Agent Storm: My Life Inside al-Qaeda (44 page)

‘In addition they are offering one million dollars for
Qasim al-Raymi
. And if you later lead us to Ikrimah al-Muhajir they are offering a million kroner [around $180,000].’

I contemplated those on the hit list. Al-Raymi was a senior deputy to Wuhayshi. Klang would later tell me that the Americans suspected that Aminah had become betrothed to him after Awlaki’s death.

Ikrimah, my long-haired Kenyan contact, had clearly climbed the ladder within al-Shabaab. His emails to me hinted he was in touch with Ahmed Abdi
Godane – the shadowy and ruthless leader of al-Shabaab. The previous month Godane had formally merged the group into the global al-Qaeda network and appeared determined to transform
it from an insurgent militia into a terror group ready to strike in Africa and beyond.

Ikrimah was now based in the Somali port city of Kismayo. The previous autumn Kenyan and African Union forces had launched an offensive against al-Shabaab, pushing the group out of Mogadishu and some of its strongholds in the south.

In response the group had vowed
‘severe repercussions’
in Kenya. In an email to me Ikrimah said he
longed to take ‘revenge’
against the Kenyan government.

His emails had indicated he was still working closely with foreign operatives within al-Shabaab, including my American friend from Sana’a, Jehad Serwan Mostafa, known within al-Shabaab as ‘Ahmed Gure’.
¹

Ikrimah was also working with perhaps the most wanted woman in the world – Samantha
Lewthwaite, widow of one of the 7/7 London bombers, Germaine Lindsay. A mother of four who had been dubbed the ‘White Widow’ by the UK tabloids, she was on the run
in East Africa after Kenyan police had come close to arresting her in Mombasa.
²

‘Kenya is getting really bad coz the kufar are doing all their effort to harm us,’ Ikrimah emailed me. ‘So you need to be extra carefull they dont get a single trace of anything coz they are now tracing a sister who was a window [sic] of one of the london 7/7 bomber (the jamecan brother) and they are accusing her of financing and organising terorisim.’
³

Ikrimah was also friendly with an American who had become a prominent mouthpiece for al-Shabaab – Omar
Hammami
. Originally from Alabama, Hammami had won fame for posting jihadist rap songs on YouTube and calling on other foreigners to join al-Shabaab.

Hammami was eccentric and unpredictable and had recently fallen out with al-Shabaab’s leader, Godane, over strategy, making Hammami fear for his life. In March he would release an
extraordinary video
claiming Shabaab’s leadership was planning to assassinate him. Ikrimah had told me he feared his association with Hammami might place him in
danger too. In an email he had asked me to take care of his wife and daughters if he was killed.
⁴

Shabaab was riven by
internal conflicts
and it seemed Ikrimah’s climb up the hierarchy had created a new set of perils.

As Klang’s words sank in, I realized I was not primarily motivated by the sums on offer for neutralizing the CIA’s targets. I mainly wanted to hear that the Americans needed me again, driven on by wounded pride and the fear that Abdul might supplant me.

Klang’s message about the rewards on offer came with strings attached. ‘And on top of that we’d like ten per cent. Akhi, we also want to have some fun out of it. We can negotiate for you then.’

I nodded but said nothing. Now I had seen it all. A representative of Queen Margrethe’s government was asking for a percentage of any reward I might receive from the US.

I wished my iPhone was recording the discussion, as it had the last time I’d sat in this villa. I wondered whether PET was altogether out of control or whether I had had the misfortune to be paired with its most dishonest officer.

Klang had sensed an opportunity and was ready to take a big personal risk.

‘Big Brother doesn’t want to deal directly with you any more so we would be the ones handling you from now on,’ he said. I had little choice. I needed to earn the premium rate for overseas missions after spending so much to set up Storm Bushcraft.

The Americans clearly wanted to keep me at arm’s length. Perhaps they didn’t trust me; perhaps they thought I was high risk. Michael, sitting in the same cottage just a few months before, had surely drawn up a damning report. But I had already risked my life to meet Wuhayshi and I still wanted that heavyweight title.

‘What guarantee do I have they won’t screw me over this time?’ I asked.

‘You don’t,’ Klang replied, with a smugness that made me itch to punch him.

‘I need to be sure that if I die my wife and kids will be taken care of,’ I told him. My trip to Jaar had impressed on me the dangers that would lie ahead.

‘They’d be in line to receive a million kroner ($180,000),’ Klang promised.

‘I’d be more comfortable if the Americans paid that up front,’ I replied. I could hardly argue my family’s corner from beyond the grave.

‘We’ll look into that.’

Klang promised that PET would also get my wife permanent residence status in Denmark before I travelled. I wanted to make sure she could continue to live in Europe if I was killed.

I went home to England to consider my options.

Against all the odds I had forced myself back into contention. As a freelancer I’d got on first-name terms with one of al-Qaeda’s most important men. But still I was getting little support, and rather too many demands, from my handlers. And the situation in Yemen was far more treacherous than when I had made contact with Awlaki just a year earlier.

Two weeks later Jesper and Soren, the team leader, came to England. They had received permission from British intelligence to meet me on their patch. Klang was not with them; his security clearance had been suspended when he was arrested after a brawl at a pizzeria in Copenhagen. In another incident not likely to advance his career, he had been caught having sex with the mistress of PET’s Director-General, Jakob Scharf,
⁵
in the toilets at the agency’s Christmas party. Maybe Klang too was battling demons.

Over breakfast in their hotel, Soren and Jesper conveyed to me the Americans’ final word on the life insurance ‘deposit’ I had requested.

‘We can get you fifty thousand dollars up front – they won’t go a dollar higher,’ Jesper said. The former banker had clearly been designated as the numbers guy.

It was not what I was hoping for, but I was working my way back to the summit and was still climbing in the foothills.

‘I can live with that.’

Soren told me a plan was taking shape. I would drive down with Abdul as I had in January and deliver the supplies with the hidden tracking devices to Wuhayshi.

‘When do I leave?’

‘Soon,’ Soren said.

They had brought my wife’s Danish residence application and helped me fill in the paperwork.

‘There won’t be any difference between her and a Danish citizen,’ Jesper declared.

Afterwards we drove into the countryside. I had promised to take them quad-biking. Soon we were racing along tracks, spattered in mud. It was the perfect pressure release valve. The only blemish was that Jesper broke his ankle after getting his foot caught in the track. I was stunned to see the insurance disclaimers they had signed. They had used their real names and Soren had listed an address in the vicinity of PET headquarters in Søborg as his home address. Had they been taught nothing?

Late in March, I was preparing for my most challenging and possibly final mission when an email dropped into my inbox. It was encrypted and it came from Aminah. She was still alive.

‘Yes, yes,’ I muttered to myself. The guilt of luring her to Yemen had never left me.

She said she had been divorced from the outside world for months and had only just received an email I had sent to her late the previous year. Her letter was long and rambling, peppered with Koranic references. Despite everything she had not lost the faith.

Aminah sent greetings to me and her ‘dear sister’ Fadia and talked about dreams she’d had that her husband would be killed – dreams which had continued after his death. I could empathize.

‘Two weeks after his shuhadu I saw him in my dreams … We were talking and I told him I want to do martyrdom operation, and he said it is great idea, he was very happy about it. In my dream he was so close and yet so far away.

‘He look so beautiful, in white dress, glowing and shining, he appeared above me … He was happy and smilling and he told me, Aminah – come to me, come to me.’

But she was still on this earth, thanks to none other than Nasir al-Wuhayshi.

‘I wanted to do a martyrdom operation but Shaykh Basir [Wuhayshi] said that sisters so far will not do the operations because it would bring a lot of problems for them and then government would start to imprisoning Ansar sisters which would be very bad. So I cannot do the operation, I am praying for shuhada, I want to be killed like my husband was. Insha’Allah.’

Instead she was put to work – a blonde waif from the Balkans now committed to al-Qaeda.

‘I am in contact with brothers now as I am started to work on Inspire [magazine], alhamdidullah.’

But – and here the guilt kicked in again – Aminah felt isolated and afraid.

‘I didn’t here from my family for a year and I do not know what is happening. I am sending letters to my sister but she doesn’t responding. I do not know is she under the preassure of government or secret service … I ask Shaykh Basir can I come back after he didn’t approve martyrdom operation, and he said I cannot. He said that my government wanted to put me in prison. I do not know that … And my husband told him in a case that he is killed he doesn’t want me to come back.

‘Is there any chance you can check am I on CIA wanted list or no fly list?’ she asked.

Despite my sympathy, she was also a possible conduit for reaching Wuhayshi again and putting the second phase of the mission into gear. She clearly had a direct line to him.

‘Insha’Allah you will receive a mail from Amir [Wuhayshi], I sent message to him. Insha’Allah you will manage to connect Somalia and Yemen.’

She ended with a note of fatalism:

‘So I am here for now. Untill situation change insha’Allah. Shuhada would be the best solution for me.’

I had visions of a double triumph, rescuing Aminah and at the same time putting an electronic tag on Wuhayshi.

My orders to travel to Yemen finally came towards the end of April. It wasn’t before time. I’d been ready to go for more than three months, and didn’t understand why PET was holding back. Not knowing had further strained my relationship with Fadia, who could not understand why I was so agitated, constantly checking my phone for texts. I was so restless at night, muttering to myself in Danish, that she asked me to sleep on the sofa.

There was time for one last outing with my children. I took them to Waterworld, a theme park not far from Birmingham. They were in their element, slaloming down the water chutes and jumping in the pools and fountains. I tried to look as though I was enjoying it, but more than once felt tears welling.

I went to Copenhagen to discuss the final details of the mission and craft a response to Aminah. ‘I am still not over the Sheikh …’ I wrote to her, ‘I have lost my friend brother teacher may Allah accept him as Shaheed.

‘Regarding CIA then give me some time I cannot search their website from my town. I have also forgotten your name in your passport so you need to mail it to me again Inshallah. I don’t think it’s a crime if they find out you have been married to Sheikh. Just tell them you have been kept hostage and had no way of escaping. You have not committed any crime and they cannot prove your marriage to him.’

I felt treacherous using Aminah as a way to reach Wuhayshi, but justified it to myself by hoping that one day – if we remained in touch – I could help her.

‘I agree with Sheikh Abu Basir don’t do any actions without considering it carefully Inshallah. This is very important you give this message to Sheikh Abu Basir,’ I wrote. ‘Tell him I got the stuff for your husband and the stuff he asked me for. The stuff is ready and I should be at his place around the 10th [of May] Inshallah.’

I had another message for her to convey – one that would show Wuhayshi the importance of keeping lines open to me.

‘Somalia … they are nagging me again for coming over to Yemen. Tell him that Abu Musab al-Somali and Ikrimah have intentions to come ASAP it seems like it’s very important.’

I might well need her help: every avenue was precious.

‘I have heard that Hartaba has been killed. Is this true? Then I ask Allah to accept him. He was my only way into Sheikh Abu Basir. Now how will I enter?’

I promised I would bring clothes for her and told her to take care of herself, signing off: ‘Your brother Polar Bear.’

PET clearly liked Helsingør, the resort town on the coast near Copenhagen. They invited me to a summer house nearby to discuss next steps. The lashings of winter storms had given way to a mild spring and the Baltic was a placid blue-green.

Klang was back on the team because of the importance of the mission. We sat down in the reception room.

‘We’ve discussed the Aminah situation,’ Jesper told me. ‘Our feeling is that it would be dangerous for her to come back to Europe. As you wrote in your email, there’s no guarantee that she would be arrested and she could be a ticking time bomb.’

I wondered if he meant a time bomb for innocent civilians or for Danish intelligence. Perhaps they had calculated that her story would implicate them in a legally questionable operation.

I asked my handlers why there had been so much delay in sending me back to Yemen. Klang said implausibly that it was because the Americans were re-purposing spy satellites previously monitoring Afghanistan.

We discussed the mission. I was to meet Abdul in Sana’a and we would drive down to deliver the supplies.

‘It’s really important you stick with Abdul,’ Klang said.