understand the customs of her homeland as wel as America, her father’s homeland.
A masters degree in international relations had led to her position at N.Y.U., and now she was ful y tenured. She could teach and continue her Muslim studies. How very happy she was to be an American; how lucky to be married to the only man she had ever loved. Yet she was torn. The kil ings in Lebanon were driving a wedge among her Muslim friends. The kil ings throughout the Muslim world were causing her students to rethink their positions on Islam and creating turmoil among her col eagues.
Aly leaned heavily on what she believed were the true teachings of the Prophet and the undeniable tenets of her God, Al ah: tolerance; forgiveness; mercy; respect for al without regard for gender, race, or religious affiliation; honor; integrity; defense of the defenseless. This was her Islam.
WALDORF ASTORIA HOTEL, N. Y. C.
ALAN SAT AT the bar of the Bul and Bear in the Waldorf Astoria with Brian Hal , the director of security for Davis International Industries (DII). Alan said, “Herb should be along in a minute. You know Herb. Five minutes late and he thinks he’s the most punctual man on the planet.”
Herb Bentz was Alan’s godfather. He had known Alan since the day he was born, and despite the differences in their ages, they had become close friends and confidants. Herb was a former deputy director of the CIA. At the Agency he was known as the great white lion, a label reflecting his thick pure white hair and his tenacity in resolving cases.
He and Brian first met during their days in London when Brian was with MI-6 and Herb an embassy-assigned CIA agent. Intel igence was their business; sharing information with trusted al ies was their currency. It was Herb who had recommended Brian when Alan was looking for a director of security. It was Herb who had convinced Brian, a somewhat distraught widower, to come to America and begin a new life.
When Herb arrived, they took their meeting to a corner table where they didn’t spend much time on pleasantries. “We’ve got a problem at the refinery in Riyadh, Herb. Three bombers and some significant damage apparently. Dan’s flying in there tonight on Air France. He could use an intel igence contact in Riyadh that he can rely on. Any ideas?”
“No problem,” Herb replied. “Have Dan contact Omar Talia at Intel and mention my name. He’s a good friend and a square shooter. And besides, he owes me. He’s also about as connected as they come. Right now, he’s up to his ears with the Wahhabi fanatics; they’re committed to exactly three things: the removal of al Westerners from Saudi Arabia; the unseating of the Royal Family; and the conversion of the kingdom to an Islamic state. Anyone, Muslim or otherwise, not subscribing to their version of the Qur’an is an ‘infidel,’ and the Wahhabi have the right, even the sacred obligation, to kil them. If they had anything to do with the bombing of our refinery, Omar wil know.”
“Dan wil be there in a few hours. I’l get word to him,” Alan said. He took a pul on his drink and shook his head. “I should never have let him go. I could have directed our people in engineering to handle it. Stupid of mel! If anything happens to Dan, I’l never forgive myself.”
Alan finished his drink. “Did I ever tel you that Dan and I were roommates at Harvard? That’s going back some.”
Brian put his arm around Alan’s shoulders and said, “Dan knows how to take care of himself, Alan. I wouldn’t worry about him.”
“I’l have some of my buds from the Agency stick with him the minute he gets off the plane,” Herb promised. “They won’t let him out of their sight. That’s a promise.”
“Thanks, Herb. With any luck, I’l be able to sleep tonight.”
“Air France, you said, right?”
“Flight 512.”
“Consider it done,” Herb said. “Now go home and spend some time with that wife of yours, wil ya?”
“Good idea. Talk to you in the morning.”
When Alan was gone, Herb bought another round for his friend from