The Looming Tower - Lawrence Wright [64]
Desperate to stop bin Laden’s drift from his orbit, Azzam dispatched Jamal Khalifa to reason with him. No one could speak more frankly or with more authority to bin Laden than his old friend and brother-in-law. Khalifa rode across the Afghan border with Sayyaf, who controlled the mountainous territory around Jaji. The camp was high and cold and exposed to merciless wind. Osama—the Lion—called the place Maasada, the Lion’s Den. He said he had been inspired by the lines of the Prophet’s favorite poet Hassan Ibn Thabit, who wrote of another fortress of the same name:
Whoever wishes to hear the clash of swords,
let him come to Maasada,
where he will find courageous men ready to die
for the sake of God.
At the time, bin Laden’s version of Maasada looked nothing like the elaborate cavernous training center it eventually became. Khalifa had been a devoted Boy Scout, and in his experienced eye this filthy and disorganized site hidden in the pine trees was far below even the standards of a children’s encampment. There was a bulldozer, Egyptian knockoffs of Kalashnikovs, mortars, some small anti-aircraft guns they had bought in the markets in Peshawar, and Chinese rockets without launchers. To fire a rocket, the mujahid would rest it on a rock, string a wire, and set it off from some distance away—a crazily dangerous and inaccurate procedure.
Through binoculars Khalifa surveyed the Soviet base in a broad valley only three kilometers away. The Arabs were isolated and vulnerable. They had a single car that they used to smuggle water and supplies during the night, but they could easily be trapped and wiped out. They were already being carelessly expended under bin Laden’s command. Khalifa was furious at the needless risk and the waste of lives.
He stayed for three days, talking to the people around bin Laden—mainly Egyptians associated with Zawahiri’s al-Jihad and Saudi high school students, including Khalifa’s own student Wali Khan, an academic star in the biology class he taught in Medina. Khalifa learned that they had appointed bin Laden—rather than Azzam or Sayyaf—their leader. That news stunned him. He had never thought of his friend as one who would seek power.
Khalifa wondered if Osama was being manipulated by the Egyptians. These suspicions mounted when Abu Ubaydah and Abu Hafs, bin Laden’s tall and commanding Egyptian tenders, cornered Khalifa to sound him out about his politics. They started talking about how the leaders of the Arab countries are kafrs—a term that means infidels or unbelievers, but when applied to other Muslims signifies that they are apostates who have rejected their religion. Such traitors should be killed, many fundamentalists believe. When Khalifa disagreed with them, they tried to screen him off from bin Laden. Khalifa brushed past them; he would not be managed by strangers.
Khalifa and bin Laden slept together in a foxhole with canvas sides and a wood ceiling, which had soil piled on top. His friend was so evasive that Khalifa decided he was hiding something from him. On the third day, Khalifa finally spoke out. “Everybody is angry—they are against this place,” Khalifa said. “Even the people who are with you. I’ve talked to them.”
Bin Laden was shocked. “Why don’t they talk to me?” he asked.
“This is a question you have to ask yourself,” Khalifa responded. “But everyone in Afghanistan is against this idea!”
Bin Laden reiterated his vision of creating an Arab force that would defend Muslim causes everywhere. That’s what he was trying to establish in this miserable mountain camp.
“We came here to