"Mr. President… er, Highness," Salaam interjected, purposely getting his title wrong just to irk the Libyan, "Allah, praise his name, knows the hearts and minds of all men. I am his servant, and I serve him in my own way."
"The Prophet has told us how we must serve God," Zuwayy responded sternly. "If it is in our power, we must obey. Please do not mock the Prophet or the faithful by telling us that not joining in prayer is a proper way to praise Allah. You must-"
"I'll take that under advisement, Highness," Salaam interrupted again. He bowed to Zuwayy, as did his wife; neither the Libyan nor al-Khan acknowledged his gesture. "If you'll excuse me, I must prepare for my welcoming address. Until this evening." He turned and stepped away before Zuwayy could say anything else.
The two greeted other guests and visitors, but were soon escorted by staff members to the front of the great hall and were quickly instructed on the day's events. "It is not a good idea to anger Zuwayy, Kamal," Susan said to her husband in a low voice. "He commands much respect in North Africa and elsewhere. The fundamentalists love him, and most of his enemies fear him."
"He is a popinjay and a pretender," Salaam said disgustedly. "We all thought Colonel Qadhafi was a ruthless dictator, but Zuwayy is a hundred times worse. I had hoped a real al-Sanusi had taken over the Libyan governmentthen perhaps we'd see peace in our lifetime. Unfortunately, Egypt and most of Europe has to prepare to defend itself against whatever power-mad move he and his Mujahadeen crackpots will come up with." He glanced over his shoulder and noticed al-Khan still speaking with Zuwayy. "Or maybe we should be defending ourselves against the enemy right in our own house."
"Khalid al-Khan may not be one of your staunches! supporters, Kamal," Susan said, "but he represents the loyal opposition."
Salaam smiled, then squeezed his wife's hand tenderly. "My wife, you are one of the most intelligent and thoughtful women I have ever known, on a par with the greatest minds in our great country, but you know so little f power politics," Salaam said. "Ten years in the U.S. Air Force as an intelligence officer is indeed impressive but insignificant experience compared to one year sitting across a People's Assembly chamber arguing with men like Zuwayy and al-Khan. They and other members of the 'loyal opposition' would just as soon throw a punch or an insult as they would squish a fig."
"You think I am really that innocent, Kamal?" Susan asked playfully.
Salaam basked in the unearthly glow of her sly smile. "I would never accuse you of being 'innocent,' my love," he said. "But even scholars and ulamas like Khan have no compunction about going outside the law to get what they want. There is too much at stake for them, both in this world and in the next. They are fanatical-they believe they are on a mission, their actions fully justified and sanctioned by God. The nation, the land, even their homes, means nothing to them compared to what they perceive as the will of Allah. That vision obscures everything." His eyes narrowed, and his grip on his wife's hand tightened. "Always be watchful for the enemy. Trust no one. Question everything."
"All I have to do to learn about the real world is watch you, Kamal," Susan said. "The one thing I trust is your love for your country and your people."
"And my love for you, Sekhmet," Salaam said, using the ancient Egyptian nickname he had given her, which meant "huntress." "My love comes before the people, the country, even before God. Never forget that."
"And my love for you is greater than all of our enemies and evil anywhere in the world," Susan said. "When you think all are against you, I will always be by your side."
"Unfortunately, your place now needs to be behind me," Salaam said, giving his wife a smile when he noticed her exasperated expression. "You may be loved by everyone in Egypt, but you are still expected to walk behind your husband, not beside him, at least on this holy day."
"Of course, my husband," she replied. Susan gave her husband another soft kiss on the side of his lips, then stepped back the required two paces behind and to her husband's left, her hands folded before her, her eyes averted. She knew her place welclass="underline" Dwelling in a nation torn between the past, the present, and the future, it was best to not give traditionalists like Zuwayy, al-Khan, and their followers any reason to question the loyalty or morals of their country's leaders. A few moments later, the Republican Guard security forces opened the doors of the great hall, indicating that the procession was about to begin.
Past the Gates of Sultan Qayt Bay, a large courtyard with several ornate minarets and qibla prayer walls separated the Madrasa from the main sanctuary, where the speeches and prayer services for President Salaam's guests would take place. The path through the courtyard from the tomb to the sanctuary was lined with soldiers, with clergy and other invited guests pressing against the soldiers to watch the procession.
It was Susan, not Kamal, who noticed two unusual things as they proceeded across the courtyard: First, the soldiers lining the procession route were not Presidential Guards, assigned to the protection of the president, but paramilitary soldiers from a unit she did not recognize; and second, they were facing the procession, their backs to the crowd instead of facing them. She turned to look for the Presidential Guard captain who had been stationed at the door to the Madrasa, but he was nowhere to be seen.
As she looked, her eyes caught those of Jadallah Zuwayy, walking several steps behind her. He nodded reassuringly to her, then glanced at Khalid al-Khan and nodded. Susan turned and looked at al-Khan, noticing the silent signal between the two. What was going on here? Why were they-?
Bedlam suddenly erupted. A soldier shouted something from the Madrasa-someone had been killed? Is that what he shouted? It was hard to tell-his voice was strained with pain or fear. There was purposeful movement in the crowd of onlookers, not a random milling about but a determined surge forward. The soldiers guardingjhe procession line, their backs to the crowd, noticed nothing-even when two men in traditional thawb, sirwal, rida, and turbans burst past them.
"Kamal!" Susan shouted. "Look out!" But suddenly she was grabbed from behind. It was al-Khan. He held her tightly by the arms, pressed her toward him, leered hungrily at her, then shoved her forcefully back toward Zuwayy. The Libyan pretender-king grasped her, then said something in a low, soft voice. "What are you doing, Majesty? What is going on?"
"I said, do not worry, my child," Zuwayy said. "Allah the almighty shall protect all true believers and servants of God."
Susan spun around until she was facing Kamal, still in Zuwayy's grasp but being pulled backward, away from her husband. Up ahead of her, one of the strangers who had crashed unchecked through the security line grabbed President Salaam from behind, while another grasped him from in front. Once the man in front had a firm grip on Salaam, the man behind turned, raised his hands, and shouted, "Death to all kuffarl Death to all enemies of God! The Muslim Brotherhood is Allah's sword of justice this day!"
The man in front of Kamal opened his cloak-and revealed several sticks of explosives and a detonator strapped to his abdomen.
"La!" Susan screamed in Arabic. "Imshi! Get away! Kamal!" She twisted easily away from Zuwayy. One of the paramilitary soldiers beside Zuwayy tried to grab her. She clawed her way free and took a running step toward her shocked husband.. just as a brilliant flash of light, an impossibly loud explosion of sound, and an incredible blast of heat erupted right in front of her. She had a momentary image of Kamal Ismail Salaam's body and that of his attacker being blown apart like firecrackers, before a giant invisible force threw her backward and darkness closed over her….