by Suzi Weinert
Batman smiled.
62
Sunday, 9:15 AM
When Abdul left, Ahmed went to his room, phoned his cell members on an untraceable phone and announced tomorrow’s meeting. He also mentioned Mahmud’s sudden “trip” to the Middle-East.
Now he needed tools for his next task. He searched the garage without success. Who to ask? He doubted he would see Zayneb this morning and Khadija had disappeared back upstairs. He hadn’t told her about her father’s “trip,” nor Safia or Heba.
He made his way to the kitchen. Heba busied herself at the sink, looking out the kitchen window when he approached. At the sound of his voice, she immediately withdrew into her submissive shell, averting her face from him by looking at the floor.
“You don’t speak but you listen and understand. Is that right?”
She nodded.
“I am looking for some yard tools: a rake, some buckets, a shovel, a tarp and so on. I don’t see them in the garage. Could you please show me where to find them? Before he left last night on an extended trip to his homeland, Mahmud asked me to make new gardens in the back yard where his wife can grow vegetables. I’d like to start them this morning.”
Grabbing paper and pencil Heba wrote, “To the Middle-East? For how long?”
“Yes, he went early today. He won’t be back for a long time, maybe a year or more.”
Heba nodded and scurried ahead of him out the back door. She pointed to a shed.
“Thank you, Heba.”
As she returned to the house, he found what he needed in the garden tool storage area. First he measured the existing raised gardens, then selected two symmetrically pleasing locations next to them and positioned eight stakes in the ground, four for each garden and identical in size to those already there. Not wanting to alert neighbors to his project by pounding in the stakes, he wiggled them into the soil as far as he could and braced each with bricks from the shed. Then he connected each set of four stakes with string, forming two four-foot-by-six-foot rectangles.
He skinned off the top layer of lawn in each staked area with a spade, piling the resulting sod on a plastic tarp. As quietly as possible, he used a shovel to dig one work area down about two feet, piling that soil on another plastic sheet.
He returned to the kitchen and asked Heba, “Is Khadija upstairs?” The servant nodded.
“Would you please tell her I will speak with her in the study?” Heba nodded again and hustled away, head down.
She returned with Khadija. “Good morning, Ahmed. Did you want something?”
“Yes.” He led the way to the study and closed the door after them. They sat in opposite chairs.
“Khadija, I have news about your father. An emergency in his home country needs his attention. He left early this morning on an extended trip. He doesn’t know when he will return. It may be a long time, but I will protect your family in his absence for...as long as I can stay.”
Khadija couldn’t hide her surprise but hoped she masked relief that her contentious father was temporarily out of their lives. In his absence, perhaps she and Ahmed could develop their friendship without his sour interference.
Her face lighted. “I understand.”
“Also may I ask for your help? Could you please take me to a store this morning?”
“Of course. What kind of store?”
“A store that sells nails, boards, bags of dirt and vegetable plants.
“A hardware store, but perhaps what you need is already here at the house.”
He forced a smile. “Your father promised your mother to build two raised vegetable gardens in the back yard, but he didn’t have time before leaving. To soften the news of his sudden long trip, he asked me to build them for her. I need materials to do so.”
“I’m happy to drive you there, but is fall the best time of year to start such a garden?”
He hadn’t considered this question. “Yes, because the soil I mix will settle over the winter to be ready for planting in the spring.”
“When would you like to go?”
He looked at his watch. “This morning. I am ready now.”
“I’ll get my purse. The place I will take you opens Sundays at ten, so we can leave now.”
But as they left the study, Safia appeared on the bottom stair step. Khadija crouched beside her to explain their father’s trip. The little girl began to cry, for she loved him and her privileged life as his favorite. Khadija hugged and consoled her sister. “We will have new kinds of fun together while Baba is away. For instance, after lunch we’ll go for ice cream.”
This was a treat her father didn’t allow. Even Safia grasped this immediate advantage.
“And when your Baba returns you will be his special girl just like always.” Mollified, the child dried her tears and headed for breakfast with Heba.
Already their communication felt more relaxed in her father’s absence. “Other hardware stores nearby open earlier on Sundays, but I’d like to use McLean Hardware Store. My family has shopped there for decades and I know the manager.”
Minutes later, he stifled automatic shock at riding in a car with a woman driver. He convinced himself no disapproving Muslim would see him in the passenger seat and, besides, this driving arrangement was common in America. He chafed at the inconvenience of his mandate not to drive but accepted the reason. He didn’t ask Abdul for transportation because this was a personal matter.
63
Sunday, 10:04 AM
As they drove toward the hardware store, Ahmed made conversation. “A Middle-Eastern business friend asked me what to do if he wants to stay in this country.”
“That depends upon why. He could apply for citizenship to become a legal immigrant. If he’s afraid to return to his own country because he fears his government, he might defect and ask for political asylum.”
“Would your government hide him from those he fears?”
“Hiding him is different. I think if the federal government needs evidence to prosecute certain criminal cases where a witness’s testimony causes life-threatening danger, they trade his testimony for the witness protection program.”
“Where would my friend go to find out?”
“Let’s see, if I recall correctly from my course preparations, I think witness protection comes under the Justice Department, administered by federal marshals, but a local police station should get him to the right people.”
They parked in front of McLean Hardware. “This store has two mottos,” she said. “The first is ‘if we don’t have it, you don’t need it’ and the second is ‘stop in for the things you need from the people you know.’ I tell my students about stores like this because many have nothing similar in their countries. Do you?” He shook his head.
“Here, I’ll introduce you to the manager.” A pleasant man greeted them as they came inside. “Hello, this is Mike Cannon. Ahmed wants to build two raised gardens like these.” She showed him a picture of the original two. “Could you please help him find what he needs to match them and maybe some construction advice?”
“Sure thing.” Mike studied the photo. “This looks easy enough.” He and Ahmed discussed dimensions and Mike assembled the needed materials.
“My family started shopping decades ago at your Old Dominion Drive store, but this new location is fabulous,” Khadija said.
Mike laughed, “After fifty years there we just needed more room.”
When they finished, Ahmed said to Mike, “You know what you are doing. I respect that.”
He laughed. “I’ve been with the company since 1982, so I’ve learned a few things. Here, I’ll get somebody to load it into your van.”
Back home, Khadija changed clothes to help with the construction project. “I looked out the window. You’ve been busy: the outline’s staked, grass removed and even some excavation.”
“Yes, but I’ll dig down another foot to get more old dirt to mix with the soil bags they sold us.” In fact, he dug down almost three feet on one gard
en, piling shovelfuls of dirt onto a tarp.
“If this one’s the experiment, maybe you won’t need to dig as deep for the second one. Didn’t Mike say some people put the bags of dirt into the framework with no digging at all?”
“You are right, Khadija. I learned from the first.” He put his shovel aside. “Now let’s assemble the wood sides and then I’ll mix the dirt. Let us fill this shallower garden first.” He poured, alternating contents of different bags and the tarp soil into the enclosure, mixing them together with a rake. “How does it look?” he asked.
“Good. Shall we finish the other one now?”
“No, I will finish it tomorrow. You could put some of the plants we bought in this one.” He thought for a moment: It would be nice to see them sprout and thrive in the spring.
When she finished planting, they sat on patio chairs to survey their work over glasses of iced tea.
“You haven’t been in this country very long, but is it what you expected?” she asked.
“No. They said to expect capitalistic greed in which the rich hurt the poor, a corrupt imperialist government that meddles uninvited with their armies in our homeland countries, vices like alcohol and wanton sex, women who dress immodestly and flaunt themselves in public and hordes of unbelievers in Islam, the one true religion. Worse, they are in league with our enemies, the Jews.”
“And do you still believe all you were told?”
“I am not sure now. You tell me to question what I was told, to think for myself. This is new and uncomfortable for me. I see appeal in this freedom idea but also danger. How do you know what is right or wrong without religion to make those decisions clear for you?”
“A person here could live a useful, moral or ethical life with no religion whatsoever—unless he chooses one.”
“You do not choose Islam, Islam chooses you and once chosen you are committed to it for life.”
She explained, “Here that happens only with your consent. Freedom of religion means nobody has the right to force you if you question and disagree.”
He thought about this, wishing he had freedom to choose something else instead of a desperate need to retrieve the diamonds at all costs. The powerful web maker who was their Great Leader, the impatient McLean cell members he was sent to unleash on Americans and the ruthless Russians—all exerted strangle-hold controls over his life. He must succeed. Failure meant only one outcome: a coward’s death, not the martyr’s death guaranteeing reward forever in Paradise. But was that even a guarantee?
Now that he questioned everything, what could he believe?
64
Sunday, 11:00 AM
Jennifer answered the ringing phone. “Hi, Mom. It’s Kaela. How are the children getting along?”
“They’re having a wonderful time and so are we. Would you like to speak with them?”
“Sure, but first we have a big favor to ask. Would you mind keeping them until Tuesday morning? We’re having a great time and it’s a beautiful place. We met some old friends who happened in at the same time. We’d like to stay a little longer, if that works for you.”
“Let me check my calendar.” Jennifer took a look. “No problem. What time Tuesday morning?”
“How about ten? We’ll have an early breakfast before we drive back.”
“Do you think the children want to stay longer?”
“Mom, I haven’t a doubt in the world, but I’ll ask to be sure. But before you get them, thanks for being such an understanding mom.”
“You’re welcome, Honey. I well remember those hectic years with demanding little ones day and night. You need a break once in awhile. Hang on, I’ll get them.”
Jen listened to enough of the Grands’ phone chatter to learn they’d like to stay. Later she’d prepare extra under-the-pillow gifts. This “tradition” created work for her, but garage sales supplied most surprises. Relishing their anticipation and delight justified her efforts.
The doorbell rang. Cautious, she first peeked out the front door’s sidelights and, seeing Tony, opened the door wide. They hugged and she gave him a concerned look. “How are you?”
He sighed. “Okay. The funeral this afternoon is small, just for family.” His expression took on a different intensity. “But I wanted to come by to see you, to thank you and Jay for all your help, to tell you how much I value you…” he reached for her hand and looked into her eyes, “…as marvelous neighbors and precious friends.” This emotional outpouring left him near tears. Jennifer gave him a reassuring hug.
“We’re here for you just as you would be for us, dear Tony.”
“You can count on me. If Jason’s here, I’d like to work out details for our deer hunt Tuesday.”
“Oh?” Jennifer looked surprised. “That’s news to me, but I know you two venture out every fall and it’s that time of year. Think you’ll bring venison for Thanksgiving dinner? You’re joining us, I hope, plus your children if they’re still here. It’s only a few days away.”
“The kids will be gone by then. Thanksgiving with them seemed awkward under the circumstances, but sharing time with you and your family sounds great, Jen.”
Jason wandered in. “Thought I heard you, Tony. Did someone mention deer hunting?”
“Yes, we’re all set for Tuesday. No shooting before the light of dawn, but it’s at least an hour’s drive so we should leave at 5:30 to see the sun rise from our stands.”
“Count me in. I’ll bring coffee for the drive. Can you stay awhile?”
“No. We’re getting ready for the funeral. I just took a minute to escape the black cloud at home.”
Tony left. They waved and closed the door. Jason locked it. “Why take chances?”
65
Sunday, Noon
Celeste didn’t normally work weekends, but a real estate company offered double pay to clean a house new on the market and she jumped at the chance. Fred’s janitorial team worked 10:00 to 6:00 night shifts after stores and offices closed for the business day. He’d have dinner waiting.
She loved Fred, an improbable development considering she met him while she was the girlfriend of his older brother Ralph. She remembered the day she met dashing Ralph Forbes at a McLean garage sale. Their instant attraction fanned her heart—and his whim to add her to his household. And his burglary team.
In those days, Fred lived in the shadow of the flamboyant older brother he idolized. Shrinking from independent thought or action to avoid Ralph’s biting criticism, Fred followed Ralph’s orders, vainly hoping to please his brother. From the outset he worked the residential thefts Ralph masterminded, obediently but without enthusiasm until the addition of sixteen-year-old Celeste to their criminal web.
In Ralph’s clever plan, he and Celeste attended estate or indoor garage sales, afterward making blueprint sketches of the interiors. Using these layouts, Ralph returned days or weeks later to burglarize the houses. Fred drove the get-away car.
Too intimidated by low self-esteem to date, Fred found constant fascination in Celeste’s sharing their house. She thought his intense stares “creepy,” not realizing they reflected adoration of this dream woman he’d never have. Never, that is, until their traumatizing arrests for what the media dubbed “Blueprint Burglaries.”
Guilt at ruining their lives prompted Ralph Forbes to make the first selfless decision of his life. “I’ll take the rap,” he told his inventive court-appointed attorney, “if you can get them off.” Ralph testified convincingly that he terrorized Celeste and Fred with threats of disfigurement and death if they failed to comply. Only the horror of his retaliation forced them to cooperate. For this lie, he received a harsher sentence while a cringing Fred and frightened Celeste drew probation. He’d caused their downfall but balanced the scale.
After the trial, the judge warned Celeste and Fred, “I’m giving you each fifty hours of community service. You must report to a parole officer once a month. Stay out of trouble. If you’re brought before me again, you’ll show a pattern of criminal be
havior pointing you straight to jail.”
Narrowly escaping prison frightened the two enough to turn their lives around, find honest jobs and go straight. Having no other friends, they hung together by default.
When she’d fled her mountain home on the first bus out, Celeste met Amanda Rochester. This sympathetic older woman took pity on the vulnerable young runaway in the seat beside her, inviting Celeste to stay at her Arlington house until the girl “landed on her feet.” But Celeste never thought Amanda’s home her final destination. When she met Ralph three weeks later, her path forked in a new direction. “Come back if it doesn’t work out,” Amanda offered.
After the arrest with nowhere else to turn, Celeste brought Fred to Amanda. Concerned over Celeste’s new predicament, Amanda said, “You could rent my basement apartment: two bedrooms, a living room, kitchen, bathroom and separate entrance.” This solved the “acceptable” address for their parole officers. But they needed jobs. Penniless, with high school educations and crime their only skill, what could they offer employers? After trying menial restaurant jobs, they applied as maids at a Tyson Corner motel, using public transportation in lieu of a car.
Omitting the arrest, Celeste told the motel manager, “Look, we don’t have work references ‘cause we’re just out of high school, but we’re hard workers and really need the job.”
“At least let us show you what we can do,” Fred pleaded.
The manager eyed them warily but liked their determination and energy. And the girl had that cute West Virginia drawl…. He rubbed his chin; three of his housekeeping staff had quit yesterday for better jobs without two weeks’ notice. This put him on the spot since his motel rooms needed daily cleaning. Hiring these two saved running an ad and interviewing prospects. And if they worked out… He made a snap decision.
“Okay, I’ll try you. Work is 8:00 AM to 5:00 PM. Half an hour per room means eight rooms in the morning and eight in the afternoon. Here’s the checklist showing what to do in each room. The first day you train with one of our regular maids. The second day you’re on your own. More hours are possible if we have a full house but that’ll be at the usual rate, no overtime pay. One hour lunch. Wear black slacks and black shirt. We issue you a blazer with the motel name on the pocket. Friday is payday.” He then described the hourly wage—without benefits.