The Bin Laden Plot

41 SALMIYA, KUWAIT

Jake Harrison returned to the safe house room after having breakfast with Marzouq Ashour in the common area, expecting to find Khalila still asleep. Instead, she was almost fully dressed, wearing a purple blouse — short-sleeved again, since knives were strapped to both forearms — and a dark gray business suit, with the jacket lying on the bed beside a coordinating gray-and-purple headscarf.

“Where are we going today?” Harrison asked.

“We aren’t going anywhere. I have a meeting today with individuals who would not take kindly to your presence.”

“Is that because I’m American, Caucasian, or a former Navy SEAL?”

“Yes, on all counts.”

“Who’s the meeting with?”

“None of your business. I have critical contacts to maintain, and an opportunity presented itself.”

“How long will the meeting take?”

“Why do you care?” she asked as she slipped into her suit jacket.

“I just got word about the Failaka mission. We’re taking a helicopter ride to Michigan tonight. We head out from the safe house at 7 p.m.”

“I’ll be back by then,” she said as she wrapped the hijab around her hair and neck, leaving her face exposed.

“Is this a risky meeting?” he asked, noting that Khalila hadn’t yet tested the knives strapped to her forearms, as she usually did after donning her suit jacket. She also lacked the tension she had exuded prior to meeting with the Kuwait Security Service agents and Rashidi.

“There is always risk in these types of meetings, considering the people I deal with.”

Harrison’s curiosity was piqued. That Khalila was well connected was obvious, and it made sense that she had to nurture those relationships, instead of engaging only when she needed assistance. Harrison’s thoughts went to the conversation they’d had on the flight to Syria, where she had admitted that she was essentially a double agent, providing information to both sides. He wondered, who — or what — was the other side?

Perhaps, if he could get a look at whoever she was meeting…

“Need a ride, or is Mussan driving you?”

“Neither. I’m on my own today,” she said as she tucked the scarf under her blouse collar.

“Be careful,” he said, adding a grin. “If anything goes wrong, I won’t be there to save you this time.”

Khalila smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As she moved toward the door, Harrison surveyed her preparations. She carried a purse, but had left her pistol behind; she was armed with only the two knives.

He wished her luck as she left. After the bedroom door closed, he threw on his shoulder harness and pistol and a light sport jacket, then hurried to the stairs, descending to the ground floor. He cracked the door open as Khalila stepped from the lobby onto the sidewalk.

He moved to the front door, watching through a sidelight as she hailed a cab passing by. As the cab pulled back into traffic, Harrison exited the safe house, immediately raising his hand to flag down one of the other cabs passing by. One stopped and Harrison jumped in, providing a movie-worthy quote.

“Follow that cab!”

The driver didn’t bat an eye, as if this were an everyday occurrence, pulling quickly back into traffic, matching the speed and turns of the lead car.

They were soon back in the center of Kuwait City, following Khalila until her cab pulled into the entrance concourse of the Al Hamra Tower, the tallest curved concrete skyscraper in the world, rising over 1,300 feet. Khalila waited in the taxi, and Harrison instructed his driver to pull over to the other side of the street.

A few minutes later, a black limousine stopped at the tower entrance and four Arab men emerged, each wearing the white dishdasha robe traditionally worn by many Middle Eastern men. Harrison recognized one of the men immediately — Abdallah bin Laden, Osama’s eldest son.

Khalila emerged from her taxi and walked toward the four men. Harrison pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and started a video recording, capturing the occurrence and the four men’s faces.

When Khalila reached them, she extended her hand to Abdallah, and they shook and exchanged greetings. Abdallah smiled and seemed pleased to see her. Khalila turned to greet the other three men, but didn’t extend her hand. Each man placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head slightly in respect.

Abdallah and Khalila headed into the Al Hamra Tower lobby, walking side by side as they talked, while the three other men followed. Harrison recorded the interaction until they disappeared into the lobby interior.

As Harrison slid his cell phone back into his jacket pocket, he wondered whether the meeting with Abdallah was coincidental or somehow related to their mission to Kuwait. That Khalila seemed driven to determine who was taken prisoner at Abbottabad was obvious. But now, he wondered why.

If the prisoner turned out to be Osama bin Laden, that information would be incredibly valuable. In the wrong hands, it would also be quite dangerous.