51

I went to the men’s room, then to the downstairs bar, getting a beer and killing time listening to Issam bang away on the piano. Deep down, I didn’t really think Islam was evil, but there was no denying a connection between the mass murderers and the faith, and it aggravated me when I confronted apologists. Even so, while I held my views, I knew we had a mission to accomplish, and acting like an asshole in Ahmed’s world wasn’t the best way to go about it. We did have some terrorists to find, and if Ahmed helped with that, it was fine with me. My personal opinions could not be allowed to interfere. I finished my beer and figured the heat had bled off from our conversation. I went back upstairs.

The first thing I saw was Knuckles and Carly, canoodling in the corner. Well, maybe not that bad, but they were definitely ignoring the rest of the table. I really wanted to break that up, but after my argument earlier, it would be a bridge too far. They got to live another day.

I saw Jennifer leaning over the table with Ahmed, deep in discussion, Veep and Retro listening in. I wandered over, getting close enough to hear but not close enough to shut down the conversation.

“But you can see what he’s saying, can’t you? It’s not like there are a lot of Christians cutting off heads. I mean, he’s right. Everyone talks about poverty or a lack of opportunity being the genesis of terrorism, but in the Philippines, the poverty goes across religious lines, and the country is predominantly Catholic, yet all of the terrorist-related killings there are done by Muslims. In fact, that group just joined the Islamic State.”

Ahmed said, “No, no, you’re exactly right. But it isn’t Islam, per se. It’s the very ally America courts. It’s Saudi Arabia.”

“What do you mean? Islam is Islam.”

“No, it’s not. Islam is not Islam, any more than the various faiths of Christianity define that whole religion. Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi proclaims a caliphate, and everyone in the West paints all of Islam. How many Protestants listen to what the pope says? Yet they are all Christian.”

Jennifer smiled and said, “That’s true, but nobody in Christendom is running around lopping off heads.”

“Look, there is a cancer here, and it has a name. It’s Wahhabism, and it’s coming from Saudi Arabia. We’re fighting that cancer now, but we embraced it early on.”

I started to intervene, then backed up, wanting to hear what he had to say, knowing that Jennifer would get more out of him than I could.

She said, “Everyone blames them, but it’s not borne out by the evidence. We just had the redacted pages released from the 9/11 report, and there’s no hard proof of their involvement. How can you say that Saudi Arabia is the root of a Moroccan terrorist in France?”

“It’s not an excuse, but it is real. Involvement doesn’t mean you carried a box cutter. The house of al-Saud made a deal with the devil. Way back when, they partnered with a bunch of extremists and said, ‘If you back me as the supreme ruler, I’ll support you in your view of Islam.’ They did, and the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia was born, a state held hostage by the Wahhabis and their fundamentalist thinking. This would be nothing but one more agreement in a million of them in the sands of history, except Saudi Arabia found oil. Since then, to keep their kingdom intact, the royal family has funneled money into that extremist brand of Islam all over the world, precisely to keep the radicals in their own country happy. Without their support, the kingdom would fall, so they continue to do so, even as it causes attacks in their own country.”

Jennifer said, “I don’t see it. The strain of Islam you’re talking about can’t be bred by an infusion of cash. There’s something more at play.”

He took a sip from his glass and said, “What if the entire GDP of the United States funded the Westboro church or David Koresh’s sect? Do you think that would make a difference? Especially if the government made that brand of religion the official state-sanctioned one? What would happen if the enormous force of the United States began pushing a certain church and sending out snake charmers all over the world? Trust me, it’s possible, and we bought into it.”

“How? What do you mean?”

“Saudi Arabia had the money. Haven’t you seen the palaces here in Morocco? That country spends it like we drink water. And our previous king, when offered the money to build mosques, agreed to let it happen. He was looking to increase our respectability, but the mosques came with a catch—the imams came from Saudi Arabia. And because of it, their brand of Islam began to infect our society, like it has infected every Muslim country on earth.”

Jennifer considered what he said but didn’t back down. “But the Moroccans from Belgium and France had never been to Saudi Arabia.”

He said, “And they’ve never been religious inside Morocco. They were Berbers from the Rif who had no religious learning in our country. They were radicalized somewhere else, and that radicalization was done by a Wahhabi imam. I promise.”

Now I was actually getting interested. Jennifer said, “So your brand of Islam is the open-arms one? Is that what you’re saying?”

“You make a jest, but yes. It is. It’s called Maliki, and it’s inclusive. Sufism. We don’t preach hate or intolerance. In fact, the new king has forbidden Wahhabis from our mosques and is exporting Maliki imams for that very reason, fighting fire with fire. Here, unlike Saudi Arabia, he is known as the commander of the faithful and is the ultimate arbitrator of the faith.”

“So you allow Christianity to practice here?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then why is it against the law to have a Bible written in Arabic? What’s the fear there?”

He stammered, saying, “That’s . . . that’s just a law. You in America have such things.”

“Are you saying we made it illegal to have a Quran printed in English?”

“No, no. I mean you have such things as blue laws.”

“Really? You’re going to tell me that not being able to buy liquor on Sunday is the same thing as stifling an entire religion? And why is it that I, as a woman, can’t worship in the company of men. Is that right?”

He said, “That is completely misunderstood. Men have needs, and having women bent over in front of them is not godly. That is all it is about. Temptation.”

I saw her stutter, amazed, and I knew she was going to make the same mistake I had. She could chastise me all day long about being a Cro-Magnon, but when it came to women’s rights, she was just as bad. Not that I didn’t think she had a point, but we did have a mission to accomplish.

She said, “You don’t think that’s backward?”

I walked forward, getting their attention. I said, “We need to get some sleep. Long day tomorrow.”

Ahmed looked at me in relief, clearly not liking where Jennifer was taking the conversation. He’d been so sure of himself right up until the last thirty seconds. She gave me the stink eye. I was pretty sure the discussion wasn’t over.

I held out my hand for her and said, “I, for one, would never make you pray in the back. It would be depriving the world of a view they should see.”

Which, naturally, went over like a lead balloon with both Ahmed and Jennifer. She jerked her hand away and stomped out. He looked at me like I was a lunatic.

I said, “Sorry, man. Just trying to help.”

He shook his head and walked away. I watched him leave the balcony, and I, being me, ended up going for the trifecta. I started to follow them downstairs but saw Carly and Knuckles still in the corner, and I couldn’t resist.

I went over to them, ending their conversation. They both looked at me expectantly. I said, “Carly, I appreciate the intervention today, but it won’t matter at selection.”

She looked at me quizzically, while Knuckles scowled like he wanted to stab me in the heart. She said, “What are you talking about?”

I said, “I’m going to bed. Ask your sponsor.”

She turned to Knuckles and said, “What’s he talking about?”

Knuckles spat out, “He’s an asshole. I have no idea.”