The Scorpion's Gate (18 page)
His efforts to engage the three young men in conversation failed totally, even though at least two of them were apparently fluent in English. At least, he thought, there is no blindfold involved yet. Despite his ability to watch where they were going, Russell MacIntyre doubted he could reconstruct the route down alleys and side streets without street signs. Finally, the minivan stopped on a dusty back street lined with run-down apartment buildings. “He’s waiting for you,” Fadl said, pulling back the door.
“Where?” MacIntyre asked, looking down a barely lit pedestrian passage between the buildings directly in front of the van door.
“Over there. In the Mustafa Café,” Fadl said, pointing across the street in the other direction, where a storefront was lit and a small Pepsi sign glowed dimly, with the name of the shop written in Arabic below. MacIntyre got out and walked across the little three-way intersection to the store. One street was unpaved, dirt. On the others, the curbing was intermittent. The parked cars were old and beat-up. The street lighting was occasional. This was not the highrent district. As he pushed open the door, a little bell overhead rang to let the owner know someone had come in. It was a combination convenience store and café. Not the kind of place that would be open at midnight.
“Mr. MacIntyre, over here,” a man said from the farthest of the four tables along the wall. He rose and walked toward the American, holding out his hand. “Thanks for coming to my part of town. Hope you don’t mind. I am Dr. Ahmed bin Rashid. I understand you wanted to see me.”
They shook hands and sat down at the little table. Rashid was drinking a Pepsi and had a second bottle opened and a glass waiting for his guest. MacIntyre noticed there was no one else in the shop.
“Dr. Rashid, America has many intelligence organizations. I am from one of them,” MacIntyre said as he placed his business card on the table. He doubted many recruitments had been done quite this way. “Our job is not to run operations but to interpret information that others collect. Sometimes, however, when we are not getting the information we need, we go to the field ourselves to learn. I am here to learn, from you.”
Ahmed examined the business card and then dug out one of his own. It said he was “Attending Physician, Cardiology, Intensive Care Unit, Salmaniyah Medical Center.” Noticing Rusty’s smile as he read the card, Ahmed added, “And, as you know, my brother is Abdullah bin Rashid, a member of the Islamyah Shura. What would you like to learn about, Mr. MacIntyre?”
“About the Shura and how America could deal with it in a way that prevents a long period of hostility. I personally—and I stress this is just my belief—I personally think that our two countries could be reconciled. Unless, of course, the Shura is intent on adopting policies that will make it impossible for us.”
“What would those policies be, Mr. MacIntyre?” Ahmed asked stiffly, formally.
“Policies that enforce a strict Wahhabist approach, denying human rights, exporting terrorism. Policies that might involve the introduction of weapons of mass destruction, or restricting the export of oil to one market. But I am not here as a policy maker or negotiator. As I said, I am here to learn, Dr. Rashid.”
“You must come to a café on a dirty back street in Manama to learn about Islamyah because you cannot learn from your embassy in Riyadh. You closed it, out of fear and lack of understanding.” Ahmed shifted in his chair. “Very well. Here is what you must learn. The pronouncements of your government, particularly the Pentagon, make it sound as though you have not accepted what has happened in my country. The Sauds are gone from power, Mr. MacIntyre, and they took the people’s money with them. And your ministers consort with them to bring them back to the throne. This drives some on the Shura to look for ways to protect our country from America. It strengthens the hands of the faction who also want the Wahhabist policies you object to.”
MacIntyre spoke slowly, softly. “Dr. Rashid, I am not too sure I know all the factions in the Shura, but I do know that your brother, Abdullah, was a member of al Qaeda. I don’t know whether he personally killed any of my fellow Americans, but I can tell you that the presence of people in your government who are or have been terrorists makes it very difficult for our two countries to have normal relations.”
Ahmed stood up abruptly, his white robe swirling after him. He stood by the empty halal meat display container, folded his arms across his narrow chest, and looked down at the American. “You deal with Israeli prime ministers who were terrorist fighters, who killed British troops. You deal with Palestinian leaders whom you called terrorists earlier. You talk to the Irish terrorists in the White House. Let me ask you, was Samuel Adams, the man they named the
beer
after, was he a terrorist? My brother acted to free his country from an oppressive, illegitimate regime that was stealing the people’s patrimony. Yes, he had to associate with some unsavory people in the process. Have you never associated with unsavory people, Mr. MacIntyre?”
beer
after, was he a terrorist? My brother acted to free his country from an oppressive, illegitimate regime that was stealing the people’s patrimony. Yes, he had to associate with some unsavory people in the process. Have you never associated with unsavory people, Mr. MacIntyre?”
“I am sure the American government, which is now well into its third century, has made a lot of mistakes. It has also done more to promote democracy and human rights than any other world power since the dawn of time,” Rusty said, reflexively. “And Sam Adams was a patriot.”
Ahmed continued on. “My brother, sir, is a patriot. Abdullah saw the U.S. troops after your first war with Saddam, how the troops stayed in our country against your promise to leave after the war. He saw that the al Sauds were being propped up by America so that you could get access to the oil. You waste the oil, worse than anyone. You could do so many other things with all your technology, but you don’t really try, you give lip service to other energy sources. Why? Because you think you have special access to the biggest oil supply in the world. Let everyone else be efficient. Who cares what the al Sauds do with the money? Who cares if they mismanage the kingdom?”
MacIntyre turned to face Rashid and crossed his legs to appear relaxed, trying to defuse the tension. “There have been times when terrorists have renounced terrorism, particularly after they came to power or entered into peace talks. We would welcome that from the leaders of Islamyah. But I am also serious when I say that we do not know about factions and we may be doing things that help the wrong faction, precisely because we do not know who is who or what is going on in the Shura. Its meetings are not exactly broadcast on C-Span or al Jazeera. Maybe if we can open a way for us to talk, we will be better informed.”
Rashid unfolded his arms and walked over to the small table. “All right, Russell. Let’s talk.” He sat down and took a swig of Pepsi. “Because America acts as if it will subvert our regime to have a countercoup and Saud restoration, my brother’s opponents are talking with the Chinese. I noticed in the
Washington Post
last week that you have discovered the new Chinese missiles in my country. There are no nuclear warheads on them. But there are those in the Shura who might decide to get some, if they are pushed.
Washington Post
last week that you have discovered the new Chinese missiles in my country. There are no nuclear warheads on them. But there are those in the Shura who might decide to get some, if they are pushed.
“Because America seized the al Saud assets but will not give them back to us, it is harder for my brother when he argues that imposing Sharia law and other Wahhabist acts will cause us to be rejected by the rest of the modern world. His opponents point out that we are already rejected, and unable to benefit fully from the technological revolutions. America keeps pressure on the Europeans to maintain economic sanctions on us.”
Rusty found the young doctor to be a strange mix, a highly Westernized doctor but also a spokesman for a radical Islamic government that had come to power by killing. He wanted to know more about him. “So, Dr. Rashid, are you telling me that your brother opposes using the Sharia religious law as the basis of the Islamyah legal system? That he opposes exporting the Wahhabist philosophy of hating non-Muslims?”
Dr. Rashid stood again and walked in a tight circle, thinking or trying to calm down before he spoke again. “So you don’t want us exporting Wahhabism? You mean like your friends the al Sauds did? What do you know about Wahhabism? Just that it’s linked in your mind to al Qaeda? Do you know that your so-called Wahhabists don’t even use that name, that phrase?”
“No, I didn’t know that,” Rusty admitted, “but I did know the Saudis paid for building and operating mosques and madrassas— schools—in sixty countries, but made sure they all taught hatred of non-Muslims, death to Israel, death to America.”
Ahmed laughed. “ Not just hatred of
non
-Muslims. They teach hatred of
Shi’a
Muslims and even of the major schools of Sunni thought, because the Saudis consider them polytheists.”
non
-Muslims. They teach hatred of
Shi’a
Muslims and even of the major schools of Sunni thought, because the Saudis consider them polytheists.”
Rusty was confused and it showed on his face. “Muslim polytheists? What do you mean? I thought monotheism was a central tenet of Islam.”
Dr. Rashid did not respond. He shook his head in disgust. Finally, he told Rusty why. “You haven’t a clue, do you? You come to our world and make demands about how we live, how our governments act, and yet you know nothing about our culture, our religion, our history.”
Rusty pushed back. “Listen, Doctor, I don’t have to be a historian of thousand-year-old religious disputes and trivia to know that it’s considered noble to kill Americans. Become a suicide bomber and you’ll have seventy-two virgins waiting for you in heaven. That’s not religion, that’s crap!” He heard his own voice, too loud, too confrontational. “Okay, so what more is it that you think I don’t know and should?”
Ahmed smiled. “Let’s start with the relations between the Sauds and Wahhabism. It’s not just that some of their kings took to it. Without Wahhab there might not even have been a Saudi Arabia.”
“You’re right. I would like to hear that story,” Rusty admitted, “and, yes, I probably should already know it.”
Dr. Rashid began slowly, as if teaching a child. “Almost three hundred years ago, the al Sauds were the largest family in an area around the little town of Diriyah in the Najd region, not far from Mecca. From a nearby town came Muhammad ibn Abdul Wahhab. He preached a version of the teachings of Ahmed ibn Taymiyyah, a radical from five hundred years earlier. They both had what they called a pure Koranic interpretation, rejected by all four schools of Muslim thought.
“Wahhab convinced the al Sauds of his beliefs and that they should sally forth killing those who opposed those beliefs. They did, and consolidated power in their region, eventually taking Riyadh and slaughtering many.
“Wahhab’s daughter then married Saud’s son. The crossed swords in the Saudi royal seal belong to Sauds and Wahhabs. The Sauds have funded Wahhabist evangelism ever since.”
Rusty suddenly saw the pieces coming together. Why had no one in Washington ever told him this background? Wahhabism was as important to the Sauds as the Declaration of Independence or the Constitution was to some Americans, and about as recent. It was not some thousand-year-old dispute.
“Now, Russell, here is the great irony. Ibn Taymiyyah and the Salafis, including Wahhab, taught that it was the duty of Muslims to overthrow corrupt or irreligious governments. So bin Laden used a Salafist or Wahhabist theory to justify overthrowing the al Sauds, who had so promoted Wahhabism. Get it now?” Ahmed asked.
“I think I’m beginning to,” Rusty answered, carefully. “But your brother and his buddies who overthrew the al Sauds, and who worked with al Qaeda, aren’t they Salafis or Wahhabists?”
“Some of those in the anti-Saud movement are. Some are secularists. Some are what you would think of as mainstream Sunnis.”
Rusty had begun to realize that the Islamyah Shura Council was more riven than Washington had imagined. The differences in the anti-Saud coalition were profound.
Finished with his lecture, Dr. Rashid sat again near Rusty. “Okay, Ahmed. May I call you that?” MacIntyre said, sensing that the ice had been broken between them. Rashid nodded. “Ahmed, you’re right. We don’t know what we should. But we do understand international security, and you have people in your government who would lead you to ruin. And, yes, probably so do we. It’s up to people like us to help our two governments do the right thing. We have a lot of damage to repair, but first we have to stop any more from happening. If nuclear warheads show up in Islamyah, all bets are off. I know you know that. So if you think that is about to happen at any point, then we will need to think together about how we can prevent it from happening.”
There was a long pause. Rashid did not seem to be embarrassed that he was taking his time to consider how to reply. MacIntyre heard the old refrigerator’s motor clunk. Finally, the young doctor looked up. “If the Shura believed that Iran was about to do something against our country, they might reach out to Pakistan, or North Korea, or China, to get nuclear warheads for the missiles. They would do that only to checkmate Iran’s nuclear weapons. Is Iran about to do something, Russell?”
Now it was MacIntyre’s turn to consider his answer carefully. “We see signs that Iran’s military is exercising its intervention capabilities, but we do not know that they intend to use them. We exercise all the time, too. Nor do we know where Iran might act, if they do. Some of our analysts think that the Iranians might try again to go after Bahrain. Truth is, we don’t know.” As he said that, he thought about Kashigian. If the British knew that Kashigian had been in Tehran, maybe Islamyah did, too. Maybe Ahmed knew. He added, “At least, I don’t know.”
“You guys are in this mess because you still need our oil, after all these years,” Ahmed said, shaking his head in disbelief. “And because you haven’t come up with alternatives, you put my country more at risk, with everyone fighting over its oil. It’s your failure that’s causing this, you know that.”
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