Apparently Watson was accustomed to hostile interviews, as he simply asked it again. “Colonel al-Fariq has repeatedly stated that he chose an all-female guard because women are naturally more loyal.” At Lelia's reluctant nod, he continued, “Do you think your loyalty is based on true patriotism, or is it because it's the only life you have ever known?”
Lelia gritted her teeth, but her training kept her face perfectly blank as she responded. “Sir, the civil war that ripped my country apart ended before I was old enough to understand what was happening. But I lost both of my parents in it. Colonel al-Fariq has done the near-impossible and held the country together in prosperity for decades. It is an honor to serve him.”
Watson nodded, his bright green eyes glittering with sharp intelligence. “How do you feel about serving in such a prominent role in a country where women have traditionally held a more subservient position?”
Before she responded, Lelia glanced at the Colonel, who nodded his assent. “I'm not sure what you mean. We certainly adhere to local customs; we wouldn't think of doing otherwise.” She gestured toward her closely tailored uniform. “We don't wear the hijab when in uniform, but we certainly are honored to do so when we're off duty.” Most women in Laritrea didn't wear the hijab. Lelia encouraged the Amazonian Guard to do so to compensate for their nontraditional roles. There was nothing to gain from pointing this out to an American reporter, however. They only saw what they wanted to see. “As for the rest of your question, I think it is my patriotic duty to fulfill whatever role is required of me. The Amazonian Guard works diligently to protect Colonel al-Fariq.” She gave the pat answer in the same monotonous tone she'd used with other questions, but knew he could detect a sharpness in her response that she'd managed to restrain previously. She hated nothing more than the assumption that all Arab women were docile cows.
“Oh, I don't doubt that you work very hard. I'm just curious about your role, given the very strict rules governing women's lives in most of the Muslim world.”
Fortunately for Lelia, the Colonel chose to interject. “First, I'm not sure I would consider Laritrea to be part of this Muslim world of which you speak. In fact, this idea of a Muslim world, a Western world, et cetera…is puzzling to me. We are all one world, are we not?” He waved his hands in an all-encompassing gesture. “A curious habit, that. Dividing the world into these political and religious factions. No sooner had the Soviet Union collapsed than suddenly we became 'the Muslim world.' Why do you think that happened, Mr. Watson?” He continued as though he didn't expect an answer, or maybe he didn't want one. “Most assuredly the majority of my people are followers of the Prophet, peace be unto him.” There was a brief pause before he continued in a softer tone, “As am I. However, that doesn't make this a Muslim country any more than the United States is a Christian country. We have no state-ordered religion. We are, in fact, a secular country.”
The reporter displayed his experience and shrewdness by pouncing on the most intriguing point in al-Fariq's monologue. “Sir, pardon me for asking such an impertinent question, but there are rumors that you are, in fact, an atheist. What is your response to such rumors?”
Al-Fariq stood. “I've already answered your question. I am a devout Muslim; anyone saying otherwise is clearly ignorant of my faith and of me. Now, I've given you enough of my time on such a lovely afternoon. I must return to my duties.” He gestured toward the two guards who maintained their positions on either side of the entry door to his office. “Please see Mr. Watson out. I trust that he has sufficient information for his article.”
Lelia studied the reporter's back as he left the room without protest. She had no doubt that they hadn't seen the last of the man, and the upcoming article was sure to create a firestorm even greater than those firefighters had faced.
* * *
Lelia rushed into the Colonel's office in response to a bellow that could be heard on the other side of the palace. For a moment she wondered if there had been yet another assassination attempt but was quickly reassured upon seeing both his assigned guards at their posts on either side of the door. She paused in the doorway, struggling to maintain her passive expression as a laptop computer flew across the room, crashing explosively into the wall. The wall's chipped paint and discoloration gave mute testimony that it was the favorite target for anything the Colonel found offensive. Unfortunately for the palace decorator, the opulent room had been redone only a few weeks ago. The rococo furnishings with their rich velvets and gilded pretty-much-everything were so gaudy, Lelia was convinced the decorator was having a huge laugh at the Colonel's expense. She wondered why he'd never taken aim at any of the hideous furniture. Instead, he seemed to reserve his ire for things that plugged in. He was especially hard on electronics; that was the third laptop this week. At least he hadn't thrown it at anyone's head—this time. As an aide came scurrying into his office with a replacement, she wondered, not for first time, why they didn't just get him a desktop model. Of course, there was a strong possibility that he would just shoot it, as he was wont to do with the plasma TVs that could be found in nearly every room in his palaces. She remained at attention until he gestured for her to join him at his desk.
“Look at this; just look at this!” he yelled in Arabic, an indicator of his level of distress. Under normal circumstances he preferred to speak French, a holdover from his lengthy exile in that country. He motioned toward the computer screen. “Can you believe this story, Sergeant? Have you ever seen anything so blasphemous?”
Lelia paused for a moment to take in al-Fariq's increasingly florid complexion; his tall form practically vibrated with his rage. She tuned out the rest of his invective as she leaned over his desk to read the news story on the computer screen.
Laria, Laritrea (AP)
What man would not be pleased in having 40 highly trained and deadly bodyguards who just happen to be beautiful enough to grace any catwalk? Col. Murad bin Sulaiman al-Fariq, leader of this small North African country, is such a man. He has been blessed with an entourage of femmes fatales called the Amazonian Guard—more commonly known, at least in Western circles, as the Pussycat Death Squad.
The Amazonian Guard goes through a rigorous basic training ordeal at a special academy to become experts with firearms and in martial arts. In a word, they become trained killers. The women who qualify for duty are required to be virgins, and of course, physically attractive. They are handpicked, some when they are as young as eight years old, by al-Fariq himself.
According to al-Fariq, he chose an all-female guard because women are innately more loyal. He alleges that, as women in this nominally Muslim country, they have no ambition to succeed him as leader. There are some who do question the women's loyalty, or at least they would if they could speak out in this country where niceties such as free speech are nonexistent. It is hard to believe that these women would be willing to eschew a life of their own to serve the aged leader if they had other opportunities. Essentially they are a twenty-first-century harem, albeit one that is armed to the teeth, chosen when they are too young to make such a life-altering decision.
Her breath hissed between her teeth as she came across that hated nickname,
Pussycat Death Squad
. How dare they? The Amazonian Guard had existed for more than two decades as a respected fighting force. It was only when the Western media discovered them that they had been reduced to something out of a James Bond movie. Her soldiers were well trained and prepared to vanquish any opponent, yet they were denigrated with that horrible name. She'd known it was a bad idea to talk to that American reporter.
Pah!
What nonsense. Since when did any Western reporter give fair coverage in an African country? At least the rest of the Guard, isolated in the barracks, were unlikely to read the story. But the rest of the world most definitely would.
Lelia finished reading the article and tuned back in to what the Colonel was saying. He was consulting with three aides as to what his response should be. With the Colonel still standing, she automatically assumed an at-ease position, legs spread shoulder-width apart, hands crossed at the base of her spine. Despite her rigorous training, she was unable to remain expressionless when she heard what they were planning.
The Colonel was practically foaming at the mouth. “Did you see where he all but called me a pedophile? Did you see where he totally misrepresented the age of some of the Guard members? Eight years old? I don't have any guards that young!”
Lelia didn't respond. In fact, she'd been chosen for duty when she was only eight years old. Several other members had also joined when they were that young. Not surprisingly, Colonel al-Fariq had never been one to trouble himself with absolute facts.
“Only Americans could turn something so honorable into something perverted and disgusting.”
Lelia watched him work himself into a proper rage. Given that it was almost a daily occurrence, she didn't feel compelled to speak until the four men began strategizing a response to the article. Aghast at what she was hearing, she looked into the faces of each of the three aides who were huddled around the Colonel. She'd never cared for any of them; they were mere sycophants, desperate to curry favor with their leader. They had a tendency to indulge his more extravagant notions, but still…
“Sir,” she spoke up, even though as a member of his personal Guard she was supposed to remain silent unless he ordered her to speak. “Sir, this soldier requests permission to speak.”
Colonel al-Fariq looked up at her. Even with his advancing age, he was still a very handsome man. His typical Arab features—sharp bone structure and thick hair that was still mostly black—were marred by the deep frown he'd worn throughout the conversation.
Lelia continued when he indicated that she might. “Sir, I don't understand how having the Amazonian Guard train with American marines would be at all beneficial.”
The Colonel gestured to one of his aides to explain. The man spoke in a patronizing tone. “It's simple, Sergeant. Training with the Marines will demonstrate that the Guard is far from being a group of pussycats. Also, going to America will demonstrate that you are not isolated and have chosen to serve our leader.”
Going to America?
How had she missed that? Lelia felt her jaw slacken in shock. It took a moment for her training to kick in and school her features back into a regulation expression. She struggled to come up with an argument to defeat their plan. She risked a glance at Colonel al-Fariq, who was clearly in agreement with what they had proposed. How could she explain that it was an invitation to disaster without making her soldiers sound immoral and incompetent?
“Sir, as you know, there have been many attempts on your life of late. Obviously we cannot be here guarding you and in America at the same time.”
The Colonel nodded. “Yes, we've considered that. I think I can do well with a contingent from my regular troops. It is only for a month or so, and I don't have a very heavy agenda in the coming weeks.” His aides murmured their agreement.
Lelia couldn't stop her gasp of dismay. A month? Had they lost all reason? She too was upset about the article, but surely it didn't call for such a dire response. Clearly there was something more going on, and the Colonel had no intention of confiding in her. Her thoughts scurried frantically as she cast about for another excuse but finally had to resort to the literal truth. “Sir, many of our soldiers are very young and impressionable—” she began, only to be interrupted when al-Fariq rose to his feet with a roar.
“Are you implying that this article is correct? That simple marines will be able to undermine my personal Guard?” He gave her a sly look. “What are their names? Why have I not been informed at such a security breach? Clearly they're not worthy to serve me and shouldn't be in my personal Guard.”