Fatal Convictions

**

That afternoon, Alex called Khalid and explained that it was in his best interest for his daughter not to subject herself to a round of media interviews. Nevertheless, by Sunday evening, Alex was watching the imam’s daughter do the rounds on the cable news shows. She appeared via satellite from Norfolk, which made the interviews a little cumbersome, but her sincerity and charm could not be denied.

She told how, as a young girl, she had questioned her father about many aspects of Islam, especially the subjugation of women. Her father, according to Nara, had explained that Mohammed, peace be upon him, had actually advanced the cause of women in his society. Mohammed’s first convert was a woman. He treated his wives with kindness and respect-unusual in his culture. Nara’s father had encouraged her to speak out against the abuse of women by fundamentalist Muslims and to point out that those practices were wholly inconsistent with the teachings of the Prophet.

It was incomprehensible, Nara argued, that this man had ordered an honor killing.

Nara also talked about losing her brothers-one to an Israeli rocket while he worked for a humanitarian mission, the other when he sought to retaliate. Her father’s interview on Hezbollah television after Omar’s death was not the end of the matter. When his second son, Ahmed, had died, Khalid had gone into the kind of deep mourning that could cause someone to reevaluate his deeply held convictions. He emerged with a firm belief that jihad was not the way. He became a reformer, speaking out against the radicals. That was why Old Dominion University had asked him to come teach. After a few years of teaching, her father had decided to dedicate himself full-time to the growing mosque where he now served as the lead imam.

The interviews came off far better than Alex expected. For the first time, he felt a small shift in momentum. He picked up his BlackBerry to call Shannon. He made a note to feature Nara at the trial.

Even Shannon admitted that Nara had handled herself with great poise. But Shannon also had a sense of foreboding. She had just gotten off the phone with Khalid. “Nara is flying to New York in the morning for some in-studio interviews,” Shannon said. “I strongly cautioned against it, but in Khalid’s words, his daughter is ‘somewhat strong-willed.’”

“You worry too much,” Alex said. “She’ll be fine.”***

When Hassan Ibn Talib awoke from the nightmare, his skin was clammy with sweat. The dream had never ended like this before. There were the usual scenes of fighting-Hassan riding headlong into throngs of enemy soldiers. But this time, he had killed only a few when the arrow struck him and a spear knocked him from his horse. The ground was not yet red with blood. He felt no pain, but neither did he feel the exhilaration of a raging battle. Once again, he appeared humbly before the throne of Allah.

His bad deeds, as usual, were weighing down the left-hand side of the scales. But this time, as Allah squeezed out a few drops of blood on the right side, the scales didn’t move. Allah looked angrily at Hassan, shaking his head.

“Is this it?” he bellowed. “I spared your life all those years for this?”

Allah’s rage stunned Hassan into silence. He trembled before the throne, ashamed to the core of his soul that he had not done more.

Before Allah could pronounce judgment, Hassan awoke. The nightmare vaporized, but the feeling in the pit of his stomach remained.

“Is this it?” Allah had demanded.

I must work harder, Hassan decided.

I must do more.