The hotel phone rang twice. “Hammad.”
He remembered their instructions to use only first names. No last names, no military rank. That made it more difficult for anyone trying to identify and track them. Instructed to use cash whenever possible, all three men also carried specially prepared fake credit cards in case they were needed for hotels and transportation such as airlines. The first names on the cards matched their real identity, the last names did not.
“Fazil,” Lieutenant Virk replied. “With the humidity, the weather here is warmer than at home.” He had to memorize several coded statements. This one meant he was not under duress, no one was listening and it was clear to talk.
“Praise Allah, the humidity is not like here.” Virk recalled this response indicated no duress for the responding person either. They were clear to speak as they needed.
“I’ve been checking on our Dr. Grant. It seems he is a well respected professor at Columbia University here in New York. He’s a specialist on the Middle East, including cultures, politics, and economics. He has given several presentations to the public on the structure and policies of different governments, including Iraq and Iran, and has also spoken about various terrorist or Jihadist groups.”
Major Hammad Malik just listened while Virk reported his information.
“I went to the University and spoke with his receptionist and student teaching assistant. All his classes involve Middle East culture and international relations. However,” he sighed, “It seems our Dr. Grant misses class sometimes, apparently traveling. The assistant said he does some work for the government, helping with meetings, conferences, even helping write trade agreements. He was part of the American team working on the Status of Forces agreement with Iraq.”
“He gets around, doesn’t he?” Malik responded. “That’s an interesting tie to the American government.” The Major paused a moment. “It could be a cover for other operations. Any indication of how big or close that connection might be?”
“No, not yet. But I’m still digging. I know it goes well beyond the UN. Have you watched any of the news on television? They’re giving a lot of time to the shooting in Central Park and possible ties to a restaurant bombing that occurred here in New York. Grant is at the center of it, with talk that he may be FBI, or possibly CIA. They did say the FBI has requested his help in evaluating potential groups who may have been responsible for the shooting.”
“Yes, I’ve seen some of those programs. They would never put anything like that on TV in our country. It wouldn’t be allowed.”
“For sure. Unless we fed it to them.”
“Well,” Malik said, “I guess that is a possibility. But why would they announce that? I don’t think that makes sense.” He inhaled deeply. “But then they’re Americans, don’t forget. They do crazy things. What about the United Nations?”
“He is part of the UN. Several of our people at the Consulate know him or have talked to him. They say everyone is cautiously respectful of him and his position. He is very close to the Secretary-General.”
“Okay. That’s good to know.”
“Also he has met with the Secretary of State, Secretary of Defense, and several elected officials, including several Congressmen.”
“Very interesting.”
“His secretary at the UN said he will be away for a few days. She said he will be staying in Baltimore, but will not be available. Apparently several reporters are trying to see him, but he did not leave any contact information.”
“Now that’s worth knowing.” Malik sounded excited. “Anything else to report?”
“That’s as much as I could get. What’s next?”
Malik looked across the hotel room at Lieutenant Ali Bajar, who sat at a small table listening. “Ali will call around to check the local hotels for anyone with a foreign-sounding name or a Mexican passport already checked in and staying through the start of the conference.”
“Good idea.”
“Here in America, employers are supposed to verify citizenship and register foreign employees online. I will be checking that source for names and Mexican passports. You catch a plane down here to Baltimore and we’ll meet up. There are flights from JFK airport all the time. Call me after you arrive. Remember, no cell phones.”
“Okay. I should arrive before dark.”
He hung up and looked around for a phone book. He had left the United Nations and walked down 42nd Street to Grand Central Station, where he had found a bank of pay phones and called his superior. The embassy had connected him to the motel in Baltimore.
Even though there wasn’t much of a demand for pay phones now that everyone carried a cell phone, he sensed there must still be a high demand for phone books, because he couldn’t find one. Finally discovering one at the end of the phone bank, he checked listings for airlines, found the number he wanted and called.
He had never been to the United States. He had never traveled beyond the countries surrounding Pakistan. The rest of the world was a mystery to him. He decided to see what New York was like while he was there. He had heard a lot about this place, and now he could see it for himself.
After completing arrangements for a late afternoon flight to Baltimore, he asked directions. Told to continue west about ten blocks down 42nd Street, he would pass Bryant Park on the left, and arrive at Times Square, which many considered the heart of New York. Excited about the new adventure, he left Grand Central and started walking.
The sidewalk was crowded with people rushing everywhere. He sidestepped a man coming right at him. He saw others pushing, nudging and dodging around other people walking slower. He didn’t see a single smile. No one said hello or even nodded a greeting acknowledging anyone’s presence. They were all going someplace and wanted to get there.
Virk had not expected such a diversity of ethnicity. Wow. There are lots of different people everywhere, not like at home. He observed whites, blacks, brown people, Asians, Orientals, obvious Europeans and other Arabic people. As he continued walking, he overheard people speaking Russian, Spanish, Polish, and Japanese. He thought one language was either Italian or French. He heard a few Arabic words and even some Farsi. Although several regional languages are spoken in parts of Pakistan, the official language is Urdu and English. He heard many words in English, but none in his native Urdu.
The crowd thinned a little and a young man on roller skates moved toward him. Virk’s eyes opened wide in disbelief. Wearing baggy camo shorts and an old, faded red sleeveless tee three sizes too large, the young man rolled on one skate while lifting his other foot high in the air out to his side. He alternated his feet and continued skating slowly. He wore a big smile that highlighted a multitude of dark freckles. But what really shocked Virk was the man’s hair. It was a ball of curly fuzz, looking like it had exploded outward from the man’s head. The hair on top of his head was colored a very strong orange, while the sides were bright blue.
Virk turned to watch in disbelief as the man skated past. Shaking his head, Virk turned around to find another man standing in front of him in a long gray top coat.
Virk wasn’t sure what to do, the man just stood there. The man pulled up his sleeve. “Want to buy a watch?” He had at least six different watches strapped on his arm.
Speechless, Virk shook his head no.
The man opened his coat.”How about a wallet?” Somehow attached to the inside of the coat, he displayed a half dozen billfolds.
“Uh ─ no thanks.” Virk stepped around the man and continued walking.
It actually felt strange, rather uncomfortable to Virk, to see the extreme variety of clothing people wore. There were only a few men in suits like he dressed, but not most people. One woman stumbled, trying to walk in five-inch high heels. Virk thought about the many roads in his country that were still dirt or cobblestone, and the many broken sidewalks in the city.
Three younger women walked toward him wearing tight, very short shorts and halter tops barely concealing their contents. One of the women, a dark brunette, actually smiled at him as they approached. Her breasts were so large in the tight halter top, they bounced dramatically as she walked. He couldn’t help but notice the abundance of bright red lipstick and heavy dark mascara around their eyes.
Virk stepped to the side and let the young women pass, They kept on talking to each other and walking as if no one else existed on the sidewalk.
As he continued down 42nd Street, he was in awe at the huge signs over the various stores and businesses. Lights flashed and twinkled. Names on the signs blinked. This was not like Islamabad, let alone the small village where he lived.
He was surprised at the lack of police presence. He had not seen a uniformed policeman anywhere today. The UN had their own security guards, and they were all over the place. But out here, on the streets of New York, one of the largest cities in the world, he had not seen a single police officer.
As if on cue, a blue and white sedan pulled out from the intersection ahead and drove slowly past him. The writing on the car said, "To Protect and Serve." Additional writing identified it as New York City Police.
As he thought about it, he hadn’t identified any military uniforms either. There must be some. Back home, he thought, they’re everywhere. All over the place. Where are they here?
As he continued walking, he spied a couple over on the far side of the walk, next to the buildings. The man wearing a leather jacket had black hair sticking up like spikes. The woman was much shorter, but also sprouted black hair in all directions. She had black lips and white shading all around her eyes. As they drew close, Virk saw the man did too. And both had fingernails painted black. As they walked past, they looked at him as if to say, "What’s wrong with you?"
Virk lowered his head and studied the dirty sidewalk. A few paper wrappers had been dropped and left for others. He stepped over what appeared to be a wad of chewing gum. Then he realized he couldn’t keep his head down without running into people.
“Hello there, handsome.” He glanced to the side, where the voice had originated. There stood a tall black woman wearing orange lipstick and a very tight, very short orange dress. Her high heels clicked on the sidewalk as she walked over to him. “You look lonely, honey. Would you like a date?”
He looked around and behind her. He saw no dates, no pomegranates, nothing. There wasn’t even a vendor’s stand of any kind. Confused, Virk replied, “You don’t have any dates.”
The woman frowned at him. She started some gyrating movements and wagged her head back and forth. “How ‘bout a trip round the world?”
Now Virk was really confused. He stammered but managed to say, “I don’t think I have time.”
The woman tilted her head down and looked up at him. She raised her eyebrows questioningly. “Are you for real, son? Are you sure you’re all right? You hit your head or something?”
She put her hands on her hips and stood upright, thrusting her breasts in his direction. She leaned toward him. “Tell you what.” She smiled. “How about a quickie? You’ve got time for that, don’t you? Come on, let’s have some fun. Only a hundred bucks.” She continued to smile at him.
“I ... ” Virk turned back in the direction he was headed. “I’d better be going.” He started walking again.
Wow, he thought. This New York place sure is different. Americans are crazy. No wonder they’re all infidels. They must not believe in anything. Anything but money, that is.
As he walked, he nodded. His thoughts went wild. How can they have families? How can they please Allah like this? He shook his head in disgust. How can they please themselves like this? They must not all be this way.
A man bumped into him hard, knocking him slightly to the side, forcing him to stagger a step to maintain his balance. As the man moved away from him, Virk felt the man’s hand pulling out of Virk’s coat pocket. The man hurried away without saying a word. He turned and watched the man continue, hurrying down the sidewalk, away from him.
Turning back, Virk felt happy he had nothing in that pocket. He smiled as he resumed walking. He had experienced New York. It was time to go to the airport.