Abu Ibrahim

The inside story of the only high-ranking Arab terrorist who ever defected to the United States.

Journey Into Fear

Sitting in a cafe with a stylish jacket draped over his shoulders, his tanned olive skin exuding a glow, and a small pony-tail grabbing the remaining silver hair left on his head, the man sitting in the back looks more like a movie producer than a terrorist.

“Joe” — one of more than a dozen pseudonyms he has adopted in the United States — is the highest-ranking terrorist to ever defect to the West. Joe’s real name is Adnan Adwan. But he now prefers to be called Joe. His presence in the United States since 1984 has been a closely held secret, and the Justice Department has shifted him from city to city to keep him alive. Except for a two-year stint when he tried living on his own, Joe has participated in the witness-protection program. Joe’s former employers in Iraq are believed to have put a multimillion-dollar contract on his head — wanted dead or alive, preferably dead.

American intelligence officials say Joe has provided invaluable information to the C.I.A. and the Justice Department about the internal operations, activities, and techniques of one of the least Known, yet most lethal and murderous terrorist groups in the world — the Iraqi-head-quartered Abu Ibrahim group. His secret testimony to a U.S. grand jury provided the critical evidence that enabled the United States to indict Mohammed Rashid, a Palestinian terrorist, in the 1982 bombing of a Pan American World Airways jet as it was about to land in Honolulu on its way from Tokyo, which killed a 14-year-old boy. The blast that ripped the boy’s body apart was produced by a bomb that had been placed underneath his seat by Rashid on the plane’s earlier leg from Hong Kong to Tokyo.

American intelligence officials also believe Rashid to be connected to the 1986 bombing of a TWA jet over Athens that resulted in the deaths of four people. Rashid was apprehended in Greece in 1988 on a tip by American authorities. While the Greek government refused to extradite him to the United States, Greece finally indicted him in the 1982 bombing. Rashid’s trial by Greek authorities is scheduled to begin early this year.

Rashid was the highest-ranking lieutenant in the Abu Ibrahim group, a small organization led by a deeply obsessed man of Palestinian descent named Hussein Mohammed al-Umari; his nom de guerre is Abu Ibrahim. Ibrahim formed his organization following the 1978 death of his mentor — the notorious Wadi Haddad, a Palestinian terrorist who gained worldwide infamy for his spectacular airplane hijackings and bombings in the seventies. His deeds included the shocking destruction — captured on television — of three American airplanes on a remote Jordanian airfield. When Haddad died, his protege, Abu Ibrahim, perpetuated his loathsome legacy.

By 1981 the 40-year-old Ibrahim, a short, muscular man who neither drinks nor smokes, perfected what Western intelligence officials concede was the “invisible bomb.” Virtually undetectable by Western technological security, the bombs built reflected a quantum and terrifying leap in terrorist technology. Abu Ibrahim himself became so proficient in personally devising ingeniously concealed bombs that he became known by the West’s counterterrorist services as the “master bomb-maker.” In the past decade, Abu Ibrahim and his operatives are believed to have been responsible for the actual or attempted bombings of at least seven airplanes, ten embassies, and six hotels around the world.

Joe’s story is a fascinating one, involving true-life terrorist intrigue, attempted assassinations, espionage, and a contract on his life. Many details of Joe’s story have been independently confirmed by counterterrorism officials at the Justice and Defense departments, as well as by internal government documents. Other details — to which Joe is the only witness — could not be independently verified. However, the Justice Department and the C.I.A. consider Joe to be 100 percent reliable and truthful in everything he has provided to the American government. The Swiss and the Israelis have similarly affirmed their belief in Joe’s authenticity.

Joe was born in 1942 in British Mandatory Palestine in a small village over-looking the port city of Haifa. His family was composed of seven brothers and three sisters; his father, who owned a small store in the middle of town, was a recognized figure. Situated in a mountain range and largely isolated from the civil strife that was building between Jews and Arabs, Joe and his family were unprepared for the tumult that resulted when the Jews finally declared themselves an independent state in 1948. The neighboring Arab regimes attempted to destroy the fledgling nation, and their leaders called upon Palestinian families to flee their homes to allow the Arab armies to throw the Jews into the sea. To induce the families to leave, Arab leaders began spreading stories of massacres and bloodbaths committed by the Jewish armies. Most of these stories were fabricated, but there were isolated, horrific episodes of brutal killings. Most notorious was the massacre of Deir Yassin, an Arab village outside Jerusalem, where more than 250 Palestinian civilians were killed.

For Joe and his family — none of whom had ever met a Jew — the stories of the marauding Jewish warriors were terrifying. “We heard that the Jews had cut off the fingers and limbs of Arabs,” Joe says, and “how they had raped Arab women, how they ripped out the embryos of pregnant women. We were absolutely petrified.” Still, the village largely stayed put, mostly because there was no place to go. Then one day Joe’s father, who operated a general store, went to nearby Jordan for his store’s commodities.

‘Though it slowly dawned on Joe what the house had been used for, Ibrahim spelled it out: “We use the house for operations, and we use the luggage for our missions,” he confided.’

Not long after, gossip spread through the village that Joe’s father had left to escape anticipated violence. He was accused of being a traitor, and an angry cousin emptied the store of all its goods to avenge the family dishonor. “When my mother found out that there was nothing,” Joe recalls, “she let out a scream that I will always remember. She cried and she cried, beating her breasts.”

The next day the Hagannah — the new Israeli Army — entered the village and took everyone to an Israeli army base to protect them from the fighting. At the base everyone was given challah — the traditional Jewish bread. “The Jews asked us to stay and not leave [to go to Jordan].” For the first time, Joe realized that the Jews were not the monsters they had been portrayed to be. Nevertheless, most villagers elected not to return to their village. Joe’s family fled to Nablus, then went to Damascus, Syria. “We were told we would be able to return in a month or two.” But they would, in fact, never return to the land of their birth: The escalation and hardening of the Arab-Israeli conflict made that impossible. Though some villagers had returned to the village — listening to the pleas of Jewish commanders — most of them would end up as pawns in the most bitter regional conflict in the world today.

Unlike many of the Palestinians who were kept in refugee camps by Syrian authorities, Joe’s family was allowed to integrate into Arab society. Joe went to high school and ended up graduating from military college, receiving a degree in history. Like all Palestinians in the sixties, he was required to serve in the newly established Palestinian resistance. (The Palestine Liberation Organization was created in 1964; the following year its military arm — the Palestine Liberation Army — was established.) Joe rose to the position of captain before being allowed to leave in 1970, although he continued an association with the resistance, even serving as a military adviser in the 1973 Yom Kippur War.

In the late 1970s, Joe became a businessman, cashing in on the great petrodollar boom in the Persian Gulf. Like many entrepreneurial Palestinians, Joe started a construction business, eventually migrating to Baghdad. While there he became friendly with other Palestinians, including a 30-year-old man named Mohammed Rashid.

Good-looking and tall, Rashid carried himself with elegance and lived with a beautiful, long-haired woman named Fatima. She spoke Arabic with a European accent — Austrian, to be exact — and Joe was impressed by this glamorous couple.

However, the only thing Joe really knew about Rashid was that he worked for the Palestinian resistance, and this held little interest for him, as he identified more with Rashid’s lifestyle than with his work. A flashy dresser and a collector of American automobiles, Joe lived the fast life in Baghdad — that is, as fast as Baghdad allowed. (Unlike his siblings, Joe didn’t get married, preferring to live the life of a playboy.)

On June 6, 1982, Rashid invited Joe to meet his boss — a man called Abu Ibrahim. Joe drove to Rashid’s home, where Abu Ibrahim was sitting in the living room. The contrast between the glamorous Rashid and the stern-looking, ascetic, taciturn Ibrahim was dramatic. “When I met him, he didn’t say too much,” Joe remembers. “He was the type of person who conveyed authority.” It became apparent within a short time just how serious and demanding this man was.

Together they watched the news on television. Israel had just invaded Lebanon, and the scenes of Israeli tanks and jet fighters provoked a bitter reaction from Abu Ibrahim. “How can we stay here while our brothers are dying in Lebanon?” he asked. “It’s not fair that we are living the good life.” He asked Joe if he would be willing to help out. Instinctively, Joe said he would. But he didn’t think for a second that anything would come of his response: It was the type of perfunctory offer that any Palestinian would feel compelled to make. Having escaped the clutches of the wretched life as a refugee, along with the fanaticism of military resistance, Joe wanted to put all of that behind him.

Two days later, Joe was surprised to get a phone call from Abu Ibrahim. “Can you help the cause?” he was asked. “I can give you money,” Joe replied. “Just tell me what you want and I’ll write you a check.”

“That’s not what we need,” Ibrahim countered. “We have plenty of money. We need fighters.” The words rung in Joe’s ears, leaving him speechless. Abu Ibrahim continued. “We must do something on our own, since the Arab countries are unwilling to do anything to help our Palestinian brothers. We need to fight.” Joe was dumbfounded. He decided to be as candid as possible. “Look,” he said nervously, “I don’t believe in launching attacks against civilians.”

But Abu Ibrahim wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Well, maybe you can help another way-you can provide surveillance for us overseas.” Then he ended the conversation.

For Joe, it was upsetting to think that this very powerful man in Baghdad was so insistent that he become involved in international terrorist operations. Still, Joe thought, perhaps Abu Ibrahim was just blowing off steam. So many Palestinians did when they talked about fighting the Jews.

But Joe would soon learn that Abu Ibrahim was a man who meant what he said — and a man who always got his way. Five days later, Ibrahim called Joe and asked him to meet him on Al-Rashid Street. Joe went and got into Ibrahim’s Chevrolet Caprice car. They drove to Ibrahim’s home. From the outside it looked like a normal house. When they walked inside, however, the normalcy immediately disappeared, for there was almost no furniture and nothing on the walls — not at all like the typical Arab house. In fact, Joe soon discovered, it was Abu Ibrahim’s principal headquarters, serving as a safe house for Ibrahim and his couriers.

It was used for one more function.

Ibrahim unlocked the door of a room that was obviously important to him, as well as selfishly guarded. As soon as the door opened, Joe saw why. On the wall there was a large map of Palestine and a picture of a Palestinian agent who had died during a bombing mission in a London hotel in 1980. As Joe scanned the room, it looked more like a workshop. On the floor were dozens of garment bags, luggage, suitcases — all types in all sizes and shapes. There was also an industrial-type sewing machine, a steel filing cabinet, and an iron safe. Though it slowly dawned on Joe what the house had been used for, Ibrahim spelled it out for him. “We use the house for operations, and we use the luggage for our missions,” he confided.

Ibrahim asked Joe to sit down on the sofa. Joe felt that becoming privy to Ibrahim’s secret had just made him an accomplice. His foreboding was right on the mark.

“We have a mission for you,” said Ibrahim in a matter-of-fact voice that indicated Joe no longer had a choice. But Joe was flabbergasted.

“What? Are you crazy?” he blurted out before even realizing what he had said. “You must be joking.”

Sternly, Ibrahim responded, “No! I’m not joking! It’s your turn to risk your life — other Palestinians cannot be made to incur all the sacrifices.”

“But I’ve got a business to look after,” Joe protested.

“We’ll take care of your business — you need not worry.”

Abu Ibrahim put his arm around him. It was the kind of embrace that was both friendly and chilling.

Joe left the house shaken. He thought to himself that he would have nothing to do with Ibrahim. But the bulk of Joe’s anger was reserved for Rashid, who had introduced them. Joe went to Rashid and yelled at him for setting him up. But Rashid was calm — too calm. “You should do what he says,” Rashid counseled. “He’s a powerful man. Besides, he’ll make sure that nothing happens to you.”

Joe realized that both Ibrahim and Rashid had collaborated all along. Frightened, he started to avoid certain streets and restricted his socializing. Most audaciously, he refused to respond to any of Ibrahim’s many telephone calls. But the fact was that Ibrahim had found the perfect snare.

Early one morning, Joe received a call at home from his construction foreman. The foreman was very upset. He had been denied entry to a classified military base in Baghdad where Joe’s company had a multimillion-dollar construction contract. Joe immediately drove to the base, where he confronted the security officer. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded.

“You have to ask Abu Ibrahim,” the officer responded. Joe was absolutely shocked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry,” said the officer. “It’s out of my hands.”

At that point, Joe realized the fantastic power wielded by Ibrahim. His immediate instinct was to flee Iraq, but Ibrahim would surely track him down wherever he was. He decided that he had to confront Ibrahim — this thing had to be resolved once and for all. Joe drove to Ibrahim’s house, where he was greeted in a nonchalant way. Though he was trembling inside, Joe masked his fear, grimly asking Ibrahim why his access to the base had been blocked. Upon hearing the question, Ibrahim launched into a tirade. “All you care about is your money,” he yelled. “But you are nothing. I can destroy you. You must do as I tell you. You must help out your people.” Joe now realized he was trapped.

Ibrahim proceeded to give Joe instructions: “You’re going to the best hotel in Geneva, the Noga Hilton. That’s the target. The owner is Jewish and a supporter of Israel.”

“But what about the other guests in the hotel?” asked Joe.

“Our enemies are also Americans and the rich Arabs who dare to patronize this Zionist hotel,” said Ibrahim. Then he began to bitterly attack the wealthy Saudis who stayed at the hotel. It seemed to Joe that Ibrahim was angrier at them than at the Jews.

Over the next several days, Ibrahim provided Joe with fabricated credentials, including forged visas and passports. Joe would be traveling to Geneva under the name of Mohammed Jassin Khalaf. While obtaining the false visas, Joe had been escorted by one of Ibrahim’s assistants. He was a young, handsome Lebanese who had previously recruited innocent European women to carry bombs or conduct surveillance. As the two parted, he left Joe with words of advice: “Be careful with Abu Ibrahim. If he doesn’t like you, he’ll send you on a one-way mission.” The words reverberated in Joe’s head.

Joe returned to Abu Ibrahim’s headquarters. Ibrahim took him to the locked room and gave him a large garment bag. Sealed inside the fabric were thin strips of plastic explosives, so narrow that if anyone even pulled the bag apart, they would appear to be a part of the cardboard lining. But the strips packed the equivalent of 500 kilograms of TNT. Ibrahim then patiently explained how to finish assembling the bomb, particularly the rather tricky way in which it would be detonated. The ignition switch and the two small batteries would be carried separately.

Ibrahim instructed Joe to travel to Budapest for a week first, where he should spend money like a rich Arab tourist. After that he was to travel to Zurich by plane. Then he was to take a train to Geneva and check into the Noga Hilton. If he got into trouble, Ibrahim reassured him, he should call the Iraqi ambassador, who would arrange his release. Ibrahim gave him $15,000 in American money and $5,000 in Hungarian currency.

Joe left and went to say good-bye to Rashid. But the man at the house didn’t look anything like Rashid. His hair was very short and he had no mustache. Rashid laughed and told Joe that he did this all the time before he went on missions. Though Rashid wouldn’t tell him what his mission was, Joe knew it was going to be something spectacular. They hugged each other good-bye. (In fact, at the same time Abu Ibrahim had sent at least five other terrorist couriers around the world to bomb airplanes and hotels. This was going to be a multiple terrorist event that would surpass the spectacle put on by Abu Ibrahim’s mentor, Wadi Haddad.)

At the Baghdad airport, Joe was very nervous, fearing that the vigilant Iraqi security officers would arrest him. But his escort told him not to worry. He was taken through a back door at the terminal, bypassing Iraqi security inspections. Joe’s escort was on such good terms with the security officials that he yelled hello after getting inside the terminal. No one inspected Joe’s luggage.

The plane departed at 11 P.M. on August 8, 1982. Soon after takeoff, Joe began to have misgivings. It was the first time he had been alone since he had agreed to become a terrorist courier for Ibrahim. He shuddered at the thought that he was going to be responsible for the killing of innocent people. The trip to Budapest seemed excruciatingly slow. Joe hoped he would get caught by the airport police in Budapest. That way he would be stopped, and Abu Ibrahim would not be able to accuse him of disrupting the mission. But the bomb and the false documentation were too good. He breezed through airport security.

After ten days in Budapest. Joe flew to Zurich. Again he hoped that airport or immigration officials would catch him. As he waited on the Swiss Customs line, he saw that a passenger ahead of him had been put under arrest for trying to smuggle in drugs. Ma, Joe thought to himself, they’ll catch me now. But when his turn came, the inspectors waved him through. “Welcome to Switzerland,” they said cheerfully.

Joe couldn’t help but laugh to himself. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get caught. Yet he couldn’t try too hard; if Ibrahim were to ever find out that Joe gave himself up, he’d be as good as dead. Joe even began to become paranoid, suspecting that he was being watched by other Ibrahim operatives. What the hell was he going to do?

Joe took the train to Geneva, where he took a taxi to the Noga Hilton. But when he got to the registration desk, he found out there were no rooms available. He made a reservation for the next vacancy, which would be available three days later. He left the Noga Hilton and went to the nearest hotel, several blocks away. After checking into his room, he put the bomb on his bed. Joe felt a surge of panic. What was he going to do? Though he realized that he was becoming hysterical, Joe began to talk to the bomb on the bed as if it were human. “Why don’t you kill me now? Why don’t you let me die?” He placed it under the bed.

A nervous wreck, Joe began to tremble every time he heard an ambulance or police siren. Even when he left the hotel, the sound of a siren shook him. Perhaps a maid found the bomb, he would think. His emotions ranged from relief to hysteria to helplessness. Joe decided that he couldn’t go through with the attack, that he would have to warn someone about the bomb he was carrying. He remembered that Abu Ibrahim had repeatedly said he wanted to bomb Pan Am because it was a symbol of the United States.

Joe found the Pan Am office in downtown Geneva. Acting impulsively, he asked to speak to the manager. But the manager wasn’t there. Discouraged, Joe returned to his room, thinking about his next step. He thought for a while about going to see the Israeli ambassador, but quickly ruled that action out.

‘Joe realized he was becoming hysterical. He began to talk to the bomb on the bed as if it were human. “Why don’t you kill me now? Why don’t you let me die?”’

The next day he walked into the Saudi consulate, where he asked to speak to the consul. The guard looked at him suspiciously, demanding his passport. Ten minutes later, a Saudi diplomat appeared. “What can I do for you?” he asked. Joe claimed that he had to talk to him about “something very sensitive.” He asked the Saudi to meet him in the lobby of the Noga Hilton that afternoon. The diplomat agreed.

At 5 P.M. the Saudi official met Joe. At that precise moment a Saudi family appeared, as if on cue. “I am here to kill these people,” Joe blurted out. The startled diplomat’s rejoinder was, “What are you talking about?”

Without blinking an eye, Joe said, “I am here on a terrorist mission on behalf of Abu Ibrahim of Iraq.” Joe then pleaded with the diplomat to arrange a meeting with the consul for the next day. Clearly shaken, the Saudi said he would try. However, when Joe showed up at the Saudi consulate the next day, the diplomat pulled him aside and said, “I am very sorry to tell you that the Saudi consul doesn’t want anything to do with you. You must leave immediately.”

Now Joe felt trapped. He feared that the Saudis might betray him to the Iraqis. He was amazed that the Saudis were afraid of one man. Joe thought again that perhaps he was under surveillance. He became despondent, walking aimlessly for miles. Then he decided to go to the American embassy, which was located in Bern — only a short train ride away.

Arriving there, Joe was astonished to see that it was heavily surrounded by security. How could the mighty Americans be so scared? Joe thought to himself. Walking inside, Joe told the guard, “I need to talk to the ambassador — it’s very important.” He realized that he might be taken for a crazy person, but he insisted. Ten minutes later, a tall, well-dressed American appeared.

“Hello. Please come in,” said the American. “What do you want to talk about?”

“About a bomb,” Joe replied.

The man didn’t flinch at all. “Then come with me,” he said calmly.

The American took Joe to a second-floor room that apparently was the embassy’s sensitive, compartmented intelligence facility (in diplomatic and intelligence community shorthand, the S.C.I.F.), the secured room in the embassy impervious to electronic eaves-dropping.

Joe told the man, “I have a bomb.” “Where?” he asked.

“At my hotel,” answered Joe.

After getting the name of the hotel and the number of Joe’s room, the American called someone on the telephone and began speaking German.

Then the American began interrogating Joe. How long have you been in Switzerland? Who sent you? How do I know you’re telling the truth? The interrogation was interrupted when the telephone rang after half an hour. The American picked it up and listened. His face turned to one of anger. He glared at Joe, then hung up the phone. Then he began screaming. “You’re a liar! The Swiss police just said they inspected your room and found nothing.” He then told Joe that neither the Swiss police nor the bomb-sniffing dogs had found any explosives in his hotel room. The American was furious, accusing Joe of concocting this tale to avoid paying his bill.

Joe screamed back, “I’m telling the truth!” He explained exactly where the bomb was and where to look in the garment bag for the strips of plastic explosive. “Look, tell your people to go back to the hotel room,” Joe pleaded. “The bomb is there. It’s your people who are fucked up.” Joe even began to draw a diagram of the bomb. The American got on the phone again.

Then the two men waited in silence. The American took out a cigar and began puffing away as he stared in stony silence at Joe. It was a look that Joe would long remember. “I could tell that if I was lying, this man would have wanted to kill me,” he remembers. After what seemed like an eternal wait — it was actually about half an hour-the phone rang. Again the American talked in German. But the look of disgust abruptly changed. A smile came over his face. Joe could tell the bomb had been found. Hanging up the telephone, the American asked Joe, “What would you like to drink?”

The following day, Joe returned to the embassy after having slept in a hotel paid for by the Americans. The Americans told him that he would have to be turned over to Swiss authorities. “But we’ll protect you,” they said to Joe as they escorted him downstairs, where the Swiss Federal Police awaited him. He was placed in a car and driven to the federal court in Bern. He repeated his entire story. The Swiss praised him for coming forward, but said he’d have to be placed in protective custody in a safe house outside the city. For the next three days, he was fully debriefed by the Swiss, drawing maps of Abu Ibrahim’s multiple safe houses in Baghdad, providing names and addresses of anyone connected to Ibrahim, and describing the laboratory where Ibrahim constructed his bombs. Joe’s handler was a Swiss counterterrorist expert who spoke Arabic. His purpose was to make sure that Joe was not a double agent.

Then the Swiss put Joe in a hotel, gave him money, and had him fill out papers for a passport. A new life was about to start. But he had also lost all of his life until that moment. He would never see his family again. He would never see any of his friends. He relinquished all of his assets, including his business, his four cars, his house, and all his personal possessions.

After about a week, the Swiss asked him to meet with foreign intelligence services, including agents from the American C.I.A., the British M.I.-6, the French Deuxieme Bureau, and the Israeli Mossad. Of all the intelligence services, only the Mossad came with an Arabic-speaking agent. They insisted that Joe be hooked up to a lie-detector machine. Joe was asked a series of questions. Have you killed anyone? Was this your first mission? were among them. Afterward, the Israelis were convinced of his authenticity. They asked him if he would become a double agent for them by going to Paris in the guise of a rich Arab. In return, the Israelis offered to pay him $5 million. Joe politely declined. “Thank you anyway,” he told the Mossad, “but I don’t want to go back into this business. I know that if you find someone, you have to kill them. If I go back into this business, I’d rather work for my own people.”

The Americans came with pictures of suspected Palestinian terrorists and concealed bombs and weapons. Did he recognize anyone or anything? The American who led the delegation was a Justice Department official named Dan Bent, who was at that time the assistant U.S. attorney in Hawaii. Bent’s particular interest was finding out who had placed the bomb on the Pan Am jet from Tokyo to Hawaii that had killed the 14-year-old Japanese boy and injured 15 other passengers. The bomb had gone off some ten days earlier. In addition, another bomb was found on a Pan Am flight as it landed in Rio de Janeiro after taking off from Miami. The flight had originated in London. Miraculously, the bomb had failed to explode and was found in the jet’s empty cabin by a member of the cleaning crew.

From the photos he had been asked to look at, Joe picked out the picture of Rashid. With Joe’s help, the Americans reconstructed the bombing of the Pan Am airplane. On July 15, 1982, Rashid had requested visas from the Japanese embassy in Baghdad for himself, his wife Fatima, and his two-year-old son. On or about August 7, Rashid had left Baghdad with his family for Singapore. There Rashid purchased Pan Am tickets to Tokyo under the false name of Mohammed Harouk. They then traveled to Hong Kong, then to Tokyo. During the Hong Kong to Tokyo portion of the trip, Rashid placed a bomb under seat 47K and set the timer for a delayed explosion. Rashid, Fatima, and their child returned to Baghdad.

The Americans began preparing their case against Rashid, a process that would take nearly five years before an indictment could be issued against him. Rashid has denied involvement in the Pan Am bombing, stating that he is a victim of mistaken identity.

But in August 1982, Joe had no idea what he was getting into. Since his defection had been kept out of the papers, he had no idea whether Abu Ibrahim knew what had happened. The Swiss police wanted to test Ibrahim. One evening Joe called him on a police telephone in Bern.

“Hi, is Abu Ibrahim home?” Joe asked the woman who answered.

“Sorry, he is not home,” said the female voice, which Joe immediately recognized as that of Ibrahim’s wife.

“Well, I’d like to leave a message for Abu Ibrahim. I wasn’t able to find a hotel room at the Noga Hilton, so I had to go to a different hotel. I’ve run out of money, so please let me know who to go to.”

Several days later, an Ibrahim operative was observed entering Switzerland. He traveled to the hotel at which Joe had told Ibrahim’s wife he had been staying. The man went to the front desk and asked for Mohammed Jassin Khalaf, the name on the false passport being used by Joe. At that moment, Swiss police surrounded and arrested him. In his pocket the police found $1,500 in American currency, a picture of Joe, and a note for Joe from Abu Ibrahim. The note said, “My brother, please give your luggage to this man. He’ll finish the mission. You are to return home at once.” The police asked the man why he wanted Joe’s luggage and whether he knew Abu Ibrahim. The man said that he had been told that Joe would be carrying drugs. But he would talk no further. The Swiss police suspected that his real mission had been to kill Joe.

The Swiss put the man in jail, then arranged for Joe to be placed in the cell next to his. At the very least, the man would report back to Ibrahim that Joe had been arrested as well. Joe tried to coax the man into talking, but every time he approached him, the man put his fingers over his mouth. Within several days, the man was expelled from Switzerland.

From 1982 through 1984, Joe worked with Swiss authorities on several sting operations against suspected terrorists and false double agents. He traveled under an assumed name to Morocco, but that was as close as he got to Iraq. He was getting restless in Switzerland. One day, in December 1984, an opportunity to escape his ennui arose when Justice Department official Dan Bent came to Bern to discuss the U.S. case against Rashid, as well as the hunt for Ibrahim. During that visit Bent revealed that Joe’s participation would be absolutely critical. “We will need you as a witness against Mohammed Rashid,” Bent told him. “We are going to try to catch him, and when we do, you will be needed. Would you be interested in coming over and living in the United States?” Joe said he would. “How long will it take you to get ready?” asked Bent. “I’m ready right now!” exclaimed Joe. Both men laughed. Within days Joe had packed and both men took the train to Zurich, protected by two American bodyguards. Then they flew from Zurich to New York.

Landing at Kennedy Airport, Joe flew under heavy security on the shuttle to Washington, D.C. He was driven to the U.S. Marshall’s Service, where he met with its officials. “Where would you like to live?” Joe was asked. “AII I need is hot weather and an ocean,” he responded. His Arabic translator suggested Hawaii. But Joe already had a preference in mind: Miami. Why Miami? Because he had remembered seeing pictures of Miami in an old Dean Martin — Jerry Lewis film. (He has since been moved to another state.)

Meanwhile, the Justice Department pressed on in the hunt for Rashid and Ibrahim. Ibrahim’s terrorist “signature” was found on the bomb that blew a hole in the TWA jet over Athens in April 1986. Four people were sucked out of the plane at 17,000 feet. But Iraq — which had been taken off the list of countries supporting international terrorism — had pulled the wool over the State Department’s eyes. The Department of Justice, the F.B.I., and the Defense Department were furious with the State Department for pandering to the Iraqis.

‘The Israelis offered to pay Joe $5 million to travel to Paris disguised as a rich Arab. He declined: “If I go back into this business, I’d rather work for my own people.”’

In June 1986 the U.S. attorney convened a grand jury in Washington. On July 31, and for the next several days, Joe appeared before the grand jury, providing more than 200 pages of testimony. Six months later, on January 15, 1987, the grand jury returned a secret indictment against Mohammed Rashid and three other people whose names have never been publicly revealed. According to intelligence sources, they include Abu Ibrahim and Rashid’s wife Fatima. All three were charged with nine counts of conspiracy to commit murder and terrorism, along with carrying out acts of terrorism and murder.

In May 1988 Rashid traveled to Greece on his way to another country. Acting on a tip supplied by the United States, Greek authorities arrested him, but Rashid said it was a case of mistaken identity. However, American intelligence and law-enforcement authorities had the goods — photos, forged records, and home addresses — thanks largely to Joe and to other surveillance operations. The United States requested that Greece extradite Rashid. The Greek government refused, largely because of a desire to avoid disrupted relations with radical Palestinians.

Instead, the Greek government tried and convicted Rashid of entering the country on a false passport and sentenced him to five months. Fearing that Greece was about to release Rashid — especially following the Greek government’s decision to free another Palestinian terrorist convicted of bombing a synagogue and killing a young child — the United States placed heavy pressure on the authorities. Finally, after intense diplomatic and legal wrangling, the Greek government announced that it would place Rashid on trial on charges of premeditated murder and placing explosives on an airliner. Rashid has received legal support from the Palestine Liberation Organization.

For Joe, his moment of truth was finally at hand. In October 1990 he was flown to F.B.I. headquarters in Washington, where he provided another six hours of testimony to American and Greek prosecutors. His eight-year odyssey was now coming to a close.

Still, amazingly, his real name had never been made public. Although Ibrahim was certainly not naive enough to believe that Joe had not defected, there was no conclusive proof-nor was there any evidence as to which country Joe had defected to. Despite the fact that intelligence officials believed that Ibrahim had placed a contract on Joe’s life, the ambiguity surrounding his sudden disappearance in 1982 had served as a de facto protection for his family in Baghsad. Unfortunately, that protection began to dissipate in November, when word of Joe’s defection and his real name was leaked in Greece. Within weeks, Joe learned that a campaign of harassment had been initiated against his family. Joe’s anticipated appearance at Rashid’s trial will certainly prove electrifying. In a larger sense, the trial will really be against Abu Ibrahim. And it will finally allow his chief accuser to step forward.

For Joe, security will take a back step. American intelligence has already been warned that Ibrahim and other Palestinian followers, including the P.L.O.’s Force 17, the Colonel Hawari group, and Abu Abbas, will try to strike against American and Greek targets once the trial begins. No. 1 on the list is Joe.

In the back rooms of Western intelligence services, there has always been a begrudging respect for Abu Ibrahim’s almost errorless style and his diabolically effective bombs. A psychiatrist working for the Swiss police once observed that Ibrahim is the type of man who never makes a mistake. But the psychiatrist was wrong: Abu Ibrahim chose Joe to be his courier.

It generally saddens us when we realize that we still need to have an entire category devoted to war in a contemporary magazine.