AFGHANISTAN – TWO MONTHS AGO
Two stoves had been lit at the entrance to the cave complex. The mullah and his tribesmen had departed for the return journey to el Kohl, having been rewarded with a solid meal and the thanks of Najeed Shammas and the most senior leaders of al-Qaeda. Dotted around the mountainside, for perhaps ten miles in every direction, heavily armed tribesmen continued to keep a careful watch on every pathway towards their camp near the summit.
The group had eaten a meal of couscous, lamb and vegetables, and now Kiyo Arai and Kazuman Tokash were going over every detail of their journey to Japan, with the four other men, seated on a twelve-foot by twelve-foot rug, under a star-filled sky. Mohammed al Katah, of thin, wiry build, wore a heavy dark beard that failed to fully conceal the many deep scars to his face caused by a rocket fired from a Soviet helicopter. He had personally been involved in training the nine hijackers for the 9/11 attacks. Baddar Attabar Mussan was another Afghan veteran. He had studied engineering and computer science at Hamburg University and had later received intensive training from US experts in intelligence and counter-intelligence techniques in the early years of the Soviet invasion. He delighted now in putting that expertise into effect against the Americans.
Seated to Shammas’s right was Aswan bin Tolawar, another wealthy Saudi who had been a boyhood friend of bin Laden’s. A small, intelligent-looking man, he had shared bin Laden’s spiritual values and he too had turned his back on the excesses of a western lifestyle, which he saw as corrupting his country. While he had no official title in the Army Council, he was recognised and valued as Najeed Shammas’ most trusted confidante.
The men had been talking now for four hours. Baddar Attabar Mussan was taking notes and asking careful questions in order to spot any possible slip-ups in procedures or compromising of their cover. The leader, Najeed Shammas, knew of the Chess Club and Tsan Yohoto, but these more human descriptions enthralled him, such as Tsan Yohoto’s habit of touching an old black and white photograph of his deceased brother and sister.
Arai and Tokash had taken them through the details of Tsan Yohoto’s plan. ‘In fact,’ Arai had concluded, ‘if you will forgive the familiarity, Najeed, both Tokash and I saw strong similarities between yourself and Tsan Yohoto. You are both men of great intelligence and power, strategy and execution.’
‘This great plan,’ said Shammas, ‘seems almost too simple to be true! I had expected a new series of attacks on western targets. Instead, I find that we are required to simply recruit one restaurant owner, one van driver and two, what did you call them?’
‘Curtain swishers,’ repeated Arai.
There was a long silence, broken only by the echoing screech of a distant vulture. Remembering Tsan Yohoto’s judo moves, Arai said, ‘Yohoto says it is all about turning your enemy’s greatest strength against him. Before your enemy realises what is happening, it is too late.’
‘It is an extraordinary plan,’ said Shammas in a low tone. ‘So little risk for us and yet maybe two million Americans killed by their own excesses.’
Shammas paused and looked at the faces of Mussan, al Katah and lastly his old friend bin Tolawar. Each in turn looked him in the eye and gave a solemn nod. Shammas turned to his chief of intelligence, Baddar Mussan.
‘Baddar, how long to recruit this Libyan restaurant owner?’
‘Two, three weeks perhaps, allowing one week for background research.’
Shammas turned back to Arai and Tokash. ‘My friends, I thank you again for your great work and for your advice. Tell our Japanese friends that we will return their support of many years. We will be proud to play our part in this great plan!’
*
SAITON – THE NEXT DAY
At Lumo Kinotoa’s villa, the Chess Club had gathered for a Wednesday night meeting. Tsan Yohoto, Lumo Kinotoa and Kazuhiro Saito were sipping tea and chatting quietly, yet the air was filled with expectancy. At almost one minute past 9 p.m., Eastern Pacific Time, Kinotoa’s satellite phone, which was placed on the table beside his teacup, emitted the familiar high-pitched double bleep of an incoming text. Everyone sat in silence as he thumbed his way into his inbox. Lumo Kinotoa read aloud:
‘The club is delighted to join in the chess game and has begun preparation. More information next week.’
Kinotoa looked up and met the excited gaze of his colleagues. ‘Gentlemen,’ he smiled, ‘it’s all systems go.’