England. “You know how woeful y short of Muslim undercover operatives and translators we are, Brian? It’s a big-time problem, and it’s only going to get worse.”
“I’ve heard that,” Brian admitted. “You know what concerns me even more? It’s the bloody ignorance and complacency I see here in the West. The average chap on the street in New York or Chicago or L.A. has no idea of the threat. Doesn’t know. Doesn’t want to know. The only people with even the slightest clue as to what’s going on are the poor Muslims who represent most of the dead.”
“No surprise to me––none whatsoever,” said Herb. “The radical left here in America wants us to get out of Iraq and leave its people to be slaughtered by Al Qaeda or to drown in the blood of a good, old-fashioned sectarian war. And the media’s not much better.”
“A couple of exceptions maybe,” Brian admitted. “But most of them are talking withdrawal too. Clueless.”
They drank. When the heat of the alcohol reached Herb’s stomach, he took a deep breath and said, “Did I tel you? Al Qaeda kidnapped a CIA friend of mine posted to the Pakistan embassy. A couple of weeks ago they found his severed head by the roadside. His genitals had been stuffed into his mouth. That’s the enemy we’re fighting, cowards who behead innocent men and mutilate them.”
EDEN, GLEN COVE, N. Y.
THE SOUND OF gravel being crushed could be heard inside the house when Alan swung the Mercedes 450 into the EDEN estate.
Aly greeted him with a warm kiss and the kind of loving caress that Alan treasured almost as much as he did their most intimate moments. He had taken a vow when they were married. It wasn’t the kind of vow that was written down anywhere or that he had recited in some open ceremony or even shared with Aly. This was his personal vow. He promised himself without equivocation that he would never take this woman for granted. And “never” was not a word Alan often used because he knew how unrealistic it was. So he made another vow; he vowed to give thanks for their relationship every day, and he did so the minute he opened his eyes in the morning. More than a dozen years later, he was stil obsessed with her: the way she moved and talked, the warmth of her smile, the respect she showed for life, and the pleasure she took out of simple things.
“Fol ow me, mister. The drinks are on me,” she said, taking his hand and leading him into a living room fil ed with furniture they had col ect-ed from al over the world, most of it wood, fabric and glass and maybe a little too ornate. They didn’t care. Every piece had a story, and every story added to the fabric of their relationship.
Alan stepped up to the buffet and the pitcher of cocktails Aly had prepared. He poured two martinis and handed one to Aly. She didn’t abstain from alcohol as was the tradition of so many Muslims, but then Aly’s father was American and so she had been quite Westernized. He had never seen her in an abaya, the gown that covered a woman from head to toe, nor the hijab, the traditional headdress of Muslim women. When she visited the local mosque or lectured at school, she favored embroidered caftans and beaded tunics and looked magnificent.
“Please don’t worry about Dan,” Alan said as they carried their drinks into the garden. “Herb Bentz wil have a couple of Agency guys meet his flight the minute it touches down. Herb and Brian are both convinced that the Al Qaedasupported Wahhabi are responsible for our problems in Riyadh.”
“I think they’re right,” she replied. “That’s what they do. They attack so-cal ed infidels. They justify it by twisting the words of the Qur'an for their own benefit, and their existence revolves around it.”
“Why in the world does the Saudi government al ow them to exist?” Alan couldn’t help ask.
“Because it was the Wahhabi who threw their support behind the royal family after the colonialists packed up and left. The king made a deal with them. In exchange for the Wahhabi’s loyalty, he guaranteed them the right to continue teaching what they were teaching and doing what they were doing, like it or not, and like it or not, the royal family