Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [86]
My father had never been open about his inner thoughts, even with members of his own family, yet I knew that his mood was unusually solemn, perhaps even angry. He had never believed he would be kicked out of Sudan, but it had happened.
There was a slight rustle of papers as Hatim folded and unfolded his regional map. In a flurry of hand and eye motions, he would look intently at the compass, then back at the map, and hastily make notes in the margins. Hatim was grimly meticulous in letting us know that he did not trust the loyalty of the two pilots—which must mean that my father suspected some sort of trickery from the Sudanese government.
My father was stunned when his formerly welcoming hosts had capitulated to the demands of the Saudis, the Egyptians, and the Americans. Once he realized that he had no choice, his focus quickly altered to where he might move his operations and what funds and goods he would be allowed to take with him.
Now those questions plagued me, too. Where would we go? Would we lose all our possessions? Remembering that I had been ordered to leave Khartoum without a toothbrush in my hand, I began to suspect that all was lost. I had not even been able to slip my bulky inhaler and asthma medications onto the plane. I hoped I could find an inhaler and some Ventolin when we arrived at our destination.
But first we faced far more urgent questions than the fate of our possessions: Had the Sudanese officials sold my father out? Had the pilots been ordered to transport us to Riyadh, or even to America, to face arrest and imprisonment? Or was someone planning to shoot our plane out of the sky?
Seeking reassurance, I shifted my position to look around the plane. My father revealed little, but the Sudanese diplomat, Ibrahim, was a soothing presence. His behavior was solicitous, even subservient, with no hint of concern that plans were in the works to shoot us down. Surely he would have refused to accompany us if he suspected treachery. His attendance on the flight was a good sign, I decided.
Hatim muttered quietly to my father that we had passed over the Red Sea, that watery connection between Africans and Arabs. Safe, thus far! While the good news was that no fighter planes had intercepted our journey, the bad news was that we had entered Saudi airspace. At that point my father spoke loudly enough for everyone on the plane to hear: “Let there be no more talk! Pray to God in silence until we leave Saudi airspace.”
Apprehension mounted, with every man becoming stiff in his seat. Some prayed silently, while others stared fixedly out the porthole windows. I glanced once more at my father, and saw that he was quietly praying, putting everything in God’s hands.
I prayed, too, although my thoughts continued to race. Being told that we were in Saudi airspace settled one question. We were not going to Yemen, which was south of Saudi Arabia. If that were our objective, we would have no cause to enter Saudi airspace, but would make the flight entirely over the Red Sea.
My next thought was of Pakistan, which would require us to cross the entire width of Saudi Arabia, Iran, and Afghanistan. Since Saudi Arabia is a huge country of empty sands, one-third of the size of the United States, all the passengers remained in a state of high anxiety for a very long time.
After praying for a long time, my father finally asked Hatim, “Do you know where we are going?”
Hatim shook his head. “No.”
My heart skipped several beats. Did Hatim really not know our destination? Or was my father asking because he did not know? This was not good. I wanted to blurt out my questions, but forced myself to remain silent.
I glanced at Mohammed Atef (called Abu Hafs by those who knew him best), finding his face free of worry. My father confided completely in Abu Hafs, who must surely be privy to our destination.
My father’s security chief, Sayf Adel, seemed tense, occasionally slipping from his seat to step into the cabin to confer with the pilots. I attempted to see the pilots, but caught only a glimpse. One of the