The Identity Thief (26 page)

"Well," Asar challenged them. "Do you see it?"

X had a pretty good idea, but he humored Asar and shook his head. The teen knelt and pulled away the prayer rug, revealing a wooden trap door.

"The Americans have been in this mosque a half dozen times and never found this," Asar said.

X found this a bit surprising. It would have been the first place he looked. But then again, hiding money and other items was one of his specialties.

"After you, my young friend," he told Asar.

The three men descended a rickety staircase into blackness. X had by no means overcome his claustrophobia, but this was a good deal better than squeezing through their escape tunnel. For some reason, he was reminded of
Alice in Wonderland
. And he had a feeling The Chief's headquarters would be as topsy-turvy a universe as the Mad Hatter's.

About 18 feet down, they reached a tunnel. A huge high-intensity flashlight was hanging from a hook and Asar grasped it and flicked it on. The passageway was surprisingly wide, enough to accommodate all three men abreast, although they had to hunch over as they walked.

"The Warriors of Allah carved these tunnels out?" Harry asked in wonderment.

"The caves are natural but the passages were widened and many of the chambers expanded," Asar explained. "Bin Laden himself assisted us. He flew in heavy equipment from his father's construction empire. It is said he drove one of the bulldozers himself."

X pictured the legendary master of disaster piloting a bulldozer with a John Deere cap in place of his turban and found the image so comical - like Eddie Albert manning a tractor in a banker's suit in
Green Acres
- that he had to choke down a hysterical giggle.

They walked nearly 100 yards before they reached a checkpoint. There, two guards hurriedly got to their feet and shoved AK-47s in their faces.

"We are servants of The Chief," Asar told them.

"Yes, I recognize you. You are Asar, The Chief's old driver. Don't you recognize me? Omar."

Asar unslung his rifle and dropped it, then hugged the other man.

"Still, we need the password," said Guard No. 2.

"Peace," replied Asar without hesitation.

"And we must search you," Omar reminded the teen somewhat apologetically.

"Of course."

They surrendered their weapons and allowed themselves to be frisked. Then they marched behind Omar down the passageway and entered a cavern.

X had imagined something more spectacular. Perhaps it was childish, but he'd literally pictured the bat cave, complete with giant computer mainframes. Still, the complex was extensive. They passed through a warehouse for military supplies including huge stockpiles of guns and ammunition, bazookas, artillery shells, rocket-propelled grenades, mines and stolen U.S., Afghan and Pakistani army uniforms. In another room, caches of water and food were stored. Next they passed through barracks with pillows and blankets scattered on the ground where dozens of men, presumably resting from their duties of killing and maiming, peacefully dozed.

"We have a state-of-the-art ventilation system and our own hydroelectric generators - three of them," Omar bragged as if he'd built them himself. "They run off an underground river."

"How many men?" Harry asked.

"1,200 fighters."

"1,203 now," Asar pointed out, and his old friend grinned.

After another 300 yards or so, Omar announced that they had reached the offices of The Chief. X held his breath. According to Mr. Jones, he and the real Ali Nazeer had never met. But the Committee had only just discovered that Ali was anything more than a reckless, selfish playboy. Who knew for sure?

The Chief emerged from behind the door. He was far older than in the file photos Mr. Jones had shared with him. But then, X supposed, that famous picture on the FBI's Most Wanted poster must be 10 years old. Apparently, he'd decided to age gracefully and not dye his beard like bin Laden.

"Where is my dear friend?" the old man demanded when he saw the newcomers.

Oh, drat
, X thought.
Busted.

But when The Chief spotted X, he shuffled hurriedly over and embraced him in delight, kissing the visitor on both cheeks for good measure.

"You are taller than I recalled," The Chief said. "But I saw you only from afar at the gathering in Kandahar."

At least 80, and decked out in what appeared to be pajamas, The Chief looked like the grandfather of a 7-Eleven clerk more than the head honcho of the world's biggest terrorist organization. In the Arab press, he was portrayed as a cross between Batman and Robin Hood. X had not expected someone so frail. Instead of the signature camouflage jacket, in which The Chief delivered his many video performances, he wore a red bathrobe. He reminded X of Hugh Hefner in his declining years.

"Your escape has been a great propaganda victory," The Chief declared. "You showed that despite all their millions of dollars in weapons, all their satellites and spies and drones, the infidels can be defeated."

He hugged Asar. "And you brought this brave one who is like a son back to me."

The Chief introduced a tall, gaunt, bespectacled man. The guy held his lips pursed in a manner that reminded X of a spinster librarian in a
Little Rascals
episode.

"This is Dr. Zawari, my second-in-command."

"I've heard many good things about you," X lied. "And this is my dear friend, Moammar, who aided us in our escape."

Dr. Zawari scrutinized them with an intensity that suggested X-ray vision. "Many have tried before to escape from Abd Al-Rahman Prison," he observed. "It sounded miraculous, indeed - almost too good to be true."

Harry began to explain, "Well, Allah was merciful ... "

The Chief waved him away and chuckled. "Don't worry. Our sources in the prison confirmed all the details reported by Al Jazeera. Forgive my aide. Dr. Zawari was in the camp of el-Safvadi when the man was murdered by assassins posing as journalists. Having been bitten by a snake, he's afraid of a rope."

"I remember that incident well and understand," nodded X, who had no idea what the old man was talking about. "We must all be on our guard against deception."

"Dr. Zawari, please escort Asar to the dormitory and Moammar to the guest quarters," said The Chief. "Come walk with me, Ali."

X wouldn't have minded going to the guest quarters too. But he obligingly accompanied the tottering terrorist bigwig into his office suite, noticing for the first time that The Chief wore fluffy bedroom slippers.

In the first of three rooms was a large table on which was laid out a huge topographic map of Afghanistan. Dozens of pushpins every color of the rainbow dotted the military map representing, X assumed, where The Chief's forces and those of his adversaries were stationed. X had only seen something like it in World War II movies.

I suppose if I were one of those spies with a photographic memory, I could commit it to memory
, he mused.

Ushered into the next room, X beheld a small greenhouse lit by fluorescents. The identity thief inhaled the fragrances of dozens of unfamiliar flowers.

"This greenhouse is my pride and joy," The Chief said. "We grow many exotic plants here, some that the London Botanical Gardens would have cause to envy. Here, look at my blue forsythias."

"They are beautiful. What an accomplishment to cultivate such a garden underground," X marveled. But he was thinking,
a nine-foot-tall, man-eating Venus flytrap would suit you better. You're like a James Bond villain, but senile.

The next door led to the terrorist leader's private study. There was a photo of The Chief posing arm in arm with his underling Bin Laden, and another between a pair of prominent Iranian mullahs. On his large, ornate mahogany desk a TV was tuned to Fox News, where an anchor was feverishly updating the public on the details of a celebrity's shoplifting trial.

His shelves boasted an impressive collection of books - perhaps 200 - and the variety surprised X: tomes on gardening, architecture, anatomy, Biblical archaeology, even home decor.

"It is as I have heard. You are truly Renaissance man," X said. The Chief beamed at that.

Whew! Wasn't sure the Renaissance was a good thing to you folks. Thought maybe the Dark Ages was more up your alley.

The terrorist leader proudly pointed to a row of six large tomes, set aside from the others on their own shelf. "Those are the ones I've written."

X examined the titles.
Poems for a New Afghanistan
was the name of one collection.
I Sing of Freedom
was another
.
Thought the identity thief
, You have to give the old coot credit for being upbeat.

The old man took the book from X and thumbed through it until he reached a page bookmarked with a news clipping about a U.N. bombing in Libya. He handed the book back to "Ali Nazeer," gesturing with seeming diffidence that he should read it. The American, who was still more adept at speaking Arabic than reading it, slowly recited:

"My love for you is like a cloud from Heaven

That makes the desert bloom. Your fragrance is like

A mixture of lavender and honey,

And your touch is as pure as raindrops

That tap upon my skin."

It went on in that vein for another 40 stanzas.
A love poem
, X was startled to realize.

"Are you familiar with the works of Jalal al-Din Muhammad Balkhi?" his host inquired.

"Well, I've read a few of his works," the identity thief lied through his teeth.

"He is my model. Though of course my words are like the scribblings of a child next to such a master."

"I hope that years in the future, your books will sit on a shelf next to his," X said.

"You are gracious, but it is only a hobby," the old man said, returning the book to the shelf. "We hold
mushha'ra
competitions every Tuesday night. You are welcome to participate. You can get pen and ink from my secretary."

"You are most generous, Chief."

Great, a poetry jam with a bunch of Islamofascist lunatics
, X thought.
Well, that should be entertaining. What's Wednesday's activity - Twister?

The Chief guided him to a small desk in the corner on which a yellow legal pad rested. "This is what I'm working on now. I would be honored if you would take a look at it."

The simplicity of the language threw X a curve ball. But by the bottom of the first page, it became clear what he was looking at.

"Is this ... "

"Yes, a children's book," The Chief said, with some excitement. "My first."

Skimming the text and the attendant stick-figure illustrations, X quickly gleaned that the villain was a Jewish golem who preyed upon the people of a village and ate them. The children defeat the monster by pelting him with magic stones.

"It is an allegory," he said.

"Very perceptive," smiled The Chief, clapping him on the back. "It instructs children about the wickedness of the Zionists at an early age. Forgive my primitive artwork. I will of course hire a professional illustrator."

Okay, that's just about enough bonding for one day
, X felt.
Now it's time for the setup.

"I bring a warning," X told The Chief. "The Americans have used all their means to seize some of my assets in the Caymans. I have had to transfer all that remains to a hiding place."

The Chief frowned and nodded sympathetically.

"I am concerned that they may use their cunning to go after the assets of the Warriors of Allah as well," X continued. "The CIA hacked into our computers to locate our funds and could easily do the same to you."

The Chief chuckled. "You have no reason to worry, my son. These walls are shielded by many feet of rock and we have sophisticated security safeguards and firewalls. Our assets are safe."

X frowned dubiously. "Well, that is welcome news. But always keep in mind the proverb, 'You cannot store milk in a sieve and complain of bad luck.' "

The Chief laughed. "This is true, my brother. Very true."

"It is my suggestion that you convert your funds to gold bullion so that the enemies of Islam cannot seize them with the touch of a button. Hide the gold where the Americans cannot find it. My organization has a facility in Uzbekistan where you could be safely store it."

The terror boss stroked his beard thoughtfully. "That is one possibility. Tell me, where is it that you have moved your own funds?"

X shook his head. "I am sorry, my honored friend. Even to you I cannot divulge that information."

The Chief looked a bit taken aback. Then he nodded. "I understand. Do not fret. You are my brother whom I trust and love." He hugged X.

After what X found to be an awkwardly long embrace, the old man released him. X pointed to the rock walls.

"How do you communicate with your followers? With all the shielding and the rocks? Surely cell phones don't work down here."