The Looming Tower - Lawrence Wright [114]
Bin Laden cheerfully received his friend. Khashoggi had visited him several times before in Khartoum. Previously, when Osama was beginning his press campaign against the Saudi government, Khashoggi found him surrounded by young Saudi dissidents, who fetched newspaper clippings for him whenever he wanted to make a point. This time there were no articles. Bin Laden was subdued and introspective, and he kept his automatic weapon beside him. They had dinner on the terrace beside his house, next to the garden. There were a couple of Saudis, a Sudanese, and Abu Hajer, the Iraqi. They ate around nine, when the temperature became just bearable. Sudanese servants spread plastic on the ground and laid out a platter of rice and lamb, Saudi style.
Khashoggi explained his mission, and in clear, unambiguous language, bin Laden condemned the use of violence inside the Kingdom. Khashoggi pulled out his tape recorder. “Why don’t you say that on the record?” he asked.
“Let’s do that tomorrow night,” said bin Laden.
The next day, bin Laden took Khashoggi to visit his genetics laboratory, where he spent hours discoursing on the Muslims’ duty to aquire technology to improve their lives. For example, the Dutch have a monopoly on the best banana pods. Why can’t Muslims devote themselves to horticulture with the same level of sophistication? Here, in this laboratory, bin Laden was trying to develop high-quality seeds appropriate for Sudan. He also discussed another major highway he was about to construct. He seemed to be utterly engaged in his projects—buoyant, content, peaceful, but homesick.
Then at dinner, bin Laden unexpectedly began boasting about al-Qaeda. He said he was convinced that the Americans could be easily driven out of the Arabian Peninsula. He gave the example of Yemen. “We hit them in Aden and they left,” he said proudly. “We hit them in Somalia, and they left again.”
“Osama, this is very dangerous,” Jamal replied. “It is as if you are declaring war. You will give the right to the Americans to hunt for you.”
Bin Laden just smiled.
Again, Khashoggi pulled out his tape recorder. Again, his friend declined to speak on the record.
The following night, Khashoggi came to dinner for the last time. They sat once more on the floor of the terrace. It was exactly the same simple meal he had enjoyed the previous nights—rice and lamb. Bin Laden sometimes ate with a spoon, but he preferred to use the fingers of his right hand, because it was Sunna—the way the Prophet did it. He rhapsodized about how much he missed Medina and how he would like to go back and settle there. Khashoggi responded that all he had to do was state on the record what he’d already said privately—that he renounced the use of violence.
Just then someone approached bin Laden and whispered in his ear. Osama stood up and went into the garden. In the shadows, Khashoggi could see two or three men quietly speaking in Egyptian accents. Five minutes later, bin Laden returned, and Khashoggi posed the question again.
“What will I get for that?” bin Laden asked.
Khashoggi was caught by surprise. Osama had never acted like a politician before, negotiating for a personal advantage. “I don’t know,” Khashoggi admitted. “I’m not representing the government. Just say something, break the ice! Maybe there will be a positive reaction. Don’t forget you said a few nasty things about the Kingdom.”
Bin Laden smiled. “Yes, but a move like that has to be calculated.” He aired a couple of possible sweeteners: a full pardon for him, a timetable for the complete withdrawal of the American forces from the peninsula.
Khashoggi had the feeling that his friend was losing his hold on reality. Bin Laden began to speak fondly about Sudan, saying what great investment opportunities there were. He asked Khashoggi about a couple of mutual friends, and suggested that they should come investigate the agricultural prospects. He would be happy to show them around.
“Osama, any Saudi person would