The Inside Passage (Ted Higuera Series Book 1) (2 page)

Toronto, Canada

Ahmad slammed the
door behind him as he entered his parents’ house

“Father, how can
you listen to such a man?” They had just returned from Rogers Centre at
Exhibition Place for a rare family outing. It was Allah’s will that he respect
and help his parents, but they were so far from the true path that he could
barely tolerate being around them.

His father,
Mahmoud Fazul, was an older version of Ahmad. His dark skin, darker eyes and
hawk-like nose all mirrored his son’s appearance. Tall and thin, with short-cropped
dark hair graying at the temples, he had eschewed wearing the traditional
headgear of his ancestors.

When his father
asked him to accompany them to see the Islamic cleric Amr Khaled, Ahmad thought
maybe they were ready to begin the path back to Allah.

“Amr Khaled is the
most popular cleric in the Islamic world.” His father hung the car keys on a
hook by the front door and precisely placed his umbrella in the stand. He
stopped to adjust all four umbrellas equidistance apart.  “He broadcasts in
eighteen languages. He has millions of followers.”

 “He’s a charlatan!”
Ahmad brushed past his father and started towards the living room. “Did you not
see how the audience dressed? Young girls in tank tops and jeans, their heads
uncovered. He’s not an imam. He’s a rock star.”

“He preaches a
message of peace and co-existence. We need to listen to men like him to get
along in this world.”

“No,” Ahmad
slammed his hand against the table. “If we listen to men like him, we’ll lose
all that is great about Islam. We must follow the path of the prophet
Mohammed.”

Mahmoud picked up
the newspaper that was neatly placed on the coat stand and walked into the
living room.

“As Khaled
reminded us,” Mahmoud stared at Ahmad. “Mohammed said, ‘Whoever puts joy in the
hearts of the believers, his reward is not less than paradise.’”

“Paradise will come
to those who fight for the true faith.” Ahmad returned his father’s gaze.

“Be careful, my
son.”  His father reached out for Ahmad. “You are getting close to the evil ones
who are making life nearly intolerable for us.” Mahmoud shook his head slowly. “Their
path is not Islam. We must reject it.”

“Father, look at
the world around you.” Ahmad made a broad sweeping motion with his hands. “On
every continent we’re being repressed. Our people are being slaughtered daily
by the Americans and their toadies, including your beloved Canadians”

“I don’t agree
with what’s happening in Iraq and Afghanistan.” Mahmoud flicked an imaginary
piece of lint from his sleeve as he took his place in the recliner and adjusted
his glasses, then straightened his tie unnecessarily. “But we have to make our
views known through the political process. Already Canada is wavering in their
support for the American president.”

“You came to this
country to escape the revolution in Iran.” Too agitated to sit, Ahmad paced the
living room. “But you were on the wrong side. You should have stayed and taken
the words of the Prophet to heart.”

“And the Prophet
taught you to disrespect your father?” Mahmoud glared at Ahmad.
 

“Father, you’ve
fallen away from the faith.” Ahmad felt patches of moisture spreading from his
arm pits. “You’re being assimilated by this corrupt Western culture. You’ve
completely forgotten the true faith and our heritage.”
 

Ahmad withered
under the stare from his father.
What am I, ten years old?

After what seemed
an eternity, his father finally took a deep breath and spoke. “My son, the
Prophet taught us mercy and kindness. He wanted us to co-exist with others that
are different from ourselves. He showed us that Allah created us different so
that we could get to know each other, to learn from each other.”

In a low vice,
Ahmad responded to his father. “I was ashamed to be seen in Khaled’s audience.”

“Amr Khaled
instills pride in us. He shows the happiness and joy there is in being Muslim.
He has helped to strengthen the faith worldwide.”

“He’s helping to
bring down the traditional values.” Ahmad retrieved his coat from the rack by
the door. “Men like him are more dangerous than men like Bush. He’ll weaken the
faith, one brick at a time, until the whole tower crumbles. We must remain
strong. God knows that following His path isn’t easy. It’s only the strong who
can remain true.” These last words were spoken as Ahmad turned his back on his
father and walked through the doorway.

****

Edmonds, Washington

Candace latched on
to Mama. They were off meeting the governor. Ted hung out with Chris and Meagan
by the buffet table, he really didn’t know anyone else here.

“We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,” Ted whispered to himself.

A band played in
the background.

Anybody who is
anybody is here.
Ted noticed everybody from local celebs to politicians to
businessmen. The patio, pool area, tennis court and lawns of Harry Hardwick’s
large home on the bluffs overlooking the Edmonds ferry landing crawled with
glam. 

Japanese lanterns
glowed in the professionally manicured garden.
Looks like old Harry had a
bunch of hermanos working overtime.
Ted spent last summer working with the
landscaping crew at Mama’s employer’s house.

A cool ice
sculpture of a dolphin sat next to a champagne fountain on the large buffet
table. The event was catered by Harry’s favorite restaurant. A
cabron
,
dressed in chef’s whites with a tall hat, chatted up an older woman in French.
While he talked, he carved thin slices off of a huge steamship round of beef
and piled them on baguettes to make little sandwiches. A chunk of meat that big
could feed Ted’s whole neighborhood for a week.

Sissy-assed French
pastries covered the table. A dude with a little gold cup on a chain attached
to his vest pushed an assortment of wines; a bartender rushed to keep up with
the demand for cocktails.

The restaurant
Papa worked for often catered events like this. Ted picked up pocket money
during high school working with Papa. He felt like he should put on a vest and
grab one of the waiter’s trays.

“You kids having a
good time?” Harry, his trademark glass of Scotch in hand, joined Ted, Meagan
and Chris.

“You sure know how
to throw a bash, Mr. H.” Ted took a pull on his Henry’s long neck.

Meagan slipped her
arm around Harry’s waist. “Mr. Hardwick. This is an outrageous party,” she
cooed.

Meagan was pretty
enough, with blue eyes and perky blonde hair. Her short, low-cut dress was
skankalicious, great for a night on the town, but to meet her boyfriend’s dad?
Ted would never have let his little sister out of the house dressed like that.

“Harry, where have
you been all night?” Candace, with Mama in tow, slid in next to Harry. Her red
cocktail dress was appropriately conservative, but with her bod, she’d look
good in a gunny sack.

Candace delicately
removed Megan’s hand from Harry’s waist. “Have you seen the governor yet?”

“I was just
getting to know Meagan a little.” Harry turned to Meagan. “It’s too bad your
parents couldn’t be here.”

Meagan reached for
another glass of champagne. “Oh, it’s okay. I’m used to it. They’re never
around for my events.”

“I would think
that this would be a pretty important day for them.”  Harry swirled the Scotch
in his glass.

 “My Dad’s in India, working on some kind of project.” Meagan’s finger rubbed the rim of her champagne
glass.

“He works for
Microsoft, doesn’t he?” Harry asked.

He seemed to be
sizing Meagan up.

“Yeah, he’s some
kind of software geek or something.” Meagan hunched her shoulders and looked
down.

“How about your
Mom?” Harry pressed.

“She works at Microsoft
too. She’s a technical writer.”

“No, I meant why
couldn’t she be here?” Harry snagged a hors d’oeuvre from a passing tray.

“Oh, well . . .”
Meagan’s voice trailed off. She looked everywhere but into Harry’s eyes. “She
had another one of her migraines.” 

“Those can be
rough.” Harry never took his eyes off of her.

Ted felt a slight
twinge of satisfaction.
The ritualistic first grilling of the girlfriend.

“Harry, where are
my manners?” Candace interrupted. “Have you met Ted’s mom yet? Roberta, this is
my fiancé, Harry Hardwick. Harry, this is Roberta Higuera.”

Ted’s heart
stopped. How would Mama handle this? She was a tiny woman with no schooling.
Her English was okay, but it wasn’t up to Harry’s standard. Harry was one of
the top lawyers in Seattle. Hell, he was one of the top lawyers in the country.
He had defended capital murder cases and argued in front of the Supreme Court.
He had an ex-governor and an ex-senator working for him.

“We met earlier at
the graduation. I’m really happy you could make it up for Ted’s graduation,
Mrs. Higuera.” Harry extended his hand. “I’m as proud of him as I am of my own
son.”

Mama took his
hand. “My son has told me so much about you. You have a lovely house.”

Ted cringed at her
heavily accented English. Harry didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s mostly
Chris’ mother’s doing.” Harry stared out over the water. “She always wanted a
large family. We bought this house so the kids’d have lots of room to run.”

“Teddy told me
that she passed away while Chrees was still in high school.”

Harry paused.
There was a moment of awkward silence.

Ted looked at
Harry, at Mama, then back at Harry.

“Mr. Hardwick?”
Mama finally broke the silence.

“I’m sorry . . .
ah . . . I was thinking about Sally,” Harry slowly returned to the present. “We
met when I was at the lowest point of my life.” He seemed to recover his
composure. “I was a football player at the U-Dub.”

“A football
player? You were up for the Heisman Trophy.” Ted remembered the Harry Hardwick
display in Husky Stadium.

“In my senior
year. I was leading the world in everything. Then some bastard linebacker from Oregon gave me a cheap hit. The whistle had blown the play dead and I was already out of
bounds but he took my legs out from under me. Blew out my right knee. I ended
up in the hospital and never played football again.”

“I never like
football.” Mama couldn’t hold back. “I always worry about Teddy getting hurt.”

“It was good to
me,” Harry went on. “I didn’t know it at the time, but getting hurt was the
best thing that ever happened to me. Sally was a nurse’s aid. I met her in the
hospital and fell in love at first sight.”

“
Que romantico.
”
Mama clasped her hands together and flashed her best smile at Harry.

“She put me
through law school,” Harry was talking for his own benefit. “I couldn’t do
enough to pay her back. I spent my whole life doing things for her and she
never once asked me for anything.”

“That’s so sweet,
Mr. Hardwick.” Meagan wrapped her hands around Harry’s bicep.

Harry skewered
Meagan with a penetrating glance. “I guess that’s what love’s all about.
Putting someone else’s needs above your wants.”

Hijo de dios.
Old Harry has her number.
Ted looked around for another beer.

Edmonds, Washington

Ted wandered to
the cliff’s edge. Mama was doing just fine. She seemed to blend seamlessly with
these
ricos
. Too bad Papa couldn’t be here. Ted would have given
anything to be able to watch Papa be the guest for a change.

The June sun finally
slipped behind the pink tinged peaks of the Olympic Mountains as darkness
settled in. The soft on-shore breeze brought a hint of salt air and a slight
chill.

Two white Adirondack
chairs faced Puget Sound and the Olympic Peninsula across the water. Ted took
his bottle of beer and headed for the chairs. This was a defining moment in his
life. He needed a moment of solitude to absorb what it all meant.

He wouldn’t be
going back to LA. He hated the idea of living so far from his family, but he
couldn’t bear to go back to a place where he couldn’t feel safe at night in his
own house. Seattle was one of the hubs of the high-tech world. He already had
several job prospects. None of the employers he interviewed with even seemed to
notice he was Latino.

“Whatcha doing
away from the party?”

The voice startled
Ted. A petite girl, dressed from head to foot in black, tattoos on her arms and
a gold ring in her nose, sat in one of the Adirondack chairs.

“Sarah,” Ted said.
“I didn’t know you were here.”

Ted had never seen
Chris’ little sister when she wasn’t in a dark mood. Chris nicknamed her “the
Mistress of Darkness” because she walked around looking like a vampire.

“Hey, it’s my
party too,” Sarah said. “As if I care about all of Dad’s bullshit friends.”

“That’s right. I guess
I should congratulate you. Graduating from high school’s a big deal.”

“Like that means
anything.” Sarah took a deep drag on a long, thin cigarette.

How could she be
so negative about everything? She had all the money in the world. Her dad could
open all sorts of doors for her. She could do anything she wanted. How could
she not appreciate that?

“Your dad is
throwin’ you guys a pretty nice party.” Ted sat in the empty chair.

“This isn’t for
us.” She flipped the lit cigarette over the cliff. “It’s all about him. Showing
off his money and power”

 “Hey, chica, it’s
not a bad thing to have a dad that cares about you.” Ted finished the last drop
of his beer.

“Cares about me?”
Sarah leaned back in the chair and stretched her legs out. “What a joke.
You
are so lucky.”

What?
“I’m
so lucky? How?”

“At least your
family is for real. Your parents work for a living. They produce something. My
dad’s a parasite. All he does is live off of other people’s misery.”

Yeah, well
that’s a tough problem to have.
She didn’t know what it was like to sleep
in a bath tub in case a stray bullet might pierce the walls at night. She
sought out bad neighborhoods where drug marts thrived on every corner. He
hadn’t had a choice.

Thank God he was
out.

****

Toronto, Canada

 “This is just the
kind of place we need,” Mohammed said as he and Ahmad made their way down the
busy sidewalk. “They set a mechanical timer here to track your usage. There
isn’t any software on the computers that tracks users, websites or how long
you’re logged on.”

Ahmad nodded his
understanding. The neon sign hanging from the second floor above a pizza parlor
on Younge Street said “The Cyber-Bean.”

 “It’s better that
we use public computers,” Mohammed said quietly as the people in the street
walked past, ignoring their presence.

Mohammed was a
small, dark man, his upper lip hidden by a bushy mustache. His Pakistani
background was much different than Ahmad’s Iranian heritage. Mohammed’s peasant
parents immigrated to Canada seeking economic opportunity.

“The authorities
can track the sites you visit from your own PC. Don’t go to these sites at work,”
Mohammed reminded Ahmad.

Ahmad opened the
door and he and Mohammed climbed the stairs to the Internet café.

This place is
perfect for our purposes,
Ahmad thought
.
It was busy enough that no
one would remember them. The tables were partitioned off so no one else could
see what they were working on.

“Bon jour,” the
tiny French-Canadian brunette behind the counter sang out as Ahmad and Mohammed
entered the café. The room was tastefully decorated in reds and yellows. A vase
of fresh flowers sat on each table and prints of Renaissance artworks hung on
the walls.

Don’t return
her smile. Do nothing to make yourself memorable.

“Morning,” Ahmad
replied quietly, head down, heart pounding in his throat. He refused to look
the barista in the eye.

The diminutive woman
prepared a raspberry Italian soda for Ahmad and an espresso for Mohammed.

“Six fifty, table
five,” the brunette said, handing them the drinks and starting a mechanical
timer labeled “Five.”

Ahmad handed her
three twoonies and a loonie, Canadian two and one dollar coins, and carefully
placed the change into his plastic coin purse. Ahmad and Mohammed walked
quickly to their table. Ahmad hung his black leather jacket on the back of the
chair, carefully arranged his drink and put the keyboard and mouse in precisely
the proper positions.

He opened a
browser session and typed in the URL for quawin.org. He felt like a school boy
looking at dirty pictures.

To his great
relief, he discovered that this site recently added English language pages. He frequently
visited English language sites such as jihadunspun.net and maktab-al-jihad.com
but Arabic language sites like qawim.org or Maac.ws, were better sources of
information, free from Western bias. It embarrassed him that he needed help
with the language barrier.

“This Daleel
Al-Mojahind is a great man.” Ahmad settled into his chair and clicked through
the website. “He can communicate for al-Qaeda, keep us informed of how the
jihad is going and provide the jihadist instruction manuals.”

“The problem is
that the kaffirs keep shutting him down.” Mohammed ran his fingers over his
mustache. “I have to be in constant contact with the other members of my mosque
to get the new locations of his site. His Web site may only be at a particular
URL for a few weeks, then it’s gone.”

“How do they find
the locations of his site?” Ahmad tried to keep his voice down despite the loud
chatter in the café.

“It’s the infernal
Internet Haganah.”

“The Haganah?”
Ahmad’s forehead wrinkled as he puzzled what Mohammed just said. He knew that
the Haganah was a long dead Zionist terrorist organization that helped wrest
control of Palestine from the Arabs when the cursed state of Israel was formed
in the 1940’s, but what was an
Internet Haganah?

“They’re a group
of Israeli civilians that track jihadist websites,” Mohammed responded. “As
soon as they find one, they go to the authorities and get it shut down.
Fortunately, more and more of the sites are now hosted in Dubai. There, we have
freedom of speech.”