Page 11 of Whisper
“Awag al-Sayyid.” Tadmir bobbed his head. “He was very serious. He was with Abu Mahraj, and they were friends. But I did not like that he never smiled.”
The serious man with the cold eyes, the picture Kris touched, was Mohamed Atta, hijacker of American Airlines Flight 11, which had slammed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center at 8:46 AM, three days before. He wanted to recoil, shake his hand until the evil of Atta left him, shake him off like he could shake off a bad dream.
“When did you last speak with your friends?”
“After Ramadan, they were away training for some time. Training with the Sheikh.”
“Training with Bin Laden?”
“Nam.” Tadmir seemed proud, and he smiled as he blew smoke toward Kris. “I was happy for Abu Mahraj. He seemed happy. We did not talk about it, though. He left Afghanistan, and I came to Yemen on my own mission for the Sheikh. But I was arrested, and I have not spoken to Abu Mahraj since then.”
A year. He hadn’t spoken to al-Shehhi in a year. But the training had happened before that, in 1999. Kris’s heart pounded. His breath sped up. All he could smell, all he could taste, was ash and flame.
“Have you heard about what happened in New York City and Washington?”
Tadmir hesitated. “Nam.”
“Do you know that thousands and thousands of civilians died in those attacks?” The death toll was still rising. Maybe it wouldn’t ever be known. Kris swallowed back vomit. It tasted like ash. He stubbed out his cigarette. The towers tumbled like blocks every time he blinked.
Tadmir took a long drag of his cigarette. He nodded. “You have only yourselves to blame for Muslim hatred. Your foreign policy, your occupation of Muslim lands, your support of Israel.”
“So you support the attacks?”
Another long drag. “No. Those attacks were not allowed under jihad. No Shura council would authorize that. Those are a crime. Murder. Anyone who knows jihad knows they were not allowable. Civilians are not to be targeted.” He frowned. “Clearly, this shows those attacks were the work of Israel and the Americans, framing Muslims.”
Kris stopped breathing. “How so?”
“To justify the invasion of more Muslim land. Where will you invade next? If you try to take Afghanistan, the mujahedeen will rise and they will slaughter you like they slaughtered the Soviets.”
“Iknowwho committed the attacks.” Kris’s voice was calm, soft. Almost a whisper.
“Then why are you here? Go chase them! Why bother me?” Tadmir scoffed.
“Iamchasing who committed the attacks.”
“You are not! You are bothering me!” Tadmir waved his hand, as if trying to shoo Kris away.
“Youcommitted the attacks.”
“What?”
“Al-Qaeda is responsible for the deaths of thousands and thousands of people. Innocent lives. Civilians.”
“No—”
“Al-Qaeda hijacked these planes.”
“No—”
“Al-Qaedamurderedall those people.”
“No!” Tadmir slammed both hands down on the table. Cigarette ash went flying. “What kind of Muslim would do such a thing? The Sheikh would not! He is not like you Americans!”
“Iknowthat al-Qaeda committed these attacks. Iknowit.”
Tadmir snarled, “How? What proof do you have?”
“I was told al-Qaeda did it.”
