The Black Banners_ 9_11 and the War Against Al-Qaeda - Ali H. Soufan [229]
“Tell me again, why did you go to Afghanistan?” I asked.
“I came to teach the Quran, as I told you,” he said. I gave him a big smile. “Why are you smiling?”
“The problem with you guys is that you didn’t come up with better stories. If you and the friends you were captured with were smart, you would have divided yourselves up, saying numbers one to fifteen were studying the Quran, while numbers sixteen to thirty were teaching it. Saying you all are teaching the Quran is just stupid.” Bahlul said nothing, but a smirk crossed his face.
I returned to talking about Islam, but I still wasn’t taking any notes. At a certain point Bahlul could no longer contain himself and asked me sharply: “What?”
“What?” I asked back.
“Why aren’t you taking notes anymore?”
“Did I do anything but respect you here?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “You did respect me.”
“I did. I came here and dealt with you respectfully as one human being to another. But when you are not honest with me, I take that as sign of disrespect.”
“But I’m telling you the truth,” he protested.
“Please, please don’t go down that route. You don’t know what I know. I know who you are. I came here especially to speak to you.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“Look, you may consider yourself an important soldier in the war against the infidels, but as you sit here and give arguments that contradict what you swore you’d give your life for, you make me wonder how much you really believe in your cause. My question to you is: Do you really believe in these things?” Bahlul was silent. “If you do truly believe these things,” I continued, “then your jihad is not over yet. It is your duty to continue advocating what you were fighting for.
“I have a deal for you,” I continued. “It is time for noon prayers. We should stop and you should go and pray. And when you pray I need you to do an istikhara—I need you to ask God for guidance. Ask God if you should continue to hide behind your shadow, or whether you should be a real mujahid and admit to what you believe in.” Bahlul gave a slight, somewhat uncomfortable-sounding laugh, as if trying to show he was still confident, and then left for prayers.
When he returned, he sat back down in his place on the couch, but this time I sat down next to him. He clasped his hands together between his knees and stared down at the table. “Taqabal Allah,” I said—May God receive your prayers: a common saying among Muslims after prayer.
“Minna wa minkum,” he replied: May God accept them from us and you. Then neither of us said anything for a minute.
“Would you like a cookie?” I said, breaking the silence. On the coffee table in front of us I had put some tea and a plate of cookies.
“Thank you,” he said, removing a cookie from the plate. He took a bite and then said slowly, “I am Anas al-Mekki. I am mas’oul”—someone with responsibilities. “I am one of the officers of al-Qaeda. I am bin Laden’s personal assistant. What do you want to know?”
I had heard the name Anas al-Mekki many times, in different investigations, and knew he was indeed important. “Would you like some tea?” I replied.
Bahlul coughed up some of the cookie that was still in his mouth. “I told you my position in al-Qaeda and you ask whether I’d like some tea?” He looked at me in disbelief.
“Well, I already knew that,” I told him. “It didn’t surprise me. As I told you, you don’t know what I know. But now I know you’re at least being honest and respecting me, which is why I’m offering you some tea.”
I spent the next day and a half interviewing Bahlul. His story is very similar to many other Yemeni al-Qaeda members. Their families had lived and worked in Saudi Arabia until they were expelled in the aftermath of the first Gulf War due to Yemen’s support of Saddam Hussein’s invasion of Kuwait. We covered everything from his path to al-Qaeda—he, too, was inspired first by Abdullah Azzam—to specific roles he’d had. At one stage Bahlul had roomed with