How to Break a Terrorist Read Online Free PDF

to know who’s in control. Abu Ali turns his head and engages Bobby. They say nothing. The stare-down goes on for thirty seconds.
    Abu Ali cracks first. “I recruited,” he says at last.
    “How?” I ask. His attention shifts to me.
    “I preached at the mosque. I urged my fellow Sunni to join the struggle. If we did not fight, you Americans would let the Shia destroy us.”
    “Tell Matthew what else you did,” Bobby prompts.
    Abu Ali nods and continues in that preternaturally calm voice.
    “Later, I was told to go to a house out in the countryside. I did not know why. When I arrived, I found I was to bless some of our men before they left for their missions.”
    “What sort of missions?” I ask.
    For just an instant, a flicker of doubt appears on his face. His voice drops to almost a whisper, “Martyrs.”
    “You were blessing suicide bombers?”
    “Yes.” He shifts in his chair, the first movement I’ve seen from him.
    He’s uncomfortable with this. I want to find out why.
    “You blessed them?”
    Again a pause. He averts his eyes. I notice he’s staring at the floor now.
    I look over at Bobby. I want to ask more questions, but Bobby is the lead ’gator here, and I also want to make sure I’m not stepping on his turf. His expression is open. Have at it.
    “Did you believe in this tactic?”
    Abu Ali replies slowly, “Not…at…first.”
    “What made you change your mind?”
    He mumbles a response. Hadir asks him to repeat his answer.
    His eyes go icy. He pulls into himself, drawing his shoulders forward and folding his arms across his boyish frame.His dark skin is taught across his bones. Whatever is inside this man is eating him alive.
    He repeats his answer, but his voice is so soft that Hadir still can’t understand.
    Abu Ali clenches his teeth and bares a caustic smile. His third answer is clipped, firm, and loud.
    Hadir mimics it perfectly. “You Americans left us no choice. Suicide bombers are our only defense.”
    Bobby jumps in. “What do you mean?”
    “Our only hope is to cause civil war. Then other Sunnis will come here to help us.”
    His chin rises. Defiantly he adds, “I did what I had to do.”
    I decide to let him play victim.
    “The martyrs killed Shia ,” he says. “The Shia deserved to die.” He sounds like he’s talking about exterminating bugs.
    “And you are proud of that?” I ask.
    “Yes. I am proud.”
    I detect a slight waver in his voice. Is he posturing? Or is he bitter that he has allowed himself to become an imam who supported mass murder?
    “This is what you want for the future? This is the Iraq you want to give to your daughter?”
    “It is the only way we will survive.” His voice takes on an edge.
    I’ll remember this sore spot for later.
    Bobby begins to flick his pen against his notebook. It beats a steady rhythm into the silence. I get up and turn down the AC.
    Bobby takes the lead.
    “You know Abu Ali, we’re talking with Zaydan.”
    Abu Ali stares placidly at Bobby.
    “If Zaydan talks first, we will make a deal with him. He will go home to his family. You will stand trial at Abu Ghraib. Do you know what the punishment is for those caught aiding suicide bombers?”
    “Death.”
    His voice is flat and devoid of emotion. Yet his body language screams hate.
    “That does not have to be your fate, Abu Ali,” Bobby answers. “If you tell us what we want to know, we will go to the judges on your behalf. There’s one American, one Shia, and one Sunni. We can put in a good word for you, maybe change the American’s mind and the Sunni’s mind.”
    Abu Ali looks unmoved.
    “We can convince them you are an asset who is helping us. Maybe you do a little time at Abu Ghraib, hang out with your friends, and go home,” Bobby says earnestly. His face is open and honest. Given what he said about hating Iraqis and Iraq earlier, I’m surprised at his expression. I find myself almost believing him.
    “Help us save you,” he almost beseeches.
    Abu Ali sits