+ "Armchair Jihadists"

14 August, London
from Martin Smith

Our second day in London begins with a meeting with Sheik Abu Hamza al Masri, the infamous leader of the Finsbury Park Mosque in North London. The "20th hijacker," Zacarias Moussaoui, and Richard Reid, the shoe bomber, were among his congregation. Like Saad, he likes to talk to the media. But he tells us a slightly different story.

"Al Qaeda is structurally dismantled, but morally it is stronger than ever."

I nod, but I really don't know what he means. Sounds good though. Next to him -- just off camera -- is a young man who has accompanied the sheik but refuses to give me his name. "It doesn't matter," he assures me. I mention that Scott, our cameraman, was threatened the day before when trying to photograph the exterior of their mosque. Abu Hamza says, "You are lucky, other journalists have been beaten up." I smile at the guy with no name and he just looks at me blankly.

Sheik Abu Hamza picks up where Sheik Bakri left off. He says the Koran instructs him "to terrorize tyrants" -- to terrorize anyone who attacks Islam, to terrorize whoever is the enemy. British law allows free speech. But as I listen to him, I am thinking that there is no way in hell that he would talk the way he does in the U.S. without landing in jail.

from Marcela Gaviria

It's been one of those mornings. I have a hard time waking up and I'm late checking out of the hotel. The van is late picking us up. And Sheik Abu Hamza, the fiery cleric from Finsbury Park, our 10 a.m. interview, is not picking up the phone.

Alex, our driver, heads out to the corner of Uxbridge and Old Oak Road to pick up the blind, handless sheik. Abu Hamza has refused to tell us where he lives, and after 30 minutes of waiting at the corner I have a feeling he has stood us up. Meanwhile, we have already spent a fortune on a suite in the Landmark hotel where we are setting up for the interview.

While Scott and I fiddle about with the DV cams and the mics, Martin reads us Abu Hamza's rap sheet. "He is wanted in Yemen for murder and conspiracy to commit terrorist acts. ... He runs the mosque where Zacarias Moussaui and Richard Reid used to frequent. ... He is alleged to be related to Khalid al-Midhar, the hijacker on Flight 11. ... He had his hands blown off in a land mine while fighting in Afghanistan." I'm sure things will get pretty confrontational in the interview and joke with Marty that Hamza might punch him with his claw.

The doorbell rings in our suite, and we find Abu Hamza escorted by a young jihadist wearing combat gear and a khafiya. Hamza is a barrel-chested man that looks every bit like a 21st-century pirate. But I actually like him. He is open and blunt and unapologetic.

Sheik Abu Hamza al Masri.

It is fascinating to me to hear the mindset of a true jihadist. Here is a man who fought in Bosnia and Afghanistan, and even though so much of what he says would make the average American's stomach curdle, I find him quite reasonable. Until he tells us about how he has taught techniques of self-defense in his mosque, like mining the skies with hot air balloons filled with explosives that will bring down spy planes trying to patrol the skies.

After we wrap the interview, I find myself lining up to pay the hotel bill for a second time in a day. A handful of Saudis have congregated near the front desk. The man next to me is paying a bill for 39,000 pounds. The young Saudi couple to my left are trying to decide if they should stay in a suite that costs 1,500 pounds a night or simply take the presidential suite. I corner the Filipino receptionist and try to get more information. "How long did the guy who spent nearly $55,000 in hotel charges stay?" "Oh, about a week." "Is this common?" "Oh yes, we have many clients from Arabia."

As we ride through the streets of London, I wonder why Sheik Hamza or Sheik Bakri don't speak more vehemently against the corruption and materialism in their own back yard.

WEDNESDAY EVENING, HEATHROW AIRPORT
from Martin Smith

	London police in front of the Finsbury Park Mosque.

I think, too, that the London sheiks and dissidents have it easy waging jihad from armchairs and air-conditioned flats. "They must makes jokes about these guys in the hills of Afghanistan," I say to Scott and Marcela. We try to sleep. Seven hours later we walk out into the 100-degree heat and infinite humidity of Dubai.

Later, I reflect on what I might have learned in London. I think no one really told us anything new about Al Qaeda or bin Laden. They either aren't willing or, perhaps more likely, they don't know much.

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