Free Rogue Elements by Hector Macdonald Page A

felt suddenly weary. He had driven four hours to meet an asset who had nothing for him but the ravings of yet another GRIEVANCE fabricator. New as he was to the Middle East, Arkell had already had plenty of would-be sources offer to sell him the inside story on the sarin attack on O’Hare’s Terminal 3. With the qat euphoria wearing off, he could barely be bothered to keep up the American accent.
    ‘So you knew about the plot before it happened, huh? What does that make you?’
    ‘I was secretary to Sheikh Salih Abdallah Ibrahim. He liked my handwriting. I have a fine penmanship for English, and my Arabic script has won prizes.’ He glanced down at his right hand, and Arkell noticed it was shaking. ‘It’s not so good now.’
    ‘Who is Sheikh whatisname?’
    ‘You don’t know?’ Saeed was astonished. ‘Doesn’t the CIA have extensive –?’
    ‘Over in Intelligence, sure. I’m just a humble Operations grunt.’
    ‘The Sheikh is a very powerful man in Saudi Arabia. In fact worldwide. He has business interests on all continents. He is a supporter of many Salafi fundamentalists.’
    ‘That’s nothing unusual in Saudi.’
    ‘An extremely generous supporter. You could say he bankrolled the airport attack.’
    ‘Is that right?’ said Arkell. ‘And you just happened to stumble across the plans on his breakfast table . . .’
    Saeed recognized the tone. Visibly hurt, he persevered: ‘I was working late. I remained usually in the Sheikh’s offices, but this time I went to the kitchens for a glass of milk. You understand?’
    ‘I’m just about keeping up.’
    ‘I heard them! Talking in the majlis, agreeing the –’
    ‘Who? Who was talking?’
    ‘I don’t know. Three, perhaps four men. I couldn’t go in. But I heard such things!’ His eyes rose to the heavens as he recounted a cascade of telling details: the ingenious pressurized canisters, disguised as Coke bottles; the decision to target the landside area of the terminal so the devices wouldn’t have to pass through scanners; the IT systems attack which caused long queues to build up at Check-in, and the staged disruption at Security that resulted in a similar logjam there; the rigorous training of the poisoners, preparing them to perform their suicidal role calmly and discreetly, invisible in the restless crowds of their victims.
    GRIEVANCE in the raw, when it was still just a horrific idea. ‘They didn’t say a date, but it was enough, yes? To catch the terrorists and save all those people. It should have been enough .’
    When it became clear that the man had finished speaking, Arkell said, ‘What exactly is it I can do for you, Mr Saeed?’
    ‘You don’t think this is important information?’
    ‘To be honest, it’s a little late.’
    ‘About Mr Colville of the British embassy! Don’t you understand the significance?’
    Arkell sighed. ‘Why don’t you tell me the significance?’
    ‘I gave the British MI6 full warning of the sarin attack on your country and they did not stop it!’
    ‘If I hear you right, you spun a diplomat a wild story without evidence. Frankly, I’m not surprised the poor guy did nothing. He was probably in charge of passports or tea parties or whatever.’
    ‘Then why was I arrested?’ hissed Saeed. ‘That same day, seized off the street by the Mabahith. I did not say Mr Colville did nothing. He did exactly what a spy would do if he is in league with the jihadists. Do you not understand what I am telling you? Your allies, the British, let the attack happen. Perhaps they even arranged it!’
    ‘OK, I think that’s plenty,’ said Arkell, rising to his feet. ‘Thank you for your information, Mr Saeed. I’ll be sure to pass it on to the relevant department.’
    ‘You don’t believe me,’ said the other man dully.
    ‘Not my job to believe. I’m just a humble field grunt. Up to Intelligence to assess your testimony.’
    Saeed gripped his arm, a last desperate appeal. ‘I need help. My family spent