Only Wrong Once: A Suspense Thriller

by Jenifer Ruff

  “Yes. Amin, this is Mustafa. He’s been excited to meet you so he can practice his English.”

  “Good to be meeting you, Amin. Welcome. Kareem works many hours in his lab. I can help guide you here. We go to mosque. Together,” said Mustafa.

  “Hi. Going to mosque more often is something I was hoping to improve on here.”

  “I repair the mosque every day. Make it better. I will show you.” Mustafa’s grasp of the English language was far from perfect, but good enough for Amin to understand him.

  Kareem moved his cousin forward. “It’s almost time for evening prayers. We need to get ready. Amin’s had a long trip.”

  “Good. Good. See you tomorrow. Yes?” Mustafa said.

  Amin laughed at the man’s enthusiasm. “Sure. Thank you.”

  Once inside the building, Kareem said, “He’s different. You know?” He circled his finger by the side of his head.

  “I thought so, but I wasn’t sure.”

  “He’s slow, but extremely well-educated. His father tried to stick him in my lab to help there, but he didn’t like being inside. He prefers manual labor, and he’s some sort of genius at building and repairing things. Whatever you do, treat him well.”

  “Yeah. Of course. I try to treat everyone well.”

  “His father is important. Really important. He’s my boss. You’ll meet him too.”

  Kareem unlocked the door to his apartment and they stepped inside. “You probably can’t tell this is a nice place, because of what you have to compare it to, but it is.”

  The space was small, but new.

  “Not everyone has a microwave and air conditioner.” Kareem grinned. “Most people don’t.”

  “I couldn’t live without a microwave. This isn’t much different than my apartment. Except I don’t have those.” He lifted his chin toward a wall with a giant banner and a poster. The banner had the word Allah written in Arabic. “What does that poster say?”

  “What have you done for Islam lately.” Kareem opened the door to an extra room with a mattress on the floor. “You can stay in here.”

  Amin dropped his bag on the ground. “I’ve got to shower, seriously, and change my clothes.”

  “Okay, make it fast.” Kareem pointed to the one bathroom.

  Amin used the gray soap in Kareem’s shower to scrub himself more thoroughly than usual. He wanted to put the long trip and the fake passport behind him. He could have stood under the hot water longer, but he got out and quickly dried off with a threadbare faded towel. The small bathroom was filled with steam so he opened the door a crack to air it out. He heard Kareem speaking in a stern voice, “Understand?” Amin’s Arabic was extremely limited, but he’d heard and used the phrase “don’t understand” and “sorry, I can’t understand” enough times to easily recognize that word.

  A man who sounded like Mustafa answered Kareem with, “Yes, yes,” in an eager voice.

  Kareem spoke again, but Amin didn’t catch any of the words.

  He quickly dressed. When he entered the kitchen, Kareem was alone.

  “Can I get a drink of something?”

  “Where are my manners? I’ve got orange nectar or Coca-Cola.”

  “Water?”

  “That too.” Kareem poured him a glass of water from a carafe inside the refrigerator. He watched Amin drink it.

  “Oh, I brought you a few things.” Amin got his bag from the extra room and handed over a bag with the gifts he’d selected. “They’re not wrapped or anything.”

  Kareem lifted a silver thermos from the bag. The side said, Keep Calm and Call a Microbiologist. Inside the thermos was a key chain with the universal symbol for virus. And lastly, two boxes of Nutter Butters.

  “Not sure how well those traveled. You used to scarf them down like there was no tomorrow. Wasn’t sure if they had them here or not.”

  Kareem smiled. “They don’t. These are great gifts. Thank you.” They looked at each other and the moment became one where they might have hugged had they been more comfortable together.

  “We better get going now. The mosque isn’t too far, but we don’t want to be late.”

  They went back outside and started walking in the direction of the mosque. “Do you walk everywhere?” said Amin.

  “Yeah. Pretty much. My lab is close. The stores are close. We don’t always have great internet inside my building. There’s a café a few miles away with the best service. If we go into the main part of the city there are some good restaurants.”

  “That dog looks like he’s starving.” Amin gestured toward a mangy looking animal whose ribs protruded through filthy hair. The creature began to follow them from a safe distance.

  “Probably is.” Kareem picked up a rock and threw it in the dog’s direction. The rock missed and the dog scrambled away with its tail tucked under. Amin cringed.

  “Is it safe, walking around? I mean, do you feel safe here?”

  Kareem shrugged. “Inside the compound, you couldn’t be safer. Did you see the school? There’s no way you can miss it. Even the Americans know not to drop their bombs on those, if they ever found this place, which they won’t. And here, on the outside, I know which areas have buried explosives in the streets. I avoid those.”

  “That’s not very reassuring. You’re kidding, right?”

  “You’ll get used to it. There’s no crime here. None. The punishment for just about everything is death or amputation. Steal something – lose a hand, blasphemy against Muhammad or the religion – death. You know what happens to homos here? They get pushed off a tall building.”

  Amin pictured Melissa screaming as she plummeted from the top of the Hearst Tower. His hand flew to his mouth. His stomach lurched.

  “Pre-marital sex or adultery – death by stoning.”

  This time an image of Julia popped into his head, even though she wasn’t married and couldn’t commit adultery. He shuddered.

  “A girl was stoned to death a few years ago for opening a Facebook account. Immorality is not looked upon lightly.”

  “How can you tolerate it? It’s so barbaric.”

  “Nah. The punishments are intended to purify, so the recipient can meet Allah free of sin. Most of us accept them. Sort of like how Catholics go to confession.”

  “Except . . .” Amin didn’t even bother to point out the difference. His cousin’s use of the word “us” disturbed him. He’d finally arrived, the trip had taken forever, and now he already had a powerful urge to leave as fast as he could. Feeling homesick and uneasy, he stepped behind his cousin and followed him closely the rest of the way to the mosque, where men moved inside from all directions wearing pajama-like tunics, but also dark pants or khakis and jackets.

  The mosque had seen better days. Parts of the outside structure had crumbled into piles of concrete rubble. Stacked stone and scaffolding suggested it was currently being repaired.

  Amin stepped inside and scanned his surroundings. What he saw made his jaw drop. No wonder everyone wanted to come inside. “Wow. I wasn’t expecting this.”

  Kareem nodded. “Not too shabby, eh?”

  Amin let his eyes feast on the richly colored carpet, intricate archways and alcoves, illuminated walls, ornately carved ceilings, and iridescent paint. All in pristine condition.

  They cleansed with the water provided, even though Amin had recently showered, and sat down on the ground in the front. The service began with prayers and a lesson from the Quran. Amin understood almost none of the spoken language, but that didn’t lessen the experience. Everyone stood to face Mecca for the salat, led by the Sheikh. Devout intensity surrounded Amin like a charged electric current, encouraging his mind and soul toward a higher level of spirituality. He stole quick glances at the men around him, many had closed their eyes. He was willing to bet none of them were compiling mental to-do lists for afterwards, like he usually did during a service. He followed their lead by closing his eyes and tried to absorb their energy.

  Despite traveling for days, Amin l
eft the mosque with an air of readiness, a floating sensation, so mesmerized by the experience that Kareem’s disturbing comments were temporarily pushed aside. He looked forward to returning for the next service. A glance at his cousin surprised him. Kareem looked determined, angry even.

  “Back to your place?” said Amin.

  “Yep. So, this is where I live.” Kareem opened his arms, making a half circle. “What do you think? Are you glad you came?”

  Now was the time to muster his courage, the sooner the better. “Yeah. And now that I’m here, one of the reasons I came, I want to talk about some concerns I have. Concerns for you.”

  “Hmmm. I’m listening,” Kareem raised his eyebrows. His mischievous grin instantly returned a memory Amin had forgotten until now: Kareem and Amin seated next to each other on Disney’s Space Mountain roller coaster. From the first drop, Kareem had screamed as if he was being murdered. Amin spent the whole ride worrying and wishing the ride would end for his cousin’s sake. When the cars finally slowed to a stop, Kareem’s face bore the same exact grin he had now. He hadn’t been one bit afraid, he was screaming like a mad man for the sheer joy of it.

  “I’m going to come right out and say it. I’m worried you might be developing some extreme views. You know, like taking too literal an interpretation of the Quran. Becoming someone who believes Allah is calling them to put an end to western civilization.”

  “And?”

  “What do you mean, and? I don’t want that to happen to you. Obviously. For many reasons.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Kareem’s grin was gone, replaced by the same angry look he had leaving the mosque.

  That hadn’t gone well at all. Amin tried again. “Allah calls us to be peaceful, merciful, and forgiving above all. Even when it’s difficult.”

  “And you would know what Allah wants?”

  Amin placed his hands on his hips, unsure of how offended he should be. “Yes. I may not be the most devout, but . . . I’m trying. And yes, I think I have a good idea about that part.”

  Kareem appeared to be considering Amin’s words. Amin didn’t want to push him and put a strain on the visit his first night there. He had been hoping for more of a conversation ending with a mutual understanding. Not…whatever had just transpired. He dropped the subject, for now. The decision was made for him anyway because Mustafa hurried over.

  “Hello, hello.” Mustafa’s smile stretched from ear to ear, showing all his teeth.

  “Hello. The mosque is beautiful,” said Amin. Speaking to Mustafa came easily. Amin didn’t worry he was being judged in any way.

  “Yes. Yes. So beautiful. It needs much work. I would like to use your help. A big strong American.” Mustafa raised his arms and flexed his biceps.

  Amin laughed. Perhaps, by Syrian standards, he was well-fortified by frozen pizzas, but no one would describe his average stature with minimal muscle tone as big or strong. “I’d be happy to help tomorrow if I haven’t started working yet.” He turned to Kareem. “Any word on that?”

  Kareem shrugged his shoulders. “They’re not ready for you yet, um, for the financial stuff. I have to work in my lab. So, go ahead.”

  Mustafa thumped Amin’s shoulders. “I’ll come tomorrow for you. Eat big foods. Big work.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Syria

  October 20th

  Amin woke to the sound of explosions. He jumped out of bed and rushed into the kitchen. Kareem stood next to the counter, a spoon of yogurt between his lips, looking unconcerned.

  “What’s going on?” Amin said.

  “What? That? It’s so far away.”

  “It doesn’t sound far away.”

  “It is. Believe me, that shit is loud. Don’t worry about it. I told you we’re safe here. Listen, I’m sorry to leave you already, but I have to go to my lab. I’m finishing up something important.”

  “It’s okay. What is it you’re working on? In layman’s terms, please.”

  There was a loud pounding on the door before Kareem could answer. “That would be Mustafa,” Kareem whispered. “His name means the chosen one, but I think he’s chosen you as his new friend. I hope you’re up for a day of free labor.”

  “Sure. I’m definitely here to experience something different. No worries.”

  Most of the other men around the mosque avoided Amin, but Mustafa stuck to his side like a personal escort. Together, they walked around the outside of the building, moving bags of cement and building materials.

  “Who is this?” A man asked. He stepped right up to Amin. Faced with his angry eyes, Amin let go of his wheelbarrow handles and took a step back.

  “Kareem Sarif’s cousin.”

  “Oh.” The man lowered his head and nodded. He left and spoke to a small group of men. Each man looked Amin’s way. They were talking about him, loud enough for him to overhear, but he couldn’t understand them. He could only tell they were impressed. Apparently, Kareem was well respected there.

  “How long have you lived here?” Amin asked, dumping his wheelbarrow of stones on the pile Mustafa started.

  “A long time. Maybe. Not long. This mosque is hundreds of years old,” said Mustafa.

  “Okay.” Amin had already grown accustomed to Mustafa’s non-sequiturs.

  “It was burned inside when my father moved everyone here. We fixed the inside first. America gave millions. Now the outside. Important work. Saving history.”

  “America paid for the inside of this mosque?” Amin tried to hide his surprise but had to know if he’d heard correctly.

  “Yes. You didn’t know?”

  Amin shook his head. “No. I didn’t know. America helps a lot of countries with a lot of things around the world.”

  “They should have told you.”

  Amin couldn’t help but smile.

  “They bomb buildings and then send money to fix them. Better to not bomb first.”

  Amin nodded.

  They worked silently for a bit, aside from grunts of exertion, until Amin started another conversation. “Kareem says you live with your father.”

  “He’s near. He can’t come outside. He works really hard. Planning. Like Kareem.”

  “I know all about that sort of life.” Amin thought of his former cube.

  “Do you know Jennifer Aniston?”

  “Jennifer Aniston?”

  “Friends. Know anyone from Friends?”

  “The TV show? No.” Amin laughed. “That show finished a long time ago. Ten or fifteen years ago.”

  “Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”

  Amin shook his head, grinning. “I don’t know any TV or movie stars.”

  “Poor man.” Mustafa adjusted his smile to show a bit of sympathy.

  Mustafa wasn’t one for intellectual conversation, or political opinions, which was a relief. He was the most pleasant person Amin had ever met, and he took pride in his work. The tasks they completed were physically tiring but simple, and the time passed with Amin’s mind in a semi-meditative state. He didn’t worry about his forecast models or his dry cleaning. He did occasionally think about Isa, her long gleaming hair, her sweet and confident smile. He couldn’t help himself, even though it made him cringe with disappointment.

  There were no available seats in the crowded café. Amin leaned against the wall under a fan that wasn’t doing much to disperse the smell of body odor. Although the temperature was cool outside, too many bodies crammed into the small space made the interior hot. Under his shirt, beads of sweat rolled down between his shoulder blades. A cold glass of Syrian tea, even more sugary than North Carolina’s sweet tea, brought little relief.

  Amin had been in Syria for a week without seeing much of his cousin. He worked longer hours in his lab than Amin had at Continental Bank. It surprised him how often his cousin had found the time to reach out to him in the past few months. And strange he had been so insistent about this visit when he hardly had time for visitors. Amin spent most of the day with Mustafa, not Kareem, and in the mo
sque. In the evenings, he had wandered through most of the shops and restaurants alone.

  He returned to Kareem’s apartment with take-out for dinner, grilled chicken with rice and chickpeas. He found Kareem hunched over the kitchen table, writing.

  “Hey. You’re here,” said Amin. “Good. I bought food for two.”

  “Do you still have enough cash?”

  “Plenty. What are you working on?” Amin asked. He saw a short line of block letters and numbers, like a code, in the middle of the page.

  Kareem leaned forward and put his forearms on the table, essentially blocking Amin’s view. “It’s for my job.”

  “Tell me more about what you do.”

  “I work with viruses in a lab. My lab. But right now, I’m also doing some recruiting work. I told you about it.”

  Amin slid an envelope out from under Kareem’s elbow to read it. The return address was for Paris, but the recipient lived in Chicago. “For the yoga company in Paris? That’s random.”

  “It’s really—.” Kareem looked down at the papers, pausing as if he was going to say something important. He looked up and met Amin’s gaze, and Amin could tell his cousin agonized over an explanation that would make sense. Kareem sighed and his words rang with a sense of resignation. “The company is in Paris, but the owners are here. Mustafa’s father is the main guy. He needed someone who could translate letters into English. No shortage of opportunities here for people fluent in English.”

  “What are they recruiting for? Yoga teachers?”

  “They hold…spiritual workshops.”

  “How did you go from working in a lab to doing recruiting for spiritual workshops?”

  “When Mustafa’s father asks you to do something, it’s not a question. He’s not the kind of guy anyone says no to.”

  “Can I help you?” Amin looked down at the letter Kareem was writing.

  “No, I’ve got it. I can wrap it up for now.” Kareem quickly folded the letter and slid it under a pile of envelopes, all with the Yoga Institute of Paris in the return address.