Day I came face-to-face with nemesis of the West
One evening in June 1996, the telephone in Beirut rang with one of the more extraordinary messages I was to receive as a correspondent.
"Mr Robert, a friend you met in Sudan wants to see you," said a voice in English but with an Arabic accent. Do you understand?" Yes, I understood. And where could I meet this man? "The place where he is now," came the reply. "So how do I reach him? I asked. "Go to Jalalabad, you will be contacted."
A month later. "CLACK-CLACK-CLACK." I sat up. Someone was banging a set of car keys against the window of my room. "Misssster Robert," a voice whispered urgently. Yes, yes, I'm here. "Please come downstairs, there is someone to see you."