Veiled By Privilege (Radical Book 1)

by Anne Garboczi Evans

  She hurtled toward the door. Her professor stepped through it, bringing her up short.

  “Dr. Benson. Saeed’s a terrorist. He’s planned a terrorist attack, tonight, in the debate hall!” Her breath came in gasps.

  “Really? Let me make a call.” Benson extended his hand for her phone.

  She dropped it in his competent hand.

  Something slammed against her shoulder. Benson shoved her into the closet. Click, the door locked. “Dr. Benson!”

  Dr. Benson’s smooth voice sidled under the crack beneath the door. “Saeed’s a well-meaning Sunni Muslim fighting against Western oppression. And you’re not telling anyone.”

  Saturday, October 22nd, 2:16 p.m.

  Four white walls surrounded Joe, steel by the look of them. A folding table ran down the center of the rectangular room. Many a time he’d sat in rooms just like this one. Only then, he’d sat on the interrogator side of the table.

  Joe swallowed through a dry mouth. “I have no affiliation with Al Qaeda. I’m a loyal American citizen.”

  “Why then did you attend classes with Imam Al-Ghamedi?” The interrogator leaned forward, white shirt sleeves pressing against the table.

  “I thought I could find a way to meet Abdullah El-Amin in person.” The clock above the door ticked on. Before this day ended, the planned terrorist attack would go down, killing thousands.

  “Your superior officer specifically countermanded this project.”

  “I disobeyed orders, yes. I did not betray the U.S.” Joe gritted his teeth. He should be in contact with local law enforcement across the country trying to pinpoint the location of this attack, not stuck in an interrogation cell.

  “You endangered a valuable security asset fleeing to Bahrain then Yemen.” The interrogator brought his bushy eyebrows down.

  “You mean myself? I had to save Kay. And I got out without giving away classified info.”

  “Abdullah didn’t kill you in Yemen. What intelligence did you give him?”

  “Nothing recent.” Joe eyed a discoloration on the wall. Would this be what the next ten years of his life looked like? Locked in a jail cell, doing nothing? The terrorist attack needed to be stopped.

  Ding. The phone the Houthis had given him vibrated in the basket on the interrogation table.

  “I just got a voicemail. May I check that?” Joe looked at the stony-faced interrogator whom he’d be seeing much too much of in the next months or years.

  “Let me get this right. First you investigate a terrorist plot on U.S. soil that’s due to occur today. Next you disappear off grid. Then you join the terrorists.” The interrogator’s voice rose.

  A Harvard area code flashed on the screen. Kay? “If I could get that, it’s from the woman I went off grid for.”

  “And you think that’s going to make me let you listen to it?” The interrogator grabbed the phone and shoved it in his pocket.

  Kay slammed her shoulder against the door. Nothing. She rammed the heels of her hand against it. No give.

  Darkness filled the tiny space. “Help! Someone help!” No answer.

  Through a sliver in the door jamb, the TV’s light glared. The candidates’ televised voices streamed through the hall.

  The screen switched to the moderator’s face. “Next, from an esteemed international journalist, we have a question about the second largest religion in the world, Islam.” The moderator turned to the mike.

  Her parents sat in that room! Kay slammed her shoulder against the door. The hinges broke. Her shoes clattered as she ran through empty halls.

  The doors to the hall stood open. A plastic “Hillary” sign flapped above the front left seats. Her parents!

  Armed security guards blocked the entrance, their white shirts contrasting with black body armor as they rested their hands on their belts.

  In the foremost row, a dark-haired man rose to his feet. She’d seen him before working on the grounds crew. Saeed Khan.

  “Arrest that man. Arrest Saeed,” Kay screamed. The applause redoubled, drowning her scream, but the security guards turned to her.

  A man in a black Secret Service suit grabbed her.

  “Him,” Kay yelled. “He has a bomb.”

  In one stride, Saeed grabbed the mike. He flung his jacket off, revealing a suicide vest. He held one hand high, a black push button in it. “I have this entire stage rigged with explosives. No one moves or you all die.”

  Gasps flooded the room. People froze. A scream rang out.

  Her blood went cold. She pivoted toward the security officers. Their faces paled too. What did she do now?

  The sound of feet pounded behind her. Men with badges rushed toward them.

  “Joe!” She cried. He’d gotten her message. Her heart dropped. Now he’d die here with her.

  In front, Saeed held the detonator switch high. “The third prayer of the day begins now. Prostrate yourselves before Allah.” The mike broadcast his voice, terror in each quiet syllable he spoke.

  “What do we do?” The armed security guard glanced to the Secret Service agent.

  Leaping forward, Joe yanked the security guard’s Glock from his belt and pointed it toward Saeed.

  “Don’t!” The Secret Service agent whipped out his gun and pointed it at Joe. “If he has a dead man’s switch, shooting him will blow this entire hall up.”

  “This hall’s blowing up anyway.” Joe squeezed the trigger. The bullet made a cracking noise as it left the gun.

  Saeed crumpled. His explosive vest hit the floor. A puff of smoke rose.

  Nothing. Kay’s knees buckled.

  People leaped to their feet, trampling over each other. The security officers dispersed, shouting orders as the rush of people swept her away.

  Heart still pounding so fast her head felt light, Kay clutched the edge of a drinking fountain as people stampeded past.

  At least it was over now.

  Muhammad sat, gaze transfixed on the grainy TV feed streaming from Harvard University. Fascination and horror glued his gaze to the screen as U.S. security swarmed the hall.

  Behind him, Abdullah punched numbers in his cell. The man screamed into the phone. “Bakir, are you outside Sever Hall?”

  “In Allah’s name I am. Saeed is dead. They are disarming the C-4 explosives as we speak. All is lost. I must flee.” The man’s voice was shrill.

  “Listen to me, Bakir.” Abdullah paced, blocking Muhammad’s view of the TV. “In the glove compartment of Saeed’s truck are grenades in a plastic bag labeled grass seed. The fertilizer bomb is still there. Go to the basement. Detonate the bomb with a grenade. Hurry!”

  “I want to serve Allah, but I am not ready to become a martyr.” Bakir’s voice trembled. Had Abdullah threatened Bakir’s mother and sisters as well?

  Abdullah held the phone away from his ear and screamed into it. “Coward! Allah has commanded this. You will be given great rewards in jannah.”

  “Ok.” Bakir’s voice shook. “How do I detonate the fertilizer bomb?”

  “Go into the basement and throw the grenade.”

  Squeezing along the hallway between the crowd, Kay made it to a stairway door. She wiggled the handle and got the door open far enough to slide through.

  Ugh, these were the basement stairs, not the exit. Kay turned.

  A voice hissed from the darkness. Dr. Benson shivered against a dusty garbage can. “How much trouble am I in?”

  Kay jerked back from the man who had imprisoned her. She grabbed for the door handle.

  “I didn’t know Saeed had a bomb.” Dr. Benson shook, his jaw clattering. “Saeed said he wanted to have a protest to bring to light America’s injustices abroad. I thought they’d use some tear gas, maybe paint some signs like we did for the Vietnam War.”

  With a groan, Kay turned back. Benson had his issues, but he wasn’t a murderer. “You aided a terrorist plot. Shouldn’t you be turning yourself in?”

  “I gave Saeed a key to the basement. I have to check what he stored down ther
e.” Benson held an ID keycard in his hand.

  “I’ll go get the security officers.”

  “Please don’t!” Benson’s voice came out shrill. Even his corduroy elbow patches trembled. “I could go to jail for life for this.”

  “Maybe you should.” Kay glowered at the man who’d almost gotten everyone she cared about killed just seconds before.

  “Walk with me. You want me to graduate you.” Benson gestured to her. “You can turn me in afterward.”

  True. Kay’s stomach churned.

  Only one half-burned-out bulb lit the dusty stairs. Tramp, tramp, the concrete made an echoing sound as they descended.

  Benson swiped his ID against the lock. A green light flashed and Benson jerked the door open.

  Dusty shelves spread out around the place. Some spilled grass seeds scattered on the concrete, a few trickles of an oily substance slicking the floor. Metals bars cut off the back of the building, expensive tractors and machinery locked behind them.

  Benson moved into the basement. Crossing the room, he touched the metal cage that a padlock secured. “Nothing looks amiss here. Right?” His voice had a nervous squeak, so different than when he led classes.

  “What about in there?” Kay pointed to the tractor. Who knew what Saeed might have hidden?

  “I don’t have the key.” Benson shook the padlock. The metal bars squeezed tight together, too close for a person to slide between. His knees shook. “Terrorism is not true Islam. Most Muslims would never dream of engaging in jihad.” Inside the bars, a dusty substance piled high.

  “I know that. I’ve read the Koran too, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to normalize honor-killings in my dissertation.” Kay crossed one arm over another, her shoes making imprints in the dust. “My mother is a professor of women’s studies at Yale. Let me defend women’s rights by writing about how Saudi Arabia treats women.” An oily stench rose from inside those bars.

  “No.” Benson swiveled. His suit jacket swished against the bars. “You cannot judge their culture by Western values. The United States has a long history of imposing imperialism and elevating ourselves above other nationalities.”

  “I’m not freaking imposing Western values.” Her voice rose an octave. She waved her hand across the empty burlap sacks on the shelving. “I’m trying to give women basic human rights.”

  Benson scowled.

  “Do we say, ‘Oh the North Koreans must love starving to death and being killed by their evil dictator? It’s their culture.’ No! Why the heck do you think women from Islamic cultures enjoy being wrapped in a suffocating box of black, married off against their will, and denied jobs?” Kay’s voice went shrill. She wanted this PhD, but she’d almost died in Saudi. This very month, dozens of other Saudi women would die at a male relative’s hand.

  “You’re not being scientific.” Benson glared at her.

  Normally that accusation would sear through her heart. Not today. Kay threw her hands up. “Is it because they’re women? Is that why? Of course North Koreans don’t like being oppressed because, you know, they might be male. But sure, let Saudi Arabia oppress women. Females are masochists who enjoy it.”

  Dr. Benson spread his feet, fingers wrapped around the iron bar behind him. “I’ll fail you.”

  Alma’s face flickered before her eyes. Did the woman still live? Likely not. She’d died because of the forced marriage to Abdullah. Died because Kay had spoken to an unrelated man. She’d be the one married to Abdullah and dead if she’d not met Joe at that park.

  PhD or no, she had the responsibility to fight for the rights of women like Alma. Why march in women’s marches only to sell out when it came at a cost? Susan B. Anthony had spent time in prison for fighting for women’s rights. “Fail me then, but I’m not going to normalize honor-killings.”

  Footsteps hit the stairs. The door creaked. Kay froze. Now that she thought of it, standing down here with Dr. Benson made her look kind of guilty to whatever CIA official marched through that door.

  A Middle Eastern-looking man plunged through the entrance. In his hand, he held a grenade.

  “Bakir!” Dr. Benson blanched.

  The man looked to the padlocked area. That dusty substance piled high behind the padlock was fertilizer. Diesel seeped through the stuff.

  Kay gasped. This basement was a bomb.

  Bakir pressed his thumb against the grenade’s pin. She lunged toward him.

  Shoving down the pin, the man hurled the grenade over Dr. Benson’s head. It landed inside the metal cage of tractors, fertilizer, and diesel. Taking one step back, he blocked the doorway.

  Five seconds. Even if she could get past him, the grenade would explode the fertilizer bomb sending the entire building up in smoke. Were Joe and her parents still in here?

  Four seconds.

  Faster than any Olympic runner, she sprinted toward the metal cage.

  Three seconds.

  She jammed her hand through the bars. Nine inches from her hand, the grenade sent out a tiny puff of smoke.

  Thrusting her shoulder through the bars, she grasped for it. She could try to throw it past Bakir into the hallway.

  Her hand stopped three inches too short.

  CHAPTER 31

  Kay froze. Clasping his hands over his ears, Dr. Benson hit the ground.

  Two seconds. The time stretched longer than hours as her life flashed before her eyes. “God, please save me!” The scream tore from her lungs.

  One second.

  Empty nothingness spread out around her. A ringing started in her ears.

  The grenade hadn’t gone off!

  Benson lurched to his feet. Oil and fertilizer smeared across his shirt. The sun shone through a tiny rectangle of frosted windowpane that ivy fell over.

  She wasn’t dead. Kay trembled, her feet unsteady on the slippery floor.

  Footsteps thundered on the stairway. A mass of government operatives rushed into the basement. Uniformed staff swarmed every dark corner as they assessed the hazardous situation.

  “The bomb squad will dismantle this,” an important sounding voice said.

  Joe grabbed her arm. “Come on.”

  Her legs seemed not her own as she followed Joe’s lead. Even the crisp fall air outside the hall felt surreal. Her body tingled. She looked back and her gaze connected with Dr. Benson’s. “Did I just watch a miracle?”

  Benson’s grease-stained shirt hung out from his pants. His thin jaw trembled. “I didn’t know you prayed.”

  “I didn’t used to.” Kay’s voice shook. “I think I’m gonna start.”

  Dr. Benson shoved his shirt back into his slacks and whipped out a handkerchief. “Due to manufacturing errors, some grenades are duds. We happened to get one of those. Chance.” He dabbed the handkerchief against the oily stains on his slacks.

  Kay’s hair blew against her shoulders as she shook her head, her wondering gaze on that building that should have been blown sky high with her in it. “I think I’m going to call it providence.”

  At the edge of the CIA perimeter cordoning off Sever Hall, Kay stood by Joe and watched the bomb squad scurry back and forth with wheelbarrow loads of fertilizer bomb.

  Joe hung up the call he’d been on for the last fifteen minutes and turned to her. “Good news. Since, thanks to your voicemail, which I finally bullied the interrogator into letting me listen to, I saved four thousand lives today, the CIA says no more jail. I’m a free man until next week when the internal review starts.”

  The evening wind tore at Kay’s shirt. She trembled in the shadows of the tall oaks that rose above them. If that grenade had gone off, her parents would be dead, she herself, Joe, hundreds of Harvard students and faculty.

  “I heard you pray in there.” Joe brushed his hand against hers.

  “Yeah. That was.” She shook her head. “I think I’m going to church tomorrow, learn more about this Jesus thing.”

  A smile lit Joe’s eyes.

  “Kay!” Someone grabbed her arm. Mom! “
We looked all over for you!”

  Dad rounded the trunk of an oak, the pressed lines of his cashmere sweater belying the worry on his face.

  “I’m fine.” She hugged Mom, then Dad. He held her tight, tears in his dark eyes. Time enough to explain Yemen and the grenade later, if she even was allowed to with the classified parts.

  “We still have our reservation at Oleana Restaurant. We all need some food after that incident.” Mom took Dad’s arm and nodded to the parking lot overflowing with vehicles and security.

  Kay turned back to Joe. “I guess this is goodbye?” Her throat swelled shut. Would she ever see him again? If she asked him out, would he say “yes”? Probably not. The disparity in their backgrounds was too great. He must have dozens of more conservative girls back home who would eagerly date him.

  “Who’s that? He’s welcome to come too.” Mom’s voice carried through the failing light. Her curious gaze fixed on Joe, same as her prying questions would at dinner.

  Great. Kay bit back a groan. They’d barely even kissed. If he met her parents now, he’d certainly never go out with her. “That’s—”

  “Love to.” Joe smiled that easy smile of his, though he probably still had CIA paperwork to finish.

  They were doing this. The meet the parents visit. Boyfriend or not, Mom interrogated any guy she introduced to her with a vigor to put the CIA to shame. Kay gulped.

  “Can you introduce us to your friend?” Mom smiled, curving her lips in that expression which came before the inquisition.

  “Of course. Mom, Dad, this is Joe, we met—” In Saudi because of the CIA? Couldn’t say that. He was a fellow student in the PhD program? Ha! Joe’s T-shirt sported the thin blue line representing the police insignia, not to mention that the wind revealed the bulge of Joe’s concealed carry in his shoulder holster. He could never pull off Harvard grad student. How would she explain him? Security guard, that’s what Mariam had said was his cover story. Kay gestured to him. “Joe is a security—”

  Joe stuck out his hand. “Kay’s boyfriend. Nice to meet you.”