The Bin Laden Plot

38 SABAH AL-SALEM, KUWAIT

Jake Harrison’s head gradually emerged from the black water near the shore of Kuwait Bay. As he moved slowly toward Malik al-Rashidi’s estate, he kept his eyes just above the water’s surface, creeping lower and lower until he came to a halt, lying on his stomach fifteen feet from the sandy beach, his body still beneath the water, with his head now fully above the surface.

He pushed his face mask up and pulled the rebreather from his mouth, then brought his Heckler & Koch MP7 submachine gun to bear, examining the back of Rashidi’s estate through the MP7 sight. Two guards were in view, positioned as expected based on the satellite imagery he had reviewed at the CIA safe house. He turned on his waterproof earpiece, then contacted Khalila, informing her that he was at the desired spot — and properly equipped — to execute his phase of the plan.

Two hours earlier, Marzouq Ashour had returned to the CIA safe house with the items Harrison had requested: a black wet suit in Harrison’s size, dive boots and fins, diving mask, and a Dräger LAR rebreather, which was a small, closed-circuit breathing system using pure oxygen, with the unit filtering carbon dioxide from exhaled air. Unlike scuba gear, the rebreather emitted no air bubbles, making it ideal for clandestine operations.

While they waited for Ashour’s return, Harrison and Khalila had devised a plan for tonight’s meeting with Rashidi and had also visited the safe house armory, where Harrison had selected a bullet-resistant vest, the MP7 with an optical sight and a suppressor, plus a waterproof rucksack containing a cell phone jammer, a security alarm neutralizer, and two sets of C-4 explosive and detonators in case he had to blast his way through a door or two. Only the first item in the rucksack would likely be needed, but he had brought the others along, just in case.

Harrison had passed on night vision goggles since Rashidi’s estate was lit well enough from nearby streetlights. As he surveyed the bay side of Rashidi’s estate, he noted that despite the late hour, there was a light on in an upstairs room. Ashour would be monitoring their communications from the safe house, and Harrison had talked him into cutting Rashidi’s telephone landline once Khalila entered his house. Harrison would then jam the cell phones, preventing any calls for assistance.

For Khalila’s part, she had selected no additional equipment aside from a thin, soft-armor, bullet-resistant vest she had donned. Aside from that, she had left the safe house dressed and armed as she had been for the meeting at the Seif Palace, with only the two knives strapped to her forearms beneath her business suit.

Two blocks from Rashidi’s estate, Khalila had been sitting in her car, waiting for Harrison’s signal through her earpiece. Now that he was in place, she started the car and drove toward the estate. She stopped a short distance from the entrance and walked to the gate, guarded by an armed man who eyed her suspiciously, given the late hour.

“I’m here to see Malik al-Rashidi.”

“He’s asleep,” the man said.

“I didn’t ask you what he was doing,” Khalila said. “Besides, he doesn’t look asleep to me.” She motioned toward the house, with the upstairs room illuminated. “Tell him that his friend Khalila Dufour is here to see him.”

The guard was about to respond when a sedan with four men drove up, stopping beside Khalila. As the gate slid aside to let the vehicle pass, Khalila examined the men inside the car. They were armed Kuwait Security Service personnel. Rashidi had either figured things out or was simply taking additional precautions.

“Four more guards,” Khalila said for Harrison’s benefit, who was monitoring her progress through his earpiece. “Having a party tonight, or is this just a shift change?”

The man ignored her question as the car passed by and stopped near the front door, where the agents exited the vehicle and entered the house. Khalila considered abandoning tonight’s operation, given the four extra agents. There were now nine armed men to contend with. However, the front gate remained open, and the guard had his phone to his ear, calling Rashidi.

Khalila decided to proceed.

“There’s a woman at the gate who says she’s a friend of yours,” the guard said. “Her name is Khalila Dufour.”

Khalila heard Rashidi’s voice through the cell phone speaker.

Let me see her face.

The man switched his phone to a video call and held it before Khalila.

Ensure she’s unarmed, then let her in.

The guard pulled a handheld metal detector from the gatehouse and surveyed Khalila’s body. No alarm went off. He gestured toward the house entrance as the gate closed behind her.

She made her way down the sidewalk, then climbed the steps to Rashidi’s residence. She knocked, and the door was opened by one of the four men who had just arrived. Two of them escorted her to the second floor and into a study with built-in bookcases and an antique desk.

Malik al-Rashidi rose from his chair and circled around to the front of his desk, leaning back against the edge as he examined his guest.

“So, you go by Khalila now?”

Moments earlier, Khalila had entered Rashidi’s house, which was Harrison’s signal to begin. She had accurately forecasted the first phase of tonight’s mission — getting inside wouldn’t be a problem. The getting-out part, however, required Harrison’s assistance.

With his elbow on the sandy bottom supporting his MP7, he centered the optical sight on the man to the right, then pulled the trigger.

The round hit him in the head, and Harrison shifted to the man on the left, who was thus far oblivious of his pending fate. Another squeeze, and both men were sprawled on the ground.

He rose from the water and moved to the back of the residence, then pulled the cell phone jammer from his rucksack and activated it. He peered around the left side of the house. In the distance, he spotted the guard manning the left-front corner of the estate. His back was to Harrison as he monitored the front of the residence.

Harrison moved quietly along the side of the house, his MP7 sighted on the third man as he approached the front corner, contemplating his next move. Once he dropped the next man, the fourth might notice, which meant he had to be in position to take him out quickly, before he could alert the gate guard or the four men inside the house.

He stopped at the corner and peered around, locating the next man, who was positioned as Harrison had expected based on the satellite imagery. The gate guard was partially blocked by a tall hedgerow, and Harrison hoped the guard’s focus was outside the estate, not within.

Satisfied he could proceed effectively, Harrison put two bullets in the front-left guard, then immediately turned the corner toward the fourth, drilling two rounds into him. He moved swiftly toward the gate guard, and once he cleared the hedgerow, he put a bullet in the man’s head.

He reached the front door, then paused to reassess. There was supposed to be only the five men posted in the estate exterior, not four more inside the house, their whereabouts unknown. However, he figured one or two of the men were near the front door.

Blowing the door open with C-4 was an option, but that would give away his presence. He’d likely be able to take out whoever was near the front door due to the dual effect of surprise and the blast itself, but the others would be warned. A stealthy ingress was preferred.

Harrison reached for the door handle and slowly tried to turn it. The door was locked.

There was one other, fairly stealthy option. Khalila had knocked on the door, and the guard had opened it without any challenge. It was worth a try.

He searched for door cameras mounted nearby and found none, so with his MP7 held ready in one hand, he knocked with the other. A few seconds later, the door opened.

Harrison shot the man at the door twice, then surged past him into the foyer as he fell, spotting a second agent, reaching for his gun. Two more bullets, followed by a third to the head, sent him to the floor as well. After another round to the head of the first guard inside, Harrison moved quietly up the stairs.

Standing before Rashidi in his study, Khalila was keenly aware of the two armed agents behind her.

“Yes, I go by Khalila now. For the time being.”

“I assume you’re responsible for the incident at the Seif tonight?” Rashidi asked.

“I am.”

“Why would you do such a thing? Kill five of my men?”

“Iqbal was about to kill me. I had no choice.”

“That’s absurd. Iqbal would never harm you.”

“He said there was an edict that required my elimination. It had to do with a question I asked.”

“What was that?”

“About a prisoner the Americans handed over to Kuwaiti officials several years ago.”

“Can you be more specific about this prisoner?”

“The man from bin Laden’s Abbottabad compound.”

Rashidi’s eyes widened, finally understanding what this was about. He looked at the two men behind her. “Wait outside.”

The two agents departed, closing the study door.

Rashidi began pacing back and forth. “This edict was handed down years ago, before you started working for the Americans. It was not crafted with you in mind. If Basim had called me, I would have clarified that you are exempt.”

“It would have been helpful if you had done so earlier.”

Rashidi stopped pacing and faced her, clearly agitated. “Why now? After all these years, why is this question asked?”

Khalila wasn’t sure how much she could reveal to Rashidi. But considering how she expected things to play out tonight, she figured it was okay to divulge whatever was necessary.

“Are you aware that the existence of this prisoner was kept secret from the CIA?”

Rashidi started pacing again. Khalila could tell his mind was racing through various scenarios; what information could be divulged, where it would lead, and what the repercussions might be. But he hadn’t answered her question, so she repeated it.

“Malik, are you aware that the existence of this prisoner was kept secret from the CIA?”

“Yes!” he hissed as he spun toward her. “It was kept secret from everyone! That was the reason for the edict. No one was to learn the truth.”

“What truth was that?”

“You already know. That the Americans took a prisoner from Abbottabad.”

She had finally brought Rashid to the point where she could ask the question that really mattered.

“Who was the prisoner?”

“I don’t know. I never saw him, and I didn’t dare ask who he was. Not that they would have told me.”

Khalila pondered whether Rashidi was telling the truth. Her gut told her he was. But what else did he know?

“Where was the prisoner sent?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Khalila heard the faint sound of several suppressed MP7 shots, followed by two thuds in the hallway outside the study. Rashidi’s eyes went to the door as a questioning look formed on his face, but Khalila continued.

“Actually, you should tell me,” she said. “There are nine dead men on your estate tonight. Let’s not make it ten.”

“What?”

The study door burst open, revealing Harrison wielding his MP7, which he quickly brought to bear on Rashidi.

“As I was saying,” Khalila said, “let’s not make it ten dead men on your estate tonight. Where is the prisoner?”

Rashidi eyed Harrison, then the two agents lying on the floor outside the study. Rashidi’s facial expression said it all; his resolve crumbled.

“He was sent to Failaka Island,” he said. “There’s a hidden detention facility on the eastern side, built and run by the Americans after 9/11.”

“Is it still active?”

“I don’t know. The Abbottabad prisoner was the last man we sent there. All others went elsewhere after that.”

“Was there any paperwork for this arrangement?”

“Nothing. All verbal.”

“One last question,” Khalila said. “Who directed you to keep this a secret from the CIA?”

“I don’t know who the men were. I hadn’t interfaced with them before, but they knew the code words.”

Khalila approached Rashidi and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Malik. I know how difficult this was for you.”

Then she lowered her other arm and flexed her wrist, ejecting a knife into her hand.

She jammed the knife into Rashidi’s right kidney, inflicting an excruciating stab wound. His legs went weak from the pain and he dropped to his knees. Then she slit his throat.

He fell to the ground, clamping his hands around his neck in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. Blood pulsed through his fingers until his body went still.

“What the hell, Khalila. Why did you kill him?”

“Because the moment we left tonight, he would have made a call, letting whoever orchestrated this cover-up know what we’d been told. We can’t get to Failaka Island tonight, and I don’t want whoever’s there warned so they can pack up and scurry away. If whoever was taken from Abbottabad is still at that facility, I don’t want him to slip through our fingers.”