in the country. Three years ago, that would have meant Detroit, Phoenix, and San Francisco.

Now, though?

Perhaps the same. Dabir had helped build the American network and still had many personal contacts there. He could find out quickly, if he went there.

“Three euros,” said the man at the counter.

Dabir reached for his wallet. He could get to Detroit easily enough, and there were brothers there he could count on, brothers whom he had trained and helped plant years ago. They would owe their allegiance to him, not Asad.

He could have them meet him in Ontario, base his operations there. Phoenix would be his next stop, more difficult to deal with than Detroit, though he liked the weather much better.

Dabir took out one of the BlackBerrys he could use to communicate with associates. A set of chips had been added to the guts of the devices, allowing them to encrypt messages. He tapped out a message in English: “Changing plans. Will advise.” Then he went to see if he could arrange a flight to Toronto.