called peace treaty with Israel. We have barely been able to hold on to the very fabric of our country. And who has come to our aid to help? The Americans, with their spies, their fat bloodsucking industrialists, their weapons of hatred and class warfare, and their corrupting cash. It is all tied together, my brothers-the Zionists weaken us, and their masters the Americans suck us deeper into their lustful, depraved ways.' More voices, some disagreeing but more of them agreeing with Khan, easily drowning out the dissenters.
'Well, I say, no more. No more! Allow me to place my name on the ballot in the next elections, and I promise to root out the evil in our government and our society. I promise to return Misr to the people and to God. You know the people are behind me. You cannot risk our future and alienating the will of the people by not allowing my name on the ballot. It is vital that our country begin the process of healing. With God's wisdom, strength, and strong guiding hand, I pledge to you that I will carry the banner of unity and honor for our country.'
There was a round of light, polite applause throughout the People's Assembly-most of the members knew enough to at least appear enthusiastic. There was little doubt that the Assembly would vote to approve al-Khan's candidacy; the question was, would the people of Egypt vote for him? Khan was a very shadowy character, powerful in the Egyptian mosques and in smaller, more religious communities, but not very well known or trusted in the cities. He represented a step backward for many folks in Egypt, and that did not make him very popular.
Al-Khan bowed and stepped off the dais. The Egyptian prime minister extended his hand to shake Khan's, but alKhan simply bowed and kept his hands inside the sleeves of his robes. The prime minister awkwardly lowered his hand, ignored the gestures and whispers of disapproval from the Assembly, then stepped up to the dais as he was being introduced, 'Thank you, Ulama al-Khan. Ladies and gentlemen of the Assembly, we will now hear from the National Democratic Party candidate, Prime Minister Dr. Ahmed Kalir.'
Khalid al-Khan took his place in the front row center of the Assembly, reserved for special guests, and sat quietly while the next presenter was ushered to the dais with a round of enthusiastic applause. Dr. Ahmed Kalir represented the greatest challenge to Khan's candidacy. He was an experienced politician, a wealthy and internationally recognized cardiologist and surgeon, and well respected in the cities and among the business community. Kalir had transformed the post of prime minister, allowing the common people greater access to government. Although certainly not a charismatic personality, he was well known in the capital and well respected everywhere. Kalir was definitely the man to beat.
'I am pleased to be here,' Kalir began. 'On behalf of the National Democratic Party, I thank you for this opportunity to speak.' He paused, an uncomfortably long silence, then went on: 'And on behalf of the National Democratic Party and myself, I wish to announce to the National Assembly and the people of Egypt that I am withdrawing my name as candidate for president.'
The entire National Assembly exploded into bedlamall except Khalid al-Khan. He could not have been more pleased, although he fought hard not to show it. With the death of Kamal Salaam, Ahmed Kalir was by far the most powerful secular politician in Egypt-he was as influential and respected as al-Khan was feared. With him withdrawing his name from nomination, the road was clear for alKhan to be elected the next president of Egypt.
And at that, Kalir looked directly at al-Khan and nodded. What was going on?
'I wish to place my support and prayers for my choice as candidate for president, the one person in all of Egypt who has the moral strength, intelligence, and vision to lead our nation forward out of this crisis and toward the peace and security we all seek,' Kalir said. Was Kalir actually endorsing him for president? al-Khan thought. This was too good to be true! 'With the blessings of Allah and the hopes and prayers of a nation, I place into nomination today the next president of Egypt… our first lady of Egypt, Madame Susan Bailey Salaam.'
Khan was already placing his hands on his left breast, feigning surprise at this unexpected endorsement, when he gasped in total shock. Susan Salaam was alive?
And then he noticed Kalir looking directly at al-Khan, the accusation obvious in his face. Al-Khan had to fight to erase his surprised expression. It was a test, a stupid trick, nothing more.
And then, to al-Khan's complete surprise, Susan Salaam walked out on stage, and then there was no doubt. The entire People's Assembly fairly leapt to their feet and applauded, some even cheering and stamping their feet.
Susan Salaam walked gingerly, as if still in pain, but she did so without using crutches or a walker, just a simple wooden cane with a large, wide crook supporting her left leg. She wore an eye patch on her left eye, and the hairline on the left side of her head was higher than on the right, indicating she had lost some hair or sustained a head injury.
Her hands were marred with cuts and burns; her arms and torso were covered by simple, unadorned clothing, but the burns definitely appeared to extend down her arms.
But her natural beauty was still striking, still breathtaking. Susan made no attempt to hide any of her wounds with makeup, which enhanced her beauty, her sense of pride-and her pain-even more. She embraced Ahmed Kalir and then stepped to the podium, waving to the assembly. Yes, even al-Khan had to admit, she was still beautiful, achingly so.
It took several long minutes for the cheering and applause to die down, and then she began: 'Members of the People's Assembly and fellow Egyptians, with great pride and with your support and prayers, I gladly accept the National Democratic Party's nomination for president, and on behalf of my husband, our late President Salaam, I announce that I am a candidate to be your president.'
The applause was back, even louder than before. Khalid al-Khan was stupefied. In just a few brief moments, he had gone from a close second in the election race, to the uncontested winner, to just another also-ran.
He could stand it no longer. He stood up, raised his hands, and said in a loud voice, 'Hold! Hold!' The assemblymen weren't responding, so Khan quickly stepped up on stage. 'A point of order!'
The Speaker of the People's Assembly hurried back to the dais. 'Order!' he shouted. 'Order!' Susan Salaam had stepped back away from the dais to allow al-Khan to speak. 'Please let Ulama al-Khan speak!'
After the assembly had quieted down, mostly in rapt attention to the looming confrontation on stage, he said, 'I am most grateful to God that Madame Salaam is alive and well. And I know that it warms our hearts and strengthens our souls for Madame Salaam to seek the same office as her dear husband, who certainly now sits at the right hand of Allah.' More applause, not for al-Khan or for Susan, but for Kamal Ismail Salaam, their slain president. How can he possibly fight a dead man? Only with the law-that's all he had left.
'But if I am not mistaken, a candidate for president of Egypt must hold a seat either in the Supreme Judicial Council or the People's Assembly,' al-Khan went on. 'As much as we honor the memory of President Salaam, as much as it would gladden our hearts to see Madame Salaam once more in the presidential palace, she cannot run for president because she does not hold a national elective office.' He turned and bowed graciously to her. 'I am sorry, my child, but it is the law.'
Finally, what appeared to be leaders of the various groups were getting together. More talking, more gesturing. Finally, several from the group of leaders began filtering up toward the speaker's seat.
This didn't look good at all. Al-Khan turned. His angry gaze caught the attention of the Speaker of the People's Assembly, Representative Jamal Gazali, a member of the National Democratic Party coalition but also the leader of the Society of God, a smaller party representing the religious conservatives in Egypt. Gazali motioned al- Khan quickly to the podium. 'What is happening here, Gazali?'
'It is of no consequence, Ulama,' Gazali replied. 'The matter will be dealt with, and all will be taken care of.'
'I asked you what is happening, Gazali.'
Gazali looked nervous. 'There apparently is a statute still in the law that allows the wife of a legislator or other public official to take her husband's office if he dies while in office,' Gazali said. 'The law was put into effect after the War of Retribution so the government could continue functioning even if lawmakers serving in the armed forces were killed in battle-'
'Are you saying that Salaam may still become a presidential candidate even though she is not even Egyptian!' al-Khan thundered.
'It is of no consequence, Minister,' Gazali said quickly. 'Salaam may have been the wife of a public official, but in peacetime the statute is symbolic, nothing more.' Gazali made some pretense of being needed on the other side of the podium and scurried away after giving the eleric another nervous bow.
— But al-Khan could quickly see for himself that this was much more than symbolism-it was about to happen. A few moments later Gazali stood to address the Assembly:
