by Jenifer Ruff
“We all make sacrifices,” he said to the monkey.
An hour later, he had euthanized the animals and disposed of their carcasses.
He took one last look around the lab—the gleaming stainless-steel counters, his shelves of chemicals, his vials of viruses—his home away from home for the past year. Everything was in place. Nothing had been left behind. Who would use the lab when he was gone? Would it sit empty and unused, all the equipment going to waste, or would Al-Bahil find a new scientist?
Normally, his next step would be to enter the disinfecting stalls and douse himself with a powerful spray for oxidizing and destroying viral proteins. But there was no longer any need to follow safety protocol. Glancing over his shoulder, he entered a small office. From inside a desk drawer, he removed a padded toiletry bag containing two travel-size shampoo bottles. Into them, he poured the cloudy contents of a glass vial he’d stored in the refrigeration unit—his cure. He closed the containers, placed them in the toiletry bag and put the toiletry bag inside his larger one. He took one last look around, a deep breath, and a long slow exhale.
He noticed the time. Now he had to hurry.
Kareem locked the door to his lab, fumbling with the keys on the virus keychain Amin had given him and dropping them in haste. Shutting down the facets of his life took more time than he had left, but it was never okay to be late for a meeting with one of the leaders of the Islamic Holy War. Al-Bahil was expecting a final update.
Kareem rode a bike to the palace, the strap of his bag wrapped around his shoulder and the bag itself tucked tightly under his arms. With the acuity of someone who knew his days were numbered, he noticed every detail along his way.
The guards stopped him in front of the mansion.
“Wear this.” One of the guards kept his distance and tossed Kareem a face mask with a heavy plastic shield that would cover his eyes, nose and mouth.
Kareem didn’t see the point in explaining that his virus wasn’t contagious until symptoms appeared. He put the face shield on and the guards allowed him to pass and walk straight to the underground bunker where Al-Bahil’s guards took one look at him and stepped back, keeping their distance.
Al-Bahil’s office door was slightly ajar. Kareem overheard him speaking Arabic, not in a commanding voice, but softly, with an occasional laugh. Kareem knew instantly he was addressing his son, Mustafa. Considering the seriousness of the mission, how could the warlord feel lighthearted, even for a moment? It was the opposite for Kareem. Even though their future actions were called for and justified, knowing what was going to happen made it difficult for him to breathe, think, and swallow. Just being in his own skin had become a challenge. His appetite was gone, replaced with a burning sensation like a tiny ball of fire inside his gut. A growing fury fueled his resolve, though he hadn’t consciously decided where to aim it.
He sat down on one of the seats where he had last seen the two Americans, his recruits. They would be nearing Paris by now. He wondered how they were doing, if they were freaking out or acting stoically brave. He hoped it was the latter, and, at the same time, he hoped he too would be brave in the end. He tried to control his breathing while unconsciously picking at his lips.
The door opened all the way and Mustafa emerged, radiant and smiling like a playboy stepping off the polo fields without a care in the world. Despite Al-Bahil’s intense hatred of western civilization, his son’s clothes epitomized the western world. Kareem repressed the urge to reach out and slap him, and reminded himself the man was “different”. Too kind and pleasant to ever make it as an international terrorist.
“Kareem. Whoa. At first I didn’t recognize you with that mask,” Mustafa said. “You have different clothes and no beard.”
“Well, I want to fit in with the Americans.”
“Don’t get close to him!” Al-Bahil’s voice boomed from inside his office.
“Okay,” said Mustafa, looking unconcerned. He pointed to Kareem’s sweatshirt. “What is mit?”
“M.I.T. A college in Massachusetts. In the states. I almost went there.” How different things might have been.
“Oh. Have a good trip. You were a good friend. Send me a picture if you meet Jennifer Aniston.”
He almost told Mustafa the Friends episodes he watched were decades old, and Jennifer Aniston was old now too, but he didn’t have the energy. Instead he said, “Yeah. Thanks. Enjoy my TV. And keep up the good work on the mosque.”
Mustafa smiled, patted Kareem on the shoulder, and left.
“Kareem!” Al-Bahil called, his harsh tone was all business now. Kareem hoped he wasn’t still angry about not meeting Amin before he returned to America. He stood up and entered his office. Al-Bahil held up a hand. “Stop right there, don’t come any closer.”
Kareem stopped in the doorframe.
“Are you ready?” Al-Bahil asked.
Kareem nodded.
“And the others?”
“On their way back to Los Angeles and Boston via Paris. I have confirmation the tickets were delivered to the correct addresses. I sent them. They should have them.”
“Should. I hate hearing should! Americans are stupid and lazy, infamous for fucking up. Do you trust them?”
“They don’t have to do much to get this right. They’ll be symptomatic by November 6th.” He said a quick, silent prayer for his statement to prove true. They needed to be sick enough to infect people, but not so sick they couldn’t walk around in public. The timing was critical. The monkeys had died more quickly than expected, the ones he hadn’t attempted to cure, but they were smaller, and they had a different build-up of immunities.
“All they have to do is leave their damn houses at the right time. Walk around. Breathe on people. Cough. Shake hands.”
“Yes. The virus will spread quickly. And it will be happening just hours after the subway system attacks.”
“Ah, if they succeed.”
“Why wouldn’t the subway attacks succeed?”
Al-Bahil’s eyes traveled over his desk. “They weren’t meant to succeed. I left clues everywhere to confuse them. That’s why I told you to share the plan with some of your recruits. I wanted America’s defense scrambling all over the country. Busy like bees in every subway system. If they stop us, they’ll be busy celebrating, getting drunk, getting fatter, laying with women, thinking they’ve won and they’re so smart. If the attacks do succeed, if they’re even more stupid and lazy than I think, they might tighten up their security. The only time they take us seriously is right after we strike. But there’s nothing they can do to prevent this virus from destroying them. They can’t keep their own citizens from reentering. They have no idea what is coming.” Muhammad’s eyes sparkled with glee.
“Right,” said Kareem.
“They’re so busy fighting amongst themselves, the Americans. Democrats against the Republicans.” Al-Bahil laughed and dropped his head back. “This could be world changing. America’s apocalypse. An Islamic State without borders. Let there be no doubt, we will be responsible for the change Allah wants. He is pleased with us. Allah is pleased.”
Kareem nodded.
“And you have your ticket?”
“I sent it to my cousin’s address. Just in case the United States won’t allow me entry.”
“They will. You have an American passport. And you look just like one now.”
Kareem shrugged. “I haven’t been back in ten years.”
“Your cousin and those other two Americans, they will be rewarded.”
Kareem dropped his gaze. “My cousin doesn’t know. He’s…not a martyr.”
Al-Bahil stared for what seemed to Kareem like minutes. His eyes were small slits, his lips pressed tightly together. Kareem’s body tensed.
“That’s a shame for him,” Al-Bahil finally said.
“Yes, it is. But it had to be that way.” Kareem wanted to offer Amin the chance to be brave, the chance to be a hero, along with the benefits of paradise, but somehow, he knew his cousin wouldn
’t be a willing jihadist by November 6th. Perhaps he had always known. He deeply regretted their last interaction, his outburst of anger, the things he’d said. What a terrible lapse in judgement. He’d been stressed. Who wouldn’t be in his situation? But what if Amin talked to someone about his concerns? Although what could he say? No, Amin wouldn’t talk. He didn’t have the confidence. That was a good thing for Kareem.
“Do you have other family there? Family you might have warned?” There was no mistaking the threat in his tone.
“No.” Kareem looked out the window, steeling his features and doing his best to block out the clear image of his uncle and aunt in Michigan.
“They better not fail.” Al-Bahil said again. “You better not fail.”
“There’s no way we can.”
Al-Bahil nodded. “I have a going away present for you. She’s waiting in your apartment right now. She’s beautiful.”
“Oh.” He looked confused until the meaning registered. “Oh. Umm, thank you.”
Al-Bahil dipped his chin before shifting his attention to his computer. Kareem took it as a signal to leave. He stopped moving when Al-Bahil spoke again.
“Hey. About your parents——everyone has a role to play in Allah’s plan. Their role was to inspire you. They did that by dying at the hands of infidels. Your conviction is strong now. I can tell. You’ve changed.”
Kareem nodded and set his jaw. Al-Bahil was correct.
“Take that off.” Kareem pointed to the girl’s hijab.
With trembling hands and an expression like she was walking over shards of glass, the young woman removed her scarf.
Al-Bahil was right. The girl was beautiful. Slender, with raven black hair. She stood in the corner of his almost empty apartment looking down at her feet and shaking so hard her whole body appeared to be vibrating.
“Look at me. I want to see your whole face.”
She slowly lifted her chin. Her long brown lashes were wet with tears. It was understood Al-Bahil had presented him with a virgin.
Kareem set his jaw. She wasn’t going to make him feel like garbage. He was about to sacrifice his entire life, including all his skills and talents. She could deal with one fuck and then move on with the rest of her life, provided no one had seen her come in or out of his apartment and no one ever found out.
“Take off your clothes and go sit on my bed.”
Without saying a word, she did exactly as she was told, her tears falling faster.
“Did you bring a condom?”
She shook her head slightly. Her eyes darted right, left, and then back to her feet.
“You don’t even know what it is, do you?”
She shook her head again.
Kareem sighed.
Now this was a dilemma. If she became infected, the virus could wipe out the whole compound before they knew what hit them.
Or was it an opportunity?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Charlotte
November 3rd
Amin strode through the Charlotte airport flexing and contracting his recently developed muscles. He considered joining a gym to maintain his strength. At the same time, his heart remained heavy with thoughts of Kareem. He’d spent countless hours analyzing their last conversation and what his cousin meant about answering Allah’s ultimate call. Why did he say Amin was going to help whether he wanted to or not? Almost two days of travel now separated them, but Kareem’s ominous words still haunted him, leaving Amin paranoid and profoundly disturbed. He thought the comments must have something to do with Kareem’s impending visit, if it was still happening. He hoped not, but would that mean he and Kareem were lost to each other forever? He wasn’t sure he wanted to lose his cousin.
The alarm on his phone rang.
“Excuse me? Can you tell me which way is East?” he asked a nearby airport employee.
The uniformed man pointed without hesitation. Amin ducked into the restroom to quickly wash in preparation. Once cleansed, he rolled out his mat in an empty corner of the terminal and faced the blue-grey wall. Quietly he prayed, touching his forehead to the ground. He focused on his intentions, carefully piecing his thoughts together. Prayers of gratefulness for getting the hell out of Syria in one piece, arriving safely back home, and for fully-functioning air-conditioning. Prayers committing his service to Allah. Prayers asking for guidance. And lastly, most fervently, a prayer for his cousin who was far more messed up than he had realized. When he stood up, he discovered people staring at him. A businessman, an entire family, an elderly couple. He smiled at them, attempting to project the peace and confidence he was trying to cultivate in his heart. Peace he might have associated with his trip, had it not been for his cousin.
He walked through two terminals to concourse B, the location of a California Pizza Kitchen. Outside the window, luggage carts zipped around on the tarmac while he savored a pepperoni pizza. Strange, the things he had missed about home. He considered picking off the pepperoni, but pepperoni wasn’t really pork. It wasn’t real meat, according to Melissa who had, on occasion, advised him regarding his food choices. And besides, he had already decided he needed to be realistic. Not all the devout Muslim rules made sense in today’s society. He had to be reasonable if he was going to stick with his faith. His thoughts and intentions mattered most, not his consumption of pepperoni.
A yellow cab drove him from the airport and dropped him off at his apartment. For four years he had rented the space, but he entered as if seeing it for the first time. The inside smelled musty. Each room in the two-bedroom unit seemed excessive and large compared to Kareem’s smaller spaces. Oddly, it also made him feel trapped. He dropped his bag on the bed and removed his shoes. He opened the fridge. Moldy cheese, two brown oranges and a half-gallon of sour-smelling curdled milk. Breathing through his mouth and wishing he had thrown them out before he left, he placed them in a bag, walked outside, and tossed the bag in the dumpster. He was headed back to his apartment when Julia’s door opened.
“Amin! Where in the world have you been?” Julia smiled like a long-lost friend happy to see him.
Amin experienced a twinge of guilt. The few times he thought of Julia in Syria, he prayed she moved out during his absence so he would no longer be privy to her sexual exploits.
“I was visiting family.”
“I was worried about you. I have all your mail. Come in and I’ll get it.”
Amin hadn’t considered what would happen to his mail. He reluctantly followed her, noticing the pumpkin decorations outside her door. His eyes moved cautiously around her apartment, expecting to see something he shouldn’t see. What, he wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t help himself from looking. The color and light surprised him. Comfortable-looking furniture—a white couch, blue chairs, and polka dot pillows—filled her living room. A coffee table held books, a mug, and a vase with fresh flowers. Lamps cast a warm glow over the room and illuminated a large oil painting. The space, smelling like fresh baked bread, didn’t look anything like his own, even though the floorplans were identical.
“It smells nice in here,” he said.
“Just a candle.” Julia reached into a wicker basket and handed him a stack of envelopes and flyers. “Let me know next time you leave town and I’ll get this for you before it’s overflowing.”
“Thank you,” Amin said. “I guess I have bills to pay.”
Julia laughed. “Don’t we all, unfortunately. Well, welcome home.”
“Thanks.” He glanced down at the pile. “Thanks for taking in my mail.”
“We both missed Halloween. Some trick or treaters weren’t too cool with it. I think I cleaned a dozen eggs off our doors the morning after.”
“Oh. Thank you for doing that.”
“I almost forgot. You have an envelope from Paris in that pile. I wasn’t poking through your mail, I promise, but I happened to see it. My Dad collects stamps. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to give him those stamps, if you don’t need them. He’d appreciate it.”
/> Amin transferred the stack to one hand and sifted through the items with the other until he came across a business sized envelope marked Priority Express. The now familiar Yoga Institute logo was in the left-hand corner. Amin remembered Kareem asking for his address and mentioning a surprise gift. He presumed the gift was in the envelope—a restaurant gift certificate perhaps—but Kareem’s name was listed as the intended recipient.
“You can just stick the stamps or the whole envelope in my mailbox when you’re done with it, if it’s all right with you.”
“Sure. It’s not addressed to me. It’s for my cousin. He’s planning on visiting. I think. After he opens it, it’s yours. And thanks again.” During the short walk back to his apartment, he debated opening the envelope. But it wasn’t his to open. And maybe, more than that, he didn’t want to know what was inside. After their fight, would Kareem still come?
Chapter Twenty-Six
Los Angeles
November 3rd
Holly admired herself in the mirror, practiced a few poses, and adjusted her new scarf. Perfection. Every piece of hair on her head was cooperating beautifully. Her hip bones were almost visible under her tight skirt. That would change with a pregnancy. But that celebrity—what was her name, oh yeah, Christina O’Hare—just had her third child and snapped back to a size zero within a few weeks. And Christina O’Hare wasn’t any younger than Holly. Holly looked and felt even better than usual, and she wanted to be appreciated. Today was the ideal day to tell Quinn she wanted to have a baby. She’d given the matter a lot of thought. He was going to be thrilled. Maybe they would go straight home and start trying right away. Or to a nice hotel, which would be even more exciting. She might be pregnant before they left for Spain. She had a feeling today would be an unforgettable day.
She sent Quinn a text. Hi, babe. Call me when you have a chance. I miss you.