Fatwa

Shortly after the ambulance left, a call came in on the police radio. After a short, terse conversation, LeCroix stepped a little away and made a call on his cell phone, while Dawes explained to us they'd found the car abandoned a few blocks away. Nobody had seen where the suspects went. "That's pretty much what I expected," she said. "They probably had another vehicle parked there. We ran the plates, too; they belong to a Jonathan Palmer, of Falls Church. LeCroix is checking up on it, but my guess is the car was stolen, and the plates may have been switched as well. We're running the car's serial number now to see if it matches. Oh, and there was blood on the passenger seat. Not enough to indicate a serious injury, but you must have clipped the gunman with one of those shots."

"Really? I wouldn't have believed it, from where I hit the car. Well, that explains why he ducked."

"Yeah. We'll check with all the local emergency rooms, see if anybody comes in with a gun-shot wound tonight. Of course, in this town the answer is yes more often than not, but they usually happen in Southeast." She sighed. "I grew up in Anacostia; it's depressing to see what's become of my old neighborhood...." Then she shook her head, seemingly annoyed at herself. "Sorry; you have troubles enough of your own without having to listen to mine."

As she finished, LeCroix put away his phone and turned to us.

"Mrs. Palmer says her husband is off on a weekend business trip; his car is in long-term parking at the airport. Great place to steal plates without it being noticed right away." His mellifluous West African accent confirmed my initial impression.

"These guys were clever," I observed. "Any idea why they might have wanted to kidnap you, Mina?"

"I think so," she said. "The one you cut spoke Bengali, and he called me a murtad -- an apostate. I think this might be about my Aunt Nisrina; she wrote a book that got the Muslim fanatics in Bangladesh so pissed off she had to leave the country to avoid being hanged for blasphemy."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," I said. "You're Nisrina Tasleem's niece? Damn. I heard her speak at a Humanist conference last year; it was the most powerful indictment of religious fanaticism I've ever heard."

"She is cool, isn't she?" Mina said. "I should have guessed you would know who she was."

Sergeant Dawes cleared her throat. "If we could just finish with your story?"

"Oh, right. Sorry. As I was saying, my aunt's made a lot of enemies, and I ran into one of them on campus recently. The Muslim Students' Association had a table set up in the student union to hand out their literature, and there was this really obnoxious Wahhabi type hanging around the table and heckling people about how the West is destroying Islam. I don't just mean the usual beefs about Israel and the sanctions on Iraq; he was mad about U.S. troops being stationed in Saudi Arabia -- that's Osama bin Laden's biggest pet peeve, too -- and even about Western countries refusing to recognize the 'legitimate government' of Afghanistan and harboring 'blasphemers' like Salman Rushdie and Aunt Nisrina, and publishing their books. My aunt's book is called 'Sins of the Faithful;' it's about the so-called 'holy war' that the Wahhabi crazies waged on Bangladesh's Hindu minority after some Hindu crazies destroyed a couple of mosques in India, and all the holy looting, holy kidnapping, holy rape, and holy murder that holy wars entail. This creep was calling it a pack of lies and saying that Aunt Nisrina should be stoned to death -- he thought hanging was too kind. At that point I went off on him; I said it was backward fanatics like him, not westerners, that were keeping the Muslim world in poverty, and the real reason he hated my aunt's book was that it was a mirror showing him the ugly truth about his religion, and if he hated the West so much why didn't he go live in the Talibarbarians' wonderful Islamic paradise. He got so angry I think he would have hit me if the MSA people hadn't intervened and asked us both to leave. They don't particularly like me -- I've argued with them before -- but they didn't want this guy making a scene. Apparently he wasn't even a student at A.U., just an acquaintance of some of their members from a local mosque who'd heard about the table they were running and decided to come stick his two cents in."

"Sounds like a good lead," Dawes said. "Can you give us his name?"

"I'm afraid not," Mina replied, "But Faisal Aziz could; he was one of the MSA representatives at the table that day. You can get his number from the campus switchboard."

"We'll talk to him," she promised. "I think that's about all we need from you for now; call me if you think of anything else." She gave us each her card. "I'll be in touch tomorrow. I need to get back to the station now so I can be there when they book the guy you caught." LeCroix was walking around to the driver's side of their squad car, while she opened the passenger door.

"Thank you very much, Sergeant Dawes," said Mina.

"Thanks a lot," I echoed.

"Just doing my job," she replied, climbing into the car. "Good night." Dawes and LeCroix pulled away from the curb, made a U-turn, and headed back down into the city.

"Well," I said, "I for one have lost my appetite for dessert; shall we get going?"

"I think that's a good idea," Mina replied. "We're probably going to be spending a lot of time talking to the cops and the feds tomorrow, so we'd best get some rest. Besides, it's past midnight; I don't think we could get into the Cheesecake Factory now."

"Probably not," I agreed.

"You know," Mina said thoughtfully, as we walked around the corner to the parking lot, "If those people followed me here, they've probably been watching me for a while. My dorm isn't the most secure place to stay, either; people are always going in and out on a Saturday night, and it's easy for someone who doesn't have a key card to get in by following someone who does. My room is on the ground floor, too; the window has a grille, but you could still shoot through it."

"That's a nasty thought," I said. "Maybe you should stay somewhere else tonight."

"That's what I was thinking, but I'm not sure where. I do have friends I could stay with, but someone who'd been watching me for a few days might well know where any or all of them lived. Maybe I'd better check into a motel for the night."

"Even that's not ideal if somebody is really determined to find you," I said. "Unless you check in under an assumed name. I'll tell you what, though: if you like, you could stay at my place tonight. There's only one bed, but I don't mind sleeping on the floor; I have a good air mattress for when I have overnight guests. No matter how long these creeps may have been watching you, they won't know me from Adam -- and my apartment is on the fourteenth floor of a high rise, with a doorman who won't let anyone in without a resident vouching for them."

"That sounds perfect! Thanks again, Nathan."

"No problem."

As we approached my car, Mina grinned at the three stickers. "I really have to get a copy of this one," she said, pointing to the "Dark Ages" sticker. "Where my family comes from, the Dark Ages are still going on."

"I sometimes feel like it's hard being an unbeliever in America," I observed, unlocking the car and climbing into the driver's seat. "But compared to most of the world, especially the Muslim countries, we have it pretty good here. Not as good as in Holland or Scandinavia, of course, but at least the government doesn't persecute us here." I started the car, and we rolled out of the parking lot, turning north on Wisconsin.

"That's part of the reason my parents moved here," Mina said. "They initially came here for school and met through the South Asian Culture Club at UCLA, but they stayed because it would have been dangerous for them to go home. See, my Mom's from Bangladesh, and her family were originally Muslims, but my Dad grew up in a Hindu family in New Delhi. Neither society is very tolerant of mixed couples, especially when they reject the religion they were raised in. They both did that; they joined the International Humanist and Ethical Union, and had a Humanist wedding ceremony."

"Really? I've met the Executive Director of IHEU; he comes to WASH meetings when he's in town."

Mina looked impressed. "You know Babu Gogineni, too? Cool. He did a lot to organize international support for Aunt Nisrina when she was under house arrest in Bangladesh. Is WASH the local Humanist group?"

"That's right, the Washington Area Secular Humanists. They're a good group; if you're interested, I can take you to our next meeting and introduce you around. Most of them are older, retired people with time on their hands, but there are also several NASA scientists, a couple of professors, and a few other younger professionals and grad students, like me."

"Sounds interesting. My Dad mentioned there was a Humanist organization in DC, but I've been busy with school and never got around to looking them up."

"I know how that is," I agreed. "It took me a while after I found out about the organization to actually make the time to go to a meeting, but I'm really glad I did."

We continued to chat about WASH and the Humanist movement in general as we drove up Wisconsin toward the Beltway. On previous occasions I hadn't spent a great deal of time talking to Mina; talking while I dance throws off my rhythm, the time I drove her and her friends home she'd been very tired and quiet as a result. Now, however, I found her as delightful a conversationalist as she was a dance partner. Her animated gestures and the way her bright smile and dark eyes sparkled in the transient light of the street lamps made it an effort for me to keep my eyes on the road. The conversation wandered over a wide range of subjects, but by unspoken agreement we didn't speak of the violence that had disrupted our otherwise pleasant evening. Around the time we turned off the Beltway, our discussion turned to books. I learned that Mina was a great fan of fantasy literature; she had recently reread "The Lord of the Rings," in anticipation of the upcoming movies, and then decided to tackle "The Silmarillion." "That one isn't really a novel at all," she observed. "It's more like reading the Bible or the Qur'an -- though Tolkien's mythology is more interesting."

"I think he based the style on the Elder Edda and the Kalevala," I said. "He wanted to build a mythology for England like the ones the old skalds created for the Scandinavian countries."

"Well, it's certainly a dark mythology, with all those defeats and betrayals and twisted oaths. The story of Beren and Luthien was beautiful, though."

"I always liked that one," I said. "I've never read the whole book, just parts of it, but I must have read that five or six times. It was Tolkien's favorite, too, you know."

"I'd heard that. It was about him and his wife, right?"

"Partly. He was sixteen when they met, a Catholic orphan who'd been raised by a priest. She was three years older, and a Protestant. When his guardian found out about the relationship he made Tolkien break it off, but in the end they got back together and married, and she converted to Catholicism."

"Which was the minority religion in England," Mina added. "They weren't being persecuted any more, but the Anglicans still considered them socially inferior, right? So it was kind of like Luthien giving up her Elvish heritage to marry a mere human."

"That's the gist of it," I concluded. We had reached the driveway of my building. I rolled down the window and ran my key card through the reader, and the garage door slid ponderously up its tracks, then closed again behind us as we rolled up the ramp to the second level and my designated parking space. "Well," I said, shutting off the engine, "Here we are."

"It must be nice not having to look for a parking space," Mina commented, as we exited the car and walked toward the elevators.

"We pay for the privilege," I said, "But we'd have to do that anyway; there's no such thing as free parking in downtown Silver Spring. And it is nice to have it out of the weather and away from the eyes of casual thieves -- not that anyone's too likely to steal a plum-colored Saturn wagon. It isn't exactly a sexy car."

"Hey, I think it's a very nice car," Mina admonished.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm very fond of that car; I wouldn't trade it for the kind that car thieves favor. From what I've read, they mainly go for SUVs these days -- nasty great gas-guzzling beasts. My little Saturn is a lot more practical for a student living alone." Reaching the elevator, I pressed the up button; the doors to the left car slid open almost immediately. "That's nice," I commented. "Usually I have to wait forever for these things." We stepped inside, and I hit fourteen.

"Hey, what happened to thirteen?" Mina asked, noting how the numbers jumped from twelve to fourteen.

"Superstition," I replied. "You see that in a lot of old buildings, and even some newer ones. People don't want to live on the thirteenth floor because they think it's unlucky. Of course, the floor where I live really is the thirteenth; calling it fourteen doesn't make it so. I haven't noticed any bad luck so far, though."

The elevator stopped, and we stepped out into the corridor. "So which one is yours?" Mina asked.

"The next to last door on the right, number 1411," I replied. We walked down the hall, opened the door, and stepped inside. "Welcome to my humble abode," I said, flipping on the hall light and locking the door behind us. "What do you think?"

Mina surveyed the apartment appreciatively. "This is nice," She said. "Very cozy." My apartment is an efficiency, but a fair-sized one. The front hall is about ten feet long, with the kitchen on one side and a small linen closet that you walk through to reach the bathroom on the other. It opens out into a main room roughly twenty feet square. On the left side of the room as you enter it I have a computer desk, a couple of book cases, my TV, and a tall halogen lamp. On the right are the main closet, my dresser, a double-bed-sized futon flanked by a pair of night stands, and a CD tower in the corner. The entire wall opposite the door, from two feet above the floor to one below the ceiling, is a window looking north over the heart of Silver Spring; in front of it is a small rectangular dining table. At the moment, the vertical-slat blinds were shut; I stepped up to the window and opened them.

"Oh, wow!" Mina said as she joined me at the window. "What a view."

"It was the view, more than anything else, that sold me on this place," I said. "That and the convenience. The Silver Spring Metro is only three blocks away, the mall is two, and I have a Safeway right across the street; I hardly ever need to drive."

"Sounds like a great place to live." She gazed out the window for a long moment, then turned to look up at me. "Is it okay if I use your shower before bed? I got pretty sweaty doing swing tonight."

"Go right ahead," I told her. "I could use a quick rinse myself, but you can go first; I'm going to check my e-mail."

"Thanks," she said. "Oh, could I borrow a robe or something?"

"Sure." I opened the closet. "Take your pick," I said, pointing to the two bathrobes hanging near the end of the bar.

"Ooh, I like this one," she said, removing my heavy black terrycloth robe from its hanger.

I got Mina a towel out of the smaller closet in the hall, and she shut the bathroom door behind her. I went to my desk, fired up my iMac, and began downloading my mail. I had the usual mixed bag of spam and mailing list material, as well as a "How's it going?" message from my brother in Berkeley. After clearing out the junk, I wrote a reply detailing the evening's bizarre events, sending it off just as Mina emerged from the bathroom. The black robe ended only an inch or so above the floor, her hands were completely hidden inside the sleeves, and she'd pulled the hood up, obscuring her face. I grinned. "You look a bit like a Jawa," I observed.

She giggled and pulled back the hood. "No glowing red eyes, though."

"Just as well; I've had enough scares this evening. Are you done in there? Do you need a comb or a toothbrush or anything?"

"No, thanks. I keep a toiletries kit and change of clothes in my bag, in case I decide to crash at a friend's apartment after the dance; it's been known to happen before."

"Good thinking." I went to the closet and fetched the light cotton robe that I usually used when the weather was warm. "I'll just be a few minutes, Mina. You can use the Mac; I have NiftyTelnet installed if you want to check your mail."

"Thanks, I should do that," she said, sitting in the black leather swivel chair I had just vacated.

I showered quickly, then brushed my teeth and combed my hair. I ran a finger along the part of my cheek that I keep clean-shaven, and decided it was smooth enough; I'd trimmed my beard and shaved that morning. When I came out of the bathroom, Mina was sitting cross-legged on the foot of the futon, her elbows resting on her knees and her chin on her clasped hands. She'd turned off the halogen lamp and the hall light, leaving only the small, green-shaded reading lamp on the night stand to provide a soft illumination. "You know," she said, looking up at me through long, black eyelashes and smiling coquettishly, "You don't have to sleep on the floor; this bed's plenty big enough for both of us."

I gazed back at her thoughtfully, trying to gauge how serious her intentions were. Mina, I thought, If you knew how much I want you right now, you might not be quite so ready to sleep next to me. Or would you...? I shrugged. "True dat. I don't mind sharing if you don't."

"Not at all." She stood up, a graceful motion that made me think of a cat uncurling after a nap, and moved slowly toward me until we stood less than a foot apart. Then she whispered, "I don't mind sharing anything you want to share...."

I took Mina's small hands in my own and studied her face intently. "You don't have to do this, you know," I said. "Don't get me wrong, I want to make love with you, more than anything -- but not if you're going to regret it. My desire isn't worth hurting you for."

Mina smiled and shook her head. "You do know how to make a girl want you even more, don't you? Seriously, you don't have to worry about me. I like you a lot, Nathan. Not just because you saved my life; you're smart and you're kind and you have a good sense of humor, and you seem to have the same values and beliefs I do -- that isn't easy to find. And you're a good dancer, and not bad-looking, either. I didn't plan this, and I wouldn't be here with you tonight if it hadn't been for the crazy thing that happened to us. But I did plan to kiss you good night and ask you to call me during the week. I hoped you would ask me out next weekend, and I might well have ended up spending the night with you then. The kidnapping simply sped things up a bit."

"Sweet Mina...." I murmured, lifting her hand to my lips. "Do you know what I thought, that first time I saw you at Du Shor last year? 'I must be dreaming, that girl is too beautiful to be real.' I felt like... like Beren seeing Luthien for the first time, dancing in the moonlight. Then I got to know you a little, enough to see that you had every good quality you've just ascribed to me, and more besides. And now it seems I'm dreaming again, because I never hoped to hear such words as I have just heard from your lips."

Mina blushed and lowered her eyes in embarrassment. "I had no idea," she said. "I mean, I knew you liked dancing with me and were friendly and everything, but you didn't act any differently with me than you did with Julie or Marian or Lissa. Why didn't you let me know? I mean, tonight, yeah, I was pretty sure that you were as interested in me as I was in you. But last year you never gave me a hint."