59

The Alitalia Boeing 737 closed its doors, and the flight attendant made the usual call to turn off any electronic components. Jalal relaxed for the first time. He leaned over to Tanan and said, “We’re good. We’re on the way.”

Tanan nodded, still showing fear. Jalal said, “Relax. You will only raise suspicion with that face.”

Tanan nodded again but didn’t become any more sanguine.

The trip from Fez had been one trial after another, starting with the death of Tanan and Wasim’s brother.

They’d broken out into the market on the far side of the alley, dumped their weapons, and raced out of the mellah to their vehicle, expecting to get arrested at any moment. Or die in a blazing shootout. None of that had happened.

Giddy with relief, Wasim had started the car, and for the first time, Tanan realized their brother was missing. He said, “Wait, where’s Mustafa?”

Wasim had opened his car door to go back, but Jalal had stopped him. Jalal had said, “It’s too late. I heard more firing as we were running. It wasn’t us. It was someone else. He is martyred.”

Jalal didn’t know if he was captured or killed but knew he was a threat. He couldn’t tell that to the cousins, though. Tanan demanded to go back. Jalal shut that down, saying the sacrifice was made and they needed to flee the country as soon as possible.

Wasim had fought him, saying that blood trumped any mission. Jalal had said, “Yes, blood is something real. Do you want to take his blood sacrifice and throw it away? Or use his sacrifice to continue?”

After a tense standoff, the cousins had relented, and they’d set out for Casablanca, four hours away. They’d parked their car in the airport lot and then settled into the Casablanca terminal for a three A.M. flight to Rome.

The cousins were ansty, clearly nervous. Jalal was morose. The mission shouldn’t have started like this. He had no idea who the Caucasian man had been outside of their apartment, or even how he’d found it, but he was worried that their plot had been discovered. He wondered how the shipment to Los Angeles was going and whether it had been found out as well.

He used the Wickr app to text Tariq, letting him know they were on the way and asking about the container to Los Angeles. All he got back was that it was delayed but on track. He wanted to call. To talk to the man and get some answers, but he knew he couldn’t. There were too many people listening to unencrypted cell phones.

They’d had two close scares when uniformed police had swept through the terminal, but both times, it was a false alarm.

Eventually, they’d boarded the plane, the three cousins looking exactly like a bunch of sweating terrorists out to take the aircraft down. He thanked God that they were flying out of Casablanca with a planeload of other Muslims. If they had been in Rome or New York, the entire crew would have been yanked off.

The plane began rolling to the taxiway and Jalal leaned over, saying, “We’ll be in Rome in a few hours. Then we’ll regroup.”

Tanan said, “I don’t think I can do this. I can give my life, but I can’t live under this pressure. They’re going to know.”

“It’s okay. Quit worrying. You’re going to make everyone on this aircraft nervous.”

Tanan nodded, letting out a small smile. He said, “That was a pretty good escape, right? That camera and my escape route was good, wasn’t it?”

Jalal patted him on the shoulder and said, “Yes. Yes, it was. Keep it up, because our next stop is Norfolk, Virginia.”