“Look,” Sara told him, “I’m sorry to spring this on you but we really do need your help.” She waved the key in front of his face. “Will you try to decrypt this, or not?”
He looked at the floor, at a photograph on his desk, at the floor again, then at Sara. He took a long, slow breath. “If I do as you ask, who’s to say that the next knock on my door won’t be the Hand of Allah? I have a wife and young boy back home.”
“No one knows we’ve come here, and there’s no reason they should. You have my promise that this will remain between us. You, Jack, and me.”
Still, he hesitated.
“We really do need your help, Faisal,” she went on. “The Hand of Allah is planning an attack. A massive one, and that can only be bad for all of us.”
“Not just Muslims,” Jack added. “We’re talking about the future of Western Civilization here. Your own son’s future.”
Faisal still looked torn. Jack wasn’t sure whether he’d help or kick them out. Apparently, Faisal wasn’t sure, either. But then he took the USB key from Sara and got to his feet, moved to his laptop on the table.
He pushed the key into a slot and waited for the file system to recognize it. Then he called up the e-mails and studied them.
Time crawled. Jack was tired and he felt sleep encroaching, his eyes shutting. He may even have drowsed off. He didn’t know how much later it was when Faisal finally spoke.
“This is very sophisticated,” the young man said. “I have some code decryption software that might help, but even with that it could take hours to break this.”
“But it’s possible?” Sara asked.
“If the software can ferret out the proper keys, yes. But I offer no guarantees.” He paused. “You swear to me no one knows you’re here?”
“In the name of Allah,” she said.
He studied her carefully, as if weighing her sincerity. Then he slowly nodded. “You may as well make yourselves comfortable. We are in for a long night.”
Sara was asleep on the sofa, Jack slumped in the armchair across from her, only half awake, when Faisal said, “I know who you are, you know.”
That got Jack’s attention. He pulled himself upright unsure what to expect.
Faisal sat at the dining table, reading one of his textbooks. A clock on the wall said it was approaching two A.M. The decryption software had been running on the laptop for close to an hour, numbers and symbols skittering across its screen.
Faisal looked up from his book. “It took me a while to remember you. I saw your photograph in the newspapers some time ago. There was an article about the home secretary banning you from travel to this country. You’re an American television host.”
Jack shrugged. “Close enough.”
“I remember because we talked about you at the college. About the things you’ve said, your hatred of Muslims. Your desire to kill a hundred million of us.”
Jack didn’t like the direction this was heading. “That was taken completely out of context. I don’t hate all Muslims.”
“Just a few, then?” It was an accusation, not a question. “I saw the mistrust in your eyes when you first looked at me.”
“You have to understand my perspective,” Jack said. “There are a lot of radicals out there. Like the Hand of Allah. People who want to destroy America.”
“Yes, and that’s why I agreed to help you and Sara. But don’t you see that when you say such hateful things, it makes men like me feel as if you’re talking about us as well.”
“I understand, but it’s a very delicate balance. And I’m sure you have even more to fear from radicals than I do.”
“You’re a hundred percent right about that.”
He was quiet a moment as he closed his book and stared at the laptop, watching the software do its magic. Then he said, “But it isn’t just the radicals. My mother is Indian, and my father is Pakistani, and our extended family is a mix of many different beliefs. Some are liberal Muslims, and they may well be the worst curse there is.”
“Worse than those who want to kill people? Bomb them?”
“I don’t condone such actions, and I never will. But the liberals are nearly as dangerous in their own way. People who think that pornography and degeneracy and gay marriage are normal, acceptable. To my mind, that’s a bigger threat to the stability of Pakistan and the world than anyone can imagine.”
Jack relaxed a bit and had to stifle a smile. He almost felt as if he were in a bar back home, talking American politics with Tony or the Reb.
“When I’m not at school,” Faisal said, “I work in a mobile phone store. There’s another man who works there, a fundamentalist Christian, and we’ve had many conversations about our beliefs. And when it comes to social values, family values, we’re in total accord. We agree on almost everything with regard to how life should be led.”
The laptop beeped and he checked the screen, then typed in a quick entry and started it running again.
“The point I’m trying to make to you,” he said, “is that there are many varieties of Muslim, just as there are Catholics or Jews. There are Muslims who are not religious, yet use Islam as a political weapon. They have no interest in following the teachings, yet they’re willing to kill for their own self-advancement. Do you realize that in some of our Muslim schools-right here in England-they’re teaching young students how to properly chop off the hands of thieves?”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I wish I were. It’s right there in their textbooks.” He paused, clearly disturbed by the thought. “But there are other Muslims, like me, who are very religious yet have no taste for violence, no desire to harm anyone. While I may detest what the liberals believe, and think that their view of society is dangerous, I don’t want to hurt or convert them, I simply want to be left alone. There are many of us who feel that way.”
“And how do you feel when one of these radicals sets off a bomb?”
“Just as frightened as you do. Just as terrified.” He paused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Point taken,” Jack said.
“What I want to stress to you is that when you go on television and speak of Muslims, you should be very careful to separate us, not lump us all together.”
“That’s true, but this isn’t one sided, you know. How do you think it feels when Americans are all seen as infidels?”
“Those who say such things aren’t speaking for me,” Faisal told him. “All I really want is peace throughout the world. That’s all any true Muslim wants. We believe in the blessed words of all of the prophets, from Moses to Jesus. We respect others and their religions, and all we ask is that they do the same in return.”
Jack knew all of this, of course. But it didn’t hurt to have a face to attach to it. He had stereotyped Faisal, mistrusted him, the moment he’d walked in the door. And he regretted that.
“That’s good to hear,” Jack said. “And you’re right. I will be more careful.”
Faisal nodded, satisfied to have had his say. He rose from his chair and gestured to the laptop. “This will take some time and I need to sleep. I’ll check its progress in the morning.”
“Thank you, Faisal. I know you didn’t have to help us, and I appreciate what you’re doing.”
Faisal gestured to Sara stretched out on the sofa. “She looks comfortable there, but you can’t sleep in that chair. I have a spare bedroom for when my family arrives. There’s a bed. You are free to use it.”
Then he stepped into the hallway and disappeared.
29
Exhausted as he was, Jack couldn’t sleep.
It was nice to be on a mattress again, and have the warmth of a working radiator, but he spent the next two hours unable to stop thinking.
There were big thoughts. He was unable to put aside the pieces of the puzzle, the disaster waiting for so many people if he failed. His tired brain told him to drop the whole thing in the lap of the FBI or the CIA but he didn’t dare. For one thing, they probably wouldn’t believe that “wacko” alarmist Jack Hatfield. For another, by the time that machine got into motion and up to speed, the event could well be in their rearview mirror.