CHAPTER 2
November 2001.
Meeting in the Afghan Mountains
It was mid-afternoon. The tribal leaders had just enjoyed a sumptuous meal of lamb kabob and rice at the Jalalabad Islamic Studies Center, an institute which had been financed by Saudi Arabia. However, after the September 11th attacks that destroyed the Twin Towers in New York, it had been transformed into an intelligence center for the Taliban and Al Qaeda.
At the end of the banquet, the guests moved into the semi-circular conference room where there were enough seats to accommodate over five-hundred people. There was standing room at the balconies for an additional one-hundred., but it was the seats, which the leaders, their assistants and bodyguards occupied which drew the most attention. Beyond the doors, guards patrolled the corridors. Inside the conference room, an anticipatory hush fell as an Arab announcer appeared, his black robe swishing intimidatingly around him, and walked towards the lectern with the microphone. “It is my honor to introduce to you today a man we all honor. He is the one chosen by Allah and the Prophet. Blessed is his name: Osama bin Laden.”
The figure in question walked firmly towards the podium amid a standing ovation. Tall and thin, Osama bin Laden wore his usual gray robe and a camouflage jacket. Bodyguards in green combat uniforms surrounded him, arms at the ready. Their shiny new Kalashnikovs were specially equipped with grenade launchers.
As he took his place, the crowd chanted, in Arab, “Down with America. Down with Israel,” in angry voices. Bin Laden, with his characteristic half-smile gestured a sign of gratitude uniting his voice to the desires of the participants. Then, as always, he began his speech by invoking Allah. “Blessed be Allah. We pray for His help and forgiveness. We must seek refuge in Allah from the demons that are trying to possess our souls. I am a witness that there is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is His Prophet.” This done, he looked out over the sea of faces, anger radiating from every pore as he spoke. “The Americans have a plan to invade, but if we remain united and trust in Allah, we will teach them a harsh lesson as we have taught the Russians.”
Althought he continued on and on for twenty minutes delivering his theological messages and the need to eliminate all infidels from Allah’s kingdom, this statement was the crux on which his words rested, each praise of Allah and the Prophet only serving to excite the crowd into a greater fervor.
“Allah is great! Down with America! Down with Israel!” Bin Laden said, raising one hand in the air for emphasis as he wound down the speech, once again brining the message back to the purpose of the meeting.
“Your Arab brothers will show you the way. We have the weapons and the technology. What we most need is the support of our fellow Muslims. I pray that Allah allows me to see you all on the battle field.” With those words, he stepped away from the podium, still flanked by the bodyguards that followed him everywhere. The audience stood up chanting, “Zindibad Osama! Long live Osama!” An Al Qaeda leader, who had been listening near bin Laden approached him, placing his right hand over his heart, the Pashto symbol of highest honor. Together, they walked from the room.
Bin Laden remained for two hours at the institute. He distributed white envelopes with Pakistani rupees with the equivalent amounts from three-hundred to ten-thousand dollars to the leaders of the most important tribes controlling the Pakistani borders, each amount a token that would allow safe passage into Pakistani territory for himself and his men. That night, the first shots sounded.
Escape to Tora Bora
By the next day, the air attacks had intensified. The streets of Jalalabad were filled with the fear of the same people who had celebrated, just a few days before, the destruction of the World Trade Center. For centuries, Jalalabad was an important stop along the legendary Silk Road, and its prominence in history would have suggested progress. However, in spite of technical advances and communications that had made their way to the ciry, the squares and marketplaces are still the favorite place for tribes to exchange weapons and mules. They were also the place to establish and negotiate political loyalties.
The British Broadcasting Company transmitted its 21:30 news report in Pashto, the local language, and bin Laden positioned himself in front of the guests’ house from 21:00 hours. Babra Khan, a Jalalabad guard working in the nearby Islamic militant t base, and other residents, watched curiously as a line of vehicles approached the house. The seventh car stopped in front of the terrorist leader.
From the other side of the dusty, rutted road, Maulvi Abdul Kabir, Taliban governor of Jalalabad, approached Bin Laden, surrounded by sixty of his personal guards. His hands trembled slightly as he took bin Laden’s hand with the customary gesture of spiritually close individuals.
Slightly behind Kabir, a third man hovered. Younus Caliz, the son of the old patriarch of the city, a man who had close contact with both bin Laden and the Taliban, watched as the two men spoke, only talking himself when the two indicated it was his place to speak. A few minutes later, bin Laden boarded one of the four-wheel-drive vehicles that had pulled up in the convoy. The bodyguards followed in the other cars that stood before the house. This entire train of vehicles was escorted by six heavily-armed trucks heading for the Tora Bora Mountains, forty-five kilometers beyond the city.
As the caravan drove away, the men whose job it was to protect these individuals shared their opinions about the conversation quietly. While they did not dare to publicly express their doubts, they could clearly not expect a favorable result. The power and efficiency of the American Devil’s air focre were clearly superior to the Taliban’s, regardless of what bin Laden’s speeches said.
In Tora Bora, the caravan split according to plan. One group drove towards the village of Mileva and the other towards the village of Garihil, where they prepared to take their positions in the complex of caves and tunnels that lead to the base.
Malik Osman Khan, Garikil’s village chief, who had been previously notified by bin Laden, was on his way to the village. He was waiting at the intersection with a group of the most important men of the village and their bodyguards, every man armed with an AK-47. “Excellency,” Khan said, approaching bin Laden, “welcome to our village.”
“Thank you, Malik Osman,” bin Laddin said, once again smiling that odd, half-smile of his. “I had not been told that your village was abandoned. Where are the women and children?”
There was an unhappy expression on Malik’s face. Although he was not expecting the question, his voice did not betray him. “My dear bin Laden, our people are frightened by the events of the last few days.
The infidels’ air forces have escalated their incursions into our towns. We have sent our women and children to other villages where they will be safer.”
