The Caliphate AndrĂ© Gallo (list of ebook readers TXT) đ
- Author: André Gallo
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Coogan smiled, looked at Steve and added, âYour father thought I could give you some useful background before you go to Morocco, so let me fast-forward for you. We are witnessing the renaissance of a religion, no, of an authoritarian ideology. Its proponentsâjihadists, Salafists, whatever you choose to call themâhonestly believe everyone must fall in line, that it is Godâs will that we all submit. In the short term they are skillful at perception management, using the internet, killings, whatever works. In the long term, the only constituency they care about is God, Allah. Those who liked the Taliban will love the new Caliphate, the idea that theyâre going to recreate the Middle East as a borderless Muslim empire, but only as a first step. My generation struggled against one global âism.â Your generation is faced with another. That can be your first lesson on contemporary Islam.â
âAre you saying that Iâm going to have to deal with these guys in Morocco?â
âDepends. Just keep in mind that the true believers are deadly. They are a small minority of the Muslim world to be sure. Some say, what, only one-to-five percent are extremists? Thatâs between fifteen-million and seventy-five-million people. Some of them are in Morocco. Thatâs where the terrorists who bombed the Spanish trains came from.â
When they reached Cooganâs house, Benjamin met them in the hallway.
âWelcome back boss. What do you think of your Arab neighbors?â
Seeing Cooganâs expression he continued, âOh, you donât know? I thought the police called you. Well, it turns out that the robbers came over the wall in the back, from the Saudi residence. Their footsteps are still there. The gang that couldnât shoot straight,â he said, with more bravado than Steve had seen yet.
Coogan and Benjamin went to go have a look. Steve was anxious to leave to go meet Kella.
âIâm off to the Metro. I promised to meet someone. But could the thief have come from the Saudi residence? What do you think?â
âWeâll talk about the theft later,â Coogan told him. âYou look in a hurry. Forget the Metro. Take my car if you want. I wonât need it for the rest of the day. Iâm going to be busy right here.â He turned to Benjamin and said, âIâll be here tonight for dinner but not tomorrow. So just prepare your usual fine cuisine tonight, and Steve can tell you what he would like tomorrow.â
âThanks. The car will be useful since Iâm late.â
As Steve turned to go, Benjamin said, âBy the way, a reporter called you this morning Steve. But he didnât leave a message.â
âA reporter?â He looked at Coogan. âWhat did he want?â
âHe asked for the person who met Mr. Coogan at the airport. He said that you had given him your name but that he hadnât had a chance to get the spelling right for the article. So I gave it to him.â
Steve and Ted looked at each other. Steve smiled at the reporterâs ingenuity but Coogan frowned. Steve hurried to the MINI Cooper to go meet Kella wondering what Coogan looked worried about.
3. Tel Aviv
On consultation from his assignment in Brussels at Mossadâs European headquarters, David Ben Tov had been summoned by Mossad Director Nahum Ben Gal to his top floor office. Mindful that Mossadâs American desk chief often lunched with the CIA chief of station at the Asia House near the Mossad building, David Ben Tov parked two blocks away from the Hadar Dafna Building on King Saul Boulevard in Tel Aviv. Seemingly a business office building, the Hadar Dafna was the headquarters of the Ha Mossad, le Modiyn ve le Takfidim Mayuhadim, the Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations, Israelâs external Israeli intelligence service.
Ben Tov was in his late forties, with blondish receding hair, light skin, in reasonable shape for his age, and dressed in loafers, cargo pants, a sport jacket and white shirt. He wore no tie, a style established early by the David Ben Gurion tie-less generation of pioneers.
The sky was cloudy, threatening rain. Ben Tov quickened his step.
In the elevator on his way to the directorâs top floor office, Ben Tov reviewed his operations in Europe to be ready for whatever Ben Gal wanted to take up with him. He ran several agents: a Libyan and an Ethiopian diplomat, a Belgian businessman who did business in Saudi Arabia. The Turkish Ambassador was his very good friend, although not yet an agent. He was cultivating the manager of a five star hotel in Brussels where many Arab plenipotentiaries stayed when visiting Brussels to lobby the European Union.
Ben Tov hoped to be able to plant microphones and cameras in several of the suites. He also had a number of other lesser contacts including a promising young Palestinian with intriguing family connections. By the time he stepped out of the elevator, he hadnât dredged up any problems that would reach Ben Galâs level.
Ben Gal, tall, still dark-haired although ten years older than David, was dressed in slacks and a shirt with sleeves rolled up. He walked to greet him from behind his desk and extended his hand.
Good signs, thought Ben Tov. He had been in Ben Galâs modest office only once before, when Ben Galâs predecessor had told him that Mossad would pay for his last two years of university studies at the University of California, Berkeley, assuming he was accepted. He had met his future wife Rachel there, also a Sabra, and picked up American-accented English and expressions.
Ben Gal moved back to his chair. âI understand that we sent you to Berkeley a few years ago. Itâs time to amortize our investment, to use your American background for
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