I probably should feel bad about killing Hudhaifah Zakariyya Usamah. Guilt is a nonproductive emotion though. It serves no useful purpose for men like me. Assassin? That’s hardly a term I would use to describe myself. I am an expeditor. I dispatch inconvienent persons to an early reward by providing them with the martyrdom they seek as jihaddis. So it was with Hudhaifah Zakariyya Usamah.
Usamah was the only man in the village who actually wanted to see the Taliban return. He spied on the Americans, tracking their movements in our valley and reporting to our enemies. He guided them to the best places to plant their bombs. He laughed when he heard the explosions echo off the mountains.
One thousand US Dollars – that’s how much the American CIA man, Sanderson paid me to kill Usamah. I would have done for free. He was an evil man. Koran says, “do not kill,” but a thousand dollars will feed my family in exile in Kabul. It will only cost a hundred to bribe the city Taliban to leave us alone.