"I am to be martyred?" Yusef Gamal exclaimed.
"You are both to be martyred," the Deaf Mullah explained in his sweet-as-raisin-tea Persian voice. He was a dappled shadow behind the green glass partition.
The last echoes of his words reverberated in the great al-Bahlawan Mosque in Greenburg, Ohio, before a new sound stirred the dead air.
"I will go first," said Jihad Jones.
"No, I will."
The Deaf Mullah raised a quelling hand. "You will both go together through the true gates of Paradise."
Jihad Jones flared like a struck match. "With this Jew? Never!"
"I would sooner lose half my allotment of" spat Yusef.
"Allah has willed that you do this, and you will," intoned the Deaf Mullah.
"If Allah wills it, then I will do it," swore Yusef.
Jihad Jones made his face resolute. "Yes. If Allah wills that I have to die in the company of a Jew, then it cannot be avoided. My only solace is that the gates of Paradise will shut behind me and pinch cruelly the Hebrew nose that thinks it will follow me." "This is an Arabian nose. You wish you possessed a nose as mighty as mine."
"I would rather have a mighty tool than a mighty nose. The will not supplicate themselves before a mere nose."
"Even with only my nostrils, I could pleasure a thousand times a thousand Yusef hissed. "You could not do it if Allah himself blessed your limp Egyptian tool."
"Do not invoke Allah in such a disrespectful manner," the Deaf Mullah snapped. "It is improper."
Yusef subsided.
"You will both be trained to pilot the Fist of Allah, which is the name we have given to the missile that will punish the city we failed to punish before," the Deaf Mullah told them.
"I am ready," said Yusef.
"As am I," swore Jihad Jones.
"You are neither trained nor ready to pilot the Fist of Allah," returned the Deaf Mullah. "Only to die."
"That is what I meant," said Yusef.
"That is what I said, in truth," Jihad Jones added.
"Be patient. Martyrdom will both be yours. But first we must make demands upon the infidel nation."
"Let us demand they exile the Jews, starting with this fool," Jihad Jones suggested fiercely, digging a green elbow into Yusef s unprotected side.
"Better that we demand the unbelievers refer to us as Muslims, not Moslems. I rankle every time this is done. We Muslims are not cruel. We only seek to convert the godless and crush all who resist Islam."
The Deaf Mullah shook his ear trumpet angrily. "Silence! We will first make a demand of the American President."
"He is stubborn."
"But also very weak. And vacillating."
"We will make a demand to show that we have demands. Either they will meet this demand or they will not. If they do not, we will launch the Fist of Allah at the heart of their power."
"And if they do?" Yusef wondered aloud.
"Then we will make another demand, and if they fail to meet this demand, the Fist of Allah will come hurtling into their deepest heart."
"And if they meet this second demand?" asked Yusef.
"Then we will make demand upon demand until we finally demand the impossible," the Deaf Mullah said. "In the end, the Fist of Allah will strike because that is why it exists. To strike. And punish."
"Where is the Fist of Allah?" asked Yusef.
"In a secret place not far from here. You will see it when you have completed your training as pilot- martyrs."
"I live to die!" shouted Yusef.
"I will not be content to die once, but many times for the glory of Islam!" Jihad Jones howled.
"You will die at the appointed hour. First you will train."
His brow furrowing with worry, Yusef raised his hand.
"Will we have to take a test this time?"
The Deaf Mullah shook his bearded head. "No written examination."
"Good. I do not like written examinations."
"There will be no examinations. They are not required by Allah in this thrice-blessed enterprise."
Yusef raised his hand again. "Is cheating allowed?"
"Not in this enterprise."
"Oh," said Yusef Gamal, who hoped he could get by without cheating. He very much wanted to die. For he could not endure the thought of his allotment of pining away in Paradise without him, unkissed and uncaressed.
Chapter 21
The flight back to Boston left the gate on schedule, lifted off on schedule and made excellent time to Logan airport.
Over Pennsylvania, the aircraft started its descent, and Remo heard the pilot promise an early arrival.
"We're going to crash," Remo told the Master of Sinanju.
"Why do you say this?" asked Chiun, quickly checking the aluminum wing outside his window for signs of structural weakness.
"On-time performance never happens anymore. God is trying to make our last hours on earth very special."
"Then why does He thrust stewardesses in your face at every turn?"
"He's thinking of the old Remo. In the old days, I never turned down an available stewardess."
"This was before the boon of Sinanju, of course."
"Yeah. Back when I was a cop, stewardesses hardly ever looked twice."
"And now you have them in abundance when you do not wish them. Is life not unfair?"
"Life is very unfair," agreed Remo.
"Therefore, we will not crash," said Chiun, settling the matter.
Over Rhode Island, Tamayo Tanaka came out of first class and hurried to a rear rest room, carrying a makeup case. She pointedly ignored them.
"I can't believe that's the same woman on Channel 4," Remo remarked.
"I cannot believe any white woman would lower herself the way that one does."
"When did white people slip beneath Japanese on the Korean evolutionary scale?''
The Master of Sinanju lifted his jade-capped index finger. "Since I was reduced to wearing this ornament."
Tamayo hogged the rest room for nearly half an hour, and when she came back up the aisle she was dabbing some shiny, slick stuff at the comers of her eyes, which were now as slanted as almonds. Her skin tone was now a dusky ivory, her lips very red.
"Don't look now, but Tamayo just turned Japanese."
"The brazen hussy. Look at her flaunt her false Japaneseness."
"Takes all kinds."
The 727 landed approximately twenty-two minutes early. Deplaning, Remo said, "I'll bet Smith pulled some strings with the FAA to get us here this fast."
There was no sign of Tamayo Tanaka in the airport waiting area. Downstairs the cabstand was backed up, so the Master of Sinanju simply went to the head of the line and stepped into the back of the next taxi to
go.
Shrugging, Remo followed.
"Hey! You can't do that!" a familiar voice complained.
And to their dismay, Tamayo Tanaka hopped in with them. "Two can play this game," she said.
"You people all together?" the cabbie demanded through the cloudy Plexiglas partition.
"Yes," said Tamayo.
"No!" snapped Chiun.
"Maybe," said Remo, who alone understood that time was of the essence. "We're going to the main post office."
"South Postal Annex? Where that nut is holding the FBI off?"
"That's where I'm going, too," said Tamayo.
That was enough for the cabbie. He shot out from the curb.
In traffic, Tamayo pulled a cell phone from her purse and called her station.
"I'm almost to the Sumner Tunnel. Be at South Station in ten minutes. What's the latest?"