Mahbeer smiled. “Mexican by way of Los Angeles. Name’s Hector. You speak very good English. You got almost no accent.”
“I studied in America,” he said. “I was forced to learn English. Naseer is not so lucky.”
Naseer nodded politely as if following the conversation.
Shahid stuck out his hand. “You’re safe here.”
Naseer shook it and Abdullah did the same.
“Excellent,” Abdullah said. “Do you have tea? We are very thirsty.”
Mahbeer nodded and went to fix tea. Abdullah and Naseer sat back on the soft brown couch as Shahid explained the preparations.
Abdullah’s heart lightened, and he nodded as the plan unfolded. “You have the truck?”
“Yes,” said Shahid. “Just like you requested. I’ve got the C4, too. I’ve been covering the paperwork.”
Mahbeer returned with tea and Abdullah drank, then turned his attention back to Shahid. “Tell me, what made you chose to follow Allah? You were not born a Muslim, I take it?”
Shahid laughed. “No. I grew up in Cabrini Green, Chicago. Joined the Army after 9/11, then got sent to Iraq. Nobody cared about them people. They just wanted some payback. There were these kids. Some of our guys were mean, laughing at them.” He paused. “We were on patrol and I saw this kid. He just wanted a bottle of water. A guy chucked a bottle of water, hit him in the head, the other guys laughing like it was the funniest shit in the world. It wasn’t right. They had some stuff on the base, learn the culture kind of thing, and there was a copy of the Quran. I started reading it. Found something in it. It was like—”
“Like you were touched by Allah,” Abdullah said softly.
“Yeah, like that. I started to see how we treated the world. How we treated Muslims. Look, I’m not saying everybody in America is bad, but we kiss up to Israel. And, why are we even in Iraq? For the people? We don’t give a shit about the people.”
Abdullah nodded, then quickly translated the conversation for Naseer, and for the first time in a long time Naseer smiled. Abdullah turned to Mahbeer. “You have a similar story?”
Mahbeer nodded. “Just a dirty Mexican, that’s all I was. There was this kid from Yemen. Not a lot of kids from Yemen in South Central. He got the shit beat out of him. Me and my cousin, we started hanging out with him and I found out he was Muslim. I asked him about what being a Muslim was like. My Mom was pissed when she found out. She’s old school Catholic, man, you can’t even imagine. I found out she wanted to send me back to live with my Grandma in Mexico City. Why the hell would I want to go to Mexico? So I said fuck that shit, ran away and hung out with my cousin, Manny, playing video games until I turned eighteen. I joined the Army and got sent to Iraq. Shahid got me a copy of the Quran. Helped me understand it.”
“What about the driver?” Abdullah asked.
“That’s Greg,” Mahbeer said. “He’s a good Muslim. He’s the one who arranged to have his friend in Bagram sneak you on the plane.”
Abdullah considered that. “And you had to ship heroin?”
Shahid shrugged. “His friend in Bagram needed the money and we needed to get you on the plane.”
Abdullah smiled and patted Shahid on the hand. “It was a good thing. But, please, the heroin should not be used by Muslims.”
Shahid nodded. “We’ll make sure of it.”
Abdullah let the lie pass. It wasn’t Shahid’s fault. The heroin business funded Jihad, whether Abdullah liked it or not. “Before we continue, we should pray.”
Mahbeer and Naseer pulled the coffee table to the side of the room and Shahid placed the prayer mats on the floor. They performed wudu, the ritual cleansing, washing their faces and arms, pulling up their sleeves to wash to the elbows, then finished with their feet. When the ablution was complete, they sat on the mats facing Qibla and performed dhurh, the mid-morning prayer.
When they were done, Shahid led them to the basement. The makeshift tables were loaded with munitions and wire. “We did it just like the instructions,” Shahid said, “but I’d like you to check for yourself.”
Abdullah nodded. “Just as I described.” He followed the wires from the switch to the circuit board, through the spaghetti-like loops of wire, to the detonators. “Very good. You have the truck?”
Mahbeer had joined them. “It’s not far from here. You want to see it?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not safe now, too risky,” Mahbeer said.
“Better wait until after dark,” Shahid agreed. He stuffed the improvised trigger and detonators in a green canvas bag and led them upstairs. Mahbeer and Shahid left while Naseer kept watch through the front windows.
Abdullah took a seat on the couch and read from Mahbeer’s copy of the Quran while they waited. His mind was spinning with excitement, but he used the time to calm himself.
The soldiers returned near dark and Shahid fixed them a light supper, then Naseer and Shahid argued about whether evening prayers were necessary. Naseer was convinced that since they were traveling they were not, and Shahid was convinced they must.
The argument brought a smile to Abdullah’s face. “We may skip maghrib prayers,” Abdullah said. “I would very much like to see this truck.”
They all squeezed into the white car and Mahbeer drove them through the darkened streets of Landstuhl. Abdullah watched the German town pass by, the streets so neat and orderly, so unlike Afghanistan.
Within minutes they were on the outskirts of the city and creeping down a narrow lane. Mahbeer parked the car beside an old wooden barn.
“We rented this from a local man,” Mahbeer said. “His family doesn’t farm anymore. Nobody comes around, there’s no prying eyes.” He led them inside, where the overhead light spilled a soft glow over the ambulance.
Greg, the young man who smuggled them off the American base, was there to greet them. “Sorry I couldn’t stay earlier, I was still on duty. Anyway, here’s the ambulance, it’s all fixed up, just like you wanted.”
Abdullah nodded. The ambulance appeared original, and as he inspected it, he knew the soldiers had done an excellent job restoring it. He turned to Mahbeer and smiled. “Very good, my dear friends. Very good.”
Shahid grinned at the compliment. “We had to hollow out some stuff to get it all in. Greg will drive, and trigger it when he’s reached the front.”
Abdullah watched as Shahid took the canvas bag and dumped the wires and detonators on the workbench. Soon, Shahid and Mahbeer were working diligently, inserting detonators in each brick of C4.
Abdullah turned to Greg and gently took his hand. “This is a great thing you do for Allah. Are you prepared for this martyrdom operation?”
“Yes,” Greg replied softly. “Allahu Akbar. God is great.”
Abdullah patted Greg’s hand. “Allahu Akbar.”
When they returned to the apartment, Mahbeer showed them the bathroom. “Here are the items you asked for,” Mahbeer said, passing them a plastic bag. “The clothes are in there,” he said, pointing to others sitting on the floor, “and in there,” pointing to the two travel bags hanging from the back of the bathroom door.
Abdullah nodded and Mahbeer left. He opened the plastic container with the grooming scissors and handed them to Naseer. “First we trim our beards.”
“Must we do this?” Naseer said, opening and closing the scissors. “It is every man’s duty to grow a beard.”
Abdullah smiled and spoke slowly, as if to a child. “We are not doing it from choice, but from necessity. We must change our identity. If we shaved our beards from personal choice, it would be a minor sin, but we do what we must for Jihad.”
Naseer took the scissors and started trimming his beard, the wispy black hairs drifting lazily into the sink. Abdullah dug through the bag until he found the safety razors and shaving cream. Naseer kept trimming away until only short hairs adorned his face. He glanced at Abdullah for approval.