But today was different. Today was unlike any other mission he had ever planned.
Today he was praying for the Americans. Counting on l heir skills as murderers.
Realizing the more damage they did, the easier it would lie to unite Islam.
The concept had come to Salaam shortly after watching I he events of 9/11. He went to the desert to meditate and realized the best way to connect all Muslims was with a common enemy. The obvious choice was the one he hated l he most. If he could somehow lure them into committing an unspeakable act in Islam's most sacred city, he knew he could sway his people to stand as one. The infighting that occurred among Sunnis, Shiites, and all other Islamic groups would suddenly disappear, replaced by a unified hatred of the United States.
But how to get them to cooperate?
And how to prove they were responsible?
Those were the issues he had to solve if he was going to make this work.
In his mind, the best way to accomplish the first task was through inside involvement, a technique with a proven track record. Ali Mohamed, the Al Qaeda operative who was charged with bombing U.S. embassies in Kenya and Tanzania, was an Egyptian soldier who became a U.S. citizen in the mid-1980s after marrying an American woman from California. From there, he joined the U.S. Army, where he eventually became a drill instructor at Fort Bragg. Later he was hired to teach courses on Arabic culture at the John F. Kennedy Special Warfare Center, a school that trains personnel for Army Special Operations forces. Meanwhile, he was also training terrorists on the side, including some of the men who were responsible for the 1993 World Trade Center bombing.
How foolish could the Americans be!
Salaam knew many men like Mohamed-Islamic operatives who were still inside the system they were trying to defeat. Any of them would be honored to help. At the same time, he realized that none of these men could be directly involved in the attack on Mecca. Otherwise the news media would spotlight their involvement, claiming Muslims were just as responsible as the United States. In his mind, that was something he couldn't afford.
His message had to be pure. Unambiguous.
Sure, he could use Islamic operatives to feed him information; they had been doing that for years. But the attack itself needed to be committed by an American.
Someone who couldn't be confused as a foreigner. Someone the United States couldn't deny. That was the only way this was going to work.
But the question was, who?
The answer was fed to him by one of his sources in the Middle East, an Arab who worked with the U.S. Military Training Mission (USMTM) in Riyadh. He had heard rumors about a new program where Americans were being hypnotized to fight terrorists, a concept that sounded like science fiction until he received clarification from one of his contacts at Fort Huachuca, who verified that induced soldiers were already in the field and producing amazing results. Behind the scenes, they'd even been given a nickname. These soldiers, who fought like Rambo and were pinpointing Islamic terrorists, were jokingly called "Is-lambos."
Immediately, Salaam realized that these were the type of men he could exploit. If, in fact, these soldiers were subliminally trained to attack a specific group, it wouldn't be difficult to convince them that their biggest threat was in Mecca-especially since that was accurate. For years, Islamic groups have used the sanctity of the holy city as a backdrop for their recruiting process. The most dedicated pilgrims flocked to the Great Mosque year after year, their way of purifying their spirit and staying close to Muhammad's righteous path. Events such as the hajj were used to locate potential members, men who were willing to give up their lives in the name of Allah. Salaam figured if the right people whispered this information in the right ears, word would eventually spread to these special soldiers and they would take care of the rest.
An Arab who worked as a snitch for the U.S. military aided Salaam along the way, feeding the Americans false information whenever he was asked. At the same time, he gathered intel from his real sources and sold it to Salaam for top dollar.
In the world of terrorism, the best information could always be bought.
Six months after Salaam launched his plan, an American soldier named Bender, a Special Forces operative who used to run missions out of Taif before most of his squad was killed in a terrorist attack, was spotted surveying the Cireat Mosque. A background check revealed the names of his entire unit, a group led by Trevor Schmidt. Deeper research showed that Schmidt was born in Ohio, trained as a MANIAC, and was a certified war hero. Not a hint of Middle Eastern blood in his family tree. Or in any other members of his crew.
To Salaam, these men would be the perfect scapegoats.
Now all he had to do was make sure they succeeded.
The guards had been gone all night. When they returned, they carried an assortment of tools.
Shari Shasmeen heard them as they clanked down the tunnel, metal banging on metal, their voices echoing in the darkness. They were speaking in Arabic, chattering on and on about timetables, delivery points, and all the money they were going to make for this job. None of it made much sense to her until she saw them coming her way.
As she focused on their pickaxes and crowbars, dread filled her heart.
They were coming to rob the site.
The click of their key as it turned in the lock felt like a death sentence. They guards were highly trained and accustomed to violence. Her only weapon was the small canister of pepper spray she clutched in her hand. They blocked the only way out.
At that point, she realized she had no choice; she had to hide. So she crouched in the back shadows, hoping they didn't spot her, praying they just dropped their tools and went outside for additional supplies. If so, she could slip into the maintenance shaft that branched from the main tunnel near the bottom of the front incline. Then she could wait in silence until they returned through the metal gate and locked the door. If she was lucky, it would give her enough time to sprint up the ramp and call for help.
Then again, whom could she call?
The mutaween were just as likely to arrest her for being in public without a chaperone. Her colleagues were several blocks away, back at the hotel, and less accustomed to violence than she was. She knew she could always call Omar Abdul-Khaliq, but he had hired these guards to begin with. The one who told to her to get away for a couple of days while these men protected the site. Either that was a tremendous error on his part, or this was all his doing.
Shari wasn't sure which.
Of course, that was something she could debate later. If she escaped.
The odds of that diminished when they entered the chamber and locked the gate. There were four of them, and they weren't going anywhere. The lead guard ordered his men to get started while he set up some piece of equipment she couldn't see, since her view was obstructed by her position on the floor. The biggest of the guards walked over first, putting his hand on the rocks, trying to decide where he should strike for the maximum amount of damage. He found a spot along the front edge and raised the pickax above his head.
In her mind, it was now or never.
She leaped from her crouch and sprayed the pepper spray directly into his eyes. He let out a loud yelp as he dropped the pickax to the floor. Before anyone could react, she grabbed its wooden handle and swung it at the next guard, a vicious blow that sunk into his left side and stuck there like a lawn dart. He twisted to the ground in a writhing heap of agony, generating so much force that it pulled the weapon from her grasp.