The Caliphate, André Gallo [best books to read ever .TXT] 📗

Algiers. We killed almost a hundred soldiers. We act in the name of Allah. The time for talk is past. But what can we do for you?”

     He opened the pack of cigarettes and offered it to al Khalil, who declined, and then to Hussein, who took one. The ashtray next to El Maghrebi was full.

     Hussein mentioned the roadblock they had encountered in Boufarik, but El Maghrebi didn’t seem worried.

***

After the required tea and courtesies demanded by Muslim hospitality, al Khalil was soon up and pacing in the small room, his shadow appearing on the far wall when he crossed the narrow beam of sunlight. Al Khalil was not physically imposing but his coal black beard, aquiline nose and penetrating gray eyes gave him the air of a prophet.

     Stroking his beard, he said, “We are conscious of your actions. With the help of Allah, the Merciful, the Omnipotent, my Salafist brothers and I will reconquer all the lands of the ancient Caliphate. AQIM will play a key role in North Africa. We will work together. I will bring all of the countries bordering on the Sahara to our cause. You will help us. Acting and preaching must go together.”

     An hour into the meeting, Al Khalil said, “You have been right in not destroying the country’s oil industry. We will need it when we take over. But you must do something about the wine…”

     The phone rang downstairs and the tone of the guard’s short imperative questions cut him off. The guard ran up the stairs.

     “A mobile patrol is heading this way—one squad with a sergeant. They are now searching the house where Abdullah stayed last month. We must move.”

     As though anticipating the warning, El Maghrebi said, “Come, my brothers. Follow us. We will go to another safe house.”

     Out in the street, El Maghrebi, two guards and the boy got into a brown pick-up truck. Hussein and al Khalil followed in a Land Rover. A third vehicle followed with four other men. Using back streets, the small convoy circled around the patrol to the northern edge of town and parked on a side street. They walked at a brisk pace for two blocks until they reached a three-storey building with a café downstairs where they went in by a side door and found themselves in an apartment behind the café.

     El Maghrebi pulled curtains shut.

     “I apologize but this is the life we lead. The military has been searching for us with more vigor since our raid on the coast. Abdullah, the man they are looking for, hasn’t been here for a while. They’ve working from dated intelligence.”

    El Maghrebi gave his men orders and they started to file out again with purpose but not before checking the weapons they carried under their jellabas. Al Khalil felt El Maghrebi’s eyes on him as men pulled the bolts of their AK-47s back and let them slide forward to chamber a round. Al Khalil knew that El Maghrebi respected his intellect and passion and wanted to project his composure under stress.

     “We are safe here,” El Maghrebi said, “but these patrols never come in single squads. We may have to move again. You will be safer if you get on the road. No need to rush but today is better than tomorrow. I will send another car with you. My men know the desert. And it’s always safer to travel with two cars. But first, I have something for you in honor of your visit.”

     El Maghrebi gave his two guests, who had arrived from Paris wearing rumpled European suits and tie-less white shirts, two jellabas for desert travel. They both changed immediately. He then gave each al Khalil and al Kaylani a highly polished teak box.

     “You did us the honor of asking for our hospitality and help. We are blessed by Allah to join you. Please accept these gifts as symbols of AQIM’s unalloyed allegiance. We are as true to Islam as the blades of these two knives.”

     Al Khalil opened his box and pulled out a Damascus Amourette knife with a contoured gunstock handle. Al Kaylani received a Combat Trident Gerber knife with a double serrated blade. Al Khalil’s five-inch blade closed into the light horn handle but Hussein’s gift, with a blade slightly over six inches and a hilt, was clearly a hunting or fighting knife. Each was nestled in a gift box with the same care as an expensive watch.

     As they left, Al Khalil said, “I’m happy to have had this discussion. We will work well together. Your gifts will be put to the service of the Prophet, the All Powerful, the Compassionate.”

     El Maghrebi’s men led the way out of town and into the desert evening. On the left of the small convoy, the lengthening shadows of the vehicles brushed against the buildings of the town before caressing the sands of the Sahara. Al Khalil soon appreciated that only experienced drivers wary of the perpetual attempts of the sand to cover the road could have driven them safely in the dark. He thought ahead to their next stop on their way to Timbuktu, the oasis town of Ghardaia, the center of the first fundamentalists, the Kharijites.

4. Rue du Bac Metro

Kella turned her back on a driver obviously trying to attract her attention. She was at the entrance of the station where she and Steve had agreed to meet. Dressed in loose clothing down to her ankles, she was surprised that she would attract any male attention. Then she heard her name and turned back toward the car parked at the curb, to the great annoyance of the cars behind.

     “Kella, come on before I get run over,” Steve shouted.

     She recognized him and ran toward to the car.

     Steve explained the car and, glancing