Read Bin Laden's Woman Online

Authors: Gustavo Homsi

Tags: #september 11, #adventure, #marriage, #religion, #middle east, #orient, #islam, #muslim, #immigration, #customs, #bin laden, #culinary, #captivity, #traditions, #east, #arab culture, #miscegenation, #racial acceptance, #september 11 2001, #racial integration, #racial intolerance, #arrange marriage, #muslim belief, #arranged mariages, #marriage agreement, #cousin marriage, #arab countries politics, #arab cusine, #arab customs, #arab family, #bin ladens death, #brasilian family, #meddle east politics

Bin Laden's Woman (4 page)

BOOK: Bin Laden's Woman
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They would b
egin with modest transfers of
funds to Samira’s account; they would gradually buy some
properties. Finally, they would prepare for the moving.

Most of this should be done by Samira via
internet. The messenger brothers were very trustable, but, except
for the arms, their knowledge about technology was zero.

 

 

A N
ew Life

Samira was a tough girl, she wouldn’t sink
into despair, she thought a lot about her situation.

Their plan was very simple. As for her, she
soon realized that she would become the key to the safe money box
and she would be closely watched, very closely.

They were patient and careful when talked to
her about their struggle, hoping one day she could really
understand what Girad was, and do all she was expected to do by
faith in God. Samira soon realized that she should avoid any
indiscretion or she and all the Naffahs would pass into history as
some more martyrs of the Holy War.

For those who had knocked down the Twin
Towers and a piece of the Pentagon, it would be a piece of cake,
definitely.

 

She also couldn’t imagine what it would
happen to her when they got what they wanted. They didn’t seem to
worry about it. They trusted she would soon be fully engaged to the
Holy War, would be one of them. She knew this wasn’t going to
happen and she would be at great risk.

 

- Take your time, they said, to avoid
suspicion. Moreover, Bin’s health was getting worse and worse, they
would have to move soon. Oh my God.

 

Samira accepted the game, at least
temporarily; her fate was to do what they wanted. She had to keep
herself alive. After three thousand innocent people, one more, one
less wouldn’t make any difference to them.

 

For safety reasons, the only communication
with the outside of the house happened when the brothers left for
shopping. They had no telephone, TV or internet.

In today's world - Samira thought. Wouldn’t
this raise any suspicions? A house that big without a phone
line?

Every day, Samira, closely watched by Amal
and the brothers, left the house in the van. While Arshad went
shopping, the others were in the car, protected by the darkened
windows.

Then Samira tried a WiFi internet network
that could be invaded and started navigating. They often changed
position and network to not raise suspicions.

It took a bit, Amal prayed, Tariq always
seemed to be in another world. Samira used all the features on the
laptop to download multiple files at once. Later, she would work
with them. She received passwords for some accounts of the
organization and started making transfers. At first, they were
monitored by the Doctor, far away, he followed everything over the
network.

 

After some time, Samira joined up to that
strange community. They were all very reserved and cautious,
continued taking care of their lives.

Their faith was impressive; they were living
with a sword over their heads. It made no difference at all! They
didn’t lose a night's sleep, and each new day was a blessing.

They didn’t want to be anywhere else,
nothing more than that simple life. The men watching over, the
women taking care of the house.

 

To be helpful, she offered to take care of
the chickens, she liked it since childhood. Also showed her skills
in the kitchen, her nice and brown fried chicken with a generous
onion and garlic sauce, was successful. She learned to eat with her
hands.

And time went by.

 

The Disease

Bin was only getting worse!

Resources were limited, they had tried
everything they could, samples were sent for examination. They
didn’t find anything, it wasn’t rheumatism, arthrosis, arthritis,
gout, nothing. No bacteria, no trace of virus.

The pain got worse every day.

Samira was getting more scared. She was
afraid of being left if they decided to move suddenly; afraid of
what they would do with her if he died suddenly.

She spent more and more of her precious time
on the net, visiting sites about health and medical advances. It
couldn’t be a common disease; otherwise they would have already
found it. She started looking for alternative therapies.

She found several references, some sites
seemed reliable, linking the problem of muscle pain to fungal
infestations.

It had everything to do with that. Years in
dark and damp caves. Poor diet, low in protein, natural defenses
decrease.

She studied the subject deeply. It was
something new, the medical community was skeptical, but there were
many testimonies in favor.

 

Apparently, the fungal colonies adhering to
the intestinal walls ended up making the wall permeable. Toxins
escaped from the intestinal tract and were deposited in the muscle
tissue, causing pain.

Even if the explanation wasn’t exactly this,
it was worth a try.

She spoke to Amal, who told her:

- It can be that; when Bin was still in the
caves, he had some itching and took an antimycotic. The pain
actually decreased. After some time, the drug began to do more harm
than good, intoxicated him.

It was a very good sign, she continued
looking.

 

The suggested diet was relatively simple and
without risk. Cut down on anything that could ferment easily,
feeding the fungi, such as gluten, sugar, flour, etc. The idea was
killing fungi by starvation.

He could eat only protein and vegetables.
Garlic, ginger and coconut oil, coadjuvants.

 

She had to convince her patient. She found
it difficult to say to that noble warrior he was simply plenty of
fungi.

 

She began comparing the human body to a
battlefield, which caught the attention of the Arab.

- In this field, the battle never ends - she
said. Each new day, good microorganisms fight the evil ones and
vice versa. When we are happy, doing the right things, the good
ones start to win, we are healthy, otherwise we get sick.

 

Bin thought this metaphor also had something
to do with his own struggle, but he felt terrible, was ready to try
anything, such was his pain.

 

As anticipated in the treatment, the
symptoms worsened at the beginning, that was the reaction of the
fungi, and then, they gradually slowed.

Everyone was very grateful to Samira, even
Bin, very reserved, used to call the young woman. He liked the
stories she told from Brazil, the people, their jokes.

 

Travel plans to Brazil were postponed, the
urgency decreased, they were enjoying that apparent safety.

 

Life followed its course, the amounts
transferred were increasing. For safety, the money and the custody
of the bonds were moved from one bank to another, to hinder
tracking.

Taking advantage of Samira’s ability, they
developed new operations, increasingly complexity.

Samira created a large spreadsheet with that
movement; it was the only way to keep up with Bin’s prodigious
mind.

He didn’t know the exact number, but he had
the bulk of each operation closely kept in his mind. No notes at
all.

 

The only distractions Samira had were
Safiyah, Amal’s daughter, and the chickens.

 

- Aunt Samira, make me a hair like
yours?

- Of course, my love, come here.

Then she washed the girl’s hair, combed them
with a thick comb, put the sides up, over the ears, they looked
quite alike. She remembered herself, little child in Bauru, in Mrs.
Samira’s arms, she began to cry.

- What is it, aunt, why are you crying?

- No, no, my angel, your aunt is silly. I
remembered my mother.

 

Samira asked permission to build a higher
frame, inside the chicken coop. Like the one her parents have in
Tupã. She thought the chickens would feel safer sleeping perched.
They would have more eggs, more chicks. Arabs don’t understand much
about chickens.

 

The chicken coop was leaning against the
wall at the back of the building. There was a single entrance door,
it was the only place where they didn’t need to watch over Samira.
From there, she had nowhere to go. They agreed with her project,
then she went with tools and boards to do her job.

The chickens were sleeping on an old wooden
floor, it seemed building waste, improvised. Samira started
cleaning and disassembling it.

Many pieces of wood were joined by others,
nailed, impossible to move. She began removing the nails and
releasing piece by piece, she had plenty of time.

By the middle of the job, she found a hole
in the concrete slab. It must have been a gateway for materials,
water, or something. It was hidden by the wooden floor, it hadn’t
been closed at the end of the construction.

Carefully not to draw attention, she looked
inside; it was a waterway, behind the house.

She had her heart in her mouth, my God, it
was a way out, useless by now. If she went out there, she would be
recaptured and who knows what would happen to her parents.

She arranged the boards recovering the exit,
left two of them unattached, enough for her to escape if there was
an opportunity.

A few more days, she concluded the roost.
The set was even heavier than it already was, completely hiding the
exit. Only she knew what boards were loose.

 

 

2011

Bin was recovered, free of pain, became
another man, a dynamo.

He forgot the danger, only could think about
the big and apotheotic action to celebrate the tenth anniversary of
the September 11th.

Samira became his right hand. Since the
cure, he completely trusted in the young woman.

Maybe the old idea of marriage could be
reconsidered.

She, in her turn, felt more and more
trapped. She couldn’t communicate over the internet, but she read
the international news.

Bin wanted a magnificent event, but at the
same time, Americans were doing everything they could to capture
the Arab leader.

That would eventually happen.

Her “beloved” father had sold his daughter
for a dozen camels; you can imagine what people would do for 25
million dollars, the reward for Bin’s head.

In fact, everybody knew that, the alert was
complete, the guard was doubled, and slept ready for the worst,
dressed and armed. They wouldn’t be captured, not even alive.

The plans were focused in attack the
trains.

The modus operandi was pretty much the same,
it wouldn’t be as spectacular as the twin towers fall, but they
could do a great damage.

American trains are very fast and large, all
that mass multiplied by the high speed comes to a huge destruction
potential.

They are also very safe, it’s almost
impossible for a train to collide head-on with another; the system
has many alternatives for each mistake.

Everything was harder.

– These Americans are paranoid – they
complaint –, they have security enforcement all over the place!

They asked Samira to download a video
they’ve seen on TV. A recreation of a big disaster that happened
years before.

A ferryboat bumped into a rotating bridge,
minutes before the passage of a high speed train.

The impact of the ferry in one of the ends
dislocated the bridge a little bit.

The disaster was huge. That was it! Instead
of the ferry bump, suicide bombers would move a bridge seconds
before the train arrives.

Samira did what they told her to, she was
fighting for her life... Even so, thinking she could be part of
such an atrocity was killing her.

 

That was a night like many others; they were
all retiring to bed.

Samira woke up with the sound of helicopters
far way. At the first shot, she got up and began to run. Everybody
was running, trying to understand what was happening. Amal goes to
check on Bin, she knows he’s the target. She looks through a window
and sees Samira holding her scarf and running to the chicken
coop.

- This Brazilian is crazy – mumbles Amal, to
herself. – Better this way, I think she was starting to threaten
me. When everyone finds out that, in a moment like this, she was
taking care of the chickens, they will laugh at her. Stupid
girl!

 

In the middle of that troubled dark night,
Samira removes the boards, hidden by the frame she built, passes
through the hole and gets out into the channel, outside the
house.

She goes along the small trickle of water
toward the trees. When she comes to the forest, the flash of the
explosion of a helicopter illuminates the sky. The shots cut the
air. It was an attack for real, nobody would survive. She runs a
little longer between trees and comes to the street.

People are coming out of the houses to see
what happens. She joins a group that runs away from the combat and
comes to the main street.

Then she gets on the first bus that passes,
it goes to Islamabad, a blessing.

 

She puts one hand into the pocket, caresses
her Brazilian passport first and then her credit card.

Samira passes the other hand on her neck and
follows a pendant that hangs her memory card, the spreadsheet with
the transactions and all the passwords. Only Bin and she knew those
accounts.

 

Whatever happens in the coming days,
everyone will be too busy putting themselves together.

Probably, for all purposes, she’ll be the
widow of a very important man, every Muslim should watch over
her.

 

Sammy will have time to find a
safe place and enjoy the rest of her life as a free and rich
woman.
Very rich.

BOOK: Bin Laden's Woman
9.1Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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