The Bin Laden Plot

EPILOGUE

“That was a close one.”

“Yeah, too close.”

The two men were sitting beside each other at a metal table in a ten-by-ten-foot room with a smooth concrete floor and no windows, surrounded by roughly hewn granite walls. It was cold in the complex, and it had an antiseptic new facility smell.

“Fortunately,” the first man said, “the issue was contained. We’ll need to do a better job on operational security going forward.”

“The boss is already working on it.”

The man on the left checked his watch. “It’s almost time.”

His eyes went to the blue folder before him on the table, then to the bookcase of thick three-inch binders, containing the notes from the many years of daily conversations.

He opened and perused the contents of the folder, looking up as a tall, elderly Arab with a long gray beard and wearing a white dishdasha was escorted into the room by a security guard. The man ambled toward the table, his slippered feet shuffling across the smooth concrete floor. The guard left, and the interrogation room door automatically locked when it closed.

The Arab sat down in a chair opposite the two men.

“How are your new accommodations?” one of the men asked.

“Adequate,” the Arab replied. “We moved suddenly. Has someone discovered your deception?”

“Not at all,” the man replied. “This lovely facility became available, so we decided to move.”

“Why were you moving drugs into the facility as we left?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

The Arab smiled. “What shall we discuss today?”

One of the men pulled a picture from the blue folder and pushed it toward the Arab. “Do you recognize this woman? She goes by Khalila, but we were wondering if you could identify her for us.”

The elderly man examined the photograph, then looked up. “It has been many years, but of course I recognize her. She’s one of Najwa’s daughters.”

Both men scribbled a note about Najwa, Osama bin Laden’s first wife, confirming what they already knew.

“Do you know why she’d be working for the CIA?”

The Arab’s eyes widened slightly, then his gaze dropped to the picture again. When he looked up, his dark eyes had the expression of someone who knew far more than he was letting on.

“I doubt she is truly working for the Americans. But if she is and you’d like to know why, you’ll have to ask her.”