Grains of Truth (23 page)

This unthinkable situation had become a source of increasing, unbearable conflict for him. He was a man of peace. Peace on Earth was the ideal for the world of Islam. War was abhorred. The Koran made this clear.

But it made equally clear that there were times when there was no alternative but to fight. According to Islamic Law, armed struggle could be initiated to defend one’s community or nation from aggressors; to liberate people from living under oppressive regimes; or to remove any government that would not allow the free practice of Islam within its borders.   

The Jihadists contended the Israelis were guilty of all three. The Western governments who provided support for Israel shared equally in the blame—America at the top of the list. Although Mohamed disapproved of the violence being enacted around the world in the name of Islam, he—along with an overwhelming majority of his Arab brothers—agreed with the judgment against the state of Israel.

Hamas proclaimed “they felt God’s hand guided them” in the violent and bloody response, paraphrasing the Koran—exhorting Allah to deliver the faithful from the Infidels. 

Until now, as far as Mohamed was concerned, disapproval had been the extent of his commitment. Now, his haram relationship with Julia forced him to the junction of having to act. One way or the other. By helping her in this deplorable assignment—into which he’d been indifferently thrust, without even the courtesy of enlightenment—he would be working against his Islamic brothers. Even by doing nothing, thereby allowing her government to circumvent the attack, his failure to act would result in the probable death of a number of Muslims. 

Jerusalem remained the crux of the decades-old conflict. The Palestinians were adamant that East Jerusalem be the capital for their long-promised independent state. Israel continued to make it abundantly clear they would never give it up. The idea of hundreds of thousands of innocent people dying there—Muslims as well as Christians and Jews—was sickening and, of course, unacceptable.

That atrocity must be stopped at all costs.

Conversely, he could alert the Brothers to the discovery of their plot, thereby saving their lives. But by doing this he would certainly be further endangering Julia. 

Julia. His angel.

She, more than once, had discussed with him the concept of making the ancient city of Jerusalem—that figured so importantly in three religions—an independent state, like the Vatican, and have it ruled by the United Nations. Her sincere and passionate desire for a peaceful resolution to the conflict made her, in his eyes, a remarkable woman. The woman he loved more than he’d ever loved anyone or anything. The woman he desperately wanted for his wife. She’d believed in him, helped him through a difficult time in his life, giving unselfishly her counsel, comfort, and love.

And money. Don’t, he thought with renewed guilt and shame, forget the money.

Was this his punishment for a haram love? Was it a test of his faith?

Chapter 27

Alexander looked up to see Mohamed come through the arched doorway leading from the hotel. He saw them still seated at the table on the far side of the pool, and approached in his usual lithe, fluid gait. Alexander’s eyes narrowed against the morning sun.

Julia had told him the entire story. Without going into intimate details, she’d revealed the closeness she’d shared with the enigmatic Egyptian, as well as the unscrupulous advantage taken by the intelligence boys in using the ill-fated relationship to leverage her cooperation.

The sons-of-bitches, he thought angrily. It was one thing to manipulate government employees or members of the military, who all-knowingly and willingly volunteered for hazardous duty. Blackmailing innocent civilians into taking part in chancy operations for which they had no background or training was untenable. Especially a woman like Julia Grant. 

Over the past few days, he’d seen her handing out pens and baksheesh to grubby children at every opportunity. Seen how she smiled compassionately as she put bills in the weathered hands of the poverty stricken, toothless old women—some probably no older than she—but aged beyond their years by hardship and deprivation.

On the edge of the granite quarry yesterday, one of the men from the boat had teased a starving dog, making it jump high into the air for crumbs of stale bread. Julia had gently pushed him aside and knelt down in the dirt to give the scrawny beast slices of cheese dug from her bag. One could always judge people by their treatment of animals, thought Alex.

He knew he’d allowed his feelings for her to grow beyond a prudent regard. The story she’d shared only amplified a growing respect for her as a compassionate and caring human being. A large part of her feelings for Mohamed, he told himself, was clearly compassion—and her apparent need to help those less fortunate. Relentless logic instantly ridiculed this judgment for seeing what he wanted to see.

Regardless of what drove her to commit countless acts of kindness, he must—at all costs—protect her and extricate her safely from all this. Anger again flared as he thought of the cold, calculating men who’d put her here. The sons-of-bitches. 

“So,” inquired Mohamed without enthusiasm, “what’s the plan?” He slumped into a chair across from Julia, his dark eyes watching her shut down the laptop.

She shot a look at Alex, with a clear, unspoken message: Didn’t I tell you?

For she’d known Mohamed wouldn’t miss the significance of the open computer. Alex had wanted to keep his new role in the affair a secret, but she insisted that Mohamed be told of all that transpired in his absence. Mohamed had been used and manipulated, she protested vehemently. It wasn’t fair and she would no longer be a part of any deception. She trusted him and whether they liked it or not, they were all in this together. “‘All for one and one for all,’” she declared with finality.

Julia pushed the laptop to Alex. “He knows everything. It’s his problem now.”

Alex nodded reluctantly and turned to Mohamed. “I realize you’ve been an unknowing and unwilling accomplice in all this, Mohamed. I’ll do everything within my power to see that you don’t suffer for it.” 

If Mohamed felt surprise, he failed to show it. “So. What next?”

Both men looked to Julia’s gaunt, pensive face. She, in turn, looked out at the river. In the distance she could see a colony of milky-white egrets congregating on one of the many islands in the middle of the swiftly flowing water. The confusion and uncertainty of the past few days weighed heavy on her heart. Inhaling deeply of the fresh morning air, she said, “All right, Mohamed, this is where we are.” 

He received the news more calmly than she’d expected. This, for some reason, bothered her. Not that his seeming passivity was totally out of character. He often took time to reflect on things before responding.

Nonetheless, his compliance made her faintly uneasy.

After ordering a breakfast of which very little was consumed, they agreed to return separately to the boat. Alexander watched the striking pair cross the terrace, heads on a level plane, her burnished hair shining in the full light of day.

~

Jalal waited nervously in the back of the cramped coffee shop. He picked a stray thread from his slacks and re-crossed his legs for the umpteenth time. The call came at the last minute, with instructions to meet here. He went back over in his mind, again, their last conversation. Ahmed and his companion, the remarkably repulsive and equally deadly Faoud, had observed and overheard yesterday’s meeting with Bryant. Ahmed had not been convinced of the innocence of the woman and her guide, the man Zahar.

He made his contempt for the pair clear as he instructed Jalal to keep them under close surveillance. The leader was correct. Their early morning visit to the hotel was decidedly suspicious.

Not only the lovebirds, but also the fact that Bryant had covertly followed them.

Tight security surrounded the hotel. The Brother assigned to follow failed to get onto the grounds, and their regular contact there was not on duty. As a result, they were not yet able to learn what transpired inside. He did not look forward to bringing Ahmed this news.

When he spotted the striking figure in the doorway, he half rose from his seat then sank back down on the rickety chair. Ahmed, dignified in a plain gray robe with a snowy white turban, looking for all-the-world a prophet, greeted the proprietor in flowery Arabic before joining his Brother. He spoke in English as it was less likely, should they be overheard, that their words would be understood. After a cursory greeting, he came straight to the point.

“What have the Infidels been up to since yesterday?”

Jalal glanced at the outwardly serene face and proceeded with caution. “It may be as you suspected.” He related the morning’s unusual activities. 

Ahmed did not interrupt. He sat motionless, with eyes half-closed looking out the dirty window at people in the street passing by. When Jalal finished, he mused aloud, “The ‘Commander’ followed them without their knowledge. Perhaps, after your questions yesterday, he attempts to learn if the woman is a spy.”

Jalal held his tongue, having learned it best to wait until asked to comment. Ahmed’s reputation for a violent temper was well-known, and, though seldom aroused, the frightening consequences, legendary. The shrewd, aristocratic features remained unreadable for a few moments of reflection before finally softening into a benevolent smile.

“We shall proceed as planned. Contact Bryant and set up the meeting for tonight at ten o’clock.”

This was the safest time—early enough for people to still be at dinner and not so late as to draw suspicion from the police. “And,” he added in a deceptively pleasant tone, “I want Zahar.”

~

Alexander hadn’t been entirely candid with Julia—or with Brad Caldwell. He felt distinctly uncomfortable with the way the situation had deteriorated into a tangled web of pretense and half-truths. But there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it until James gave him the go-ahead.

He pushed himself from the chair by the pool, now fully exposed to the relentless sun, and headed for the reception desk to confirm his reservation. After yesterday’s meeting he’d stopped by to book a room. As foretold, there was no problem. The deluxe suite, in fact, came at a most reasonable rate. It would be ready and waiting for him anytime after noon. Alexander couldn’t decide whether all three of them staying in the same hotel would prove fortuitous, or disastrous. 

Reservation confirmed, he headed for the privacy of the phone booth—the same one he’d used to place the call to James in the wee morning hours. Although he lacked Julia’s feminine charm, his generous use of cash resulted in the same end. He knew setting up the call on a secure line would take a while—secure at the other end, in any case. This wasn’t the kind of news one could just blurt out.

~

Julia and Mohamed walked in silence along the corniche, oblivious to the activity around them. Neither could think of anything else to say. As they approached the gangway, he stopped.

“Go ahead and prepare for moving to the hotel. I will come for you when it is time.”

“Where are you going?”

“I need to think. I am going for a narghileh,” he answered, defiance ringing in the last few words. A while ago he’d succumbed to what he referred to as Julia’s “constant nagging” and quit smoking. It was a source of irritation to her that he didn’t consider the water pipe as smoking. This did not seem a good time to debate that issue.

“When will you be back?”

“Soon. Plan to leave for the hotel at noon.” Without further comment, he started up the aged stone steps. 

She stood still to watch him reach the top and, as he’d done once before, long ago, turn to look down at her for a poignant moment before disappearing into the crowd. She couldn’t tell whether the vague prickle of foreboding came from a sense of déjà vu or from her on-edge nerves over the increasingly volatile situation.

Mohamed made a brief stop at a corner shop then continued on to a café a few blocks down the street. He pulled out a chair at a sidewalk table and waved to the waiter to bring him a pipe.

Honestly, things were spiraling out of control. He would have to call Shahida to let her know there would be a delay in his returning home. That was the least of his worries. He had no doubt whatsoever that if the Brothers suspected him of involvement in activities to thwart their plans, his life would be worth less than a scraggly dog on the street. 

To add insult to injury, he had a growing uncomfortable feeling that Julia was becoming emotionally attached to the American. It left him with a bitter taste of the anguish she must have felt from the beginning of their relationship—due to his marriage to another woman. He hated this feeling of jealousy and had no legitimate grounds for it. As she’d said many times: The decision was his. That hardly made things easier. He brooded to the sound of the gurgling water as he pulled smoke into his lungs.

“Marhabba kaif halak,” murmured the man who took a chair at the next table. Egyptian but, like Mohamed, wearing Western dress, he signaled the waiter for a pipe. “My wife is always after me about smoking the narghileh,” said his neighbor sociably.

“A man must take care of his needs,” replied Mohamed philosophically.

Once he had unwrapped the new, clean mouthpiece and the coals glowed, the man said, “You are Mohamed Zahar, are you not?” Without waiting for a reply he went on. “We met once at the home of your sister, before her marriage. Her husband, Hedayet, is a good friend. I am Hassan.”