The Identity Thief (28 page)

Paris Hilton in a burqa. Yeah, a wee bit difficult to picture.

"I wonder if it would not be better to let the Americans continue their own ways, though we don't agree with them," he ventured. "Let them choose the joys of Paradise or the fires of hell."

The Chief nodded. "Ah, maybe you are thinking of one of the old sayings you are so fond of quoting. 'The mud of one country is the medicine of another.' "

"Perhaps."

"My young friend, our call is the one that was revealed to Mohammed. It is a call to all mankind. We have been entrusted with a sacred mission, to follow in the footsteps of the Messenger and to spread his wisdom to all people. It is an invitation that we extend to all the nations to embrace Islam, the religion that calls for justice, mercy and fraternity, not differentiating between race or gender. That is why the West must be converted. Spain will return to Islam, as it was in the 14
^th
century. France, Denmark, England, all of Europe as well."

He continued, "Afghanistan will once again submit to Sharia law and women will no longer walk the streets brazenly, with their arms and even faces shamelessly bared."

"I see. And those Afghanis who collaborated with the Americans, those in the puppet government, will they be ... ?" X drew his finger grimly across his throat.

"No, my young friend, for forgiveness is the choicest flower of victory," The Chief said. "Those sheep who return to the fold will not be slaughtered. We will show mercy that curs of the West have never shown to us."

* * *

If the imminent destruction of the solar system were not bad news enough, X was told by a messenger that his brother-in-law Haseem had arrived in the cave complex and was anxious to meet him. Haseem was waiting, so he was told, outside the prayer hall. X told the messenger to assure his beloved in-law that he'd be there shortly and to wait. As soon as the young man was out of sight, X hightailed it in the opposite direction.

I suppose this place is big enough that I can duck the guy for a day
, he thought.
After that ...

Back in their room, X told Harry about his discussion with The Chief about Weapon Z.

"It's a garden-variety scam," X told him. "Unbelievable that someone as supposedly crafty as The Chief could fall for it. I guess it's yet another sign the old duffer has dementia. Reminds me of a little trick my mentor told me he pulled on an IRA stooge back in the '80s. Got him to pay 50 grand for a trunk of C-4 - the main ingredient of which happened to be baking soda."

To his surprise, he saw that Harry was white as a Klansman's sheet.

"We've heard chatter about Weapon Z being on the market," he said in an anxious voice. "Some former KGB agents smuggled it out of the Ukraine."

"You've got to be kidding," X laughed. "It's the stuff of an Austin Powers movie."

"I wish I was kidding," said Harry. "A weapon like that in the wrong hands ..."

"Whose hands would be the right ones for something that blows up the solar system?" X said, by no means convinced.

"You have a point. But the stakes in this game just went up about a thousandfold. You've got to put the pressure on The Chief. You have to get me to his computer terminal."

"You haven't been able to hack in with your laptop?"

Harry shook his head. "Too many layers of security."

"Even for you, the Lesbian Bill Gates?"

"Lebanese."

"Israeli, unless of course that's another cover story. What are you really, Swedish? Try to keep it straight."

The agent stood up and repeatedly jabbed his index finger in X's chest. "You worry about keeping your own part straight. I heard about the brilliant terror plots you pitched to The Chief. Nice job. Could almost make a person wonder whose side you're on. You sure got palsy walsy with those murderers at Abd Al-Rahman. Just get me to that damn terminal."

X glanced down. "I spoke to you once about touching me," he said coolly. "You don't want to find that finger broken off and midway up your alimentary canal."

"When this is over, we'll see what's up whose ass."

X gave him a bemused look. "Is that a threat or a promise? Why, Harry, you old devil, you really do care."

* * *

X hurried down the hallway to meet The Chief, mentally rehearsing the exact words he'd use to convince the old man to make the transfer. The guy was clearly senile; surely he could be defeated in a battle of wits. Unless the treachery center of the brain somehow remained intact, while everything else turned to Swiss cheese.

He heard Asar's voice calling his name excitedly.

"Ali, I've been looking all over for you," he cried. X turned to see the teen with a tall, bearded man clad in a surprisingly bright purple and orange shirt. It was far from loud, but compared to what X had been accustomed to the past week, the guy might as well have been wearing a Hawaiian shirt.

The man strode toward him, a smile expanding on his face. He was carrying a red gift box. "My brother, I have spent half a day looking for you in this maze," he said. "If I didn't know better, I would think you were ducking me. Do you owe me some money I've forgotten about? They told me this young man could lead me to you."

As Haseem neared X, his jocular manner changed and his eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Ali, this man is an imposter," X declared. "Quickly, draw your weapon."

Asar, who'd been doing guard duty at the entrance, pulled the rifle slung over his shoulder and pointed it at Haseem. Just as fast, Haseem drew a handgun from a holster at his hip.

"This is not Ali Nazeer," Haseem declared. "Do not be deceived by his lies."

Asar looked back and forth between the two men in obvious confusion.

"Asar shoot him," X said. "He is a puppet of the infidels."

"Don't be a fool, boy," Haseem said. "I know my own brother-in-law and this isn't him."

"Your brother-in-law is a pig, your sister is a pig and you are a pig," X said. "And you are not Haseem."

Haseem stepped toward Asar. "Put down your weapon, boy. Don't make me harm you."

Asar hesitated, the gun trembling in his hand. He glanced uncertainly at the two men.

"This man is my friend," he declared. "He told me everything about his boyhood, the names of each horse in his father's stable and the one he rode as a young boy, Iron Heel."

"Ali is terrified of riding horses," Haseem said. "All lies."

"Shoot this son of a pig," X said. "Don't let this Satan confuse you."

There were the sounds of footsteps running. Their voices must have echoed down the tunnel.

"Let The Chief decide who is telling the truth and who is the imposter," Haseem said with confidence. "We can make a phone call to my sister in Kuwait. I think she can tell who is her real brother and who is not her real husband."

The long shadows of men with rifles appeared along the wall of the tunnel. They were just around the bend. X was unarmed, but he reached into his vest as if for a weapon in a shoulder holster.

Haseem spun to shoot him and Asar pulled the trigger. Haseem returned fire, pumping two slugs into the boy's chest. Ali Nazeer's brother-in-law keeled over, clutching his throat as blood gushed from a smoking black hole. The box, which had been tucked under his left armpit, fell to the ground. It popped open and a dozen chocolate-covered strawberries spilled out.

X knelt beside Asar, who lay slumped against the wall, a red stain spreading out across his shirt.

"You'll be okay," he said. "Men are coming, they will take you to the infirmary."

Asar shook his head. He tore open his shirt to reveal a gunshot wound squarely at his heart.

"I am finished," he said.

Jesus Christ. He's going to die. And he's only a boy
, X thought. He realized he'd never asked Asar exactly how old he was.

"I am frightened," Asar cried out.

"You are dying a hero," X assured him. "You are going to Allah's side a martyr. You will be entertained by 77 virgins. More beautiful than any girls you've ever seen. Their voices will be a heavenly choir more captivating than any siren's song."

Asar clutched his arm. "Are you sure? Who knows what really awaits us after death?"

"I am sure," X said emphatically. "Heaven is waiting for you, I promise."

Asar smiled. It was the biggest whopper X had ever told and he had told many. But he couldn't bear to see the terror in the boy's eyes and his words seem to quiet his fear.

"Ali, my father was a brute who beat me and abandoned me," the dying youth whispered. "You, Ali -"

"Hush," X said, covering the boy's mouth. "Don't say it."

"You are my true father."

Three armed fighters came alongside X, including one he recognized as Omar.

"What happened here?" demanded a man who boasted the physique of a Vin Diesel.

"He was a traitor," Asar gasped. "He fired upon me."

"Is this true?" said Omar, aghast.

X nodded. "An imposter."

"One of my men vouched for him, said he recognized him," said the pumped-up guard, apparently in charge.

"The infidels are using lookalikes now," X warned him. "Instruct your men to be more wary. Interrogate newcomers intensely; take nothing for granted."

The security chief nodded, chastened.

"The cunning of the infidels knows no bounds," said Omar, kneeling beside his fallen friend. "Their deceit is infinite. They are truly monsters. Their wickedness -"

"Oh shut the hell up," X growled, running his hand through his hair. Omar looked at him, taken aback.

"Forgive his anger," said the beefy security boss. "He is overcome with grief."

"Hold me, brother," Asar whispered. X put his arm around the dying young man.

"I am so cold," Asar said.

"It's okay. It's all right, I'm here with you. I won't leave you."

He rocked the teen in his arms, as the three guards looked on, awkwardly. After about four minutes, the light went out of the boy's eyes.

"May Allah have mercy on him," Omar said, bowing his head and beginning to utter a prayer.

X realized he was crying. Except that one time being abused by the prison guards, this was something he hadn't done in 20 years. Not since his mother died. And this wasn't a solitary tear that rolled down his cheek. It was a torrent that went on at least ten minutes.

Asar died for me. Or for someone. A phantom, a man who did not exist.

X could not shake his depression over the death of Asar. Try as he might, he could not convince himself that he was guiltless in the boy's death. He told himself it was Mr. Jones's fault for springing the youth from the prison and sending him here. Or it was Fawad's fault for recruiting him into the terrorist underworld to begin with. When those lines of reasoning failed him, he resorted to the argument that the teen deserved to die because he was a terrorist.

If he had lived, who knows how many Americans he would have killed,
X reminded himself. He deserved a medal, if anything, for actions that led to Asar's death.

But he was your friend
was the nagging thought he kept hearing like a bee buzzing in his ear.

He felt like a battleship, once thought impregnable, whose hull had been breached by a torpedo. Now, like a seaman desperately welding metal plates over a hole to keep the ship from sinking, he steeled himself.

I can NOT let myself have feelings for a mark ever again,
X told himself with conviction. And so, after an hour, the identity thief was at last himself again.

On the upside, the news that an enemy agent had penetrated the headquarters' layers of security played to X's advantage. A thorough sweep was done of the cavern for listening devices, especially in every place that Haseem had set foot. X was summoned to The Chief's office. He, Dr. Zawari and the other top aides sat at a conference table.

"Someone has tried to hack into our computer system," The Chief said gravely. "Just as you warned us. Fortunately the system put in place by Dr. Zawari blocked the attempt."

"Praise Allah for that," X said. "Your work will earn you a place in paradise, Dr. Zawari."

Dr. Zawari gave an unpleasant smile. The gaunt man handed X a paper. "We received a very interesting email."

X read it aloud. "'Beware of a man named Moammar Sharif. He is an Israeli intelligence agent.' Who sent this message?"

"It is anonymous," The Chief said. "The sender's name is, oh, I can't pronounce it, a Hindi word meaning 'friend.' What do you say about this?"

X frowned. "It seems impossible. I have met his family, they all seemed devout Muslims. And yet, who knows the cunning of the Jews, what they are capable of. You say the message came from India?"

Dr. Zawari said, "What proof do you have that you are not in league with this Moammar?