BEFORE GOING TO MALJAMAR Bashir planned the dinner with great care. He wanted it to be appetizing for everyone so they would find the food irresistible. Considering the diverse backgrounds and nationalities, the meal would be a culinary challenge. He settled on Ottoman lamb, jeweled rice, tomato salad, and for dessert pistachio baklava. To shorten the preparation time, he had mixed all the dry ingredients at home and stored them in separate plastic bags, all carefully marked. Many of the wet ingredients were also stored in jars with tight fitting lids. At home he practiced preparing each dish several times to be certain the dinner would come off without problems. Now in this remote desert house, he proceeded with confidence.
Abdullah sat separate from the others, thinking about the conflicting opinions expressed around the table earlier. Except for Rashid, who remained neutral throughout the meeting, he felt alienated from Kosloff and Suri. The Russian's accusation that his handlers in Rome did not approve of his target selection, festered in his mind. How dare this relic from the Soviet Union take it upon himself to evaluate my plan, and claim it is not supported. He is delusional. My work continues to be sustained with unlimited funding from Rome. Suri's did not consider the level of retaliation each scenario would cause the Americans to take against my people. Our minimum attack will deter major U.S. meddling in our affairs and show the fallacies of America's foreign policies. A maximum attack would force retaliation of inconceivable proportions.
Rashid interrupted Abdullah's reverie. "There is much responsibility resting on your shoulders, Abdullah." He took a seat at the other end of the sofa. "Only a brave man would sacrifice his safety for the advancement of holy jihad and the love of his people."
Abdullah listened to these sympathetic words. Maybe he wasn't alone in his determination to do the will of Allah, the Omnipresent. He agreed with Rashid's comments. "They," he motioned toward the others, "serve only their own interests. I evaluate the consequences of my actions."
"Yes, you have a rare opportunity to serve Islam. Timing is important. When will the stadium attract the greatest crowds?"
Abdullah studied Rashid's face. His questions took him off guard. He thought about the football schedule and tried to remember when the rival teams of New Mexico State and University of New Mexico would play. Before he could sort that out, Bashir announced dinner would be served momentarily. Standing, he replied, “Soon, Rashid, soon.”
The Russian took his place at the head of the table. Abdullah selected the chair at the other end, wanting to be as far from Kosloff as possible. Rashid and Kassar faced each other. No one noticed the absence of a place setting for Bashir.
Carrying a tray, Bashir served drinks to everyone–water for all and sparkling apple juice for the Muslims. Alexander Kosloff expressed pleasure when a bottle of vodka was set before him with a glass of cracked ice. The Russian touched the bottle and said aloud, "Not only a civilized drink, but Snow Queen Vodka, from Kazakhstan, magnificent!" He poured his glass full and raised it. "A toast. To all who seek a better life." No one needed a translation. Rashid and Kassar joined in, but Abdullah only touched his glass.
Bashir quickly left and returned carrying a tray of four plates of food with generous servings. Each plate was adorned with attractive garnish. He served Abdullah last. When he set the plate in front of him he whispered in his ear, "Drink, but do not eat if you wish to live." Abdullah froze and continued to stare at his plate. A ripple of fear consumed his body. He gripped his fork, and picked up his glass. His hand trembled.
In the kitchen, Bashir prepared a meal of lamb cut into small pieces for his dog who he respected only for his fearless aggression. The dog attacked the meat with zeal.
In the dining room the Russian eagerly ate his food starting with the lamb, which he washed down with a gulp of vodka after each bite. Kassar tried the tomato salad, tested the rice, and then sampled the meat. When Bashir brought in the pistachio baklava, he ate some of that, too. Rashid pushed the food around on his plate with little enthusiasm. Bashir had made such an effort to please everyone. The buttered rice, with nuts and berries, added color to the meal. He concentrating on that more than the lamb and tomato salad. Abdullah stared at his plate. It all smelled and looked delicious.
The first to feel the effects of the colorless, tasteless gamma-hydroxbutrate mixed into the food was the Russian. He went from a gregarious playful dinner partner to a listless and then silent man. When his head fell back and his arms dropped to his sides, Rashid and Kassar assumed he had drunk too much vodka. When Kassar's head dipped down, then descended into his plate of food, it was too late for Rashid to react. He tried to stand, but lost consciousness as he fell to the floor in slow motion. Abdullah watched this spectacle speechless, unable to grasp its meaning.
Bashir entered the dining room holding a semi-automatic 9mm handgun with a suppressor attached almost doubling the gun’s length. Abdullah jumped up. "What have you done?" He screamed. "Why are you armed?"
"I am following orders," he answered perfectly composed. While he spoke, he fired a shot through the head of the Russian, rocking him violently to the side. Blood and brain tissue splattered against the nearby wall. "I serve the successor of the Prophet Muhammad, and Supreme Head of the Society of Rule by Sharia Law." He positioned the gun at the base of Kassar Suri's skull, and then fired a bullet that tore through his brain and split the top of his head, spraying a path of bloody gore across the table and into Rashid's food. Bashir walked around the table and stood over Rashid who lay on the floor unconscious. He never took his eyes off Abdullah when he fired two rounds into Rashid al Youris killing him instantly. He then raised the gun and pointed it at Abdullah.