Jihad

CHAPTER 131

Dr. Saed Ramil took a train from Baltimore to New York City’s Penn Station, then made his way to Grand Central, where he caught a commuter train north to a burp of a city named Beacon. There a limo met him and took him across the river to Newburgh, where he’d been booked into a small hotel not far from the airport. The driver gave him a brief history lesson on the area along the way, telling him how Newburgh had once been voted the best city to raise kids in the U.S. and was now among the worst.

“Because nobody believes in nothin’ no more,” railed the driver. “They got their rap, their MTV, video games. Don’t go to church. No morals. No beliefs.”

Ramil didn’t know what to say, but the man didn’t really want answers; he wanted to rant. Ramil gave him a tip, even though the Art Room had said he’d already been tipped, then ensconced himself in his room at the Holiday Inn.

This was an easy gig, merely standing by in case something happened. Inevitably, nothing did. Ramil could stay in his hotel room the entire time if he wanted. Or he could go and explore the local area, as long as he kept the Art Room aware of where he was.

The last time he heard the voice, it had told him he would have another chance. Was this what it had meant?

No. The voice was simply a result of stress and fear — a perfectly logical explanation.

Unless it had predicted the future.

Lying awake well past midnight, he thought of the limo driver’s rant. The problem with the world wasn’t that no one believed in anything anymore, but that they believed in the wrong things. And the line between wrong and right was more difficult to discern than one could ever imagine.