The Caliphate by André Gallo (booksvooks .txt) 📗

the country. Here is a file I want you to read.” He handed him a thick green colored file. David held it sideways to read the title, “Muslim Brotherhood. Western Europe.”

     David, wanting to show he was knowledgeable, said, “I believe that the Ikhwan moved to Europe from Egypt, first to Germany to take advantage of the Muslim émigrés from Russia left over from the war.”

     “Your target is Salim Salaheldin, the brotherhood’s senior official in Europe. He lives in Brussels. Actually, the real focus of the operation will be Tariq al Khalil. Salaheldin is his uncle and mentor. He has a great deal of influence on al Khalil. And it’s al Khalil I’m concerned about. He’s young, charismatic, has a following through his academic activities, lecturing and so on, but he’s also an activist. Both Salim Salaheldin and al Khalil are related to the Brotherhood’s founder. That gives them automatic credentials.

     “The radical Muslims right now are leaderless. Al Khalil badly wants the job. We’re going to help him. I think that we can control him, well at least influence him, if we can recruit Salim. Nature and politics abhor a vacuum. If al Khalil doesn’t take over the movement, someone else will. At least, if we, that is if you, can recruit Salim, we’re in the game. Al Khalil wants to recreate the old Caliphate. I want you to keep him as far away from Israel as possible. Have him recreate his Caliphate in the Sahara. Let him get a tan while he’s doing Allah’s work.”

     Ben Gal smiled sardonically.

     Recalling Ben Gal’s reference to Berkeley, David said, “Are you saying you want me to put my American hat on to do this? To pretend I’m CIA?”

     Ben Gal smiled again.

     “Exactly, this will be a false-flag recruitment. I will establish a ‘bigot’ list of the people who will be cleared for this operation. Until then, you are to discuss it with no one other than me.”

     “And do we have reason to believe that Salim can be recruited?”

     “It’s all in the file.”

     Ben Gal’s tone turned abrupt. He looked out his window at the dark clouds for a second and, in a more measured tone, continued, “We have reason to believe that Salim’s predecessor, also with family connections to the Brotherhood, met with a CIA officer, Joe DiPietro from New Jersey.”

     “What did they have in common, I wonder?”

     “Well, it was the Cold War. The CIA wanted access to the Muslim émigrés from Russia to send them back as sources. The Brotherhood needed cash and approved the contact. The Brotherhood also established sympathy in the CIA by providing occasional snippets of counterterrorist information through their own penetrations of Fatah, Force 17 and other groups.”

     “Was Salim aware that his predecessor was in touch with the CIA?”

     “That’s not clear. You’ll have to read the file for yourself.”

     Ben Gal looked at his watch and Ben Tov took the hint.

     “One more thing,” Ben Gal said as Ben Tov got up, “Al Khalil has a wife and daughter in Brussels. Find out where and establish their living patterns, school, shopping, friends, you know. Could be useful later.”

     Ben Tov gathered the green file. He glanced out the window before going out the door. The dark clouds were no longer threatening, they had burst and the wind was whipping the water against Ben Gal’s window.

***

The Boeing 767-300 descended over the Mediterranean as it neared the coast of North Africa toward Algiers. Tariq al Khalil looked out his window and could understand why the French traditionally referred to the city as Alger la Blanche. On the northern edge of the green coastal plain, the whitewashed buildings of the Casbah nestled in an arc overlooking the port and the bay, reflected the morning sun. Several container ships were unloading and two were leaving. Al Khalil noted the absence of cruise ships with satisfaction.

     During the flight, al Khalil had been thinking of his last conversation with his wife Malika. He wanted their daughter Jamila to grow up in a Muslim environment. Malika did not, could not, oppose him. But he still seethed at the deception in her comment, “She will be better off here. She can grow up Muslim, attend the madrasa right here in Brussels.”

     In his absence, she had been invited to a meeting of the International Women’s Club by the wife of the Egyptian ambassador, a woman who liked to play bridge with her international friends. Al Khalil suspected that Malika was telling him what he wanted to hear but secretly pined for the life of her Egyptian friend. He decided that he would send them to live in Cairo or Riyadh as soon as he had time to plan the move.

     His thoughts wandered when he found a map of North Africa in an Air France brochure in the pocket in front of him. The outlined borders reminded him of the interference of the Christian powers and his frustration stayed high. He took a deep breath. In North Africa, it had been France. In other regions of the former Caliphate, it had been Great Britain. The Christians had created the borders to divide the Caliphate into separate countries to divide and conquer. But, knowing that he soon would be able to reclaim the populations on the ground below for Islam, he felt empowered. He knew that he could harness the humiliation and the anger of the people to his advantage and fill the current power vacuum in the leadership of the radical Muslim movement. He felt energized.

     Al Khalil turned to his Syrian deputy and chief of operations Hussein al Kaylani.

     “Petrol and alcohol in those ships. During bad years, the difference between the production and the export of Bordeaux wines from France comes from Algerian wines. Hypocrisy and corruption are