#3. ROOM 11, ARAB LEAGUE OFFICES, MIDAN TAHRIR, CAIRO, EGYPT
Sunday May 3, 11:23
THREE MEN sat round a large, highly polished rectangular table in the centre of a large, tastefully decorated room. Dominating the cream-painted walls were enormous gold-framed portraits of Salah-Al-Din, the Kurd who had beaten the Crusaders, and Mohamed Ali, the nineteenth century ruler of Egypt. An opulent room, with its gold-leaf, its silver, its crystal chandeliers, resounded of history, it reeked of power, influence and importance.
The first man, tall and slim with a neatly sculpted black beard, sat at the head of the table. He wore a charcoal Armani suit, a crisp white shirt and a dark red silk tie. Elegant, suave, a gold wedding band gleaming on his finger, Dr Seif Hazem was Security Advisor to the Arab League.
The second man, on Dr Seif's left, small, nervous and fidgety, was squeezed into an ill-fitting blue polyester suit. He fiddled with his cheap, silver wristwatch and frequently scratched his throat. His watery blue eyes seemed too small for his perpetually perspiring face. Flat stripes of black hair seemed painted on his balding skull. Ahmed Ahmed was the Director of Syria's Internal Security Service.
The third, to Dr Seif's right, wore an olive-green military uniform. Medal ribbons clung to the breast like limpets to a rock. Golden epaulettes hugged the shoulders like moss on a tree. Close-cut grey hair stuck to his bullet-shaped head like iron filings on a magnet. A broken nose marred a craggy face and a thin scar ran across his left cheek. General Omar Magdy was the Director of Egyptian Military Intelligence.
Together, they managed the Arab League's Joint Intelligence Service. Miniature flags of their nations ran down the centre of the table in a line, along with flags of the Lebanon, Palestine and Jordan. Reds, greens and blacks pre-dominated.
''This cannot go on,'' said Dr Seif. ''It is getting worse by the day. Another thirty-four killed in Baghdad and yet again a Muslim organisation claims responsibility.''
''Fighting against American oppression,'' said Omar Magdy mildly, ''Or so they say.''
''Killing Muslims,'' grated the fourth man, ''Brothers and sisters in the ulema. In the name of Islam. What the hell is that about?''
This man, dressed in an expensive dark brown suit, stood with his back to the room and gazed through the glass of the double doors, over the balcony across Tahrir Square towards the rosy pink dome of the Egyptian Museum and the monstrous concrete pillar of the Ramses Hilton. Inside the jacket, his shoulders bulged with pent-up power. His neck disappeared into an elongated, inverted pear of a head. His black moustache bristled as he listened to the conversation behind him. Seconded from the Jordanian military, Colonel Ibrahim Radwan was the Director of JAIS' Special Operations Section.
''Casualties in the greater jihad?'' Ahmed Ahmed scratched his throat. ''Collateral damage in the holy war? It's what they will say.''
''Screw them,'' growled Colonel Ibrahim, not turning round. ''Thirty-four dead, a hundred and six injured, all Muslims. All Muslims. This is not jihad. This is a slaughter of innocents.''
The three at the table shuffled their papers uncomfortably.
''What is this Islam?'' Colonel Ibrahim scowled. ''This is not any Islam I recognise. This is a warped and twisted Islam that needs to be rooted out and destroyed.''
Dr Seif examined his meticulously manicured fingernails. General Omar fiddled with the little Lebanese flag before him. Ahmed Ahmed mopped his face with a large red handkerchief.
''We have to confront this menace head-on,'' said Colonel Ibrahim, turning towards the table.'' We must stand up to this lunatic fringe that discredit and shame our faith, who make us apologise for who we are and what we believe. They are not Muslims. They are the sons of Satan and must be eradicated.''
Dr Seif glanced at Ahmed Ahmed. ''This young man who blew himself up,'' he said smoothly. ''He came from Damascus, I believe.''
Ahmed Ahmed wiped his face again. ''No, no, Dr Seif. He came from Palestine. He only went to school in Damascus.''
''Whatever.'' Dr Seif settled himself in his chair. ''He was recruited and trained in your country and sent abroad to cause untold damage.''
Colonel Ibrahim moved away from the window. ''This school, Dar El-Tawhid. It is in the Old City and run by two men.''
''We know,'' Ahmed Ahmed replied impatiently. ''Talal Hafez and Moussa Bashir are teachers, preachers and philanthropists. They take in orphans and street-boys and teach them The Qur'an. They teach moral and spiritual values. They work for the good of society.''
''The Sadr City Bomber came from their school,'' said Colonel Ibrahim firmly. ''So did the guy who blew up that bus in Alexandria. There have been others.''
''What do you know about this Talal Hafez?'' said General Omar, ''Apart from his being a teacher and philanthropist, of course?''
Ahmed Ahmed scratched his throat. ''He is an Iraqi from Fallujah who lost his hand trying to disarm a grenade which an American soldier threw into a school-bus. He set up the school eighteen months ago to care for other Iraqis but has widened his net recently to include those from Palestine and others. He receives funding from various sources, some in Syria, one in Egypt, one in Jordan.''
''The Jordanian source,'' said Colonel Ibrahim, ''Is Doctor Moustapha Al-Sekem, the environmentalist and businessman who wants to save the planet through using sustainable energy sources like solar and wind power. Builds bloody great windmills all over the desert and has a factory developing solar panels and building turbines. He runs a charity called Hands across the Sands. Gives a lot of money to hospitals, orphanages, things like that.''
''Do you know for a fact he is funding this school in Damascus?'' asked Dr Seif.
''No,'' admitted Colonel Ibrahim. ''It's more of a suspicion than a definite lead, and even if he is, it doesn't mean he knows it's a school for terrorists.''
''Who is your Egyptian suspect?''
''Amr Al-Arian,'' said General Omar. ''Owns a major construction company, gas pipelines, oil refineries. Has projects all over Egypt and in the Gulf including Abu Dhabi and Qatar. He too gives a lot of money to good causes, including Hands across the Sands, and has recently endowed a public library in Nasr City. He seems legitimate enough.''
''None of this proves Dar El-Tawhid is breeding terrorists,'' said Ahmed Ahmed defensively, ''Nor that these businessmen are involved.''
''No.'' Dr Seif stroked his beard. ''No, it doesn't. But this last bomber came from that school. Now it could be a coincidence but the bomber who blew up the train station in Mosul, and the bomber who blew up the church in Ma'an also came from that school. Not to mention the Alexandria bomber. That's four now, in Iraq, Jordan and Egypt.'' He leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. ''All these suicide-bombers mere coincidence? I think not. It appears that Talal Hafez is running a school for cross-border bombers.''
''But we don't have the evidence, just a trail of coincidences,'' Ahmed Ahmed protested.
''Exactly,'' said Colonel Ibrahim, hurling himself at last into one of the leather-backed chairs. He seemed to dwarf it. ''We have no evidence. So we need to get it. We need to send an agent into Dar El-Tawhid to find out what this Talal Hafez and Moussa Bashir are getting up to and whether Moustapha Al-Sekem and Amr Al-Arian are funding them for terrorist purposes.''
He handed each man a brown cardboard folder with OPERATION FLASHLIGHT inscribed in large red letters on the front.
''In order to infiltrate their networks and bring them to justice,'' he said, ''We need a special agent. We need a boy, gentlemen, a boy who is desperate, vulnerable, angry and down on his luck, a boy who will be seen as suitable material from which to mould a living bomb, who, in the eyes of these terrorist cells, is nothing but a dead boy walking. We need to find this boy and recruit him to our side before they recruit him to theirs.''
''Adults arouse suspicion,'' said Dr Seif. ''Boys do not. Boys are invisible.''
''It is an excellent idea,'' said General Omar carefully, breaking the pensive silence, ''But where will you find the k
ind of boy you describe?''
''The streets are full of them,'' said the Colonel dismissively.
''But,'' General Omar persisted, ''He has to be self-reliant, quick-thinking, resourceful, able to deal with all manner of situations, confident and tough yet appear ordinary enough to slip under the radar. He has to be a boy who knows no fear.''
''He has to be unique,'' Colonel Ibrahim agreed, ''But we shall find him. We shall find him, recruit him, train him and employ him. He will be our Super-Spy, he will save thousands of lives and he will help us reclaim our religion from the lunatics and extremists.''
''He'll be one in a million,'' said Ahmed Ahmed sceptically.
''Just so long as he is our one in a million, not theirs,'' said Dr Seif. ''Gentlemen, to Operation Flashlight and our soon-to-be Super-Spy.''