There was a silence on the other end of the phone, a silence I didn’t like.
“Insha’Allah khair,” he said. The expression means, “God willing, all will be good.” It’s an optimistic-sounding phrase but not a guarantee. It wasn’t good enough.
I called Michael and our editors. They didn’t seem too excited about my going back to Abssi’s camp alone.
“I know these people are unpredictable, but he gave me his word and a guarantee for my security,” I told them. “I am an Arab Muslim woman. For this guy to kidnap me or worse, he would need a very good reason.”
“I don’t trust their guarantees,” Matt Purdy, our editor, said. “What about Michael? Could he go with you?”
“They wouldn’t give me a guarantee for Michael.”
“So it would be you and the stringer going back alone again?”
“Yes, that would be the plan.”
“I’m not comfortable with this,” Matt said. “Bill will have to make the final decision.”
Matt was the editor of the investigative unit. He was kicking the question upstairs to Bill Keller, the Times’s executive editor, the top person in the newsroom. Keller had worked as a foreign correspondent himself for years, and he understood the dangers reporters faced in war and crisis zones.
A short time later, Keller called. I had met him only once before, in 2005, after the el-Masri story ran, and I was very nervous. He asked me to walk him through the security backup plan I had in mind. It was the same as last time: a piece of paper with phone numbers for Michael to call in case something happened to me.
“This man was involved in killings, and he’s now affiliated with Zarqawi’s network and Al Qaeda,” Keller said. “You have to understand, we don’t want a Danny Pearl situation.”
I explained that it would be difficult for this man to find an excuse for beheading a Muslim woman. “He gave me his word and guarantee of protection. He would lose face if he broke this agreement.”
Keller said he would have to think about it. I was impressed. His interest in the story and involvement in security arrangements made me feel safer. It was one of those moments when I felt grateful to be working for the Times. I wasn’t being treated as an expendable freelancer. The paper really seemed to care about my well-being.
Matt called back two hours later. “Okay, you can go,” he said. “Michael will fly in from the United States, not to go inside with you but to be there in case anything happens.”
“Thank you.”
“That’s the least we can do. But Souad, if you or Michael ever think it will be too dangerous or unpredictable, you come back, okay? I don’t want you to think you have to do this. Safety first.”
My next call was to Abssi’s spokesperson. “Tell the sheikh I’m coming for the interview,” I said.
*
IN MARCH, ABOUT a month after our first trip, Michael and I returned to Beirut. It was spring in Lebanon and warm. On the day of our interview, I put on thin khaki trousers I’d worn often in Iraq and a short-sleeved T-shirt. Leena, our Lebanese fixer, again lent me an abaya.
The Lebanese government had changed the rules for camp visits since our last trip. Worried about kidnappings, it had forbidden foreigners from going inside. I wore no perfume or makeup and tied my head scarf in the traditional Palestinian fashion, trying to look as much as possible like one of the women who lived in Nahr al-Bared.
My conversation with Bill Keller had comforted me, but it had also made me more conscious of the risks. I wondered if I was missing something. Like last time, I’d reached out to various jihadists to plead my case if anything happened. Again, I wrote down their names and numbers and gave copies to Michael and Leena. But I felt unsettled and apprehensive. This wasn’t just small talk over tea. I was there to ask hard questions, and I wasn’t sure how Abssi would react.
This time Michael, Leena, Fakhr, our Beirut driver Hussein, and I drove north to Tripoli in two cars. On the way, I ran through the questions and security measures with Michael. The interview was scheduled for 3:00 p.m. We agreed that Michael would call me at five, and that whatever happened, Fakhr and I should be out of the camp before dark.
The closer we got to Tripoli, the more anxious Michael grew. We were supposed to wait for a confirmation call from Abssi’s group before Fakhr and I went into the camp, so we stopped at one of the famous sweet shops in the center of Tripoli to kill time. Hussein ordered tea and heavy, sugary pastries.
“Things have changed now,” Fakhr said. “There is talk that the army is cracking down on members of Fatah al-Islam when they try to enter or leave the camp, so everyone is very nervous.”
Michael turned to me, looking stricken. He said he couldn’t sit there eating sweets while I went inside the camp alone.
“But you can’t go with me,” I told him. “Keller and our editors said there is no way I should allow you to come inside.”
“I don’t care,” he responded. “I can’t let you face these people alone.”
Fakhr looked at me. “There is no way we will make it in with him,” he said in Arabic. “The army will recognize him as a foreigner.”
Then Fakhr’s phone rang. “Yes, we are coming now, insha’Allah,” he said. It was time for us to go.
I called the editors in New York and told them that we’d gotten the call. Fakhr and I headed toward the camp.
*
THE SECURITY CHECKPOINT at the camp entrance was bigger than it had been the last time we visited, but the soldiers waved us through. Fakhr called Abssi’s spokesman to tell him we were inside.
We drove to the same compound as before. More armed men stood in front of the entrance. They ushered us into the room. Abu al-Hassan was there, and we started chatting.
He began to tell me a bit more about his life. He was twenty-four and of Palestinian descent but had been born in Lebanon. He had a keen interest in journalism and had been studying communications, but the situation in Palestine and the war in Iraq had convinced him to quit school and join Abssi’s group.
“When I saw what they had done to Iraq, this unfair war, the oppression against Muslims, I just couldn’t keep silent and stand by,” he said. By “they” he meant the United States, but also the Shia militias backed by Iran.