The Bin Laden Plot

Ashour had one of the technicians pull up satellite imagery of the area on a wall-mounted display and zoom in to Rashidi’s residence, a narrow beachfront estate in Sabah Al-Salem, a city a few miles to the south. Rashidi’s house was nestled against Kuwait Bay, protected by a wall that ran across the front of the estate, then down both sides into the bay. Four men could be seen patrolling the perimeter, one in the vicinity of each corner of the estate, plus a fifth stationed at the entrance gate.

“Does he have additional security inside the house?”

“Unlikely. He has a five-man security detail, and those five are accounted for outside the house, as you can see.”

Harrison studied the scenario, quickly devising an ingress plan. The fourth side opened to Kuwait Bay. The perfect entry point for a former SEAL. He looked at Khalila.

“Care to go for a swim with me?” He pointed to the back of Rashidi’s estate.

“Not necessary,” Khalila said. “I’ll be entering through the front door.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Leave that to me. But getting into his house is the easy part. Getting out is where you come in.”

To Ashour, she said, “As I mentioned, we need to do this tonight, before Rashidi figures things out and increases his security. Can you provide whatever Jake needs for his waterfront entry?”

“Depends on what he needs.”

Harrison wrote out a list, which Ashour reviewed.

“I’ll have what you need in two hours.”

38 SABAH AL-SALEM, KUWAIT

Jake Harrison’s head gradually emerged from the black water near the shore of Kuwait Bay. As he moved slowly toward Malik al-Rashidi’s estate, he kept his eyes just above the water’s surface, creeping lower and lower until he came to a halt, lying on his stomach fifteen feet from the sandy beach, his body still beneath the water, with his head now fully above the surface.

He pushed his face mask up and pulled the rebreather from his mouth, then brought his Heckler & Koch MP7 submachine gun to bear, examining the back of Rashidi’s estate through the MP7 sight. Two guards were in view, positioned as expected based on the satellite imagery he had reviewed at the CIA safe house. He turned on his waterproof earpiece, then contacted Khalila, informing her that he was at the desired spot — and properly equipped — to execute his phase of the plan.

Two hours earlier, Marzouq Ashour had returned to the CIA safe house with the items Harrison had requested: a black wet suit in Harrison’s size, dive boots and fins, diving mask, and a Dräger LAR rebreather, which was a small, closed-circuit breathing system using pure oxygen, with the unit filtering carbon dioxide from exhaled air. Unlike scuba gear, the rebreather emitted no air bubbles, making it ideal for clandestine operations.

While they waited for Ashour’s return, Harrison and Khalila had devised a plan for tonight’s meeting with Rashidi and had also visited the safe house armory, where Harrison had selected a bullet-resistant vest, the MP7 with an optical sight and a suppressor, plus a waterproof rucksack containing a cell phone jammer, a security alarm neutralizer, and two sets of C-4 explosive and detonators in case he had to blast his way through a door or two. Only the first item in the rucksack would likely be needed, but he had brought the others along, just in case.

Harrison had passed on night vision goggles since Rashidi’s estate was lit well enough from nearby streetlights. As he surveyed the bay side of Rashidi’s estate, he noted that despite the late hour, there was a light on in an upstairs room. Ashour would be monitoring their communications from the safe house, and Harrison had talked him into cutting Rashidi’s telephone landline once Khalila entered his house. Harrison would then jam the cell phones, preventing any calls for assistance.

For Khalila’s part, she had selected no additional equipment aside from a thin, soft-armor, bullet-resistant vest she had donned. Aside from that, she had left the safe house dressed and armed as she had been for the meeting at the Seif Palace, with only the two knives strapped to her forearms beneath her business suit.

* * *

Two blocks from Rashidi’s estate, Khalila had been sitting in her car, waiting for Harrison’s signal through her earpiece. Now that he was in place, she started the car and drove toward the estate. She stopped a short distance from the entrance and walked to the gate, guarded by an armed man who eyed her suspiciously, given the late hour.

“I’m here to see Malik al-Rashidi.”

“He’s asleep,” the man said.

“I didn’t ask you what he was doing,” Khalila said. “Besides, he doesn’t look asleep to me.” She motioned toward the house, with the upstairs room illuminated. “Tell him that his friend Khalila Dufour is here to see him.”