“Mom, it’s Amanda. I’m sorry I left without telling you….”
“Mom, I’m scared. I’m in Dubai and….”
“Mom, don’t be mad at me. I want to come home but….”
“Mom, please help me….”
“Mom, I don’t know what to do. There’s this creepy guy….”
With each call Mel became more hysterical. She could neither eat nor sleep; she was certain that Don had arranged this hideous hoax because he hated her, and he wanted to keep her from Amanda. She was convinced that he was holding Amanda hostage and that Amanda was trying to escape. Detective Breaux investigated the calls each time they came in, but there was always a logical explanation for every call.
A week after the last call came in Don persuaded a judge to have Mel committed to a mental institution. “I really don’t want to do this,” Don had told the judge, “but if I don’t, she’s going to end up killing herself.”
Chapter 18
Walid was stationed outside Fred’s hotel, just as he had been every morning for the past several weeks. As Fred stepped through the door into the stifling heat he caught sight of Walid loitering near the entrance, and Fred smiled. He had grown very fond of the boy and had been entertaining the possibility of sponsoring him to go to the United States and attend school there. Walid had no future if he stayed in Dubai. His grandfather did not appear to have any love for or interest in him. Fred thought that if he paid the old man enough, he would be willing to let him go.
Fred had not said anything to Walid about his plan, but this morning he felt that the time was right to broach the subject. After they had walked a few blocks Fred asked, “Do you think you might like to come to America to go to school?”
Walid stopped short. Fred could not tell whether the boy was pleased or offended. For the first time that morning Fred looked at Walid’s eyes. The pupils were slightly dilated. Suddenly, Fred thought that the boy was ill. He looked—odd. “You don’t have to,” Fred quickly added. “I just thought that you might like to go to school in New York where I live. My son is grown. He moved to Chicago, so his room is empty. My wife and I miss having a boy in the house. We would be very happy for you to stay with us, but if you don’t want to it’s okay. Just think about it; you don’t have to decide right now.”
Without a word Walid began running through the crowd, putting as much distance as possible between Fred and him. As he maneuvered through the sea of people he seemed unsteady on his feet. Then just as suddenly as he had begun running he stopped. The explosion threw produce from the vegetable stands high into the air. People were screaming and running; a shower of blood and glass and debris covered everything in the immediate vicinity.
Fred watched in horror and then began running toward the boy. Even in all the turmoil, he could clearly see the suicide vest strapped to Walid’s lifeless body.
Fred knew that he should not wait for the police to arrive. He turned down an alley, hailed a cab and went directly to Hadad’s office. Hadad was sitting at his desk drinking coffee when Fred arrived.
“Find out what happened,” Fred ordered.
“Of course, of course, but these things must be done delicately.”
Fred could hardly believe his ears. That line was straight out of an old movie. Surely, Hadad did not believe that he was as gullible as that.
Hadad had extended his hand palm up as if he expected something.
“Yes?” Fred inquired.
“My informants must be paid.”
“So far, you’ve gotten twenty-five hundred dollars from me, and I’ve gotten zip from you!” Fred exclaimed. “You can put your hand back in your pocket, because unless you come up with something I can use in the next few hours I’m going to find a new informant!”
At 3:00 P.M. Fred’s PCD rang. It was the woman from Hadad’s office telling him that Hadad wanted to see him immediately.
Hadad’s attitude had changed; he was no longer playing the part of the clever schemer. “Sit down,” he said. “I have information for you. I believe that you will agree that it is worth far more than the small sum you have paid for my services.” Hadad was angry and defensive; his pride had been pricked, but he knew that Fred would continue to pay him well for his services so he chose his words carefully.
“My informants tell me that the boy—Walid—was working for you,” Hadad paused.
“Go on.”
“Yes, well, the leaders at the mosque have been watching you since your arrival. They instructed one of the boys who plays soccer with him to find out what he was doing for you. Aziz has been following the two of you for the past week. He and Walid were friends so he persuaded Walid to talk about you. He told Aziz that you and he were going to attend a Christian meeting today, and Aziz reported that information back to the head of the cell. Yesterday, when Walid was on his way home they abducted him and told him that he must restore his honor by killing everyone at the meeting. They strapped him into the vest and drugged him to keep him calm. This morning they sent him to your hotel while they watched from a distance. They followed the two of you to make certain that Walid did as he was told. Evidently, he deviated from the plan.”
The color had drained from Fred’s face. “Is that all?”
“For now.”
Fred rose from his chair and walked out into the afternoon sun. The heat shimmered off the pavement and washed over him like a hot blue wave. It was 3:45; the meeting would begin at 4:00. Fred felt that he had to talk to someone. He needed to be with other Christians who would help him make sense of what seemed to him to be senseless.
He hurried down the street toward the building that housed Yeshua Ministries. He wanted to talk to Fatema and Saeed. He knew that they would be preparing for the meeting, but he had to talk first.
He arrived too late. When Fred entered the small room that served as the chapel for Yeshua Ministries, Saeed had just finished introducing their guest speaker, and Pastor Soodmand was telling the sixty people who were tightly-packed into the small hot room that he was privileged to be able to share his testimony with them.
Fred found a spot near the wall and stood with his back against the rough plaster. “I am here today,” Pastor Soodmand said, “to tell you about the one who is the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords. He is the beginning and the ending. He created all that there is, and then he came to earth to die as a sacrifice for all who will come to him so that we can live forever. His name is Jesus Christ, the Son of God, but the Bible gives him other names too. He is El-Shaddai—the all sufficient one; He is Jehovah-Jireh—the Lord who provides; He is Jehovah-Rophe—the Lord who heals; He is Jehovah-Shammah—the Lord who is there; He is Immanuel—the God who is with us.
“My story begins thirty-eight years ago on my eleventh birthday. I was playing with my friends near a military checkpoint where some American soldiers were working. It was a happy day for me because my father had given me a new soccer ball, and my friends and I were showing off for the soldiers hoping that they would give us some candy, as they often did. The last thing I remember about that day is seeing a young soldier turn to watch. He smiled, and I believed that he was going to give us a treat. Then everything went black.
“I did not regain consciousness for several days, but when I opened my eyes, my father told me that a bomb had exploded in a car waiting in line at the checkpoint. A soldier had taken us to the military hospital and the Americans had given me much care that saved my life. I did not understand this because although I knew that the soldiers were good to the children, I also knew that many of my people considered them to be our enemies. Why would the American doctors work to make their enemy live?
“The next day a man came to the side of my bed. He was the same one who had smiled at me when the bomb exploded. I asked him did he take me to the hospital, and he said, ‘Yes’. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a Snickers bar and gave it to me. I was so happy to see that Snickers that I forgot about everything else. While I ate, the soldier told me that
Jesus had saved my life. I did not know about Christianity, so I thought his name was ‘Jesus’. The next day when he came to see me, I said, ‘Hi, Jesus.’ Then he said, ‘No, no, I am not Jesus, I am Fred.’ I was thinking that this soldier was very strange.
“Every day Fred would visit me at the hospital and tell me about Jesus. He told me Jesus loved me and had saved my life. He told me that Jesus died for me. This was strange to me because in Islam the best thing anyone can do is strap on a suicide vest and give his life so that others will die. But in Christianity the best thing anyone can do is give his life so that others can live. I wondered, ‘Why would anyone die to save another?’
“One day Fred came to the hospital and told me that he was going home. I was sorry because of the Snickers; I knew that I would not get any more. But I also did not want Fred to leave me. I liked to hear about Jesus, but when Fred was gone no one else at the hospital ever mentioned Jesus to me.
“I was in the hospital for many days, but finally I was well enough to go home. Eventually, I recovered completely, but I never forgot the things that Fred had told me about Jesus. It was Fred that opened the way for me to become a Christian years later when I was twenty-five years old.”
Fred’s head was spinning, and with his back against the wall, he slid down so that he was sitting on the floor. His mind was racing, and he did not hear how Omar became a Christian. When he was able to focus again, he heard Omar saying, “People say to me, ‘You were a Muslim from your birth, and you have become a Christian.’ But I tell them, ‘No! That is not correct. My family was Muslim, but they did not know that Christ had already chosen them to be Christians. He chose us from before the foundations of the earth. Jesus said that we did not choose Him; He chose us! He made His plan before the creation of the universe. When I understood this, I said, ‘I am a Christian!’ and I believed in the Lord Jesus Christ.’”
Pastor Soodmand spoke for a long time, but Fred was so overcome with the grief of Walid’s suicide and the awe of having found Omar after so many years that he heard little of what the pastor said. When the service ended, Fred waited until the congregants had left before he approached Omar.
Extending his hand, he said simply, “Omar, I’m Fred.”
Omar knew at once that something was deeply troubling Fred, and after the two men had embraced and exchanged greetings he led him to one of the folding chairs and told him to sit. When Omar was seated across from him, he asked, “What is wrong, my friend?”
Fred told Omar that he was in Dubai on business and that on his first day there he had reminded God that he would surely like to know what had happened to Omar. “You can’t begin to imagine how significant it is that God would bring us together tonight,” Fred said. He fell silent for a moment, but Omar waited for him to continue.
“Did you hear about the suicide bomber this morning?” Fred inquired.
“Of course, everyone is talking about it, but it is very strange. Did you see it happen?”
“Yes, I saw it; I caused it.”
Omar searched Fred’s face before he spoke, “Tell me about it.”
Fred spent the next hour telling Omar about Walid—about how they met, about his grandfather, about his affection for the boy, and about his offer to have Walid come to New York to live with Annie and him. “I told him about Jesus every time we were together,” he said. “I really thought I was reaching him. He listened and even asked questions, but today he was prepared to kill me and everyone at tonight’s meeting.”
“Did you teach him the Bible?”
“Yes. From the first day I began to teach him about Jesus’ love for him. I didn’t know how much time I might have so I started with the Gospel of John. We finished chapter 15 last night.”
Omar was nodding his head. “I am not surprised. When I was a boy, you persuaded me that Jesus loved me.”
“Well,” Fred responded, “apparently I wasn’t as successful with Walid.”
“You don’t understand,” Omar responded. “The moment they strapped that vest on Walid he was already a dead man. He knew that. His only decision was how he was going to die.
A bomber always kills as many infidels as possible. That is why he was told to come to the meeting tonight to detonate the bomb. Instead, he ran away from you and away from the crowd in the street—straight to the vegetable carts. Because of the time of day, people were not gathered around the carts. There was much property damage, but only Walid died. If he had not made that choice you and every person in this church would now be dead.
“Tonight I said that in Islam the best thing anyone can do is strap on a suicide vest and give his life so that others will die, but in Christianity the best thing anyone can do is give his life so that others can live. Walid chose chapter 15.”
“What?” Fred looked genuinely confused.
“Last night you taught Walid about the love of Jesus Christ. John 15:13 says, ‘I demand that you love each other as much as I love you. And here is how to measure it—the greatest love is shown when a person lays down his life for his friends.’”
“Don’t you understand? Walid got it. I have been a pastor since I was a young man, and sometimes I work with people for years who never get it. But Walid heard the word and believed it. He did not commit suicide, he laid down his life for love of you and for love of Jesus—his friends.”
Chapter 19
Fred spent the next week tracking down information on Josef Helmick and relaying it back to the Sinclairs. A lifetime spent in the NYPD had taught him the value of well-placed informants. Their information was not always reliable, and they could never be trusted, but paid informants were an endless source of bits of information that could not be obtained through any other means.
Based on this principle, Fred had chosen the Burj Khalifa for his Dubai stay. He had been careful to give Ambassador Wainwright little information, and, to his surprise, Wainwright had asked him few questions. Fred was certain that Wainwright had given him Hadad’s number because Hadad was a low-level informant who might provide Fred with some useful information but would not have access to anything that might prove embarrassing to the United States government. Thus, by working through Hadad, Fred had ensured that Wainwright would have virtually no interest in his activities.
Although Fred was working through Hadad, he was not relying on Hadad, and he had immediately begun to set up a network of informants. When he checked into the Burj Khalifa, the concierge had insisted on showing Fred to his room personally. Fred knew that Rashid thought that, as an American, he would be willing to pay outrageous prices for anything he might require, and he wanted to be first in line for any money that might exchange hands.
When Rashid had placed Fred’s bags in his room, he had smiled eagerly and said, “If there is anything you wish to have, let me know. I am a purveyor of delights who can fulfill your darkest desires.”
Fred had returned his smile and replied, “What I desire is information.”
Rashid had looked uncomfortable, “The Burj Khalifa ensures our guests utmost privacy. I am limited in the type of information that I can provide, but if you desire girls, or young men, or drugs that will take you to heights that you never knew existed, I can fulfill your every fantasy. Our sources of entertainment are without equal.”
“I desire information about Josef Helmick who occupies the penthouse apartment of your residential tower.”
“Ah,” Rashid was visibly nervous, “Herr Helmick is a very private person. No one can provide you with such information.”
“And, yet,” Fred replied, “something tells me that you can provide me with a great deal of information about Herr Helmick,” and as he spoke he pressed a one-thousand dollar bill into Rashid’s palm.
When Rashid looked at the bill, his hands began to tremble, and Fred knew that he would prove to be an endless source of information. He also knew that a great deal of that information would be unreliable, but Fred was certain that when the time was right, Rashid would give him somet
hing that would prove to be very valuable.
ψ
Since his arrival, Fred had been working twelve-hour days, but as tired as he was, each night when he crawled into the bed in his luxury suite at the Burj Khalifa, he was unable to sleep. Every time he shut his eyes the image of Walid running through the crowd and then being thrown into the air by the force of the bomb was replayed. The guilt Fred felt was overwhelming. If only he had not talked to Walid that day at Hadad’s office. If only he had not offered him a job as his interpreter. If only he had not told him that they were going to a home church that evening. If only…, if only…, if only….Fred was ensnared in an immense web of regrets from which he was certain he would never escape.
It was Wednesday, and Fred had decided to quit work early so that he could attend the weekly meeting at Yeshua Ministries. He was hoping that Omar might be there so that he could unburden himself to him. When he arrived, however, Fred discovered that Omar and Saeed had left that morning on a mission’s trip and would be gone for ten days. A pastor Fred did not know led the service, and although it was a good service, Fred was unable to concentrate. When the pastor had finished the closing prayer, Fred walked across the room to ask Fatema if he could talk to her after everyone was gone.
Now the two of them sat in the small dingy offices while Fatema waited for Fred to speak. After a long pause, he looked up and smiled a very faint smile. “I feel so guilty,” he began, and when he spoke those words it was as if a floodgate had opened. His chest heaved and great racking sobs took control of him. Fred was embarrassed, but he could not control himself. His sobs grew louder until he feared that people on the street would hear him, but Fatema sat quietly and looked as composed as if this were an everyday occurrence.
When Fred was finally able to quiet his sobs, Fatema spoke, “Why is your heart so troubled?”
“Walid. It’s my fault that he’s dead. “
The Force (The Kingdom Chronicles) Page 11
