Zarqawi had traveled all the way to Amman, visited his mother in Zarqa for a few hours, then turned around and driven through the night in a friend’s car to arrive at al-Jafr before daybreak. Now here he was, back inside the hated prison, ministering to other inmates like a field commander checking the morale of his troops.
Just crack the door open, and gently shove him back in the cell. And then, forget about him.
