Jihad

CHAPTER 64

Asad slept well for two hours, then rose, his headache gone and the dizziness completely relieved. Whatever the doctor had done, Allah had surely been with him.

He seemed a thoughtful man, confident of his skills, not easily shaken. This had set the bodyguards on edge — they were used to cowing people, and anyone who did not show abject fear threatened them.

Asad felt just the opposite. He did not want to put himself in the hands of someone with no faith in his abilities. The doctor’s insights on human nature and the way of God were small but profound. Under other circumstances, Asad might have arranged for the man to be recruited. But there was much to do this morning.

“Are you ready to leave?” he asked Katib after his morning prayers and tea.

“I am.”

Something was wrong with Katib, Asad sensed; the bodyguard was still brooding over the incident at the hospital the other day. Coming on top of the car accident, it had made him doubt his abilities.

“You should not do anything foolish,” he told his bodyguard when they were on their way to the airport. “You are needed for the long battle.”

Katib said nothing.

Asad stared out the window, thinking of what to tell his follower. So often in the past, words had flowed into his mouth, but today he still had not found any when they arrived at the airport for his flight.

“I will make amends,” said Katib, holding the door as he got out of the car. “My mistake will be erased.”

“Mistakes are to be expected.”

Katib stared at him. Asad considered whether he should order him not to do anything. But he sensed that Katib would not listen to him if he did.

Perhaps this is what I owe the man for his loyalty, Asad thought — approval.

Perhaps it was for the best. He was not taking any bodyguards with him to America, not even Katib. He’d learned that it was far safer to travel alone there, as foreigners in groups tended to attract attention. And action here might add to the crescendo effect of the attacks. Strike here, strike there, continue even as security was increased — the enemy would soon grow disheartened.

But he hated to lose Katib. He had known him since the Syrian since was thirteen, nearly a decade. Though young, he had a sharp mind.

“You have everything arranged?” Asad asked.

“I have friends. It will be done at noon. Taksim will be full then.”

His bodyguard’s solemn expression tugged at Asad’s heart.

“Go with God,” he told him. “We will meet in paradise.”

Inside, a woman took Asad’s bag and set it on the belt to go through the X-ray machine. She was a typical decadent Turk, he could tell, seduced by the West. He moved to the metal detector.

As he stepped through it, a buzzer sounded and the two guards crowded next to him.

“Here,” said one of the men harshly. “Spread out your arms.”

Asad felt a moment of fear. Stifling it, he raised his hands. The other guard began patting his clothes.

“Your watch,” said the first guard.

Asad started to take it off, thinking the guard was asking for a bribe. Then he realized that it was meant as an explanation — the steel band must have set off the alarm.

“Did you want to examine it?” he asked.

“When you go through the next checkpoint, place it in one of these,” said the guard, holding up a shallow tub. “Or you will set it off again.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” he said, passing through the gate.