The Bin Laden Plot

The hotel was a small establishment with only a dozen rooms, arranged in a square surrounding a central courtyard, with the hotel offices and lobby facing the street. They were given keys to a room on the second floor, which contained a terrace overlooking the courtyard.

“Welcome to Kuwait City, Mr. Connolly and Ms. Dufour,” he said. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

It took Harrison a second for his alias to register.

Upon entering the room, Khalila tossed her luggage onto the single queen-sized bed. Similar to their previous trips abroad, they would share a room, and although they would sleep in the same bed, Khalila had made it clear that the arrangement was a hands-off one.

Khalila approached the window and pulled the curtain back slightly, examining the courtyard and adjacent terraces. Once she finished her surveillance, she shed her business suit and blouse, stripping down to her bra and panties. She pulled two knives from her suitcase, each set within a spring-loaded housing, then strapped one to each forearm.

She donned a pair of slacks, plus a short-sleeved blouse instead of the long-sleeve one she had removed, then put her black suit jacket on again. After assessing herself in a full-length mirror, she rotated her wrists outward and flexed her hands sideways, and a knife popped down into each palm.

Khalila wrapped a black scarf around her head and neck, adding a matching niqab that left only her eyes exposed. She slipped her pistol into her purse, plus one of the envelopes of money Durrani had provided. Harrison, meanwhile, had unpacked his luggage and changed into a suit, minus the tie, also donning a shoulder holster and pistol. They were both soon ready to depart.

“During the meeting,” Khalila said, “stay alert, looking for any sign of trouble. Once I begin the conversation, my contact will realize I’m there for a different reason than what I had originally expressed; otherwise, he would not have agreed to see me. I cannot predict his reaction once he learns he has been deceived, other than it will be unfavorable. Any questions?”

“Not at the moment.”

* * *

Mussan was still waiting in the car outside the hotel, and Khalila provided the address for the meeting. He pulled into traffic and headed for the older part of the city, eventually stopping by the curb on a street lined with narrow, two-level storefronts on each side. He waited in the car while Khalila and Harrison entered a small Persian rug store.

There were several customers perusing the selection, plus a male clerk whom Khalila approached and asked a question in Arabic. The clerk didn’t respond, but glanced at a small, dark doorway at the back of the store.

Harrison followed Khalila as she passed through the opening and climbed a set of stairs leading to a closed door on the second floor, upon which Khalila knocked.

“Who is it?” a muffled voice asked in Arabic; Harrison knew enough from his tours in the Middle East to understand the man’s question.

“Khalila. I’m here to see Ayman.”

The door cracked open, and a man wearing a white dishdasha studied Khalila and Harrison before opening the door wider.

“As-salaam alaykum,” Khalila said, offering the common Arabic greeting — Peace be upon you — as she placed her hand over her heart.

The man replied with a challenge of some sort, although Harrison couldn’t quite make out the full translation.

Khalila pulled down the niqab veil covering her face.

His eyes widened slightly, then he replied, “Wa alaykum as-salaam” — And also with you — as he placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head.

Ayman beckoned them into a small foyer, where he and Khalila exchanged the standard pleasantries, inquiring how each was doing and how her journey to Kuwait had gone. Khalila then introduced Harrison, whom Ayman eyed suspiciously. Nonetheless, he placed his hand over his heart and greeted Harrison politely.

He led the way into a well-appointed study, where they took their seats at a small table with several chairs set atop a plush Persian rug.

The conversation turned to business, with Khalila beginning the dialogue. An unpleasant look soon formed on Ayman’s face, and his voice took on an agitated tone. Harrison couldn’t follow the conversation but figured Khalila had just revealed that their meeting was for a different topic than advertised.

Khalila’s tone turned conciliatory, attempting to persuade Ayman to provide the desired information. He made a clicking sound with his tongue — an Arab gesture for no — as his facial expression turned resolute.

She opened her purse, her hand moving past her pistol, retrieving instead the envelope of money, which she placed on the table midway between them.

Ayman eyed the money, uncertainty creeping into his expression.

Khalila repeated her request, finishing her verbal plea with a finger pointed to the sky. She was invoking God’s will for some reason.