Also at Macleans.ca: The “Toronto 18”—two years later | The suspects. The former suspects. And the men who helped bring them all down.

Before he was an accused terrorist, Shareef Abdelhaleem designed computer databases for drug companies. His salary was six figures, his car was a convertible BMW (metallic blue, with black leather seats) and his boss was everyone’s dream boss: himself. “I had a successful career,” says Abdelhaleem, now 32. “God blessed me with a little bit of talent.”

God also blessed him with a big heart, and not only because he shared his Mississauga home with seven stray cats rescued from animal shelters. Abdelhaleem was literally diagnosed with a growth on his heart, an unusual condition that required major surgery in the spring of 2006. He was still recovering a few weeks later when heavily armed officers stormed through his front door and pinned him to the floor. “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t concentrating,” he says now, recalling the raid. “I was looking to see if the cats were running out.” Days after the bust—days after his name was forever linked to the “Toronto 18”—Abdelhaleem was still fretting about his felines. “Who knows where some of them are now,” he says, shaking his head.

Abdelhaleem certainly knows where he is: Maplehurst Correctional Complex, a maximum-security jail just a short drive from his old neighbourhood. This morning—like so many mornings since June 2, 2006—he is dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit and a pair of blue, prison-issued running shoes. His black beard is full but trimmed, and the hair on his head is starting to show some grey. “I’ve lost more than 50 lb. already,” he says. “I have had the runs for two years. No matter how much I eat the crap in here, my stomach can’t get used to it.” Abdelhaleem is speaking into a black phone, his round face a few inches from a thick plate of Plexiglas.

“I went from a successful professional to an inmate,” he continues, waving his arms as he speaks. “My career, the one that I worked ever so hard for, is destroyed. And I’m wondering: if I’m acquitted, if I’m wrongfully in prison and my name is tarnished, who is going to give me these years back? Who?”

Two summers ago, nobody was talking acquittal. The morning after the roundup, the RCMP told the world an imminent attack had been thwarted, saving hundreds, if not thousands, of lives. The “homegrown” suspects, they said, were “adherents of a violent ideology inspired by al-Qaeda”—Muslim men (and teenagers) bent on bombing Canadian buildings and beheading politicians. When the group appeared in court for the first time, a team of army snipers lined the roof.

Fast-forward 24 months. The sharpshooters are gone. Seven of the 18 accused are no longer facing charges. And a cornerstone of the case—that the bulk of the suspects underwent military training in the snowy woods near Orillia, Ont.—is starting to lose some of its sinister shine. In a recent affidavit, one defence lawyer describes the campers as a “hapless F-troop” who slept in their cars and made daily bathroom visits to Tim Hortons. So much for martyrdom.

It’s hard to blame the casual observer for assuming that two years after the arrests, the country’s largest-ever anti-terror case is crumbling. The only suspect to reach trial so far is an unnamed youth whose alleged crimes can be summed up as shoplifting for jihad, and it could be another year, maybe five, before the adults ever face a jury. In the meantime, the inevitable public relations battle has begun. Some of the suspects’ families have launched websites, proclaiming their innocence and decrying the “black hole of the justice system.” One—toronto18.com— features jailhouse poetry and paintings. “Like you,” the site reads, “these men have families.” The Web page dedicated to Shareef Abdelhaleem is called captiveincanada.com. “I am the last person to be a threat,” he says. “This whole thing was staged to impress the public, to give them fear.”

If they were granting interviews, which they’re not, prosecutors would tell a much different story. They would remind Canadians that millions of pages of damning evidence remain under wraps, protected by a sweeping publication ban that is designed not to hide the truth, but to protect the fair-trial rights of the accused. Media outlets, Maclean’s included, are not allowed to disclose the vast majority of details that explain why police were keeping such a close eye on this group. In one of the few court filings that can be printed, the Crown describes the evidence as “shocking and sensational,” and says the ultimate goal was “to cause harm and death by attacking innocent lives.”