threw open his
arms to welcome his young general home.
“ Salam alaikum !”
Abdul Mansour returned the
greeting and took a seat at the small table. It was the first time he had
been to Al-Asiri’s home and the humble surroundings were exactly as he would
have fashioned for himself.
“How was your journey?”
“Fine,” Mansour said as he
accepted the offer of tea, though fine was being generous. Once he’d
received news that his lieutenant, Nabil Shah, had been killed on Jolo, Mansour
had made his way home from Indonesia. He had spent most of the journey on
a fishing vessel and it had been several days before he’d stopped throwing
up. Even now he wondered if the smell would ever leave him.
“I am glad you are back, my
friend. Tell me about your latest mission.”
Mansour explained how he’d
delivered the weapons and money to the Abu Sayyaf leader and provided training
in their use, but as for the attack itself, he only knew what the television
and newspapers had reported. Over a hundred American and Filipino
soldiers had been killed in the firefight at Camp Bautista, although Abu Sayyaf
had lost a couple of hundred men in a reprisal attack immediately afterwards.
As for the overall mission, he
had convinced the leaders of Jemaah Islamiyah — Abu Sayyaf’s Indonesian
counterparts — to enter into talks aimed at creating a Muslim alliance.
The promise of more weapons and money had been extended to the Indonesians,
with a view to them controlling most of maritime South-East Asia.
“You have done Allah a great
service,” Al-Asiri told him. “However, the fight must continue at
pace. Tell me, how would you feel about going back to England one last
time?”
“I will go wherever you ask,”
Mansour said with heartfelt conviction.
“As I thought,” his master
smiled as he leaned back into his chair. “Your mission will be to simply
provide training to a new group of martyrs. You will not be exposed to
danger yourself.”
“What do they need to know?”
“You will show them how to
create explosive devices. These are young men who have not come under the
scrutiny of the security services, and to use the internet for their research
would be to wave a red flag at a bull.”
“How can we be sure that they
are not being watched?” Mansour asked. “The last thing we should do
is underestimate our enemies.”
“I have people with access to
this information,” Al-Asiri said confidently. To his lasting regret, he
hadn’t been able to get anyone into the security services themselves, but there
were other agencies that were party to certain information, and airline no-fly
and watch lists were just two ways of knowing if MI5 were interested in an
individual.
“What would you have them
attack?”
“There are multiple targets
across the UK,” Al-Asiri told him. “In addition, co-ordinated attacks
will take place in the US and Canada. Timing will be of the utmost
importance.”
“Are these military targets, or
infrastructure?” Mansour asked, intrigued.
“Sperm banks,” Al-Asiri said,
and smiled at Mansour’s confused expression.
“I’m sorry, I do not
understand. How will this further the cause?”
Al-Asiri explained how his
research team had developed a virus that would kill off Y chromosome sperm, and
spelled out his vision for the future. “The next generation of British
and American children will be predominately female, which in years to come will
reduce their fighting capability. The small percentage of males born will
carry the new gene, which means the cycle continues in ever decreasing
circles. The only chance to produce male offspring is through
inter-racial breeding.”
Mansour looked at Al-Asiri and
did well to hide his true feelings. His facial expression portrayed
fascination, but inside he began to wonder if the old man had gone completely
mad.
“You plan to breed them out of
existence?”
“Exactly,” Al-Asiri told
him.
arms to welcome his young general home.
“ Salam alaikum !”
Abdul Mansour returned the
greeting and took a seat at the small table. It was the first time he had
been to Al-Asiri’s home and the humble surroundings were exactly as he would
have fashioned for himself.
“How was your journey?”
“Fine,” Mansour said as he
accepted the offer of tea, though fine was being generous. Once he’d
received news that his lieutenant, Nabil Shah, had been killed on Jolo, Mansour
had made his way home from Indonesia. He had spent most of the journey on
a fishing vessel and it had been several days before he’d stopped throwing
up. Even now he wondered if the smell would ever leave him.
“I am glad you are back, my
friend. Tell me about your latest mission.”
Mansour explained how he’d
delivered the weapons and money to the Abu Sayyaf leader and provided training
in their use, but as for the attack itself, he only knew what the television
and newspapers had reported. Over a hundred American and Filipino
soldiers had been killed in the firefight at Camp Bautista, although Abu Sayyaf
had lost a couple of hundred men in a reprisal attack immediately afterwards.
As for the overall mission, he
had convinced the leaders of Jemaah Islamiyah — Abu Sayyaf’s Indonesian
counterparts — to enter into talks aimed at creating a Muslim alliance.
The promise of more weapons and money had been extended to the Indonesians,
with a view to them controlling most of maritime South-East Asia.
“You have done Allah a great
service,” Al-Asiri told him. “However, the fight must continue at
pace. Tell me, how would you feel about going back to England one last
time?”
“I will go wherever you ask,”
Mansour said with heartfelt conviction.
“As I thought,” his master
smiled as he leaned back into his chair. “Your mission will be to simply
provide training to a new group of martyrs. You will not be exposed to
danger yourself.”
“What do they need to know?”
“You will show them how to
create explosive devices. These are young men who have not come under the
scrutiny of the security services, and to use the internet for their research
would be to wave a red flag at a bull.”
“How can we be sure that they
are not being watched?” Mansour asked. “The last thing we should do
is underestimate our enemies.”
“I have people with access to
this information,” Al-Asiri said confidently. To his lasting regret, he
hadn’t been able to get anyone into the security services themselves, but there
were other agencies that were party to certain information, and airline no-fly
and watch lists were just two ways of knowing if MI5 were interested in an
individual.
“What would you have them
attack?”
“There are multiple targets
across the UK,” Al-Asiri told him. “In addition, co-ordinated attacks
will take place in the US and Canada. Timing will be of the utmost
importance.”
“Are these military targets, or
infrastructure?” Mansour asked, intrigued.
“Sperm banks,” Al-Asiri said,
and smiled at Mansour’s confused expression.
“I’m sorry, I do not
understand. How will this further the cause?”
Al-Asiri explained how his
research team had developed a virus that would kill off Y chromosome sperm, and
spelled out his vision for the future. “The next generation of British
and American children will be predominately female, which in years to come will
reduce their fighting capability. The small percentage of males born will
carry the new gene, which means the cycle continues in ever decreasing
circles. The only chance to produce male offspring is through
inter-racial breeding.”
Mansour looked at Al-Asiri and
did well to hide his true feelings. His facial expression portrayed
fascination, but inside he began to wonder if the old man had gone completely
mad.
“You plan to breed them out of
existence?”
“Exactly,” Al-Asiri told
him.
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