Jihad

CHAPTER 86

As Asad finished his speech, he turned and looked at each of the men in the room, holding their gaze for a few seconds before turning to the next. Two blinked and looked to the ground when he made eye contact. He decided they couldn’t be trusted and would be removed from the operation. That left him four to choose from for the assignment.

Kenan had to go. Only he or Nathan could work on the bridge, and the charismatic Nathan would be more valuable recruiting more brothers and organizing cells; the man was clearly a leader. Kenan wasn’t, but he would be working under the guidance of another brother who was already in place.

So one from the other three. The short one seemed a good match, bulky where Kenan was thin. But no, there was something weak in his face.

None of them, then. He would send Kenan, and another brother from New Mexico, his next stop.

Yes, that was the way to proceed.

“A message will be sent if you are needed,” he said. “If you are not called today, you will be called tomorrow or the next day, or the next. May Allah guide your steps.”

The men nodded. Asad turned to Kenan, whose round blue eyes locked onto his. “Let’s go.”

“Yes, sheik.”

The youth remained fixed in place, still under the spell of Asad’s speech, possibly even awed by his presence. It struck Asad that such devotion in one so young was dangerous; it meant that his judgment was impaired by emotion. Such a person’s faith, seemingly rock solid, could be shaken by events. Better that one come to believe through a long, difficult process, wrestling with his faith so that his will was tempered and strong.

Finally Kenan snapped out of it.

“This way,” he said. “Come.”

They walked back into the dank basement. To Asad, the route seemed the same, but instead of the mosque they emerged on the first floor of an apartment building. He smelled something frying as they left the building. A sharp pang of hunger followed.

“Could we get something to eat before you take me to the airport?” he asked Kenan.

“Yes. Yes. I know a very good restaurant, owned by an Egyptian. A reliable man. He is not a brother,” added Kenan quickly. “But very religious. Four or five blocks away.”

“Let’s go.”

The day had begun dark and threatening, but the sun had gradually chased all of the clouds away. They turned the corner onto a wider avenue, filled with people. The facades were noticeably brighter, the area more prosperous than the one they had just walked from.

It had always been a mystery to Asad why the Lord had allowed the infidels to become so powerful and prosperous. Asad had been fortunate in his life to meet many devoted brothers, men of devotion and good will. What plan did Allah have for them? Where was the suffering to lead?

The thought occurred to him as he saw the shiny stone facade of a Christian church across the street, its bell tower rising high above the main building. It was a sharp contrast to the dilapidated mosque where he had just been. He was not jealous, and he did not curse or berate God as a sinner might. But he wondered why the Lord allowed the nonbelievers this moment of prosperity.

Perhaps to provide the proper challenge to people like Asad himself, the chosen ones who would establish the new order. The idea was heady and full of conceit, and yet it was only logical.

Asad began to smile. As he did, pain seized his chest, powerful pain that dashed him to the pavement and pinned him against the concrete.

Kenan stared down at him. Asad struggled to get up, but all he could do was ask, “Why?”