but functional. There was a small kitchenette with a dining table in front of it, the table cluttered with books and spiral binders, illuminated by a reading lamp. It was like being in a neat version of Max’s hacker friend Dave Karras’s place, with one exception: among the books was Fundamentals of Islamic Philosophy. Jack felt his gut tighten ever so slightly.
Amid the clutter was a laptop computer with a screensaver showing photographs of an attractive Arab woman and a small boy.
“Faisal, this is my friend Jack.”
“Assalamu alaikum,” Faisal said, and they shook hands, each man assessing the other, Jack wanting to trust him and fighting the sense that he shouldn’t. He supposed it all boiled down to whether or not this young man’s idea of Islamic philosophy was similar to al-Fida’s and included killing in the name of Allah.
Sara had assured Jack that Faisal wasn’t a radical, but then Sara herself had spent nearly a year pretending to be something she wasn’t, as had Abdal and God knew how many others. Jack was still trying to adjust to the fact that there was a president of the United States with a middle name Hussein. Who was to say this guy wasn’t pretending as well?
Faisal gestured to the sofa. “Sit. Please.”
They sat and Faisal took a chair opposite them.
Sara leaned forward. “I know it’s late. And I know you’re not used to seeing me like this. I could probably give you some excuse as to why we’re here and look the way we do, but you’ve always struck me as a man of principle so I think it’s best to be truthful.”
“Yes, of course. Islam teaches us to strive always to excel in virtue and truth. But you’re starting to frighten me.”
“It’s a frightening world,” Jack said unhelpfully. But it had to be said. Everyone was a soldier for one side or the other, whether they liked it or not.
Sara reached into her pocket and pulled out the USB key. “This,” she told him. “There are some encrypted e-mails on it that I’m hoping you can crack.”
“Me?”
“I know how talented you are, Faisal. I know you’ve helped some of the teachers with their computers. Other students. And I know codes are one of your hobbies. I remember it from the essay in your application packet.”
He shrugged. “I know a few things.” He looked at the key suspiciously. “Who do these e-mails belong to?”
Sara fixed those beautiful but firm eyes on the young man. “Have you ever heard of a group called the Hand of Allah?”
His expression became restless, anxious. It was obvious he had. “Now you truly are frightening me. What are you involved in?”
“Trying to stop them,” she said frankly.
Jack was watching the young man’s face carefully. Nothing changed. That was a good sign. There was no, “Aha! I’ve got you! You’ve fallen into a Hand of Allah trap!”
“We believe the e-mails come from a member of that group,” Sara went on. “Someone high within the home secretary’s office.”
“What?” Faisal exclaimed. “That’s absurd! And why would you have them?”
That was sincere, Jack decided. He was beginning to feel better about this guy. Now all they had to do was get him to cooperate, to risk his life.
Sara was quiet a moment, as if looking for a way to explain it all. “Faisal, I’m not exactly who I seem to be,” she said. “You think of me as the quiet Muslim girl who works in the office, the girl you sometimes talk to during your lunch hour, but I only took that job as a cover.”
“Cover?” He looked nonplussed. “Cover for what?”
“I’m part of a counterterrorism unit. Or at least I was until tonight. The Hand of Allah hit us hard, in Paris. Jack and I made it out with just this key.”
“This is incredible,” Faisal said. He smirked. “Surely this is a joke. A prank. And I’ve fallen for-”
“Believe me, I wish it were,” she said.
“So you’re not Muslim?”
“I am Muslim, but this isn’t about religion. Religion is just an excuse these radicals use. You are part of our community. You should know that.”
“Of course,” he said. It was almost an apology.
Jack thought of all the heartache the U.S. Congress got for its radicalization hearings of American Muslims. Dammit-a lot of ordinary folks did know more than they let on.
“Look,” Sara told him, “I’m sorry to spring this on you but we really do need your help.” She waved the key in front of his face. “Will you try to decrypt this, or not?”
He looked at the floor, at a photograph on his desk, at the floor again, then at Sara. He took a long, slow breath. “If I do as you ask, who’s to say that the next knock on my door won’t be the Hand of Allah? I have a wife and young boy back home.”
“No one knows we’ve come here, and there’s no reason they should. You have my promise that this will remain between us. You, Jack, and me.”
Still, he hesitated.
“We really do need your help, Faisal,” she went on. “The Hand of Allah is planning an attack. A massive one, and that can only be bad for all of us.”
“Not just Muslims,” Jack added. “We’re talking about the future of Western Civilization here. Your own son’s future.”
Faisal still looked torn. Jack wasn’t sure whether he’d help or kick them out. Apparently, Faisal wasn’t sure, either. But then he took the USB key from Sara and got to his feet, moved to his laptop on the table.
He pushed the key into a slot and waited for the file system to recognize it. Then he called up the e-mails and studied them.
Time crawled. Jack was tired and he felt sleep encroaching, his eyes shutting. He may even have drowsed off. He didn’t know how much later it was when Faisal finally spoke.
“This is very sophisticated,” the young man said. “I have some code decryption software that might help, but even with that it could take hours to break this.”
“But it’s possible?” Sara asked.
“If the software can ferret out the proper keys, yes. But I offer no guarantees.” He paused. “You swear to me no one knows you’re here?”
“In the name of Allah,” she said.
He studied her carefully, as if weighing her sincerity. Then he slowly nodded. “You may as well make yourselves comfortable. We are in for a long night.”
Sara was asleep on the sofa, Jack slumped in the armchair across from her, only half awake, when Faisal said, “I know who you are, you know.”
That got Jack’s attention. He pulled himself upright unsure what to expect.
Faisal sat at the dining table, reading one of his textbooks. A clock on the wall said it was approaching two A.M. The decryption software had been running on the laptop for close to an hour, numbers and symbols skittering across its screen.
Faisal looked up from his book. “It took me a while to remember you. I saw your photograph in the newspapers some time ago. There was an article about the home secretary banning you from travel to this country. You’re an American television host.”
Jack shrugged. “Close enough.”
“I remember because we talked about you at the college. About the things you’ve said, your hatred of Muslims. Your desire to kill a hundred million of us.”
Jack didn’t like the direction this was heading. “That was taken completely out of context. I don’t hate all Muslims.”
“Just a few, then?” It was an accusation, not a question. “I saw the mistrust in your eyes when you first
