Circle Around the Sun

by M. D. Johnson

  “Hello there. Yes, I assumed you’d cancel out on Saturday’s tournament with this awful business going on. But there is something that’s just cropped up. Remember you asked me to keep you up to date on anything with Mason Desai? Well, the damndest thing has happened...,” and he told the other party in great detail what had transpired in Human Resources. “Yes of course, I’ll keep in touch with him. Frankly, I think he has a viable point; it’s only been two days and we really are being treated like second-class citizens. However, at least we are alive. Yes, yes of course I’ll keep in touch.” And the conversation concluded, he walked back to his office on the pediatrics floor.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIX

  Sir Anthony Wallace-Terry took his seat at the head of the large oval table in the second conference room at the British Embassy on Massachusetts Avenue in Washington. Six other people were present; Dale Taylor, Central Intelligence Agency, Jack Simmons, National Security Agency at Fort Meade, Maryland, Eldon Davidson of the Political Action and Liaison Department of The Institute for Intelligence and Special Tasks, Israel commonly known as Mossad, Dr Faris Abdul Hakeem, Saudi Arabian Advisor to the Head of State and Prime Minister, (King Fahd bin Abdul Aziz), Barbara Palmer, Ph.D. Executive Aide to the Committee and Yassir Shallal, Special Liaison to the Committee.

  “Your report, please, Tony.”

  “Certainly, sir. As of two hours ago, contact was made with Emily Byron Cowan aka Amina Desai, a former British subject with United States citizenship, whose background includes research and development within security information systems. She’s a sometime lecturer within the Criminal Justice Department at Chesapeake Community College within the field of Terrorism and Counter-Terrorism and who is also a Women’s Rights Activist. As your information packet indicates, Professor Cowan was, during the years 1972-1974, a consultant to our government and spent several weeks in a ‘training camp’ in Lebanon observing, at our instigation, known terrorists and their sympathizers. She has on several occasions worked as liaison between the German, Israeli, British and American intelligence services and has provided credible research on the militant Islamic fundamentalism, Jihadists, financial networks of terrorist groups and their supporters on both sides of the Atlantic. Professor Cowan has agreed to chair a task force which will be known as the ‘ISIS Project’. She will name to the committee seven persons with expertise in the fields of Terrorism and Counter-terrorism, Psychological Profiling, Security and Investigative Systems Design, International Law, International Financial Cybercrime, Forensic Art and 3D Facial Reconstruction, as well as an Islamicist who will advise on Militant Islamic Thought and Culture. Their area of concentration will be tracking al-Qaeda and its leader, Osama bin Laden, through his network within the United States, Great Britain, France, Germany and throughout the Middle East. Each week I will update you on their progress. There is attached to the report you have been given a cost estimate as well as the accommodation estimate for all parties. The group will work out of ‘The Farm’ on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. Please see your attachments. They will have at their disposal assigned vehicles on loan from the Department of the Treasury. As you are aware, ‘The Farm’ has recreational facilities, full room and board as well as conference rooms and offices. A staff of four administrative persons has been approved, as well as two drivers who will be on call. The task force will function at our discretion; in other words, Ladies and Gentlemen, only we can pull the plug. Are there any questions?”

  Shallal answered the few questions put to him succinctly and after the honored guests had left met privately with Sir Anthony.

  “I’m meeting with my little friend Almagid this evening and if possible young Desai. Do I have your OK to fund if necessary?”

  “Certainly. Do you think he’ll bite?” answered Wallace-Terry

  “Of course. He feels justifiably prejudiced against and he’s angry at the world. He wants to do something to show that all Arabs are not bad!”

  “He will be at risk, Tony. You know that. How will you explain this to dear Mummy?”

  “There’s no reason for me to explain anything. He’s an adult, after all.”

  “How will you implement this?”

  “Very easily, sir. Desai is a doctor. He will need little training in language. He’s fluent in Farsi, Pashto and Dari. He will want to work within the most damaged areas after we finish bombing the place into oblivion and he will be automatically recruited to assist the Mujahideen. They need all the medical help they can get. Desai’s also obsessed with finding his father; he has been for years. While he has Muslim leanings, he is not a Muslim. He may become one however, sooner than he thinks. He’s ripe, I believe for a radical change in culture and can certainly become our brightest ‘asset’ in Afghanistan or Pakistan.”

  “What’s the greatest risk here, Tony, if he agrees?”

  “That he decides to stay with his father, sir.”

  “If that happens, Christ help you.”

  “If that happens Sir Anthony, Christ won’t be able to help me. She’ll have killed me with her bare hands.”

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SEVEN

  The meeting took place at a seafood restaurant on the Magothy River. “Uncle Jimmy’s” a hangout for watermen. Known for the best Maryland blue crabs, shrimp and shellfish in the area, it also had a back room leading to a deck with a panoramic view of the Chesapeake Bay, used by local law enforcement for daily R&R for decades. Tony Shallal was no stranger to the place.

  He had met the pediatrician several times at this location. Dr. Ayman Almagid had no idea of the extent to which he was being used. Almagid was a lonely man; an expendable item with Shallal playing the “honey-trap”. It began with a chance meeting at a golf club. Almagid was gay and Tony Shallal, letting nothing go unnoticed was the first, on their third encounter to open a conversation on the subject of meeting new people if you weren’t straight, or weren’t sure. They had coffee afterwards, discovering they had much in common. At least, that was what Shallal allowed him to believe. There had been no physical contact between them, but Shallal had freely confessed that he was unsure about his sexual identification or preference. As an Arab male, Shallal professed, he was fully aware that homosexuality was a violation of Islam, but he added somewhat ruefully that if Allah was the all forgiving, he felt sure that any transgressions would be overlooked. Attempting to further his own cause, Ayman Almagid asked Shallal out on several occasions. Shallal had refused, using as his excuse that he was simply not sure of his feelings. Of course, they could always go out as friends with no strings attached, Shallal skillfully offered the bait. He’d met someone, another Arab, who was also a doctor. Shallal had seen the disappointment in Almagid’s eyes. Now he was home free! Perhaps they knew each other, he asked Alamagid. The young man in question also worked at the medical center. He offered Desai’s name at that point to spice things up. Cruelly seizing the advantage, he’d gone for the kill. Maybe Almagid could find out if he was straight, gay or swings both ways? Almagid was crestfallen, but agreed to ask around the hospital’s underground gay community. “Anything for a friend,” he’d said with remorse, now feeling ashamed that he’d been asked to more or less spy on a colleague to get a possible foothold into a new relationship. But he had, nonetheless kept Shallal regularly informed and had called earlier that day to let him know that the young man had tendered his resignation. Mason Desai, he had previously reported, was popular with the nurses and female physicians but had no known relationships. It seemed he talked frequently about his family and was on good terms with his parents and sister. He often discussed his childhood and teenage visits to Afghanistan. Evidently Desai had visited the country a lot and had family living there as well as in England and Egypt. The young physician was handsome, quiet and extremely professional. It was well known that he did more than was expected for his patients and had never, until twelve hours ago so much as raised his voice in public. Desai had, according to Almagid, struck up an acquaintance with a young woman who had bee
n on the receiving end of a racist comment that day, Safiya Muhammad, a Pakistan national who was interning at the center.

  Shallal looked deeply into the eyes of the Almagid, smiling his one-sided smile, carefully placing his hand over the top of the other man’s and patting it gently. “You have done well, my dear friend, very well indeed. Now what would you like to eat?”

  “I’ll take the shrimp, and a glass of Chardonnay.”

  “I think I’ll have a crabcake platter and a Schweppes with a slice of lemon.” Shallal kept staring at his guest. Keeping eye contact with the quarry was tantamount to success. Shallal viewed the physician with the eye of a scientist staring down a microscope at a lab specimen. Oh go on, squirm, you faggot bastard. Jesus wept! What I have to do for a decent salary! Keep it up, Tony ol’ boy. You’re almost home. Keep the penetrating stare.

  “Tony, I hate to have to ask, but what do I get out of this?”

  Now this was surprising! Shallal considered his response very carefully. “What’s in it for you? Whatever your heart desires, old chap.”

  “I mean, I’ve watched Desai for you. Let you know who he talks to and lunches with, and I don’t know why you’re interested in him. He’s a cold one, Desai. Doesn’t seem to be your type. I mean, you know, you’re academic, but you let people inside. Not like him. He’s a dead fish. You need someone warm, who’ll be there for you.”

  “Someone like you perhaps?” Shallal countered, now becoming somewhat annoyed.

  “Well, yes. Ideally, yes!” Almagid answered hopefully, continuing, “I mean, I have a great position at the hospital. I don’t know how much you make at the British Embassy, but it can’t be that much. We could travel. I have a place in New York, a condo in Manhattan and a boat on the Chesapeake not far from here. I love theater and music. We could have a fabulous time.”

  “Only if I’m a shirt-lifter, right?” Shallal replied, “Let me tell you something. I don’t find you attractive. You’re too short, too dark, and too fat.”

  “You’re such a bitch!” cried Almagid, as he tried to prevent his eyes from filling up further by blowing his nose on his napkin.

  “No sweetie, I’m a real bastard. Now wipe your nose, people are looking at you. I don’t know how you got the impression I was available, but I’m not. Oh Christ, Almagid. Do stop sniveling. Everybody’s staring at us.”

  “I’m sorry Tony, I can’t help it. I thought you understood.”

  “I do, I do understand but I’m afraid we can only be friends. At least for now. Please don’t upset yourself. I’m not worth this.” Shallal looked down at this man, nostrils flaring in disgust, noticing the tears freely falling down Almagid’s plump cheeks. Holy shit! He’s a physician for Chrissake. This is awful, he thought. However, feeling neither shame nor remorse, he continued his job. “Ayman, believe me you’re worth two of Desai, but well, if you must know, we’re watching him. He’s got some very odd friends and frankly, I shouldn’t let this out, but after what happened this week we’ve got to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Keep this under your hat or it’s my job! You understand?”

  “Are you with the CIA or something?”

  “No I really am British, the accent is not a put on. I am attached to the embassy staff and we keep an eye out for British subjects who may be connected to terrorist groups and he does have the right background. He’s just come up on a contact list and we’re checking up on him. We heard that he might be gay and that would answer a lot of questions.”

  “So all that about you’re being gay was just to get me interested so I could spy on him?”

  “Not at all, I’m really unsure about my feelings at this point in my life and I do, really do genuinely like you.”

  “And him?” queried Almagid, now hopeful again.

  “He’s a nice piece of tail with a notorious overbite!”

  “Do you fancy him?’

  “Ayman, I have to be honest here, I don’t know. I just find him intriguing, that’s all. I saw him once and thought he was undeniably beautiful! When we met and you said you worked at the Medical Center, it just made me think of him and then he came up as a “possible” and I thought I’d ask you.” Shallal looked Almagid in the eyes, looked down at the table, then looked up again and brushed away an imaginary tear.

  “Let’s eat!” Shallal raised his glass and made a toast to their longstanding friendship, silently thinking to himself. Plausible deniability. It’s an art form.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED EIGHT

  Saturday, September 15th, 2001

  “You’ve done what Mason? Have y’gone completely mad?” Harrison Cowan poured himself a Glendfiddich. The last two and a half decades had been kind to Cowan. He was tall, bearded, with an ample belly and a thick grey pony tail. His blue eyes still twinkled and his grin was still infectious. He drank his scotch slowly and looked at this young man he had raised but never adopted, out of respect for his Afghan relatives. “You know, Mason, I love you like my own son and I’ve always been proud of you lad, but I don’t understand this at all. Surely no one has been prejudiced against you at the center. I know so many people on the board over there I cannot imagine that they would allow such nonsense if they knew about it. Why don’t you give the President of the Board a call? You can do that, y’know?”

  “Dad, this is not something that I can just pick up a phone and discuss with someone. Look, I’m Afghani, at least that’s what I look like. Arabs, Afghanis, they’re all the same here. But since what happened on Tuesday, people are looking at me strangely. When I go into a store, no one wants to serve me. If I’m on an elevator that stops on a floor, people don’t want to get in if they see me there. It’s not my bloody imagination, Dad. It’s really happening!”

  “I think you’re just being oversensitive, Mason,” Harrison said in a tone he hadn’t used since Mason was a little boy, scared to go to school in case other children laughed at his accent.

  “Mason? Oversensitive, not on your bloody life,” Emily Cowan came in with five blue plastic grocery bags full of things for dinner, “C’mon you two, help me out here, will you?” The men opened the bags and began putting things into the refrigerator. “So, who’s this girl you’ve invited here for dinner. She’s Pakistani, and she’s an intern. Is she rich, beautiful and worthy of my handsome son?”

  “Oh Mother, she’s just a new friend who’s having a hard time at the hospital because of Tuesday,” Mason explained.

  “Define hard time?” asked his mother as she began to prepare coffee. “Arabic or American?” she queried, referring to their choice of coffee.

  Mason said American, and of course Harrison wanted Arabic. “Honestly you two, get in sync.” she said, beginning the ritual of making Arabic coffee. “Get the small cups will you Mason?”

  Mason recapped yesterday’s events for the second time. His mother, unlike Harrison was furious. “Harrison, ring that Beauchamps fellow immediately. He’s on the Board. Let’s see what they have to say for themselves. That nursing student should be fired, right bloody quick. After all, look at how many East Asians and Arabs they have on staff. There’s no room for rubbish like that in a hospital.”

  “Well I don’t care anymore, anyway. I quit!”

  His mother spun around holding the blue bag of Arabic coffee “You did what?”

  “I just told you. I quit yesterday!”

  “You can’t bloody quit. You’re a doctor. Doctor’s don’t quit.”

  “I’m not going back there to be insulted.”

  “You, Mason,” her Liverpool accent suddenly returning in bellows, “stop acting like a bleedin’ fairy. You’re a doctor. What about your patients?”

  They probably don’t want me near them anyway. I’m Afghani.”

  “Mason, grow the fuck up!” Emily turned to her husband, “And don’t you just stand there either, bloody well tell him what a soft ‘git’ he is.”

  “Emily!” Harrison began, “Simmer down now hinney. Mason, I told you what would happen. Do calm down E
m, the whole neighborhood will hear you!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no one here but us, the ducks and the fucking geese,” she replied, becoming angrier by the second.

  “You have resigned from your position because someone called a friend of yours a ‘fucking Arab’. Have you ever heard of making changes from the inside? Some people are ignorant. You’re supposed to set an example. Thousands of people were killed a few days ago, you can expect this sort of thing. People are angry. It’s not really aimed at you, it just seems that way. Rational behavior will return. It always does.”

  “I’m sick of it, Mother, and I’m not going back.”

  “Mason, what will you live on? You can’t live anywhere for free you know.”

  “If that means, Mother, that I can’t live here, I already know that, and I wouldn’t anyway.”

  “What is the matter with you, Mason? I didn’t say that at all. You are welcome here, but you’ll have to sleep in the family room if the proverbial shit hits the fan.”

  “Mother I have a townhouse and my rent is paid for several months. I’ve got money saved up and I don’t have to work at all. I can volunteer anywhere, I’m a physician for crying out loud. There are places that want me even if I am an Afghani.”

  “Afghani, yes. Bloody idiot, probably not?”

  “Who’s a bloody idiot? Mummy’s little hero, little Macy boy?”

  “Haley!” everyone shouted at once, dancing around and hugging her, “Thank heavens you’re alright!”

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED NINE

  The young woman in the black suit had cropped dark curly hair, similar to Halle Berry, the movie star she adored. Her skin was olive, her nose long and she bore a strong resemblance to her mother. As mother and daughter stood together, it would seem to a total stranger that they were closely related except that Emily was a blonde. Haley and her mother had that rare amber coloring seldom seen outside of the Middle East. Their physical shapes were the same, both sturdy Lancastrian women equipped with the muscular legs of soccer or hockey players. Their arms were skinny and seemingly undeveloped, hanging from squared shoulders, with long necks and neat compact shapes. Both had square shaped faces with a slight cleft of the chin and both wore identical black oblong designer frame glasses over their large myopic eyes. It was the smile that connected them to Mason. All three of them had, as Tony Shallal described it years ago, notorious overbites and full sensuous lips. When they smiled, their resemblance to each other was striking. They had inherited their looks for the most part from Emily’s parents, except for Mason’s chin and facial shape, which was his father’s and Haley’s aquiline nose which was pure Shallal. Mason unlike his mother and sister was very tall and slender. Haley and Emily would never be fat, but their skinny waif-like days were clearly over.