“A very fair question. I probably have been dishonest in the last two weeks. And if I had, and I remembered, I would hope that I would confess it, and seek forgiveness from the person I had deceived. That seems to be the right course. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Look, Padre. When I get a pang of conscience, when I need to talk to someone about it, maybe I’ll call you. Okay? Until then, I got other things to do.”
The chaplain stood up. “I understand completely. I hope that you don’t feel my visit has been intrusive. I’m concerned about you. Whenever I’ve seen you in the wardroom, you seemed to be deep in thought. If you’d like to talk about some of that with me, I’m available anytime.”
Woods’s icy exterior warmed a little. “Fair enough.”
Lionel Brown found himself in a position he never expected. Word of the meeting at the White House had leaked out before he even got back to his office. The Speaker was jealous of the bomb of publicity that had gone off all over D.C. surrounding the Admiral’s “idea.” The Director of Central Intelligence was livid, for reasons that Brown couldn’t quite fathom, but the phone calls and the general media were full of enthusiasm and encouragement. He was the man of the hour. All the television shows wanted him yesterday.
Jaime Rodriguez, the Mexican-American legislative director for Admiral Brown, was in heaven. He loved his boss, and would do anything for him, primarily because Jaime thought he had found the Holy Graiclass="underline" A politician who wasn’t owned by special interests and was willing to think outside the box. And Brown listened to Jaime when he expressed his opinions instead of flipping through his Rolodex, something the last congressman Jaime had worked for had done.
Jaime was waiting for Admiral Brown when he came back from the White House. He had already watched the report on CNN that had claimed that Congressman Admiral Brown, as they always called him, had recommended to an unprecedented gathering that the country declare war against Sheikh al-Jabal and go after him wherever he was. The option they had been looking for for thirty years had been laid in front of them by a retired Admiral.
Actually, Jaime smiled, it had been laid in front of them by a Lieutenant who might be in just the right place to make it all happen. Jaime wanted to make sure Lieutenant Sean Woods got his chance, if there was any way in the world to pull it off. “Admiral!” Jaime yelled as Brown walked into the office. “Congrats!”
“Thanks, Jaime,” Brown replied as he removed his soaked suit coat and tossed it on the small couch across from his desk. The press was waiting for him to come back into the hall as he had promised.
“Admiral,” Jaime intruded.
Brown waited for the next question.
“I’ve got some ideas on how we can, um, return the favor to our constituent.”
Brown liked it. “Always thinking, Jaime, that’s what I appreciate most about you.”
Sami didn’t like going to the Association of Arab-American Businessmen’s meetings, the AAAB. They were well attended and the people he met there were, for the most part, interesting and intelligent. What he didn’t care for about the meetings was what they did to his father. He strolled around with his chest puffed out, going on at length about the good old days in Syria and in Egypt, where he had spent time. He even managed to mention Saudi Arabia and Tunisia, emphasizing the position he’d held on the Syrian Ambassador’s staff. He was the life of the party with some of the best Arabic bona fides. But the scene never failed to make Sami uncomfortable.
Sami slipped into the front seat of his father’s Mercedes and closed the door softly.
“You’re late,” his father scolded.
“I’m busy. I shouldn’t even be going.”
“You must go. If you don’t look out for Arabic concerns for your generation, who will?”
“There seem to be plenty of people who are quite happy to do that for me,” he responded tiredly.
“Don’t you care about your heritage?”
Sami glanced over at his father as he drove into downtown Washington. “We have this same conversation every time we go to these meetings. Let’s just skip to the part where you tell me you expected better of me.”
His father switched to Arabic. “You need to treat your father with respect,” he growled.
“I do respect you. You know that.”
“Then be the good son you should be and enjoy the meeting and your heritage.”
“Yes, Father.”
“You never come to the Mosque.”
Sami bit his tongue, but it didn’t prevent him from saying, “We haven’t had this conversation in probably three weeks.”
“So what’s the answer?”
“I don’t like going.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“What do you want to talk about? Your work? What is it you’re working on anyway? Helping the U.S. help Israel?”
“What? Where did that come from?”
“Have you seen how they are causing the latest problems? I’m sure you have, with all your inside information. All your big secrets. You must see much that gives you concern about Israel, if they let you see those things, unless you’ve brainwashed yourself into ignoring the obvious.”
“What has got you so hot tonight?”
“The latest news. I can’t help wondering what is behind all the curtains.” He made a sharp right hand turn into the parking lot of the Hyatt Hotel. “You see behind them, maybe. Maybe you see who is pulling all the strings. Frankly, Sami, I agree with Sheikh al-Jabal. He, or those like him, have been around for nine hundred years. I don’t agree with the way he is doing it, and I’m not in favor of the Nazir Isma’ili sect that he comes from. I am not in favor of murder, or terror—”
“How can you agree with—”
“Let me finish!” he said, stopping the Mercedes. “I agree with their position against the Crusaders and the Jews. They don’t belong there.”
He turned off the car and got out. Activating the alarm, he looked at Sami across the roof of the shiny black sedan. “Don’t ever forget what Muhammad said: ‘Let there be only one religion in Arabia.’ And Arabia is the entire Arabic world. Don’t ever forget that, Sami.”
Sami followed his father, walking a few steps behind him, feeling like a tethered goat. When they entered the large ballroom, ornately decorated with flags and banners from Arabic countries, it was full of people, mostly men in suits. Sami’s father headed straight for a group he recognized. As the most recent past president of the Association of Arab-American Businessmen he knew nearly everyone there. Reluctantly, Sami joined the circle.
The conversation immediately turned to the Sheikh. Everyone had something to say. All, of course, had heard of the Hashasheen, and several knew the basic historical origin of the Sheikh and his followers. And they had also heard the Washington rumors, that the United States government was considering declaring war against him as an individual. There was general scorn and derision over the idea, and many commented that it was of course only an Arab who would receive such individual attention, unprecedented in history. It was just another example of the general anti-Arab sentiment of the United States.
Sami didn’t say anything. He tried to figure out how long he had to wait until he could make an exit.
One of the men addressed Sami. “So, Sami, you still work for the CIA?”