Undercover Jihadi Bride: Inside Islamic State’s Recruitment Networks

conquer territory by eliminating people. But everyone has a specific job. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m very important, so I’m in charge of supervising operations. I give orders, and when all the kafirs are dead, the emir decides what to do with their bodies.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well . . . didn’t you say you’d seen the videos and pictures? That day, for instance, the emir of Raqqa told us to cut off their heads. But enough of that. Tell me about you!”

“Okay, but I’m too shy! Let me see your car first. It looks like you have a lot of interesting stuff.”

Bilel was glad to show off his car, delighted whenever Mélodie—whom he already considered his betrothed—flattered him. Mélodie told him she thought the white submachine gun sitting amid a heap of clutter on the backseat was pretty. Bilel grabbed it and offered to give it to her. Laughing, he said, “I’m not surprised you like it! Women love this model because it’s easy to use. Do you like guns? I’ll give you plenty, starting with a lovely Kalashnikov.”

I could tell from his expression that he was being sincere.

“I want to learn more, but what does all this have to do with religion?”

“What guided you to Allah’s path?”

I was dying for a cigarette. At that moment I couldn’t think of anything else. Mélodie had existed for years without really existing. She’d simply been a name on a Facebook profile. As late as that morning, I never would have imagined playing this part for Bilel or needing to fabricate a backstory for a desperate and ultrasensitive young woman. I hadn’t had time to invent a “real” life for Mélodie. My veil was starting to itch, and when I glanced at André, a man known for his hyperactivity, I noticed that he was stunned.

At a loss for words, Mélodie stammered, “My dad left when I was little, and whenever my mom was too overwhelmed to take care of us, we stayed with my uncles. One of my cousins was Muslim, and I was fascinated by the inner peace that his religion gave him. He guided me to Islam.”

“Does he know that you want to come to al-Sham?”

Bilel assumed that everything had been decided. For him, Mélodie would soon arrive in Syria.

“I’m not sure that I want to go—”

“Listen, Mélodie. Among other things, it’s my job to recruit people, and I’m really good at my job. You can trust me. You’ll be really well taken care of here. You’ll be important. And if you agree to marry me, I’ll treat you like a queen.”

Monday, 9:30 p.m. (#ua7c63389-a74d-5013-b97f-7f9a8c0f4eb4)

Marry him?! I logged off Skype as a kind of survival reflex. Pulling the hijab down to my neck, I turned toward André, who looked as dumbfounded as I was. We stared at each other, incapable of saying anything other than, “Oh, shit!” We knew we could put a stop to everything right then; that night could become another anecdote we’d tell. But, of course, we wouldn’t stop now. We wanted more. That was the goal of any investigation: knowing more. If Bilel had proposed in person, I would have run, but there was a screen separating us. That was an important distinction.

“What an a-hole!” André exploded. “He wants to marry you, now?” he screamed at me as though speaking directly to Bilel.

André was familiar with the Islamic State’s methods of propaganda, but suddenly he was faced with an unspeakable truth. He was the father of thirteen-year-old twins, and the idea of the terrorist organization targeting children sickened him. André was born in France. His father was one of the Kabyle, a people from eastern Algeria, and his mother was from Spain. He believed in God, but aside from lighting a candle at church whenever he had a very pressing wish, he didn’t practice any particular religion. He simply had faith. In his youth, he’d known hotshot men like Bilel. Back then, the French state turned a blind eye to petty crime. André had a visceral loathing for the leadership ISIS had installed by force. How was I to respond to Bilel’s proposal? He suggested explaining that since Mélodie wasn’t married, she didn’t want to arrive in Syria alone. If she decided to go at all.

Bilel called back. André held out a cigarette and I took a drag. The use of tobacco and of alcohol is strictly prohibited and severely punished by ISIS. When she answered, Mélodie blamed the interruption on a bad Internet connection and immediately launched into the explanation André had provided. She added that if she decided to go to Syria, her cousin would accompany her. First, because respectable women didn’t travel alone. Second, because her cousin wanted to help the cause.

“If you want, but I don’t see why,” Bilel said, upset. “You don’t need him. Dozens of girls arrive by themselves every week. You’re not as brave as I’d thought, Mélodie.”

Twenty-year-olds are obsessed with showing off their bravery and commitment, and that’s what Mélodie did.

“You don’t think I’m brave? You obviously don’t know me very well. If I have to leave everything to do my jihad, I want answers to my questions, and I want to travel with my cousin. If I’m going to fight, I want to know why.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s your life? If your cousin were a true believer, you would know. . . . But if you really want him to come with you, fine, do what you want.”

Bilel was visibly annoyed. I didn’t realize it at the time, but mujahideen say that “guiding people to Allah’s path” offers a guaranteed pass to paradise.

“Do you not trust my cousin? Or did you want me to come alone?”

“Do what you want, but don’t you have girlfriends interested in hijrah?”

There it was. I couldn’t wait to see how he’d try to convince Mélodie to bring along a cargo of prepubescent girlfriends. André was unable to suppress an angry sigh.

“I don’t know. I haven’t told many people about my religion. What difference would it make if I came with a man or a woman?”

“It wouldn’t. Only, women in Europe are treated badly and used like objects.” He sighed. “Men show you off like trophies. I want lots of people to join ISIS, but I’m especially interested in recruiting those who are treated the worst, like women.”

He didn’t give me time to react.

“Mélodie, answer me. Do you want to be my wife? Mélodie, did you hear me? Do you want to marry me?”

“I . . . I mean, that’s much too important and personal to discuss here, and so soon.”

It was strange to have to simper and act coy with this madman in front of André. He thought of me as a little sister, and he knew my boyfriend. I disabled the video connection. Bilel could continue his conversation with Mélodie, but he wouldn’t be able to see her.

I did that for myself. It felt like his face had invaded every corner of the room, and I didn’t want to see it anymore.

“My friend Yasmine is Muslim,” I said, changing the subject, “and she complains about not being able to practice her religion in Toulouse. I could invite her to come with me, but I’m not sure if she’s allowed, since she’s a minor.”