But he did not. He continued mulling things over.
Sadiq and Sara had been so satisfied, even self-satisfied, when it came to their daughters. He remembered the first time the girls talked about attending an evening meeting. “It starts at eight o’clock,” they had said. He and Sara had laughed when they realized they actually were going to a meeting at the mosque; it was not a ploy to go out in the city on a Friday night. And yet here he was, unable to remember one single name, call to mind one single face, of any of the people they had mixed with in the past year.
The day before they had left, Ayan had asked him to help her run some errands.
“Can we take the car?” she had inquired. Of course they could, he was on sick leave, after all, and had no plans for the day. He was actually glad to be asked; she had been so distant lately, avoided contact, almost stopped speaking to him. It had bothered him, because of everyone in the family, Ayan was the one most like him. He often had problems understanding Leila, but Ayan was a kindred spirit, someone who enjoyed discussions, figuring things out. She had always asked his advice, but as time had gone on, she had formed her own opinions, and they had begun to disagree. Eventually their discussions had ceased altogether.
Ayan wanted to go to a few shops by the Rabita Mosque in Oslo. Aisha was going on a trip, she had said, and needed help buying things. He had not asked any more; he was simply happy his daughter wanted to have him along.
For most of the drive, they had sat in silence. He had tried to initiate a conversation, but something hung in the air between them. Upon arriving in the city center, he had gone to a café by the Gunerius shopping center while Ayan went shopping.
Now it cut him to the very core. He had driven her around so she could buy what she needed for the girls’ trip. It must have been Ayan who had planned it. Of the two sisters, she was the boss, the one who led the way. The second-in-command, Sadiq used to call her. After Sara.
When they got home with all the bags, she had hugged him and said, “Thank you so much, Dad!”
They dulled us with hugs, Sadiq thought. They had milked his love, they had blinded him.
Later that night, Ayan had come out of her room and asked to borrow his Visa card. Hers had expired, she said, and she needed to make a purchase online. “I’ve hardly any money on my card,” he had replied, less than 1,000 kroner. She had seemed stressed. “Can you drive me to the bank in Sandvika? Then I can put the money into your account. I have cash.”
“The bank closed ages ago, can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
Ayan had insisted on driving there with him to see, but he was right, the bank was shut. What had she intended to buy? Tickets? No, they must have already had them. Who had in fact organized the tickets, the whole trip? Who had encouraged them to travel at all?
Leila had stayed in the bedroom nearly the entire evening.
“Are you sick?” he had asked. Leila had just shaken her head. Then she’d given him a playful dig in the stomach, like in the old days. “I’ll knock all that fat off you, Dad,” she had said, smiling. And when Ismael came home from the gym, she had thrown her arms around him.
After the shopping and the trip to the bank, Ayan had gone into her room. She had logged on to Twitter and written: “Kindness is the language which even the deaf can hear and the blind can see.” On the previous day she had tweeted: “Shaytan is the virus & Islam is the cure.” Shaytan was Arabic for Satan.
Her profile picture was a bird with shiny green feathers. The Prophet had said that if you died in jihad, Allah would allow your soul to reside in the body of a green bird that would fly to paradise. There it would build a nest in the lanterns hanging from the throne of the Almighty.
* * *
The police received the report of missing persons at 12:30 p.m. Only then was an international bulletin sent out via Interpol. According to the official log, the following measures were taken: “Invocation of the legal principle of necessity and appeals for information sent out to banks, telecommunications companies, airlines, and border stations.”
At the Asker and Bærum station, the local police had put a man from the missing persons unit on the case. He made contact with Sadiq.
“Are you sending people down to find them?” Sadiq asked.
“We have informed the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and the embassy in Ankara is on the case. We’re also cooperating with the Turkish police.”
“So what are they doing?”
“We’ll keep you informed,” the policeman promised.
“But how could you let them leave the country? Why weren’t they stopped at the airport? Leila is a minor … and…”
Sadiq was given no answer. Instead he was told a car would be sent to pick up the family and bring them to the station.
“If it had been Norwegian children who had been reported missing,
