Only Wrong Once: A Suspense Thriller

by Jenifer Ruff

  Amin waited for a better explanation, but got none.

  “Have a drink with me.” Kareem removed a dark unlabeled bottle and two glasses from a cabinet. He poured out generous equal measures of the amber liquid, picked up one glass, and gestured toward the other.

  It was the first time that alcohol had been mentioned since they’d been together. “I didn’t think you drank,” Amin said.

  “I don’t usually. Tonight is special. And Muslims can drink. Muhammad drank.”

  “Our parents never drank.”

  “We’re not our parents. It’s your last night here. Come on. Punishment is only eighty lashes, but no one is going to know.”

  Amin couldn’t tell if he was joking. Kareem pushed the drink closer and his mischievous grin appeared. The same grin from their youth. The one leading to purple foam exploding from his science experiment volcano and covering the kitchen walls and curtains. The one that made Amin want to punch him at the end of the Space Mountain roller coaster ride.

  “No, thanks. I don’t want to be hungover.”

  “Who said anything about getting drunk or having a hangover? Here. Drink this.” He lifted the glass and extended his arm so Amin could take it. “Half of it. Don’t be rude.”

  Amin forced a laugh. With his heart beating faster, he turned his back on Kareem and filled a glass of water from the faucet. Facing the wall, he attempted to get a grip on his emotions. Kareem was acting insistent about the drink. Too insistent. Amin had a bad feeling there was something besides alcohol inside the bottle. It could be anything, after all, his cousin was a scientist. Or maybe he wanted him drunk. Amin turned around and attempted to keep his voice light. “I’m tired. I think I’m going to turn in early.” He left the room. Behind him, he heard a low noise like a growl.

  Amin woke abruptly to a sudden and sharp burning sensation in his shoulder. His eyes flew open. “What the—?” His eyes registered nothing in the darkness. His hand pressed instinctively against his shoulder. The pain left as quickly as it arrived. He pushed himself into an upright position. Kareem’s figure came into focus, hovering above his mattress.

  “Sorry.” Kareem’s hands were clasped behind his back.

  “What the hell happened? It felt like something bit me.” Amin spit out the first logical explanation his mind chose.

  “Yeah. You got bit. I was going after it. Guess I wasn’t fast enough.”

  “What was it?”

  “A spider. A huge one. Be glad you didn’t see it.”

  “Shit.” Amin massaged his arm, trying to get a grip on his fear and confusion. It had to be the middle of the night. “Do I need to go to see a doctor?” He knew a spider didn’t bite him. A scorpion, maybe, but even that explanation seemed far-fetched. Kareem had wanted him to get a vaccination. It was no coincidence that his “bite” felt identical to the shot he received in the lobby at Continental Bank. He slid back on his bed, away from Kareem, uncomfortable with the way his cousin peered down at him. The strong scent of alcohol wafted off his breath.

  “Why are you awake?” said Amin.

  “I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t try hard enough to convince you of anything important. I didn’t have time. I thought it would happen on its own. Maybe I suck at this. But I don’t suck at science, that’s a real promise.”

  Amin wasn’t sure if Kareem laughed. He squinted to get a better view of his cousin’s features. He was definitely drunk and it looked like he might be crying. Amin’s situation reminded him of a horror film where everyone watching knows what is happening except the victim. The darkness and uncertainty were freaking him out. “What are you talking about, Kareem? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Just tired.” He backed out of the room. “I have to go back to my lab and work on something.” A tear dropped from the corner of his eye.

  “Now? Isn’t it the middle of the night?”

  Amin’s question was met with silence and now he was certain his cousin had been crying. Weird. He closed his eyes, but his unease prevented him from falling asleep again. He was glad he only had one more night in Syria. He’d had enough of his cousin’s strange behavior. Not strange. No. Strange didn’t begin to describe it. Creepy was more accurate. Creepy and disturbing. Maybe Kareem needed more time to process his parents’ death. Maybe. In any case, it was past time for Amin to go home and find a new job. He shivered under his sheet and blanket, though it wasn’t cold, waiting for the sun to rise.

  Still awake when morning light filled the sky, he heard boots trudging past outside the apartment. The footsteps stopped. He heard a man speaking in Arabic, and then his cousin’s voice, unmistakable because of his U.S. upbringing. Amin struggled to hear the bits of the hushed conversation reaching him from below his open window.

  He thought he understood the word sick, but his Arabic was weak so he didn’t spend much time wondering what Kareem meant in case he had said something entirely different. Taking shallow breaths, he got down on his hands and knees and crawled closer to the window. He pressed his ear against the wall, below the sill where he wouldn’t be seen. Using all the concentration he could muster, he strained to hear more. The only other words he understood came from Kareem. “Peace be upon him.”

  Amin heard his cousin enter the apartment, heard him turning on the kitchen faucet, and clinking a mug down on the counter. He waited, counting down the seconds until enough time had passed before getting up and heading straight into the bathroom. He passed his cousin, who knelt in silence on his prayer mat. It was still early for morning prayers.

  Heavy eyes with dark circles reflected at Amin from the bathroom mirror. Not enough sleep and too much worrying. His arm felt sore, the same way it felt after he and Melissa got the flu vaccine. With one hand pressing into each side of the sink, he stared, digging deep inside himself for strength. Something wasn’t right, but he didn’t want to confront Kareem. A coward, that’s what he was. Or maybe he didn’t want to know what was going on. What he wanted was out. Soon he would be home. Soon. And it couldn’t be soon enough.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Syria

  October 31st

  Amin opened the door to the hallway with caution, unsure of what he would find. Kareem sat at the kitchen table. His mouth a determined straight line.

  “Were you in your lab all night?” Amin asked. He dug his hands into his pockets and tried to sound more lighthearted than he felt.

  Kareem looked up at him, stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept much either. “Yeah. Just got back. Oh, you shaved for your trip home.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey. There’s someone I want you to meet today.”

  “Who?”

  “Mustafa’s father. Don’t look so nervous. I’m sure Mustafa has told him everything he knows about you. Seeing you’re his new best friend.”

  Amin glanced toward the clock. “I have a long trip ahead of me. Do I have time?”

  “Bring your suitcase. You’ll leave from there.” He lifted a box of cereal from the counter. “Breakfast?”

  “No. Not hungry this morning.”

  They left the apartment to find Mustafa, so Amin could say goodbye. After, Kareem led the way through the compound in solemn silence. Amin’s shirt grew damp with perspiration. He felt sorry for anyone who might sit next to him on the long trip home.

  “We’re almost there,” Kareem said. “It’s the furthest point from the front gate. We call it the palace.”

  At the back of the compound, a large and almost palatial building loomed. The size was similar to an average, new one-family home in Charlotte, but here, relative to the other structures, it looked significant and obscene. A familiar black Mercedes sat parked near an arched stone entrance with guards positioned on each side.

  “See, the driver is already waiting to take you back.”

  Kareem nodded at the guards and they stepped aside. The cousins entered an ornately decorated foyer. Fancy columns divided the space, but the marble floor was c
overed with the type of cushioned metal chairs found in a cheap hotel’s banquet room. Kareem led the way down a flight of stairs until they were underground and standing in front of another guarded door flanked by Al-Bahil’s ever present personal bodyguards. In the hallway sat two young men. Americans. Their clothes and shoes were a give-away. Both had scruff on their faces, not beards. One, a large Caucasian, wore a T-shirt and athletic shorts. The other man, smaller statured, appeared neat and of Middle-Eastern descent. His eyeglass frames were the same as Amin’s.

  “Kareem, hey,” said the larger one. He raised his hand to his forehead in a half salute.

  “Hey,” Kareem said, looking uncomfortable. He put himself between Amin and the Americans, blocking their views of each other.

  Amin scrunched up his face, willing Kareem to either introduce him to the Americans or provide an explanation for why he wasn’t.

  “He should be available in a minute.” Kareem glanced around like he was looking for somewhere else to go.

  “Mustafa’s father?” asked Amin.

  The Caucasian man turned and his eyes lit up when Amin spoke. “You’re American! I’m Spitz. From Boston.” He looked to Kareem. “Is he…doing the same thing as we are?”

  From the way Kareem’s expression changed— like he might be in desperate need of a toilet—Amin knew Kareem had heard Spitz’s question, but he didn’t respond.

  “Um, I’m here to meet someone,” Amin answered, filling in the awkward silence his cousin had created.

  “Me too. I’m waiting to meet Muhammad Al-Bahil. I’m waiting for my turn to serve. Him and me both are.” Spitz gestured toward the smaller man and nodded as if he had said something profound. He rubbed his left shoulder with his right hand. “We were supposed to come later, but he wanted to see us now.”

  Amin waited for further explanation but got none. Spitz’s words reminded Amin of bravado masking fear. He was either low on the IQ scale, slightly brainwashed, or both.

  “Allah Akbah,” Spitz said, bowing his head.

  Amin stepped back and nodded politely. He turned to his cousin. “You knew there were two other Americans here?”

  Kareem nodded.

  “Where have they been?”

  “Look, we should go,” Kareem whispered.

  “What are they doing here?” Amin asked again.

  “This is taking longer than I expected and you should get going,” Kareem grasped Amin’s shoulder and turned him around, pushing him back out the door.

  “You don’t want me to meet Mustafa’s father?” Amin said outside once they were alone.

  “No, I changed my mind.”

  “It seemed important to you a few minutes ago? What’s going on?”

  “Let’s go. The driver is waiting.”

  Amin stopped. “I’m totally confused. What just happened in there? Who were those Americans?”

  Kareem narrowed his eyes. “Look, all this time I’ve been trying to help you change your life so you had a purpose. I mean, seriously what else do you have to live for? Some girl who doesn’t even know you exist because she’s engaged to someone else?”

  Amin kept his chin raised. He was tired of being put down. He found strength knowing he wouldn’t have to put up with it much longer. “I did find some purpose here. One that isn’t driven by spreadsheets and numbers. I haven’t missed any daily prayers. I helped repair a mosque every day with my bare hands. I’m on my way to fulfilling the five pillars of Islam. I was going to ask you to come with me to….” He sighed and lowered his voice, but his anger rang through. “You don’t think this has been life changing for me? You don’t think I’ve grown stronger in my faith?”

  Kareem squeezed his eyes closed for a second. “You’re my family. I was trying to look out for your eternal future, not provide you with a few weeks of entertainment. It takes more than what you’ve done to secure your place in the kingdom of heaven. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to do more?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re freaking me out. Do I want to become a jihadist? Is that what you’re asking? I mean, seriously, is that what we’re really talking about here? Huh? Because the answer is no. I don’t want any part of it for me or for you.” Amin’s voice became a rushed whisper. He glanced around to make sure no one could hear them.

  “You would turn your back on Allah and what he asks of us? What kind of Muslim are you? One who says his prayers and helps build buildings, but doesn’t take the true risks required?” Kareem face grew red with anger as his voice rose.

  “Our religion asks us to be peaceful and to help those in need. That’s what it asks of us.”

  Kareem shook his head and spit onto the ground next to his feet. “No. Allah doesn’t expect us to stand by and watch what’s happening in the world, just let the West take over and kill people like my parents. America is a massive evil empire. Their power is unlimited and they’re trying to crush Islam. You aren’t really an American. That’s not who you are. We need to rise against them, whatever it takes. And you’re in a position to help. Allah put you specifically in a position to help.”

  “I am an American. I’m a Muslim and an American, and I’m not helping you rise up against anyone.” Amin’s heart beat madly against his chest.

  Kareem stared his cousin down. “I am going to answer his ultimate call.” He pointed a finger at Amin’s chest. “And you, you—Amin, are going to help, whether you choose to or not.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Fear gripped Amin’s insides along with the urge to wrap his hands around Kareem’s neck and squeeze the life out of him, which scared him even more.

  Kareem’s laughter ceased, the skin between his eyes pinched together. “It’s too late. It doesn’t matter anymore. You can continue to be ignorant.” He moved closer, towering over Amin, and for a second, Amin thought his cousin might strike him. Instead, Kareem laughed, but there was nothing humorous about the sound. “Some of us are loyal followers. And then there’s those of us who are too afraid.” He spun around and stomped away without turning back.

  “Kareem!” Amin shouted at his cousin’s retreating figure. “Fine, be that way. Fuck you!” Amin kicked at the ground with his boot. He lifted his suitcase as if it carried three times its weight. He wanted out of Syria. Kareem was right. He was afraid. And it wasn’t Syria, or the threat of an attack making him uneasy and fearful. It was Kareem.

  He walked over to the waiting Mercedes and its driver and left without saying goodbye to his cousin. His head swarmed with questions, concerns, and fear. He wished he were back home already.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Syria

  November 1st

  A drop of sweat slid down Kareem’s neck and under his shirt collar. He hadn’t bothered with the heavy plastic protective suit he usually wore. He kept the lab temperature set at sixty-two degrees, so his perspiration could only be blamed on an abundance of nervous energy. He had to kill the monkeys today. They appeared to be okay, but he couldn’t let them go, in case their symptoms returned. And there would be no one to take care of them anyway. The female with the blue band stared mournfully into his eyes, chirping, reaching her hand through the cage for a cracker. He’d been extra generous with her food because of the scientific breakthrough she represented.

  He’d always disliked watching the monkeys suffer, and more so with this current group. They had survived against all odds, the result of his brilliant work. While manipulating the virus, he had purposefully ignored the daily prayer intentions blasting from the mosque loudspeaker— “May Allah make the infidels suffer.” He had used the most aggressive viral strains, aiming for swift deaths. One to two days of symptoms, at most. And it had worked. In the end, it wouldn’t be monkeys suffering.

  The last piece of his project, the only part not commissioned by Muhammad Al-Bahil, was now complete—an antidote, essentially, a cure. It wasn’t merely a vaccination, a weak version of the disease that stimulated an immune system to produc
e disease-specific antibodies. And it wasn’t an anti-viral that inhibited the development of the virus, like the drugs used to help with HIV, hepatitis B and C, and influenza. It was better. Kareem had developed a true viricide, a chemical agent designed to destroy its target virus.

  He’d worked almost around the clock to finish the cure, but still didn’t have time to test it, not properly in the lab. Still, his cure was undeniably ground breaking. In any other context, Kareem would be heralded a scientific genius, possibly even win a Nobel Prize. But no one else knew about it, and Kareem had to make sure no one ever did. Unless? No, he wouldn’t even consider not following through. His path was inevitable. He had developed the cure for no other reason than intellectual accomplishment. That’s what he’d told himself just about every day for the past few weeks.

  When Kareem was a teenager in the States, a bumper sticker on the back of an old Honda caught his attention and its powerful message stuck with him. The sticker said, if you’re living like there’s no God, you better be right. It wasn’t about Allah—the car’s owner was a Jesus freak, with a fish decal and a WWJD sticker on the opposite side of the bumper—but it could have been. Now, he could twist the bumper sticker’s advice around to make sense of everything. He was doing the ultimate to fulfill Allah’s plan. Al-Bahil had convinced him of that. If Allah was real, and Kareem didn’t follow through with his chosen destiny, he would have an eternity in hell to pay for it. And if Allah wasn’t real, none of it mattered. Everyone died eventually. Same as the monkeys. Ashes to ashes. A more profound rendition of the sentiment existed, he’d heard it in mosque or from his parents, but he didn’t remember it exactly.

  The female with the blue band shook the sides of her cage and held her hand out again. He handed her another cracker and smiled at his own accomplishment. Her recent blood tests had revealed irreparable organ damage, but she was up and about. Alive. If he had more time, he would infect another batch and then give them the antidote the moment they became symptomatic. If only he could. If only Allah didn’t have a bigger plan for him. He choked back a wave of self-pity.