CHAPTER 33

Asad Khalil saw a sign that said WELCOME TO SOUTH CAROLINA-THE PALMETTO STATE.

He didn't understand what that last line meant, but he understood the next sign that said DRIVE CAREFULLY-STATE LAWS STRICTLY ENFORCED.

He looked at his dashboard and saw that it was 4:10 P.M. The temperature remained at 2 5 degrees Celsius.

Forty minutes later, he saw the exits for Florence and for I-20 to Columbia and Atlanta. He had memorized parts of a road map of the South, so that he could give false but plausible destinations for anyone who asked. Now that he was passing the Interstate highway for Columbia and Atlanta, his next false destination would be Charleston or Savannah.

In any case, he had a good road map in the glove box, and he had the Satellite Navigator, if he needed to refresh his memory.

Khalil noticed that the traffic was heavier around this city of Florence, and he welcomed the other vehicles after so many miles of feeling exposed.

Strangely, he'd seen no police vehicles except the one that appeared at the worst possible moment when the four whores had come up beside him.

He knew, however, that there were unmarked police cars on the road, though he never noticed such a vehicle with police in it.

His driving had become more assured since leaving New Jersey, and he was able to mimic the driving habits of those around him. There were an amazing number of old people driving, he'd noticed-something one rarely saw in Europe or Libya. The elderly drove very badly.

There were also many young people with cars-again, something he rarely saw in Europe or Libya. The young, too, drove badly, but in a different way than the elderly.

Also, many women drove in America. There were women drivers in Europe, but not as many as here. Incredibly, he'd seen women driving men here, a thing he rarely saw in Europe, and never saw in Libya where almost no women drove at all. The women drivers, he decided, were competent but sometimes erratic, and often aggressive-like the whores who had been driving in North Carolina.

Asad Khalil believed that American men had lost control of their women. He recalled the words of the Koran, "Men have authority over women because Allah has made the one superior to the other, and because men spend their wealth to maintain women. Good women are obedient. They guard their unseen parts because Allah has guarded them. As for those women from whom you fear disobedience, admonish them and send them to beds apart, and beat them. Then, if they obey you, do nothing further against them."

Khalil couldn't comprehend how Western women had gained so much power and influence, reversing the natural order of God and nature, but he suspected that it had to do with democracy, where each vote was counted equally.

For some reason, his mind returned to the aircraft, to the time when it had been moved to the security area. He thought again of the man and the woman he had seen, both wearing badges, both giving orders as though they were equal. His mind could not grasp the idea of two people of the opposite sex working in concert, speaking to one another, touching, perhaps even sharing meals. And more amazing was the fact that the female was a police officer and was undoubtedly armed. He wondered how the parents of these women had allowed their daughters to be so brazen and masculine.

He recalled his first trip to Europe- Paris -and thought back at how shocked and offended he had been at the looseness and boldness of the women. Over the years, he had become almost accustomed to European women, but every time he went back to Europe-and now in America -he was newly offended and incredulous.

Western women walked alone, spoke to strange men, worked in shops and offices, exposed their flesh, and even argued with men. Khalil recalled the scripture stories of Sodom and Gomorrah, and of Babylon, before the coming of Islam. He knew that these cities had fallen because of the iniquities and sexual looseness of the women. Surely all of Europe and America would someday suffer the same fate. How could their civilization survive if the women behaved like whores, or like slaves who had overturned their masters?

Whatever God these people believed in, or did not believe in, had abandoned them, and would one day destroy them. But for now, for some reason he could not fathom, these immoral nations were powerful. Therefore, it fell to him, Asad Khalil, and others like him to deliver the punishment of his God, until their own God, the one God of Abraham and Isaac, delivered salvation or death.

Khalil continued on, ignoring the feeling of thirst that was growing in him.

He turned on the radio and scanned the frequencies. Some frequencies had a strange music, which a man on the radio called country-western. Some frequencies had music such as he'd heard on the radio north of Washington. A large number of frequencies were broadcasting what Khalil identified as Christian services or religious music. One man was reading from the Christian testament and the Hebrew testament. The man's accent and tonation was so odd that Khalil would not have understood a word he was saying if not for the fact that he recognized many of the passages. He listened for a while, but the man would often stop reading the scripture, then begin talking about the scripture, and Khalil could understand only half of what he was saying. This was interesting, but confusing. He changed the frequencies until he found a news station.

The newsman spoke understandable English, and Khalil listened to twenty minutes of the man speaking about rapes, robberies, and murders, then about politics, then about the news of the world.

Finally, the man said, "The National Transportation Safety Board and the FAA have issued a joint statement regarding the tragic incident at John F. Kennedy Airport in New York. According to the statement, there were no survivors of the tragedy. Federal officials say that the pilots may have been able to land the aircraft before they succumbed to toxic fumes, or they may have programmed the aircraft's flight computer to make an unassisted landing when they realized they were being overcome by fumes. FAA officials are not saying if there are any recorded radio transmissions from the pilots, but one unidentified official is calling the pilots heros for getting the aircraft on the ground without endangering the safety of anyone at or near the airport. The FAA and the Safety Board are calling the tragedy an accident, but the investigation of the cause is continuing. Again, it is now official-there were no survivors on Trans-Continental Flight One-Seven-Five from Paris, and the death toll is estimated at three hundred and fourteen, crew and passengers. More on this story as it develops."

Khalil turned off the radio. Certainly, by this time, he thought, the technologically advanced Americans knew all there was to know about what happened on board Flight 175. He wondered why they were delaying telling the full truth, and he suspected that it was because of national pride as well as the natural tendency of intelligence agencies to hide their own mistakes.

In any case, if the radio news was not reporting a terrorist attack, then his photograph was not yet being broadcast on the television.

Khalil wished there had been a faster way to get to Washington, and to Florida. But this was the safest way.

In Tripoli, they had discussed alternative means of travel. But to go to Washington by air would have meant going to the other New York airport called La Guardia, and the police there would have been alerted by the time he got there. The same was true if Libyan Intelligence had chosen the high-speed train. It would have been necessary to go into the heart of the city to the place called Pennsylvania Station, and the police there would have been alerted by the time he got there. And in any case, the train schedule was not convenient.

Regarding his trip from Washington to Florida, air travel was possible, but it would have to be a private aircraft. Boris had considered this, but decided that it was dangerous. He had explained, "They are very attentive to security in Washington, and the citizens there consume too much news. If your photograph is broadcast on television or placed in the newspapers, you could be recognized by an alert citizen or even the private pilot. We will save the private flight for later, Asad. So, you must drive. It is the safest way, the best way to get you accustomed to the country, and it will give you time to assess the situation. Speed is good-but you don't want to fly into a trap. Trust my judgment on this. I lived among these people for five years. Their attention span is short. They confuse reality with drama. If you are recognized from a television photograph, they'll confuse you with a TV star, or perhaps Omar Sharif and ask for your autograph."

Everyone laughed when Boris had finished. Clearly, Boris had a degree of contempt for the American people, but Boris made certain that Asad Khalil understood that he had a high regard for the American Intelligence services, and even the local police, in some cases.

In any event, Boris, Malik, and the others had planned his itinerary with a mixture of speed and deliberation, boldness and caution, shrewdness and simplicity. Boris had warned him, however, "There are no alternative plans along the way, except at Kennedy Airport, where more than one driver has been assigned in the event that one meets with misfortune. The unlucky one will drive you to your rental car." Boris thought this was amusing, though no one else did. In fact, Boris had ignored the unsmiling faces around him at the last meeting and said, "Considering what will happen to your first two traveling companions, Haddad and the taxi driver, please don't ask me to take a trip with you."

Again, no one smiled. But Boris didn't seem to care and laughed. Boris would not be laughing much longer, however. Boris would soon be dead.

Khalil crossed a long bridge on a large lake called Lake Marion. Khalil knew that only about fifty miles to the south lived William Satherwaite, former United States Air Force lieutenant, and murderer. Asad Khalil had an appointment with this man on the following day, but for now, William Satherwaite was unaware of how close death was.

Khalil continued on and at 7:05 P.M., he saw a sign that said WELCOME TO GEORGIA-THE PEACH STATE.

Khalil knew what peaches were, but why a state would want to identify with this fruit was a mystery.

He regarded his fuel gauge and saw that it was below a quarter full. He debated with himself about stopping now, or waiting until it got darker.

As he thought about this, he realized he was approaching Savannah, and the traffic got heavier, which meant the gasoline stations would have many customers, so he waited.

As the sun sank lower in the western sky, Asad Khalil recited a verse from the Koran, "Believers, do not make friends with any men other than your own people. They will corrupt you. They desire nothing but your ruin. Their hatred is clear from what they say, but more violent is the hatred in their hearts."

Truly, Khalil thought, this was the inspired word of God as revealed to the Prophet Muhammad.

At seven-thirty he realized he was very low on fuel, but there seemed to be few exits on this section of the highway.

Finally, an exit sign appeared, and he turned onto the ramp. He was surprised to see that there was only one gasoline station, and it was closed. He proceeded west on a narrow road until he came to a small town named Cox, the same name as the pilot who died in the Gulf War. Khalil took this as an omen, though he didn't know if the omen was good or bad.

The small town seemed almost deserted, but he saw a lighted gasoline station at the edge of the town and drove into it.

He put his glasses on and exited the Mercury. It was warm and humid, he noticed, and a great many insects flew around the lights above the pumps.

He decided to use his credit card in the pump, but saw that there was no place for a card. In fact, it appeared that he was not supposed to pump his own fuel. These pumps looked older and more primitive than the ones he was used to. He hesitated a moment, then noticed a tall, thin man wearing blue jeans and a tan shirt coming out of the office of the small building. The man said, "Help you, bub?"

"I need to refuel my automobile." Asad Khalil recalled his advice to himself and smiled.

The tall man looked at him, then at the Mercury and the license plate, then back at his customer. The man said, "You need what?"

"Gasoline."

"Yeah? Any kind in particular?"

"Yes, high test, please."

The man took the nozzle from one of the pumps and pulled the hose to the Mercury. He began refueling, and Khalil realized they would be standing together a long time.

The man said, "Where you headin'?"

"I am going to the resort on Jekyll Island."

"You don't say."

"Excuse me?"

"Y'all dressed pretty fancy for Jekyll Island."

"Yes. I had a business meeting in Atlanta."

"What kinda business you in?"

"I am a banker."

"Yeah? You dress like a banker."

Yes.

"Where you from?"

" New York."

The man laughed. "Yeah? You don't look like a damn Yankee."

Khalil was having trouble following some of this. He said, "I am not a baseball player."

The man laughed again. "That's a good one. If you had a pinstripe suit on, I'd think you was a Yankee ball-playin' banker."

Khalil smiled.

The man asked, "Where you from before New York?"

" Sardinia."

"Where the hell is that?"

"It is an island in the Mediterranean."

"If you say so. You come on I-Ninety-five?"

"Yes."

"That Phillips station closed?"

"Yes."

"Thought so. That fool ain't gonna make a buck if he closes so early. Much traffic on Ninety-five?"

"Not very much."

The man finished pumping and said, "You musta been near dry."

"Yes."

"Check the oil?"

"No, thank you."

"Cash or credit? I prefer cash."

"Yes, cash." Khalil took out his wallet.

The man squinted at the pump under the dim overhead light and said, "Twenty-nine eighty-five'll do it."

Khalil gave him two twenties.

The man said, "Got to get change. Right back. Don't go nowhere."

He turned and walked away. Khalil saw a holster and pistol attached to the rear of the man's belt. Khalil followed him.

Inside the small office, Khalil asked, "Do you have food or beverage here?"

The man opened the cash register and said, "Got that Coke machine out there and got them vending machines in here. You need some change?"

"Yes."

The man gave him his change and included several dollars' worth of quarters. Khalil put the change in the side pocket of his suit coat. The man asked, "You know how to get to Jekyll Island?"

"I have directions and a map."

"Yeah? Where you stayin' there?"

"Holiday Inn."

"Didn't think there was a Holiday Inn there."

Neither man spoke. Khalil turned and went to the vending machine. He put his hand in his pocket, removed two quarters, and put them in the slot. He pulled a knob and a small bag of salted peanuts dropped into the tray. Khalil reached again into his pocket.

There was a strip of mirror on the machine at eye level, and Khalil saw the man reaching behind his back with his right hand.

Asad Khalil pulled his Clock out of his pocket, spun around, and fired a single bullet between the man's eyes, shattering the plate glass behind him.

The tall man's knees folded, and he fell face down.

Khalil quickly removed the man's wallet and saw pinned inside a badge that read cox PD-DEPUTY. He cursed his bad luck, then removed the cash from the man's wallet, then the cash from the register, a total of only about a hundred dollars.

Khalil removed the spent.40 caliber shell casing. They had told him in Libya that this was an unusual caliber bullet, used mostly by Federal agents, and therefore he should take care not to leave something so interesting behind.

Khalil noticed a half-open door that led to a small toilet. He grabbed the man's left ankle and pulled him into the toilet. Before he left, he urinated and left the dirty toilet unflushed, then shut the door and said, "Have a nice day."

There was a newspaper on the desk, and Khalil threw it on the floor over the small pool of blood.

He found a set of switches and shut them all off, putting the entire station in darkness.

He left the office, closed the door, and went to the Coke machine. He put three quarters in and selected a Fanta orange, then walked quickly back to the Mercury.

Khalil got inside, started the engine, and made a U-turn back onto the small road that led to the Interstate.

Within fifteen minutes, he was back on 1-95, going south. He accelerated to 75 miles an hour, keeping up with the light traffic around him. He ate the peanuts and drank the Fanta. Within an hour, he saw a large sign that said

WELCOME TO FLORIDA -THE SUNSHINE STATE.

He kept on 1-95, and near Jacksonville, the traffic got heavier. He exited at the sign for Jacksonville International Airport and followed the signs toward the airport. He looked at his Satellite Navigator and assured himself he was on the correct route.

He glanced at his dashboard clock. It was nearly 10:00 P.M.

He allowed himself a minute to reflect on the incident at the gasoline station in the village called Cox. The man was a policeman, but he worked at the gasoline station. This could have meant that he was an undercover policeman. But Khalil seemed to recall something he'd been told or had read about American policemen in small towns-some of them were volunteers and were called deputies. Yes, it was coming back to him now. These men liked to carry guns, and they worked for no pay, and were more inquisitive than even the regular police. In fact, that man was too inquisitive, and his life had been hanging by a thread as he pumped the gasoline and asked too many questions. What had stretched the thread was the gun on his belt. What had broken the thread was the last question about the Holiday Inn. Whether the man had reached for the gun or not, he had already asked one question too many, and Asad Khalil had run out of correct answers.

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