“Yeah, something like that. I’m interested in your story.”
Khadi picked up a coffee stirrer that had hidden itself behind the napkin dispenser on their table. She kept her eyes on the narrow red piece of plastic as she slowly twisted and untwisted it around her left index finger.
“My parents are from Iran. My dad was a surgeon there. In the late seventies, he saw the way the winds were blowing, so he packed up my mom-who was pregnant with me-and my two brothers and moved to Arlington, Virginia. That was November 1978-two months before the shah fled.
“My dad was able to establish himself in Virginia-first in the Muslim community, then in the wider medical community. I grew up a bit of a spoiled rich kid. My dad saw what was happening, and when I was fifteen, he gave me a talking-to that changed my life. He basically said that God has given us one life to live and that he wasn’t going to see his daughter waste hers. I took that night to evaluate my life, and believe it or not, I agreed with him. So I dumped a bunch of my friends and started taking school seriously.”
Riley glanced over his shoulder and saw that the pot was full. He got up and grabbed two mugs. He filled one all the way but left plenty of room to the top in the other. “Cream and sugar?”
“You insult me.”
Riley grinned and filled the second mug the rest of the way. He placed the cup in front of Khadi and sat back down.
Khadi blew on her coffee and took a tentative sip. “Wow-I can feel the hair sprouting already.”
Riley opened his mouth to reply, then found he had absolutely nothing to say. He shook his head. This girl was definitely different from any others he had met before.
Khadi picked the coffee stirrer back up and continued her story. “Anyway, I worked hard and was accepted into West Point. I loved the whole counterintelligence field, so when I graduated, I was branched into military intelligence as a 35 Echo-that’s army counterintelligence. Stop me if I get too much into my résumé.”
“No, please go on.”
“I spent ten months in picturesque Fort Huachuca, Arizona-six months in MIOBC and another four at 35E school. From there I was recruited for detached service by Homeland Security because of my TS security clearance and placed into the new Counterterrorism Division. The rest, as they say, is history.”
“And what do you do now?”
“I’ll tell you after your security clearance comes through.”
Riley chuckled, and they both stared at their coffee mugs for a minute.
Finally Riley grinned and asked, “So, what’s with this whole ‘Khadi with a D’ thing? I saw your reaction to Scott.”
Khadi groaned. “This is not a very flattering story.”
Riley simply smiled and waited.
“Fine. Growing up, I was always Khadijah-named after the Prophet Muhammad’s first wife. She was a wealthy businesswoman who married the Prophet, even though he was fifteen years younger. Khadijah supported Muhammad financially while he spread the faith, so of course there is great respect for her in Islam. As a result, even though all my friends had nicknames-Carrie, Suze, Nance, Tam-my parents wouldn’t hear of my being called anything but my full name, which to me always sounded so… so…”
“Ethnic?”
“Yeah, maybe. Or maybe it’s just that it was so different from everyone else. Anyway, I was Khadijah my whole life until West Point. When I got there, I thought, ‘Here’s my chance!’ But rather than have some shortened form of my first name, I became…”
“Faroughi.”
“Bingo!”
“Didn’t help too much on the whole ethnic front, huh?”
“Not exactly. I was Faroughi or Farougee or Garfooey or Fargoofy or any other of a list of name botches throughout West Point and until I arrived here at CTD. Finally, I figured here was my chance, so I started introducing myself as Khadi. It was very exciting, but I quickly found that there was one drawback.”
“‘Katie.’”
“Right. And in my typical over-the-top fashion, rather than letting it go, I began correcting everyone who mispronounced my name-‘That’s Khadi, with a d.’”
“Big mistake.”
“Oh yeah. Soon I was no longer Khadi or Katie. I became ‘Khadi-with-a-D’-sometimes shortened to Khadi-wad.”
“Nothing pretty about that,” Riley said, instantly wishing he hadn’t.
“Why, thank you. But you’re right. So, about a year ago I finally clued into the fact that I would be ‘Khadi with a D’ as long as I let it bother me. So now…”
“Now you let people pronounce it however they want. Good move.”
“Yeah. And when anyone… well, maybe anyone except for Scott, who for some reason just gets on my nerves-”
“It’s a gift.” Riley grinned.
“-when anyone jumps on me about being ‘Khadi with a D,’ I try to deflect it with a joke or something. You know, ‘Call me anything you like; just don’t call me late for afternoon prayers.’”
Riley laughed. “You know, that raises another question-and again, if I’m prying too much, let me know. How did your parents feel about their daughter leaving her roots and joining up with the American government?”
The stirrer stopped its movement, and Khadi looked up at Riley. “I guess I don’t understand the question-leaving my roots how?”
There was a defensive note in Khadi’s voice that should have waved a yellow flag.
Riley, being male, ignored the warning signs and plowed ahead. “I mean, leaving your Persian heritage and your Muslim beliefs to join the American military.”
“What makes you think that I am any less Persian or any less Muslim because I work for the American government?”
“I guess I’m having a hard time seeing how a Muslim could be trusted with state security in a time like this.”
Khadi’s face darkened. “Can’t be trusted? So is it somehow antithetical in your mind that someone who worships Allah can despise the evil people who carried out the Mall of America bombing or Monday night’s attack? You might be surprised to find out that not all Muslim women were hitching up their burkas and dancing in the streets after 9/11.”
“No, you’re right. You’re right,” Riley said, holding his hands up in surrender. “That was a stupid thing to say. I just… I mean, I thought… You know, I’m going to shut up now.”
“Probably a good choice,” Khadi said into her coffee cup.
They sat there without speaking for a few more minutes. Then Riley took their mugs and rinsed them out, leaving them in the sink, and they walked silently back to the conference room to begin Educating Riley-Session Two.
Chapter 23
Thursday, January 8
Europe
Oh, the smells! Those incredible smells! The people were warm and welcoming, the flavors were rich, the music was celebratory, and the mood was festive. But those thick, dizzying smells-pomegranate soup, timman, lis-san el qua-thi, and kubba with its lamb and cumin and saffron and limes. Those smells were what carried Hakeem away-carried him back to a time when he was just a boy.
Kubba had been his mother’s specialty. He remembered working next to her, crumbling the bread, then mashing it together with the saffron rice. She would hold his hands as they rolled out little wet disks. Her arms would be on either side of him, and her body would be pressed against his. He remembered the love and security of that close contact. With no picture of her, he was having a harder time remembering her face as the years passed. But even if a thousand years went by, he could never forget her feel.
He would place a spoonful of the lamb mixture onto the bread and rice combination, and his mother would expertly roll small torpedoes to deep-fry. The rest of the day he would find himself unconsciously bringing his hands to his nose, inhaling the scent of the spices that were imbedded in his skin.