The Apostate (20 page)

Now he and Paul agreed to have tea.

“I just moved here from Detroit where the job opportunities are poor now,” Paul said as they sat at a table while imbibing a pleasant smell of freshly watered shrubbery. “My parents are both gone, and my brothers are in Afghanistan.”

How ironic, Ray noted, that he felt it awkward to ask on which side his brothers fought. A telling indictment of the times. But then he learned that Paul hadn't converted like he had, and as the conversation continued he saw the fervor of a true believer in his dark eyes. “I would like to serve Islam like my brothers are, but my eyesight is poor.”

“Your prayers also serve,” Ray said.

“More is needed,” Paul said. “I admire what you do. Your weapon of words is mightier than many guns.”

“You give too much praise,” Ray said with modesty, dipping his eyes for a moment.

Paul hesitated and then said, “Tariq has said he might have work for me to do. But I don't know what. My training is as an accountant, and I think the center is well served in this respect.”

So Tariq had also befriended Paul, and for what purpose? This deserved more attention, Ray thought. It would be necessary to cultivate Paul's friendship.

“Are you single?” Ray asked.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Paul said with a weak laugh. “Unemployed and single.”

“Well, something will show up on the work front. The center may not have an opening, but it does list jobs on a bulletin board.”

“Yes, I've looked at this board, but there was nothing for an accountant.”

“One will come,” Ray predicted.

“
Inshallah
,” Paul said.

“Allah ya'tik” (God will give you), Ray said, dipping into his increased Arabic vocabulary. His accent, he knew, was still a work in progress.

Paul nodded, his sallow face suddenly suffused with a glow of belief and expectation.

“Why don't you come to dinner?” Ray said with an expansive air. “My wife, Abra, works at the center, and she may also know of some girls.”

“Thank you,” Paul said gratefully. “That would be wonderful.”

Yes, it could be
, Ray thought.

Abra seemed to like Paul, especially as he complimented her veal cutlets dish at dinner. It was hardly an Islamic repast, but Abra was skilled in making dishes from many nations. Paul was respectful and well-mannered. But Ray's instinct told him that Paul, who didn't have any friends since relocating to Southern California, was fodder for recruitment. Even before him, Tariq apparently had the same impression. Meanwhile, Abra saw Paul as someone she might find a girl for, though she had none to suggest at the moment. Paul, unfortunately, didn't come across as much of a catch.

“So, Paul,” Abra asked with a true matchmaker's smile, as they had coffee after dinner, “have you met any sun-tanned beauties yet?”

“Not yet,” Paul said, also smiling, “but I'm willing.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Abra promised.

“Thank you,” Paul said. “But I have to concentrate on my work and my responsibilities to Islam.”

“What has Tariq suggested?” Ray immediately asked, seeing an opportunity to draw Paul out. Instead, he drew a quizzical look from Abra.

“Tariq? Yes. We had a chat. He's a very serious man.”

“He certainly is,” Ray said. He hoped his irony didn't break through, but it was clear that Abra felt an undercurrent that puzzled her.

“I wish I could do more like you're doing,” Paul said. “Your work is so impressive.”

“Thank you,” Ray said. “I'm sure Tariq will find a suitable project for you.”

“Again, I'm willing and eager.” Paul's eyes and face glistened with fervor, and Ray was struck by his sincerity. They had a true believer at dinner.

“Has Tariq suggested anything yet?”

As casually as he could, Ray repeated his question as Paul hadn't really answered it. Abra was obviously unhappy with his pursuit, but he'd deal with that later.

“No,” Paul said after an instant's hesitation. “We just talked. One can learn much from him. And the imam, too,” Paul added, in deference to Abra's other uncle.

“Truly,” Ray agreed. So either there really was nothing specific or Paul was smart enough not to share any instruction or mission. If Tariq had indeed given Paul some assignment he had no doubt also invoked the fear of Allah should Paul reveal any details.

It would be a mistake, he thought, to ignore this coupling of Paul's fervor and willingness to work on the behalf of Islam and Tariq's notion of Muslim solidarity.

After Paul left, and as Abra was cleaning up, she said, “Why were you quizzing Paul like that?”

“I wasn't quizzing him.”

“It looked like that to me, and it made me feel uncomfortable. And him, too.”

“I'm sorry,” Ray said, showing contrition. “I was just curious.”

“I regret that you have differences with Tariq, but he's a great champion of Islam. Just as you have proved to be.”

Ray moved to Abra's side and slipped his arms around her waist as she stood by the sink.

“Whatever I've done is because of you.”

Abra turned, smiling, and embraced Ray. “Let's clean up later,” he whispered, kissing her neck. Lies and love co-existed as a marvelous gift to mankind, he thought, as they marched, holding hands, to their bed.

At last, given his gut instinct about Paul, Ray felt there was an opportunity to give Perkins something to check out. He didn't have anything concrete, but Paul by his own statements and attitude just seemed ripe for an act of terrorism. Still, Ray had the nagging thought that perhaps Paul was just too eager. Was he being set up by Tariq? The burglary of his apartment and the come-on by the girl at the laundromat were still very much on his mind. So was the oily invitation by Ezbek. At least, based on his last delivery of journal pages to the garage, his mounting opus was safe. No suspicion, fortunately, had come from Abra who concentrated on improving the décor of the interior of the house and not the garage. But the basic dilemma remained: Was how or what he did or didn't do in relation to Paul yet another test?

Finally, Ray came down on the side of a balanced report to Perkins, delivered by phone.

“I met someone who looks like he could be a candidate for a terrorism act. Nothing specific was said, other than he wanted to do something for Islam, and our friend Tariq said he might have something for him.”

“Got a name?” Perkins asked. His voice was more hopeful than usual, Ray thought, glad he had something to report.

“Paul Lassi. He's new to Southern California out of Detroit, or so he said. He also said he's an accountant. He's looking for a job.”

“What were his exact words?”

Ray thought for a moment. “I met him at prayers, we chatted afterwards, and I invited him to dinner. I don't remember his exact words, just the jist. He was familiar with my town hall outing and my assorted declarations and he wanted to do his bit too for Islam.”

“Okay. I don't suppose you have his car license number.”

“No. Sorry.”

“See if you can get it. Meanwhile, we'll check him out.”

“One more thing,” Ray said. “This could be another test set up by Tariq. I'm pretty sure he still doesn't trust me.”

“We'll be careful not to tip this Paul off in checking up, and if we decide to do any surveillance. Just keep on like you're doing.”

End of conversation.
Do as you're doing
. Perkins was so one-dimensional. He had no idea of the conflicting thoughts raging in his mind. Perkins still didn't mention anything about his al-azabic moniker. He was curious, but finally Ray decided to let well enough alone. Perkins might feel he was taking pride in the nickname. Truly, Ray thought, a misplaced hubris.

It was just a short news item on a morning show on television, but it immediately caught the attention of both Ray and Abra as they had breakfast.

The police have taken into custody a man alleged to be a terrorist planning to leave a car with bombs at the parking lot at Dodger Stadium. The identity of the man was given as Paul Lassi. Details are still unknown while police are investigating. Though proof is still circumstantial, police believe that the plan called for Lassi to leave his car, filled with bombs, in the stadium's parking lot and have the automobile blown up by remote control as the lot was filled with the crowd leaving the ballpark at the end of the game. Lassi had been put under surveillance and tailed to the Dodger parking lot where he was believed to be looking for where he should park the car. When the authorities thought the plan was operational the police evacuated houses in the area and raided the house. Bombs found in Lassi's car, in the house's driveway, were safely deactivated. The automobile was then removed to find additional evidence.

The screen showed the parking lot at the stadium, but not a car. Perkins wouldn't need any license plate number now. The second image was of an ordinary-looking one-story house with a small lawn.

The house, owned by non-Muslims, was unoccupied. But police said there was evidence that bombs were being built there
.

“That's terrible,” Abra muttered. Her face was ashen. Just how terrible wasn't something Abra could or should know. Would any blame come his way for betraying Lassi? Would Paul implicate Tariq? What would the fall-out be?

Ray derived scant satisfaction from the correctness of his gut feeling that the young unemployed man, so eager to serve Islam in this horrible misguided way, was the one arrested. Poor Paul had become a candidate for martyrdom. No doubt, this unperformed act of martyrdom was a greatly honored ambition as far as Paul was concerned. Being susceptible to such a desire had to be implanted early in life, though Paul obviously had two brothers as models of Islamic warriors if not
jihadists
. But once again, Ray wondered how could anyone, as a relatively mature adult, be willing to sacrifice their own life and kill countless numbers of innocents! Yet this dark side of Islam let shadowy terrorists deliberately misinterpret the Qur'an and claim willing adherents to their bloody operations.

“Incredible!” Abra said, shocked. “All our work. Your work.”

“It's a shame,” Ray agreed.

Nothing was said about any ties to the Islamic complex. If Tariq was involved, Paul might identify him under interrogation. Paul didn't seem the type to be able to withstand any hard questioning, which didn't have to involve water boarding, though that was supposed to be against the law now. On the other hand, Tariq was certainly clever enough to be able to show clean hands. Paul might even bring him into the equation. How ironic it would be if he were heralded as inspiration for Lassi wanting to do this heinous deed. Evil instigation by him as the arch agitator would be the charge.

Abra was still aghast as the impact of the situation grew more dismal. “He was a guest here for dinner.”

“How could we have known?” Ray said, looking away. No matter how careful he was, he was afraid some signal in his eyes or expression could betray him.

“Such a black mark on our community,” she said sadly. “The imam will be dismayed.”

And well he should be, Ray thought, though he was quite sure the imam knew nothing about the plot using Paul. Tariq, however, was another matter. But there was no proof.

“Do you think he'll mention us?” she asked suddenly, apprehension showing in her still pale face. “He was here just a little while ago.”

“I don't think so. But others at the center might be questioned.”

Abra shook her head. “What a mess!”

Ray nodded, equally despondent. “Let me know what they have to say at the center if you can, but I'll be there after work.”

“I'll call you,” she said, putting the dishes away. “What do you think will happen now?”

Ray shrugged. “I don't know. Just because Paul prayed at the complex doesn't mean the complex was involved.”

“I hope so. We've worked so hard to make the center a real asset to the community. It's a shame that this could further inflame public opinion against us.”

“It doesn't have to,” he said, feeling a surge of sympathy for Abra. She was so well meaning and sincere, representing the best elements of Islam, certainly Islam in America. Why should she and the complex be penalized by a bad element? Maybe, in his new limited role, he could do something about that, and without checking first with Perkins.

“You knew Paul Lassi, didn't you?” Tariq said when they met at the complex.

Clever Tariq, taking the offensive. He should have expected this tactic, Ray thought, sitting opposite Tariq in his small office. A laptop computer sat on his orderly desk, with a printer set on an adjoining table. A small bookcase, framed by two large pots filled with fresh flowers, was set against one wall. Otherwise, the room was decidedly naked.

Meanwhile, Ray had to keep crediting Tariq for his aplomb. Tariq just stared at him without the slightest hint or inkling of him having any involvement in the abortive bomb plot. Of the two of them, perhaps Tariq was more the consummate actor. But they weren't on stage, and much more was at stake than delivery of lines and use of artful expressions.

They were both fully versed now on details printed in the
Los Angeles Times
, which concentrated on how the plot was discovered. None of the bomb-makers were found. Paul was still being questioned. Fortunately, the only reference to the complex came from a quote from the imam deploring the actions of a misguided youth, who in no way represented the tenets of Islam.

“Just like you do,” Ray said.

“He came to your house for dinner.”

Ray shrugged. “Yes. He was new and I tried to befriend him. He seemed lonely, and I thought Abra might know of a girl he could contact.”