The Apostate (24 page)

“How's the book going?” Perkins changed the subject.

His contract with the PAS mandated he turn over for its review any book about his activities with the agency, but this book had a different subject and Perkins knew it. He wasn't required to show it first to the PAS, but they had a right to ask about its contents and to make sure there was no reference to the agency of any kind.

“Okay. Rolling along.” Actually, he had fallen behind due to his gunshot recovery period, but he was catching up now.

“Make sure there's nothing in it about our operations.”

“Don't worry,” Ray said. “I got the message.”

Indeed he did. But it wasn't the message that he started out with when he was first recruited by the PAS. When the book came out, he doubted Perkins would be pleased. He still hadn't decided just how to handle why and how he became a Muslim. It seemed so odd to think that simply declaring, as he had on television, that he saw a guiding light might come across as lame in a book. Thus far, he had glossed over that seminal issue, but he was going to come to grips with it before submitting his first draft.

Perkins gave him a number of a new and unused cell phone and then hung up. Ray threw away his cell phone. If he had the money, he thought, he should buy stock in a

cell phone company. There was no reason he, just like any American Muslim, couldn't partake in the vigor of the stock market.

As soon as Abra read his outline for the book she asked, “What's this about interviewing American Muslims from all quarters, and you include prisoners, those who converted while in prison?”

Abra still didn't know about the
mujahideen
he had interviewed, who had ended their session abruptly with a casual assassination. To date, he hadn't heard anything back from Perkins about this murder. Nor had anything appeared in the papers or on television. It was like the incident never happened. Now he to decide whether to include this incident in his book or not, but if he did he'd have to come up with quite an explanation to ward off Abra's wrath at not being told earlier.

“All quarters means all quarters,” he said.

His feeling that this element of his research wouldn't go over well with Abra was quickly borne out. They sat in the living room, with his outline lying on the coffee table like it was an incriminating document.

This was hardly a convincing argument, Ray knew, but he had to be inclusive. Abra knew as much, but she still gave him a dubious glance. “But some of these prisoners, and I assume you mean those who have been released, are still dangerous, aren't they?”

“I don't think so. They're also likely to be on parole, so it wouldn't make sense for them to do something stupid.”

Abra sniffed like she caught an obvious insult to logic. “If they weren't stupid, why were they in prison in the first place?”

Ray smiled. Abra's sense of reasoning, as always, was impeccable. “Oversights, no doubt,” he quipped.

But Abra wasn't amused. “I don't want to appear prejudiced, though perhaps I am, but aren't this particular group of American Muslims predominantly black?”

“Probably,” he admitted. “Aren't there many Muslims around the world who are black?”

“Yes, but you're not flying around the world to interview them,” Abra countered. Her face was set with a familiar and flinty resolve.

“Fortunately,” he said, hoping to dissolve her displeasure before it turned into a major issue, “I've found a man and a woman, right here in Los Angeles.”

“And who is this woman?” Abra asked. “I'm not in the slightest worried or jealous or anything of the sort, but you're going off to interview total strangers.”

“First of all, this woman is white. She hasn't been in prison. She isn't a former beauty queen, and she's fifty-four years old.”

Abra permitted herself a half-smile. “I just want you to be careful. Can't you interview at the center?”

“I can try, but they're accommodating me, not the other way around. Do you want to go with me?”

“Don't be silly!” Abra stared at him as if he had again disregarded a marital reality or logic. “I trust you. It's the others I don't trust.”

Ray smiled in acknowledgment of Abra's acerbic point. “There's something I'm thinking of adding to the book, but I need your feedback.” Ray waited a beat. “I was thinking of creating some suggestions or ideals. First, I thought of issuing a set of ten commandments.”

Abra's lips began to move but Ray stuck his hand up for her to halt. “I know. It would be offensive to Jews and Christians alike. Commandments are the wrong word and ten is the wrong number.”

“What are these ideals then?”

“I narrowed it down to seven, and I want to use a slightly stronger word—like mandates. I also, and it's the editor in me, like the alliteration.” Ray extracted a paper from his back pocket and handed it to Abra. She read:

Seven Mandates for American Muslims

• You're American with all that it entails to be loyal and responsible citizens.
  

• You respect all religions and faiths.
  

• You're against any aspect of Islam that calls for or condones violence.
  

• You're against all stereotyping of members of any group, religious, political, or social.
  

• You believe in being an integrated member of American society and not separating into special enclaves.
  

• You believe women are totally equal to men in every respect.
  

• You believe and follow the Ten Commandments.
  

“What do you think?” Ray asked, with a pessimistic look. “Am I too bombastic? Too assumptive? Too patronizing?”

“All of those a bit,” she said, with a cursory smile.

“Is it too much?”

“Not for the book, I think. But I wouldn't blast it on interviews.”

“How about trying it out on blogs?”

His mandates or points were good, Ray was convinced. But airing them could be counterproductive.

Abra's face clenched with indecision. “I don't know. These mandates, and I'm not sure that's the right word either, all make sense. But they're very idealistic.”

“I don't want to be idealistic,” Ray said, beginning to feel more emotional. It was like something of the mandate he had created for himself was being chiseled down. “I want to be practical.”

“Then my advice is to save it for the book.”

Abra was right, Ray knew. He was being stubbornly idealistic, but he wasn't ready yet to make his own decision.

“Well, let's see how things go,” he said, feeling suddenly weak and depleted.

Tariq had suggested they get together, and at first, Ray was alarmed that it was about the three students and their plot. One look at Tariq's dark demeanor did little to lighten his unease. Tariq, fortunately, wasn't as good an actor that he had initially credited him to be. If he played poker with cards instead of people's lives, which was doubtful, he'd have several tells which would sink him. But he mentioned nothing about the three students. Nor had Ray heard anything since the meeting. Hopefully, the trio had taken his advice and abandoned their foolish plan. Even more hopefully, maybe the surveillance hadn't been spotted.

Chances were the agents wouldn't spot anything by the students that seemed remotely operational, and Ray doubted the youthful trio had handlers who were behind their nascent plot. If the students actually had access to anthrax, surin, or any toxic material, finding where it was stored would be a coup. But Ray didn't think this was the case. Nor had there been any further communication from Perkins, though he couldn't be depended upon for such feedback.

“We need to discuss your book,” Tariq said. “It goes well?”

“Well enough. I'm back on schedule.”

Tariq, and probably the imam too, were concerned over the contents and direction of his book, which was obviously linked to the center. But they, like Perkins, had no right to review his writing before the book was published. It would be incredibly awkward if the imam asked to see the manuscript pre-publication. While the complex paid him a small stipend as a so-called consultant, he wasn't an employee per se. He wasn't going to allow any form of censorship. There wasn't anything in the Qur'an on that touchy subject.

“That's always good,” Tariq said. What might seem a sententious or innocuous comment from someone else always had a double or nuanced meaning with Tariq. But Ray could find no way to reach into Tariq's mind, though his gut instinct told him sinister thoughts or plans lurked there.

“How about you?” Ray asked. “Anything new?”

“No,” Tariq said, almost too quickly. “Every day is the same.”

At that instant Ray felt a seismic eruption in his mind. Tariq was being much too complaisant and phlegmatic, totally contrary to his nature. Something was going on. But how could he find out?

***

Ray decided to drop in on the imam since he was already at the center, and take a chance on any awkward questions. Their discussions had dwindled since he became so active, but Ray always enjoyed the discourse and there were subjects for the book that he needed to flesh out. The kindly man had prayed for his recovery from his bullet wound, Abra said. Perhaps he could pray as well for the book's success, thought it was selfish of him to even have this impious wish. Mischievous
jinns
, those supernatural Muslim spirits, were playing games in his mind.

“Ray, it's good to see you up and about,” the imam said, sitting in his office and going over papers.

“I hope I'm not disturbing you.”

“Not at all. We haven't spoken for some time. You're busy with your book, I presume.”

“Very much so. That's why I want to speak to you. I need guidance on the future of Islam, not just in the U.S. but worldwide. Is it a religion capable of change?”

“Principles that come from Allah, through his messenger, Mohammed, are immutable. You know that.”

“Yes, I understand. But the Qur'an was written in the seventh century. Religious teachings by the Christians and Jews, even earlier. The world was different in these periods. Modern life, for better or worse, is different. Some observances in any religion can become outdated, can't they? This is one of the things that I struggle with.”

“I understand,” the imam said with sympathy. “Traditions are important. They shouldn't be overthrown just because we now have electricity, cars, VCRs and all sort of modern contrivances.”

“Yes, but should these matters be considered at all, or is it inappropriate to even discuss them?”

“There is no problem with discussion. This occurs all the time. In fact, that's what we're doing now.” The imam smiled, his discolored teeth showing.

Ray smiled, too. The imam, to his credit, had a sense of humor. “Then there are traditions that are practiced that aren't in the Qur'an. And this is most troublesome of all, but I must address it in the book.”

“Yes, yes I see,” the imam said.

The imam's expression was always so thoughtful that Ray felt comfortable in his presence, or was it just a counter-reaction to his unease with the difficult uncle, Tariq.

The good uncle and the bad uncle, or was he simplifying things? Either way, Ray felt compelled to plunge on.

“And you know I mean the role of women in Islam. Every Muslim knows he and she must show submission to Allah. This is the core of our religion. But submission of women to men runs counter to the modern day world? Women can be educated in some Islamic countries but not in others. Having multiple wives? That can't be, certainly not in the U.S. Look at the court cases against the Mormons.”

“Yes, I'm familiar with this,” the imam said, looking more weary now with the direction of the conversation.

“Shouldn't women have the same right to divorce as men?”

The imam fielded the question without showing any stress, which was all on his side, Ray realized. “This may come to pass in other countries just as it is the law here.”

“But should we advocate for it?” Ray asked, fearful he might be going too far. Showing his seven mandates for American Muslims would probably be a disaster. “I mean, as a religious doctrine as well as the law.”

“But Islamic principles are not the law everywhere,” the imam countered. “We may oppose a law, as we do the law in France about wearing
burkas
and other Islamic dress in public, but it takes the politicians to make and change laws.”

“The wearing of veils and
burkas
isn't in the Qur'an,” Ray said cautiously. “Should the practice be gradually ended? My book will be weak unless I discuss such questions.”

“I realize you must satisfy your editors,” the imam said. “But we can't end centuries of observance with the stroke of a pen, or the statement of one imam. Islam doesn't have a Pope who can issue an encyclical announcing a new religious doctrine. Why should Muslim women be denied an opportunity to show their faith? Simply because secular authorities want to see women's faces?”

“Good,” Ray said with enthusiasm. “This helps me tackle the issue.”

The imam nodded with some sorrow showing on his face. “I know you struggle with our tenets.”

“While I accept all the principles of Islam,” Ray immediately defended himself.

“I know,” the imam said. “You're a dutiful son of Islam. None deny this.”

Did that include Tariq, Ray thought? The imam's responses to his questions were generally reasonable, and even if they reflected hard-core Islamic values, he gained valuable material.

“And it's good you come to me with these thoughts. Islam is a pure religion, despite all these concerns. Submitting to the will of Allah means salvation in life and honor in death.”

“Truly so,” Ray said. “I'm grateful for your advice.”