Act of Terror

CHAPTER SIXTY

Dr. Badeeb rested his arm against the cheap laminated motel dresser. Curling fingers of blue-gray smoke wafted around his sweating face as he puffed the last inch of his cigarette. He breathed deeply, screwing up his courage to talk to this dear one who’d come at his bidding.

Tara Doyle sat on the edge of the bed, her head covered with a drape of green pashmina. She wore a simple white blouse, unbuttoned at the collar, and navy slacks. She stared at the floor as Badeeb spoke.

He couldn’t help but think that the brightness burning in her eyes might set the soiled carpeting ablaze at any moment. Perfectly suited physically, as well as emotionally, for the job with which she’d been entrusted. He could not think of a better student to come out of his school. Her birth name was Tara; it meant star in Tajik. She’d smiled when she found out she could keep it in America. It gave her something to hang on to.

“You have done well, my child,” he said, lighting another cigarette. In truth, spending even a few moments with Tara set his nerves on fire, stoking his desire for tobacco-and other things-more than ever.

Badeeb moved to sit beside her. In the past, when she was younger, she had been a more willing participant in their meetings. She’d revered him when he went to visit, climbing up in his lap, taking his presents. Even later, when she’d become a woman at thirteen and their relationship had become physical, she would lie beside him and discuss politics, scheming on ways to cut the head off the American beast that had murdered her parents. She could never know that it had been his men, Tajik and Chechen fighters, who, dressed as American soldiers, had raped her mother and slaughtered her parents like goats.

“I am ready for this to be done,” Tara said. “I’m sick of it here. It makes me tired.”

“Soon, child,” Badeeb said, turning his head to blow away a plume of smoke. “Very soon.” He put his arm over her shoulder, caressing her with the hand that held the cigarette.

She shrugged him off.

“I cannot think of such things now,” she said, still staring at the floor.

Badeeb took a deep breath, clenching his teeth. He was not used to rebuffs. He could have tried to coerce her. He’d done it several times before, but decided she would kill him if he did such a thing. She was different now, stronger. When he thought it through, that was exactly the sort of person he needed-wanted-her to be.

Still, it was such a shame.

He stood, putting some distance between them. His wife was old and smelled of raw melon and cold tea. The scent of young Tara Doyle had enraged his passions. He could not be blamed for that. It was natural.

“The time has come then,” he said.

“Good,” Tara sniffed, getting to her feet. “I’m ready for this damn thing to be over.”

“What of your brother? He will be on the island with everyone else. Does this give cause to change your mind?”

Tara dropped the silk scarf on the bed, and turned to go. “I have no brother in America,” she hissed. “I need to go. Peace be unto you, Doctor.”