Five

 

 

April 9, 2012

 

AT A LITTLE after 4:00 p.m., the avenger was sitting at an outdoor café in Paris’s eighteenth arrondissement, reading one of the city’s many Arabic-language newspapers. A man in his mid-fifties, Dr. Abdul Nasiri had coal-black hair and a full beard, both lightly sprinkled with the gray of middle age. His blue pinstripe suit was of excellent quality, and his Rolex watch had an alarm that reminded him five times daily of the time for prayer.

In the unlikely event that someone was keeping track of such matters, at that moment in time Abdul Nasiri could be considered the third most dangerous man in the world. The dubious honor of first and second place would have been awarded to North Korean President Kim Jong-un and Ayatollah Khomenei, Supreme Leader of Iran, respectively. If Dr. Nasiri (Ph.D. in Anthropology earned at the Sorbonne, no less) was aware of his distinction, he bore the knowledge lightly.

Nasiri had taken a vow on the day he learned of the death of the man whom he revered above all others. He had seen on Al Jazeera the video of the American president; the dog had been barely able to contain his joy as he reported the Sheik’s death to the world.

They believe that the struggle died with the Sheik, in that house in Pakistan. They think they are safe now. They will soon learn otherwise.