“Spit it out,” Zalinsky ordered.
“No, it’s nothing; let’s just get started. We’ve got a lot to cover.”
“David, what’s the matter?”
So David took a deep breath and confessed, “It’s my mom.”
“Nasreen?” Zalinsky asked. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“She has cancer. It’s pretty serious. She’s had it for a while.”
Zalinsky and Fischer were quiet. David never talked about his personal life. They’d had no idea. But Zalinsky’s relationship with the Shirazis went back more than thirty years.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “How long have you known?”
“Just a few weeks,” David said. “They decided to tell me when I went back there to visit. But I just got an e-mail from my dad. He says she’s taken a turn for the worse, and they don’t know how long she’ll be able to hang on.”
Eva reached for David’s hand.
“You need to get home,” Zalinsky said.
“Yeah, right.”
“No, you have to, David.”
“Jack, how can I? Look at what’s happening.”
“It’s your mother, David. You only get one. Go. It’s okay.”
90
Munich, Germany
David landed in Munich around noon on Thursday.
He was booked on a flight to Newark with a connection to Syracuse later that afternoon. But for now he sat in the Lufthansa business lounge, sending e-mails to his father and to Marseille and watching live coverage of the Twelfth Imam’s address in Mecca.
The imagery was overwhelming. Saudi police estimated more than 14 million pilgrims had descended upon a city whose normal population was fewer than 2 million. Commentators were describing the event as the largest gathering of Muslims in history, larger even than the funeral of Ayatollah Khomeini, which had drawn nearly 12 million to Tehran in June 1989. To maintain order, a quarter of a million Saudi soldiers and police officers were present, and an estimated five thousand journalists and producers were there to capture the moment and transmit it to the world.
The Saudi king arrived first, cloaked in his standard white robes but with none of the pomp and circumstance that typically accompanied the monarch. To David’s eyes, the man looked ashen. His hands trembled slightly as he read from a prepared text off a single sheet of paper.
The introduction was short and unmemorable. What would be remembered and discussed for quite some time, David was certain, was the image of the king of the House of Saud finishing his remarks, backing away from the microphone, and then bowing down to the point of lying prostrate, together with two dozen other Sunni and Shia emirs, clerics, and mullahs.
Then the Twelfth Imam emerged and took center stage. He was younger than David had expected-he looked to be around forty-and in contrast with the other men on the stage, he wore a black robe and a black turban, denoting that he was a descendant of Muhammad.
The crowd in Mecca erupted with an intensity David had never witnessed in any public event. The roar of the applause and cheering and the unabashed weeping was surprisingly intense, even coming through the TV speakers. He could only imagine what it sounded like in person.
And it went on and on. Sky News cut away after several minutes to a roundtable of three commentators in their London studio discussing the significance of the Mahdi’s reemergence. But even then it was another ten or twelve minutes until the crowd calmed enough for the Mahdi to speak, and when he did, the people seemed transfixed.
“It is time,” the Twelfth Imam said with a strong, booming voice that instantly seemed to command both reverence and respect. “The age of arrogance and corruption and greed is over. A new age of justice and peace and brotherhood has come. It is time for Islam to unite.”
Again the crowd went wild.
“No longer do Muslims have the luxury of petty infighting and division. Sunnis and Shias must come together. It is time to create one Islamic people, one Islamic nation, one Islamic government. It is time to show the world that Islam is ready to rule. We will not be confined to geographical borders, ethnic groups, and nations. Ours is a universal message that will lead the world to the unity and peace the nations have thus far found elusive.”
David pulled a pad and pen out of his briefcase and made notes. The Mahdi was calling for the re-creation of the caliphate, an Islamic empire ruled by one man, stretching from Pakistan in the east to Morocco in the west. It would never happen, but it made good theater.
“Cynics and skeptics abound,” the Mahdi said. “But to them I say, it is time. Time for you to open your eyes and open your ears and open your hearts. It is time for you to see and hear and understand the power of Islam, the glory of Islam. And today, let this process of education begin. I have come to usher in a new kingdom, and today I announce to you that the governments of Iran, Saudi Arabia, and the Gulf States are joining together as one nation. This will form the core of the caliphate. My agents are in peaceful, respectful discussions with all the other governments of the region, and in short order we will be announcing our expansion.”
David was stunned. The Saudis and the emirates both hated and feared the Iranians. But just as he wondered how they could possibly join forces, the Twelfth Imam explained.
“To those who would oppose us, I would simply say this: The caliphate will control half the world’s supply of oil and natural gas, as well as the Gulf and the shipping lanes through the Strait of Hormuz. The caliphate will have the world’s most powerful military, led by the hand of Allah. Furthermore, the caliphate will be covered by a nuclear umbrella that will protect the people from all evil. The Islamic Republic of Iran has successfully conducted a nuclear weapons test. Their weapons are now operational. They have just handed over command and control of these weapons to me. We seek only peace. We wish no harm against any nation. But make no mistake: any attack by any state on any portion of the caliphate will unleash the fury of Allah and trigger a War of Annihilation.”
91
Syracuse, New York
David needed to walk a little to clear his head.
He had spent Friday and Saturday with his parents in the hospital and had promised his father that he’d be back when visiting hours began at noon. But now, to his amazement, he was actually about to meet Marseille face-to-face. The thought both excited and terrified him at the same time.
Anxious to be on time, he got up early and drove his rental car to the hill where Syracuse University perched, finding the campus largely still asleep on this cold, quiet Sunday morning. He found a parking space on Crouse Avenue right away, got out, and began a brisk stroll through streets whose memories echoed from his past. Marseille would meet him in about forty-five minutes for an 8 a.m. breakfast at the University Sheraton, where she was staying. Then she’d be leaving to meet up with some friends from the wedding party for a 9:30 church service in the eastern suburb of Manlius. Her flight back to the West Coast left at one that afternoon. That gave them about an hour to talk.
It had been a long time since David had been on an American college campus. Marshall Street, the students’ main drag, wasn’t exactly charming, but somehow it had a worn-in feeling that seemed rather comforting to him at this moment. It was a slice of the familiar world he’d left long ago, though it wasn’t really one that belonged to him anymore.
As he stepped over a break in the sidewalk and around a pile of trash-beer bottles and fast-food wrappers apparently left over from the night before-he flashed back to scenes of the delirious chaos in Syracuse whenever S.U.’s basketball team won a key game. He remembered once or twice when the school made it to the Final Four and his brothers took him to eat pizza with them at the Varsity and buy sweatshirts at one of the many shops on M Street. He used to love hanging out there with Azad and Saeed. It made him feel older, cooler, than he was.