by Ken Hansen
“Dubai?”
“Yes. Udani—who Mayer suspects is Dracoratio—has been spotted there, so Mayer thought he might just help us find this Pardus character.”
Huxley had hung up and called Anwari. No answer. Probably still in the air. He had left a text message telling Anwari to beware of both Dracoratio and Mayer. Then he had been forced to make a choice—Washington or Dubai? Now sitting in the transport on its way to Langley AFB, Huxley covered his face with his hands. He had promised to protect Anwari but may have put him in harms way. Still, if he had tried to intervene in Dubai, he might have tipped off Pardus. No. This had been the only good option: play the thing out. Come on Anwari, just check your damn messages.
Sitting across from his two Arab colleagues, Anwari fought off the nearly irresistible instinct screaming in his ear to get up and run the hell away from the obvious danger radiating from these two men. Dracoratio had always scared him. Pardus’s right hand man kept his secrets close and publicly acted the part of an elite Emirati—Esnanimen Kharun Udani—but beneath the veneer he normally hid an efficient ruthlessness only visible to his terrorist colleagues. He had never shown any hesitation or regret during the capture of the chemist’s family. In fact, he seemed to rather enjoy the work.
Yes, Dracoratio could be deadly here. He could be deadly anywhere. Huxley had warned him as much in the same text in which he had warned him about Half-Moon Mole showing his ugly face here in Dubai. But he had not seen Half-Moon Mole at all, and the danger from Dracoratio was nothing compared with the potential danger coming from the man he had just met, Baqir Najwa, the fat-faced Arab sitting across from him. Was this man Pardus? Despite a few attempts, Anwari could not push the conversation into English, since they all spoke fluent Arabic. But Anwari had only heard Pardus speak English, albeit with an Arabic accent, and then only on the phone. Sure, Najwa shared the same deep, intelligent, soothing tone, but was it the same voice? And what if he were Pardus? Anwari was simply carrying out the man’s orders, so he had nothing to fear, right? But then why would Pardus be meeting him at the airport? No, if Najwa and Pardus are the same man, I shall not survive this day.
Maybe I should leave. Make an excuse and go to my hotel room. He knew that would be useless in the end. Pardus would find a way to get to him in Dubai, and Anwari would never even see it coming. This may be a trap, but it’s also an opportunity. If he could figure out if Najwa was truly Pardus, it might prevent a nuclear nightmare.
“Tell me, Baqir, how do you know Esnanimen?” Anwari said in Arabic.
“We have known each other since we started in the Emir’s security detail together so many years ago.”
“Are you two still in that detail?”
Dracoratio put his hand on top of Anwari’s forearm. “Not a matter we discuss. Tell me, Abdul, are you heading to America at Pardus’s request?”
Anwari bit his lip. “Pardus?” he asked, with a look of ignorance indicating that Dracoratio should not be using that name. He tried to see how Najwa reacted, but his eyes revealed no sense of surprise.
“Najwa is one of us,” Dracoratio said. “You need not be so circumspect.”
Anwari looked at Najwa. An opening. “You are? How do you know Pardus, Baqir?”
“The same as you—from afar. Are you off to America?”
“Yes.”
“For what purpose?” asked Najwa.
“That is between Pardus and me. Sorry.”
“Of course. You have come from Afghanistan?”
Anwari nodded. “Kabul.”
“Oh, I had been under the impression you may have been further south awhile.” Najwa smiled.
Anwari leaned forward. “Why would you think that, Baqir?”
“It is nothing. Pardus just mentioned you had gone south for a few days. Perhaps he was speaking metaphorically?”
Anwari stared straight back into Najwa’s eyes. Why would Pardus think that? Why would he tell Najwa? Anwari’s breathing cadence had increased dramatically as his heart began pumping faster and harder. He tried a laugh but wasn’t sure he pulled it off as authentic. “I dropped my phone in the toilet. He was probably just venting.”
“Ah, perhaps you are right,” said Najwa. “Are you warm, Abdul?”
“Warm?” Anwari asked.
“Yes, you appear to be sweating heavily on your brow. On second thought, I am sure it must be this food. Very delicious but very spicy, no?” Najwa picked up his napkin and dabbed the corners of his mouth and then continued, “Thank you for a delightful dinner, my friends, but the sun is about to set and Maghrib calls. Will you join me in the Airport prayer room, Abdul?”
Forcing a smile, Anwari rubbed his beard. Could he discover anything more? Was it the jaws of the trap snapping shut? If no other Muslims were in that room, walking in would be like walking alone down a dark alley in a downtrodden section of the city after showing a tavern full of vermin the wad of cash you were carrying. No cameras, no security personnel—just an empty, soundproof room where shouts and screams could reverberate but not easily escape. “I think I will just go to my hotel room and pray Maghrib there, but thank you for the offer.”
“Oh, but prayers are always so much more fulfilling in congregation, do you not agree? Dracoratio?”
Dracoratio said, “Yes, we shall both join you, Baqir. Abdul, you will be in transit for the next day. You should take advantage of your last opportunity to pray communally. You are Sunni?”
Anwari nodded. They seemed sincere. The prayer room would likely be filled at this time of day. He could not afford to let them become suspicious. He forced a big smile. “You two are very persuasive. Yes, I will pray with you.”
Najwa led them to the second prayer room for men. That was a problem. With two prayer rooms, either one was more likely to be poorly attended. On the way, Dracoratio stopped quickly for a drink from a water fountain and then paused shortly afterwards, studying the framed glass-covered painting above the fountain. Dracoratio turned back to join them with a slightly pinched expression on his face, his eyes narrowing quickly and his lips tightening. A moment later he smiled. As they approached the room, Dracoratio pulled out his cell and looked at it. He waved at Najwa and Anwari. “Go on in. I will join you in a few minutes. Pardus wants to speak with me.” He touched the screen and said, “Yes? Of course.” Then he strolled away, and Najwa opened the door for Anwari.
When the lights turned on automatically, Anwari winced. They would be the room’s only inhabitants. Too late to turn back. Anwari kept Najwa to his front during the entire cleansing ritual and again as they assumed their prayer positions on the floor, but the door to the airport and Dracoratio loomed behind him, for even the depth of his fear could not change the location of Mecca. In the middle of their prayer, he heard the door open. Peering secretly under his arm, Anwari saw only a pair of legs clothed—not with Arab robes but with a pair of tan slacks. Anwari put his lips together, exhaled quickly, and relaxed his muscles back to his praying posture. When he heard a deep melodic voice calling his name and Najwa’s, they turned in unison and grimaced. The man smiled at them both and said, “Well, hello again, gentlemen.”
It was not Dracoratio. Anwari remembered the man’s deep voice and immediately recognized his face with the half-moon mole. He wanted to jump at the spook who still haunted his memories, but froze at the gun pointing at his chest. He heard Najwa laugh nervously. Every muscle in Anwari tensed, every artery pulsed with his hot blood as the twin bullies of anger and fear overcame him. “You,” was all he could say.
“Indeed. It is time to bring this to an end.” Mayer looked at Najwa and smiled.
The conversation and charade that followed proved highly unusual and terribly short—far too short; nonetheless, it would bring Anwari great enlightenment. Unfortunately, this enlightenment would also prove short lived, as would Anwari himself. Anwari gave the best performance of his life, and so managed to tell a lie about Huxley as his last act on Earth. He doubted it would send him to hell. Neverthe
less, just before he died from a bullet to the temple, he spoke only one word: “Astaghfirullah,” which means, “Allah forgive me.”
Chapter 87
Isa sat with the Ten, Maryam, Jochi, Peregrine and Tomadus in a hillside garden outside of Jerusalem. The morning sun danced off the dew dripping from the leaves of the palms as the crested larks chirped their morning songs. The fresh scent of flowering mandrakes and irises filled the air. Isa seemed to prefer this spot for early morning prayers, which he typically followed up with a time for group reflection with his closest followers. This morning everyone seemed focused on the previous day’s speech in Muhammad Square.
Simeon said, “You were magnificent.” Many of the Ten echoed this view. “Obviously,” he continued, “our enemies placed some hecklers in the crowd, but you handled them beautifully.”
“Our enemies?” responded Isa. “Is that still how you think?”
“Whatever you want to call them,” Simeon shrugged. “The people who don’t believe.”
“The Father loves all people, regardless of their beliefs. They can still find their way. Have you learned nothing?”
Simeon nodded humbly. “Yes, of course. I am sorry.”
“Teacher,” Anders said, breaking the awkward silence. “I was confused by the story of the religious leader and the king. I understand how people might suffer if we do not truly follow God, but what if we could garner the support of the Three Emperors—what if they sanctioned what you said? Think of your ability to get others to believe!”
Isa sighed. “I see you have entirely missed the point, Anders. The righteous often assume they and their leaders will always remain so. This is impossible because men are flawed. Power tends to corrupt the powerful, and even if there is no corruption, the people will suspect it in every room where earthly power holds sway. So what happens when the Way becomes tied too closely with the political power of the state? Will people trust the Way more? Or will some worry that the Way is becoming corrupted by this power? Those who have much faith and hope may begin to doubt the intentions of their own religious leaders and the purity of their beliefs. And thus, by seeking to use this political power to prop up our church, we succeed only in sinking it down into the muck.”
“But surely you would not let that happen!” replied Anders.
Isa looked around at each of his followers. “I must leave you soon, and you all must carry on. Heed what I say and avoid these traps, for I assure you our Father in Heaven does not wish to so tempt the souls of those who may lead after me.”
The Ten all looked queerly at Isa.
Isa turned to Tomadus and said, “What say you, Tomadus? I sense your views of my speech may differ from the others.”
Tomadus frowned. He had hoped to speak with Isa privately. “I fear for you, Isa. The speech was not broadcast in its entirety in the Three Empires and Roma. Despite the First Consul’s efforts, the visi-scan network ran it with a small delay, cutting the parts they did not like. I worry you may have angered the Three Emperors, for why else would they censor the broadcast?”
“What was cut?” asked Simeon.
“I was told several parts, some large, some small. Most of the discussion about the links between God and the state. Do you think the emperors would allow that colloquy when they claim to rule by the hand of Allah?”
“Was any of the message distorted by the cuts?” Simeon asked.
“I don’t know. I have not seen a replay. I have only heard from a tech friend.”
Isa blinked slowly. “I thought your First Consul had arranged for the entire speech to be broadcast live. What do you think went wrong?”
“He tried and was given assurances. I guess even he has limited power in such matters. I assured him you would avoid criticisms of the emperors, as you and I had discussed. That might have caused the problem.”
“I did not criticize them at all. I merely pointed to the disease in the underlying structure.”
Tomadus shook his head. “That is a little bit like telling a man you didn’t push over his chair when you merely cut off one of its legs.”
Isa laughed. “Very good, Tomadus. The image is quite…amusing. But allow me to ask you a question, if I could.”
“Of course.”
“If that part of the speech reached no one of consequence in the Three Empires, then why would the Three Emperors be angered?”
“It reached all of the people in the square in a different manner than on the visi-scan. Word may spread among your followers that the Emperors are not to be trusted.”
“Won’t the broadcasters simply blame any differences on technical problems? Nobody will discuss it openly anyway.”
“Perhaps. But I fear the Emperors’ motives. I wonder if we did anything to convince them or the religious leaders of your bona fides. It is imperative.”
Isa nodded. “So you have told me. In any case, if they worry about the possible impact of this speech, do you think it might have such an impact? Do you believe we accomplished some good?”
“Yes, I suppose, but at great risk to you and the others here.”
“Then tell me, what is it you wish to accomplish—to preserve our lives in relative comfort and safety or to follow my lead and God’s will?”
Tomadus frowned as he took in Isa’s words. Does he truly believe his lead and God’s will are one in the same? He forced a weak smile. “I wish only to help you, Isa.”
Isa stared at Tomadus for a few seconds and then opened his arms to all of them. “There was once a group of people living on a large island in the middle of a vast ocean before there were aeronaves or any long sea voyages. Nobody ever visited or left the island, and nearly everyone who lived there thought they were alone in the world.
“The people on this island divided themselves into groups that engaged in interminable fights over the island’s limited resources, which constrained their resources even further. And so the people generally struggled for survival, living just well enough to keep them alive, and often not even that.
“Finally, a leader emerged who told his people about a great vision he had seen of a wonderful land across the sea, where all people lived in peace and plenty. Anyone from any group that helped him build a grand boat according to his own design could accompany him on his trip to this great land.
“Many ridiculed him, saying, ‘Show us the vision so that we may understand the way to this wonderful land. Otherwise, you are threatening the death of us all on the treacherous sea with your pure fantasy.’ And a few from the other side of the island thought him dangerous, believing that the boat would end up being a warship that would attack them on their shores. But a few from each group believed him and began the arduous process of building a larger boat than had ever been attempted before.
“Now, one of the most brilliant men from the islands began to study what this new leader was doing. He did not believe there was any other land across the sea, let alone a beautiful land full of peace and plenty, since he had neither seen nor heard any hard evidence of such a land. Though he had heard stories of other lands many years earlier, he thought those stories were simply myths told to comfort the weak and feeble minded.
“Nevertheless, something drew this brilliant man to the new leader. He saw that the new leader’s project was bringing people together from many of the groups on the island, and it seemed to him that this project might be the way to help everyone on the island live better, happier and more peaceful lives. So he joined the new leader and began to help him construct the boat.
“The brilliant man was a very talented organizer and manager and seemed to understand the principles of building boats like none of the new leader’s other followers. He relished how many of the people of the island were beginning to cooperate and learn to live together through the building of this boat. When the boat neared completion, he worried incessantly, thinking that the community accomplishments would evaporate when the new leader departed on the boat. Worse yet, he feared that the leader and
all of his followers would ultimately perish on the seas. He truly loved the leader and could not bear to see this happen.
“So the brilliant man approached the new leader with a plan, hoping to stall for time. ‘You must convince everyone that we need to build more boats, and then the entire island will come together in peaceful cooperation.’ But the new leader simply smiled and told the man that there was plenty of room on his boat for all who wished to go. Building more boats would simply delay their departure to the paradise that awaited them across the sea.
“Now this man became disconsolate. He felt sure that after the leader left, the island would descend into chaos. After brooding about this and the coming loss of his good friend, a new plot entered into the brilliant man’s mind: ‘If I destroy the boat by convincing one of the other leaders to attack it,’ he thought, ‘we will need to build at least one more boat.’ After some garnering support among his old friends from the other side of the island, his plot was hatched and ready to come to fruition. The boat would be attacked and destroyed in the morning, well before his new friends were scheduled to board the boat for the rich land.
“But in the middle of the night, the leader awakened the brilliant man, saying: ‘We are leaving on the boat tonight with the tide. Gather your things and join us.’
“‘But you are not supposed to leave until tomorrow night,’ responded the brilliant man.
“‘Why, so your old friends can destroy our boat?’
“‘How did you know?’
“‘That matters not,’ responded the leader, ‘but your heart was in the right place, and I forgive you your misguided actions. You are a good man and have helped begin to realize my vision for all of us. You are my friend, but where I am going you may not follow unless you, too, can believe in my vision. So tell me, will you come with me?’”
After pausing for a few seconds, Isa looked directly at Tomadus. “And what do you think this brilliant man did?”