“He will arrive soon.”
Two women entered the room, one carrying a large platter of food while the other carried cups and a pot of tea.
“You must be hungry,” Zahed said. “Eat.”
Mixell and Zahed had finished eating, the dishes cleared away, when four men entered the room: a man Mixell recognized, escorted by three armed men who made no effort to conceal their Uzi submachine guns. Mixell almost smiled at the irony — Arab terrorists carrying weapons manufactured by Israel Military Industries. These three men were different from the four Mixell had encountered earlier. Conscious of his surroundings and potential threats, Mixell noted that there were now ten armed men nearby. But for the moment, he focused on the man without a weapon, who was missing his right arm and walked with a limp.
The rumors were true. The man had been targeted by an American drone and had barely escaped with his life. Mixell rose from the couch to greet Ayman al-Zawahiri.
Zawahiri had succeeded Osama bin Laden as leader of al-Qaeda. After the rise of ISIL and the presumed death of Zawahiri, America’s attention had turned elsewhere and al-Qaeda had slowly regained strength. Additionally, Zawahiri had recently convinced ISIL remnants in Afghanistan and Pakistan to shift allegiance to his leadership, with a goal of unifying all Islamic extremist and jihadist organizations worldwide. Zawahiri yearned for a bold strike that would demonstrate his leadership and his organization’s capabilities, convincing other groups to join the al-Qaeda network.
But even though al-Qaeda had regained strength, it still lacked the ability to inflict the type of damage done on 9/11. Not that Zawahiri didn’t have resources. He had money, but not the right people or relationships. Mixell was a man who could help. As an American, traveling under an alias and with even a minimal disguise, he could move freely through Europe and the United States and had developed the necessary relationships. But to execute his plans, Mixell needed money. The question was — how deep were Zawahiri’s pockets?
Zawahiri studied the American rising to greet him. He was adept at reading men, a trait that had kept him alive through twenty years of Western persecution. It did not take long to realize the man standing before him was a contradiction. He was staring at an infidel in Western attire, a man who could never outwardly be confused as an ally. But the man’s eyes told a different story. Within his dark pupils was a simmering hatred, a visceral desire for revenge. The man had suffered a great injustice, it seemed, and had embarked on an unwavering path of vengeance. It was this journey that Zawahiri wanted to explore further.
For his part, Mixell saw a man who wasn’t much different from himself. Although they were of different races, religions, and cultures, they were men cut from the same cloth. They shared a common enemy, albeit for different reasons. The differences were irrelevant as far as Mixell was concerned; only the common goal mattered. It was Zawahiri’s dedication to this goal — and his ability to fund it — that had drawn him in.
Zawahiri gestured to the couches. “Be seated.”
There was no need for Zahed to translate, since Zawahiri had spoken in English, and was fluent in French as well as his native Arabic.
Mixell returned to his couch as Zawahiri sat opposite him beside Zahed, while the three armed men remained in the room, standing behind Mixell. One of the women entered, offering tea to Mixell and the two men facing him, which they accepted.
After taking a sip of tea, Zawahiri said, “Congratulations, my friend,” although Mixell was certain the man did not yet consider him a friend. “You executed your task in New York well. I could not have asked for a better outcome.”
Mixell nodded his appreciation, then asked, “Do you plan to take credit for the assassination?”
“In due time. If you are successful in your next endeavor, the ambassador’s death will pale in comparison. In the meantime, I do not want to focus America’s attention on my organization any more than it already is. Let them hunt down only the man responsible for the assassination.”
“Fair enough,” Mixell replied. “Regarding this next endeavor, have you made a decision? The timeline is tight. You must authorize the first task within the next three days or the opportunity may not present itself again.”
“I will decide tonight,” Zawahiri replied. “But I have many questions that must be answered first.”
And thus, the interrogation began. Question after question regarding Mixell’s background, the events that led to his incarceration, what he had done since regaining his freedom, and his motive for assisting al-Qaeda. Throughout it all, it was clear that Zawahiri was trying to resolve the basic issue — could he trust him?
After two hours of questions and answers, Zawahiri turned to Zahed and spoke in Arabic. Mixell couldn’t understand their conversation, but sensed the tension in their words. After a few exchanges, Zawahiri spoke to Mixell.
“Step outside for a few minutes.”
As Mixell rose from the couch, the terrorist leader offered a small smile, then took another sip of tea.
This was a dangerous time, Mixell thought. The smile could mean anything.
Zawahiri’s eyes followed the American as he left the room, accompanied by the armed men. Although Mixell claimed not to understand any of the Arabic dialects, it could be a ruse, and Zawahiri wanted to discuss matters with Zahed in private.
“This American,” Zawahiri said. “I do not trust him.”
“He did as we requested,” Zahed replied, “killing the American ambassador to the United Nations to prove his loyalty and his capability.”
“That was but a single act, one that does not confirm his allegiance to the cause. It could easily be a ploy to gain our confidence.”
“Do his motivations matter?”
“It does if there is an armed drone overhead tracking his movements, waiting until the appropriate meeting has been arranged.”
“I think we’ve answered that question. You have arrived and there has been no attack.”
“The Americans are weak. They do not sacrifice their men. As long as he is with us, we are safe. It is when we go our separate ways that we are at our greatest peril.”
Zahed considered Zawahiri’s words, then replied, “I agree with you. There is no way to be certain the American can be trusted. But we are not bringing him into our inner circle. He will learn nothing about our leadership or operations. He has offered valuable services, and you risk only money. We must take what Allah provides and be grateful.”
After a moment of reflection, Zawahiri nodded his agreement. “Bring him to me.”
Mixell entered the room, returning to the couch across from the al-Qaeda leader.
“I will fund both tasks,” Zawahiri said. “As for the first, these are the targets.”
He glanced at Zahed, who pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to the American. Mixell examined the list, which matched his expectations.
“How much do you require for both tasks?” Zawahiri asked.
“What I’ve proposed is not easy to arrange,” Mixell replied. “It will be expensive to purchase the cooperation I require, as well as the equipment. I need sixty million U.S. dollars, up front, with another sixty million upon the successful completion of either task.”
Zawahiri stared at Mixell for a moment, his eyes unreadable. Finally, he said, “If you accomplish either task, I will double the sixty million due. Consider the additional funds a down payment for further work.”
Mixell nodded his understanding as Zawahiri stood and limped from the room without another word, leaving the three armed men behind.