Confessions of a Terrorist (The Declassified Document)
P: Who is the real terrorist in this room?

M: What're you saying?

In a claustrophobic concrete cell, two men face each other across a bare table. One is a wanted terrorist, the other a British intelligence officer. But this is no ordinary interrogation, and as they talk deep into the night and violent secrets are revealed, the line between interrogator and confessor begins inextricably to blur. Who, then, is the real terrorist? And will they pay for their guilt in blood?
1117748256
Confessions of a Terrorist (The Declassified Document)
P: Who is the real terrorist in this room?

M: What're you saying?

In a claustrophobic concrete cell, two men face each other across a bare table. One is a wanted terrorist, the other a British intelligence officer. But this is no ordinary interrogation, and as they talk deep into the night and violent secrets are revealed, the line between interrogator and confessor begins inextricably to blur. Who, then, is the real terrorist? And will they pay for their guilt in blood?
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Confessions of a Terrorist (The Declassified Document)

Confessions of a Terrorist (The Declassified Document)

by Richard Jackson
Confessions of a Terrorist (The Declassified Document)

Confessions of a Terrorist (The Declassified Document)

by Richard Jackson

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Overview

P: Who is the real terrorist in this room?

M: What're you saying?

In a claustrophobic concrete cell, two men face each other across a bare table. One is a wanted terrorist, the other a British intelligence officer. But this is no ordinary interrogation, and as they talk deep into the night and violent secrets are revealed, the line between interrogator and confessor begins inextricably to blur. Who, then, is the real terrorist? And will they pay for their guilt in blood?

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781783606672
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Publication date: 06/11/2015
Sold by: Barnes & Noble
Format: eBook
Pages: 80
File size: 3 MB

About the Author

Richard Jackson is one of the world's leading experts on terrorism and professor of peace studies at the University of Otago, New Zealand. He is a regular media commentator and maintains a popular blog at https://richardjacksonterrorismblog.wordpress.com. This is his first novel.
RICHARD JACKSON is Deputy Director at the National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies at the University of Otago, New Zealand.

Read an Excerpt

Confessions of a Terrorist

The Declassified Document


By Richard Jackson

Zed Books Ltd

Copyright © 2015 Richard Jackson
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-78360-667-2



CHAPTER 1

TOP SECRET

MI5 RECONNAISSANCE UNIT


* Annotated by GH for JM 22/7/11.

Broad assessment: I know the spooks have blacked out anything related to national security, but we have a different responsibility now. How much of the following is really in the public interest, in your view, or will substantially help the LS inquiry? Apart from the legal issues highlighted below, I fear that parts of the text could provide grist for the anti-Western radical fringe, the RO, protestors, jihadists, etc. Given that our prime responsibility is to protect the reputation of HMG and shape the public narrative of what happened to its most important elements, I suggest a few more 'recording interruptions' - as annotated. As my previous correspondence noted, accompanying documentation will need to make clear that 'recording interruptions' were technical problems in the field (I assume the techies can provide explanations of electrical disturbances) - and not authorised record alterations. The PR kids will also need to brief the Home Sec to answer numerous criticisms of foreign and domestic policy when the transcript is released. And we have to keep every digit crossed that the original video never surfaces, otherwise there'll be egg on everyone's faces.

PS: Do NOT forget to shred this annotated copy.

It doesn't bear thinking about what would happen if it leaked.


File Number: MI5/200311.2256-0613.

File Type: Digital Audio File, MP3.

Source: Audio-surveillance, MI5 Counterterrorism Field Unit.

Date and Operation: 19–20 March, 2011; 'Operation Moriarty'.

Location: Disused storeroom, former Royal Transport Warehouse, Stockton Industrial Estate, 18–20 Khyber Road, Leeds, UK.

Subjects: Professor Youssef Said, aka, Samir Hamoodi, aka, 'The Professor'; Captain Michael [???], MI5 officer; Members of SO19 Armed Response Unit (names and ranks in Appendix 1.1 – NOT FOR PUBLIC RELEASE).

Document Status: In final preparation for submission to the Public Hearings Section, Lord Savage Inquiry into the Leeds Terrorist Plot, 20 March, 2011.

Draft Number: Edited Draft #4, to be confirmed and authorised prior to submission and public release by the Home Office.

Transcription Date: 21 March, 2011, 8:47am.

Transcribed by: [???]

Translation by: [???]


Transcription Notes:

P: Professor Youssef Said, 'The Professor'

M: Captain Michael [???]

I'm sure you agree that there's nothing in this initial exchange we need to be concerned with. Could we just send this first section and call it quits? Say the rest of the recording was ruined?? GH

[TRANSCRIPTION BEGINS]

[5.1 seconds silence, occasional scraping sounds]

P: Ahem ... so ... here we are. Can I assist you with something?

[1.8]

This is very nice, is it not? [laughter] Very salubrious accommodations! Ha! [...] The bare walls ... this, ah ... concrete floor ... that horrible fluorescent light ... lack of windows ... it has a certain, ah ... charm. It is like a scene from a very bad Hollywood film. And these rusty chairs are making my ... ah ... well, I am already starting to feel sore, I can tell you.

[2.3]

Do you have any questions for me, or, or ... or are you just going to keep staring at me? [...] Put it another way ... is there something specific you would like to know ... something I can tell you now that you have me here? This is your big chance. I can promise you ... right here and now ... I will answer any questions you care to ask ... within reason, of course. I am not going to tell you what our operational plan is, or name any names ... nothing like that ...

Actually, in a way ... I can honestly say that I have been looking forward to this moment for a very long time. I have imagined it in my mind a thousand times ... rehearsed it in my head ... meeting you face to face ... explaining everything ... telling you my reasons. I am ready to, ah ... make my confession, if you like.

[1.9]

Come on now, please do not hold back. You must be at least a little bit curious. It cannot be every day you are able to talk to the, the ... the, ah ... terrorist that you have been looking for, for so long ... and he promises to tell you everything you want to know. Of course, we must get this out of the way right now ... I do not for one second accept your description of me as a terrorist. It is not how I see myself at all. I am not that crazy, evil ... caricature in your television shows who, who, who ... threatens to randomly murder innocent people and blow up everything ... and, I must say, you are not the muscular hero ... even if you look the part! You [???] colleagues.

[2.9]

You know ... some might even argue, given the fear your government rains down on millions of innocent people in, in, in ... Iraq, and, and ... Afghanistan ... Pakistan, Libya, Yemen, Somalia ... and all those other countries where you drop five-hundred-pound laser-guided bombs or send guided missiles down the chimneys of people's houses like Christmas presents ... where you, ah, shoot people from helicopters while they walk down the street ... maybe I should call you the terrorist.

No! Please do not make such a look, sir! The fact is your heavily armed soldiers in dark sunglasses shooting people at roadblocks ... ah, smashing their doors down in the middle of the night ... cause a lot more, ah, terror among a lot more people than someone like me ever will. [...] Not to mention the fear that every young Muslim man, innocent or not, constantly has of being tortured in Abu Ghraib, Guantanamo ... or, or, or being picked up and beheaded by one of those death squads your people trained in Iraq ... kidnapped off the street ... ah, never to be seen again ... or when you [???] and that [???] village elders [???]

The point is ... it makes you wonder, does it not? Who is the real terrorist here?

[3.9]

M: You —

P: — I am —

[1.8]

M: Oh, I'm sorry —

P: — No, no, I am being quite rude ... talking too much, as usual. Please, please ... go ahead ...

M: OK ... Samir Hamoodi, Iraqi, born 7 December 1965, in Kirkuk ... or, should I say, that's what it says on the passport you used when you entered this country. You arrived here [???] on the train from [???] ... before effectively disappearing. We decided to let you in unmolested, as it were, in order to see what you might be up to. But then you evaded our surveillance, Mr Hamoodi ... and vanished for a time. How did you do that, by the way? Did you know we were watching you? Did you deliberately try to lose us, or was it just luck?

We need to prepare a credible story for why we let a known terrorist come into the country without arresting him at the station - and then promptly lost him. I suspect we will get raked over the coals if we claim the Firm had the situation under control. I suggest we claim lack of resources, as well as strategic necessity.

This way we might get something out of the upcoming budgetary hearings - a small silver lining in a pile of shit! What do you think? GH

[1.9]

OK ... in any case ... we both know that your real name is Youssef Said, formerly Professor of Economics at Cairo University. Actually, you were born in 1963, in Suez. But then your father moved the family to Cairo. You lived in Shobra. You studied at a private international school in Cairo after your father secured you a special scholarship from the school authorities. He was a maths teacher to all those expats at the school, and they liked him. Next, with no little intercession from your school principal, you went to University College, London to study for your honours degree, before taking a doctorate at the University of Chicago. You were appointed to the Faculty of Economics in Cairo in 1994. Not long afterwards, you started an investment consultancy for the multinationals scouring the Middle East for new opportunities ... as a side business. Lecturing doesn't pay all that well in Egypt, does it? But then you resigned from both your posts suddenly in April 2003. [...] That's when you travelled to Iraq.

In Iraq, you joined the insurgents and led a terrorist group which gained quite a reputation among British and American intelligence ... as well as the other jihadi groups. As I recall, you acquired your nom de plume, The Professor, at this time. At least, that's what your associates called you. We [???] London.

[1.2]

What are you doing in Britain, Professor? [...] What exactly is your, ah, confession? Are you here to recruit ... resupply ... what? Or are you planning an operation? Where've you been these past months? Who've you been meeting with, exactly ... in [???], for example? Who's been looking after you? Those two men I saw you with earlier, or [???]

P: Ohhf ... well! You are very well informed. Of course, this is not completely surprising to me. I know for a fact that you have been following my, ah ... how shall we say ... activities ... for some time now ... almost nine years ... since early 2003? [???]

I confess it sounds strange to my ears. I have not had anyone call me the, the, the ... Professor for such a long time ... that name comes from a different time ... a different place. I used to be called that all the time by my students when I actually worked at a university ...

Can I tell you something? I miss those days when I worked at the university, I really do ... when I was just a scholar with my, my, my books ... and my, ah, chalk. We used to have chalk in those days. We would write our formulas and equations on a blackboard. My hands would be covered in dust at the end of the day. It dries the skin ... makes it crack. Can you imagine that now? [inaudible] ...

Back then, I would sit quietly in my office ... looking over the university courtyard where the students would take time out to smoke and the boys would try and flirt with the girls. I think I was quite at peace with myself back then. I was a real person. I had a real life ... not like now. I had my books, my, ah, research ... all those adoring students who looked up to me. Respect from my colleagues. I had a loving wife and family, a community to which I belonged. And I could sit and just think, or read a book ... and in those days, I could be still ... really still ... like a rock, or an old tree. I had a measure of peace ... calm ...

Why do so many terrorists come from university? If they haven't got a degree, they're the bloody professor! What the hell are they learning? I hope we have someone in Research looking into this. At least we ought to be watching universities a bit more closely - instead of the mosques. What's your view on this? GH

But look at me now, sir. I cannot control my nerves. I am so full of nervous energy ... always moving ... twitching all the time ... I no longer have a quiet place in my soul. That place has been trampled down by all the noise and violent fury of war. The sound of, of ... ah ... battle and blood is lodged permanently in my head now ...

This must be why I have to be moving every minute of every day ... like one of those Energizer rabbits ... you know, the ones on the television? Have you seen it? Ha! [...] I know it must be so irritating to those around me. Let me tell you ... in Iraq, my comrades would always complain. 'Sit still!' they would say. 'Stop twitching and scratching all the time!' They worried that we would be hiding from the soldiers and I would make too much noise and get us caught!

But really, I do not believe I will ever be still again. There are too many thoughts swirling around inside me, I suppose ... not like you, sir! You are like one of those ... one of those, ah ... street performers. Do you know who I mean? Those people ... buskers ... who stand in the street ... the ones who dress up like a man blown in the wind and stand perfectly still for hour upon hour. Yes? I can see you know what I am talking about ... You need real discipline for that ...

So, you know a lot about me ... including my name. What should I call you, sir?

[1.8]

M: Please call me Michael.

P: Michael? OK ... yes ... Michael. You can call me Youssef ... or Samir ... whichever you prefer. I do not mind ... really. No one has called me Professor Said for such a long time now. Phew! That was literally a lifetime ago. No one calls me that any more ... seriously ... even [???]

I am really not sure I even know who Youssef Said is now, if I am honest. He is another person entirely. If you, ah, look at the old photos you no doubt have in my file, you will see that I do not even look like the same man any more ... I was quite a smart dresser once upon a time, when I worked in Cairo. Nice clothes ... proper shoes ... like you. Is that a designer suit? [Are] those silver cufflinks? [...] You look very nice. Very smart ... like a million dollars. Savile Row? No, no, no ... you do not have to answer that ...

Mmmm ... yes ... you know I also used to exercise quite a lot ... I was a lot trimmer then than I am now. When I was a young man ... closer to your age ... you look like you are still a man in his thirties ... at least a decade younger than me. Anyway ... back then I was a pretty good sportsman ... even if I say so myself!

Do you play a sport, Michael? You look very fit ... very athletic.

M: I used to play rugby —

P: — Ah, rugby! It is a very violent sport. You need great strength for this —

M: — but I don't really play any more. It's been years, actually. These days I mainly swim. It's less bruising.

P: Swim? Yes, yes, yes. [...] Well, in my youth I played football ... basketball ... cricket ... hockey ... anything, really. All those games loved by the expatriate students at my school. But not rugby! I think I am too weak for this game ... too fat by far, now. But back then, when I was young, I loved all sport ... and I used to run ... like a gazelle. But now ... ohhf ... I can tell you, having to live my life underground, as a hunted fugitive ... well ... it just means bad food ... no exercise ... very little sunlight ... lying around all day. This belly ... [slapping sound] ... my bad skin ... it is the price for my chosen ... ah, occupation ...

M: So, if I might ask, why do it? Why not go back to the university then, the life of the mind? [...] Why are you here ... now ... in this room?

P: Why not, indeed? Well, I guess that is why we are here. [tapping sound]

[3.8]

I know I am a mess. You do not have to tell me! I really feel I must, ah ... apologise for my, ah ... slovenly appearance. I seem to be quite underdressed ... especially as we are going to be on video. [...] The camera over there makes me self-conscious, I can tell you. I cannot conceive where they got these terrible clothes for me ... one of those charity shops, no doubt ... or maybe from the market stalls. Who wears track pants and a dress shirt together ... and these trainers ... oh my God! They are so, so ... so loud! You could light the street walking in these! [...] Ha! Yes, I got a small smile from you ...

M: You look perfectly respectable, Professor.

P: You are too kind, for sure. Anyway, I expect you must be rather, ah, disappointed to be here with me in person ... to see that, ah, your elusive prey ... the great terrorist you have been hunting for so long, is so, so, so unimpressive in person. Not quite Che Guevara, am I ... or Carlos the Jackal? In truth, my, ah ... occupation, as it were, means I no longer have much concern for outward appearances ... except inasmuch as it allows me to do what I have to do. I do not really care what I look like ... not at all ... it actually helps to look a bit ordinary. I find no one gives me a second glance, which is a real asset in my line.

M: May I call you Professor? It's your formal title after all, even if you no longer work at the university. It's also what we've been calling you for years. I'm used to it, even if you aren't —

P: — Joseph Conrad ...

M: What?

P: Joseph Conrad ... The Secret Agent ... that anarchist in Conrad's book? He was the Professor ... I am not like that, I can assure you.

M: Oh, yes, I see. No, no, we didn't think of that at all. I'd completely forgotten Conrad. Ha! No, I can assure you it's just a ... ah, you know, a coincidence. [...] In any case, can I just say, you speak very good English, Professor. I knew that you studied in the West, and I don't mean to appear, ah ... what I mean is, I don't intend to stereotype you or anything ... but your English is pretty much perfect, as good as anyone.

P: Thank you, but it is not so hard to understand. My mother would read to me in English when I was a child. She was a strong believer that learning English was the key to success. Sometimes she would say 'What's the point of learning Arabic?' Then she would tell me all those fairy stories ... Kipling ... The Jungle Book, it was my favourite! These days, I can see that this belief by my parents ... that fluency in English was a path to be successful ... well, it was the colonial legacy ... believing that the language of the Europeans was superior. So in a way, English was my first language. I think if you learn it young enough, you can speak any language perfectly. Also, my father sent me to an English school ... an international school ... right from elementary. And then after that I went to university in London and America ... as you already know.


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Confessions of a Terrorist by Richard Jackson. Copyright © 2015 Richard Jackson. Excerpted by permission of Zed Books Ltd.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents

Preface
Confessions of a Terrorist
Afterword
Further Reading
Acknowledgements
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