Blowback

Hailing from Abha, the same remote mountain city in the southern Saudi Arabian province of Asir that four of the fifteen 9/11 hijackers had come from, Alomari had been born into a wealthy Saudi family, with a Saudi father, a French mother, and excellent connections to the Saudi Royal Family. Though he was highly educated, had traveled extensively abroad, and never wanted for money or creature comforts, Khalid Alomari had grown up feeling something was missing in his life. He carried a hole inside him that no amount of sailing the Greek islands, sunning himself on the French Riviera, or looking out over New York’s Central Park while indulging himself in champagne and women in the Plaza Hotel’s decadent Astor Suite could fill. Like another infamous Saudi trust-fund brat, Alomari eventually found what he was looking for-militant Islam.

In 1999, Khalid Alomari was only twenty-one years old when he was first introduced to Osama bin Laden. The two men hit it off instantly. Their backgrounds were very similar and they had much in common. When bin Laden mentioned that several men from Alomari’s hometown of Abha were destined for greatness in the eyes of Allah, Alomari had begged to be allowed to be included, but bin Laden had other plans for the young man who had become almost like another son to him. Alomari was destined for greatness as well, but not by flying an airplane into a skyscraper. He possessed talents far and away more impressive than any of the brothers of 9/11.

Alomari had something that no other young jihadi who had come to bin Laden ever had before. The boy not only possessed exceptional taste, style, and intelligence, but thanks to his French mother, he had a wonderfully European set of facial features that allowed him to pass for almost any nationality.

No, Khalid Alomari would not be flying airplanes into buildings. He was much too precious for that. He would become bin Laden’s greatest weapon-a new power that the Western world would be forced to reckon with.

Alomari trained in bin Laden’s camps in Afghanistan and then was sent away for further schooling with Pakistan ’s infamous Directorate for Inter-Services Intelligence in Islamabad. There, the young man learned the fine arts of prisoner interrogation, blackmail, and assassination. He saw bin Laden only once more after that, just before the al-Qaeda leader had been forced to hide in one of his many mountain strongholds along the Pakistani-Afghan border. Alomari had been in the same room with bin Laden, celebrating the success of the September 11 attacks, when the famous video of his mentor was made, but unlike the other men present, Alomari had been smart enough to move behind the cameraman when the filming started. Not only did the footage prove bin Laden’s complicity in the 9/11 attacks, but it was also used as a who’s who of many of al-Qaeda’s inner sanctum. In short, it gave the Americans more intelligence than the al-Qaeda leadership had intended. Alomari had been smart to remain behind the camera and out of sight. If there was one thing he had learned from his time in America and the West, it was that either you manipulated the media, or it manipulated you.

Now, Harvath desperately tried to wrestle the gun out of Alomari’s hand, but the man was amazingly strong. The terrorist let loose with a left hook, and Harvath lurched to the side, the blow glancing painfully off his shoulder. Harvath answered with a swift knee to Alomari’s groin, which caused the man to drop the gun and also to lose his balance. Grabbing the American operative by the shoulders, Alomari took Harvath down along with him.

Before Harvath could right himself, Alomari swung an elbow and caught him right in the mouth. As he tried to recover, he could sense Alomari crawling away from him, and his only thought was that the terrorist was going for his gun.

Harvath’s mind was in overdrive. He’d lost his H amp;K MP7 in the beginning of the scuffle and knew that it was out of his reach. He’d have to go for his sidearm, but could he pull it and fire before Alomari reached his gun and shot at him? Harvath didn’t have much choice.

Reaching for his Beretta PX4 Storm pistol, Harvath drew the.40-caliber from his holster and rolled to his left. Raising the weapon, he pointed it in the direction he had last seen Alomari, but there was no one there. Quickly, Harvath spun 180 degrees. Rising to one knee, he swept the rest of the room, but Alomari was gone. There was only one way he could have escaped, and Harvath had no choice but to go after him.

The Iraqi midday sun was blinding. It took several moments for Harvath’s eyes to adjust and to make out the figure of Khalid Alomari, running, almost a full block away. The terrorist’s muddy-brown robes and brightly checkered kaffiyeh were unmistakable. Harvath didn’t waste any more time.