In the corridor, Tony collided with a nurse. “Call the police,” he told her. “The security guard in the morgue has been shot.”
The woman saw the gun clutched in the dark-haired man’s hand, and her eyes went wide. The man turned his back on her, raced up the stairs and out of sight.
Alarmed, the nurse proceeded to the morgue and pushed through the door. Only after she saw the man on the ground, and checked his pulse, did the woman use the emergency phone to call the security desk.
She reported the murder, and gave the security chief a description of the dark-haired man she’d bumped into.
“He still has the gun! I saw it…”
Inside the church bus, Brice Holman sat beside a scare-crow of a woman named Mrs. Hocklinger. During the entire trip from the Nazareth Unitarian Church of Milton, New Jersey, she’d spoken only once. As they pulled out of the church parking lot, Mrs. Hocklinger used the con-descending tone of an elementary schoolteacher to order Holman to fasten his seatbelt.
Now, as the minibus rumbled along a narrow rural road, the Reverend James Wendell Ahern closed the issue of
“I’m really surprised to see anyone from the press here today, Mr. Holman,” the Reverend said, turning to face him. “Outreach to other faiths and other cultures doesn’t sell newspapers, I’m told. And since the Congresswoman had to cancel at the last minute—”
“Good riddance, I say,” an older man interrupted from the back row. “We all know Congresswoman Williams is in bed with these people. She’s defended that crazy mullah or wallah or whatever they call him—”
Reverend Ahern raised a hand. “The Imam’s name is Ali Rahman al Sallifi, Mr. Simonson.”
The older man sneered. “If you know his name, then you know this Sallifi character is wanted by the law in his native country. He’s a terrorist.”
Reverend Ahern offered the man a patronizing smile.
“You have to understand, countries like Egypt and Pakistan have repressive governments. Imam Ali Rahman al Sallifi tried to practice his personal brand of Islam in peace, but was forced to flee. That’s why he came to America, for the right to practice his faith without persecution.”
Simonson waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. I’ll wait and see what the Grand Poobah has to say for himself.”
Ahern fixed his wide-eyed stare on Brice Holman.
“You see what I’m up against. There’s a tragic mistrust of the stranger, the other, even among the members of my own flock.”
“Yet you strive always to be a unifying force,” Holman said. “That’s why New Jersey Cable One sent me here, to cover this story.”
“You brought no cameras,” Ahern noted.
“I didn’t want to be too… intimidating,” Holman lied.
“I’ll certainly conduct on-camera interviews later, with you and perhaps Ali Rahman al Sallifi, if he’ll speak with us.”
“He agreed to meet with my group today, which is certainly a breakthrough. Imam al Sallifi is a private man, very spiritual.”
Holman raised an eyebrow. “So you’ve met the Imam?”
“I’m told,” Ahern amended. “I’ve met with the Imam’s disciple, Ibrahim Noor, several times. He’s a fascinating figure. A former gang leader and convicted felon who found redemption through faith. His is a story we can all learn from.”
“Indeed,” Holman replied.
“Excuse me, Reverend Ahern,” Mrs. Reed called from behind the steering wheel. “I think that’s our turn up ahead.”
“Yes, that’s the turn, Emily,” the Reverend declared,
“We’re to make a left and follow the road for about a mile, until we see the gate.”
Mrs. Reed nodded and slowed for the turn. Reverend Ahern faced the other passengers in the minibus.
“Again, I want to apologize on behalf of Congresswoman Hailey Williams,” he said. “She was quite eager to make the trip, but legislative duties prevented her from joining us.”
Brice Holman shook his head.
Beside Mrs. Hocklinger, a teenager named Danielle Taylor fidgeted nervously. Holman had originally estimated her age at fifteen or sixteen, but upped it when Reverend Ahern mentioned she would be attending Columbia University in the fall.
Dani was here because of an incident that had occurred several months ago.
Her dog had broken from its leash and wandered into the compound. Dani had gone in after it, and found the dog dead — shot — and two men with guns standing over the corpse. When she demanded to know why they had killed her pet, one of the men sneered and declared that
“soon all dogs will die.”
Instead of being intimidated, Dani had filed animal cruelty charges against those two men. A court date was still pending.
The minibus swerved onto a narrow road that was pitted and bumpy. Emily Reed switched to low gear, and they climbed a short rise. At the crest of the hill, the front tire bounced off a particularly deep pothole.
“With all the taxes they charge us, you’d think they could fix these roads,” Mr. Simonson grumbled.
“It’s the trucks from the cardboard factory,” Mr. Cranston explained. “Those semis really tear up the highway.”
Joseph Cranston told Holman he was a retiree from New York City, who used to be an engineer for the Bridge and Tunnel Authority.
“I really hope to get a look inside that factory,” Cranston continued. “It’s the oldest paper fabrication facility in the country.”
Abby Cranston pointed. “Look, there’s the front gate.”
“Does that man have a gun?” Emily Reed cried.
Reverend Ahern swallowed hard. “Slow down and I’ll have a word with him.”
But as the bus approached the gate, the old man with the rifle slung over his shoulder smiled and motioned them forward. Another man limped out of the guardhouse, offering them a toothless grin. He carried no rifle, but there was a.22-caliber handgun tucked in the belt around his
Ahern visibly relaxed. “I told you they were expecting us.”
Holman studied the guards as the bus passed through the gate.
In weeks of surveillance, he’d never seen the main gate guarded by anyone but tough-looking former felons in their prime, all of them Americans. But these two guys looked Middle Eastern, and they were probably pushing eighty.
Reverend Ahern pulled a copy of Ibrahim Noor’s e-mail out of the pocket of his black shirt. As he read, he adjusted his clerical collar.
“Just go straight ahead until you reach the Community Center,” he told the driver.
The bus bumped through the center of town. To Holman the place seemed abandoned. Of course, the men were probably working at the factory, but the women should have been out and about.
Finally, a man with a rifle slung across his back stepped in their path, waving his arms.
“I think he wants us to stop,” Ahern said.
