The Caliphate, André Gallo [best books to read ever .TXT] 📗

     He said he would think about it.

     After hanging up, Marshall reflected on what he knew from both Abdelhaq and Steve. Should he go to Morocco? Was Steve safe by himself? There was no hard indication that the attack was against Steve. The car could have been a target of opportunity based on the hope it would kill an important general. If the Salafists were targeting Steve, what was the reason? It didn’t make sense that it was just because he was an American. There were plenty of Americans in Morocco. Maybe they thought he was selling weapons.

     Could Steve, untrained in basic intelligence tradecraft, handle this situation? He knew his son was not averse to physical risk. But this was clearly different. Marshall recalled that Steve’s Myers Briggs test results had painted him as extraverted, sensing, thinking, perceiving, and the “ultimate realist.” He was also objective and analytic, yet spontaneous and action-oriented—a good formula to assess the danger and act accordingly. Marshall understood the frailty of psychological assessments but, in this case, he felt confident Steve would make the right decisions.

     Morocco was Abdelhaq’s turf. He and Abdelhaq had faced danger together and he knew the man to be cool and decisive when necessary. Marshall figured he would probably get an ulcer worrying, but he decided to stay put.

12. Tour Hassan Hotel

When Steve opened his room door, he was face-to-face with a smiling man about his own height. A tonsure of gray-white hair circled the bald top of the man’s head. He had a bushy gray mustache, and wore tan slacks, a lightweight dark blue jacket and a loose checkered tie that exposed the open top button of his dark-blue shirt.

     Steve took some clothes from the easy chair and motioned for Abdelhaq to sit down while he sat on the bed.

     Abdelhaq glanced around the room and his eyes came to rest on Steve.

     “It’s a pleasure to meet you as a young man. I first met you about thirty years ago in Tehran. I spoke to your father yesterday.”

     “My father told me to be sure and get in touch with you while I’m here. Although he wants me to leave on the next plane,” Steve smiled. “He spoke highly of you. You know about the explosion?”

     “That’s why I’m here. I’m in charge of the investigation. I need your help. Please tell me everything you told security. This is looking more and more like the work of the Salafists.”

     Steve gave him every detail he could remember, and then said, “Salafists, Salafists! That’s become a mantra. A couple of weeks ago, I had barely heard the term.”

     “Do you know about this article? Do you know that Doctor Coogan is dead?” Abdelhaq asked as he handed Steve a copy of the article naming him Dr. Coogan’s assistant.

     “Dead?” Steve exclaimed. “What happened? He was slightly wounded by some nut who attacked him with a knife in Berlin but I didn’t think it was serious.”

    “This was a hit-and-run later claimed as an execution by a Salafist cell. Since you’re identified as Coogan’s assistant, you were probably the target yesterday. What’s your role in this Quranic document affair?”

     Steve recounted what Coogan had told him and added, “But I was never his assistant. I was just visiting him for a couple of days.”

     He took a deep breath and stood up. He went to the window and looked outside with a slight frown. He turned around and said, “I want to help catch whoever did this. The IED killed people, innocent people, just people walking by. These were senseless murders. I want to help send those guys away for a long time.”

     Steve looked Abdelhaq in the eyes to make certain he understood his commitment.

     “What you can do is to stay here and finish your business. Right now you’re our only connection to those who blew up the car—until the interrogations that are going on now shed some light on all this.”

     Steve mulled that for a moment.

     “Like a tethered goat to attract the lion. Can you protect me?”

     “I’ll have you covered. The minute you leave the hotel, I’ll have discreet protection on you.”

     “Isn’t this ironic? I came to sell expertise on counterterrorism, and now I’m in the middle of a counterterrorist operation.”

     “Don’t worry; we have our own counterterrorist experts.”

     “Are your Salafists home grown?”

     “In a way. You can compare them to the old Communist parties. Like them, they have local activists, and they have a unifying ideology that comes from outside. This time, instead of Marxism and Leninism, the dogma is subverted from the Quran, written for seventh century Bedouins. The radicals claim it has all the rules that humankind needs. In American terms, it’s the Constitution, the Bible, the Bill of Rights and the rules of the Securities and Exchange Commission all rolled into one. But they regard man-made laws to be sacrilegious, to be an affront to Allah.”

     Steve nodded. “A constituency of one: Allah. Well, I assume that you have a plan, other than dangling me out there to draw their fire, right?”

     Abdelhaq smiled. “You remind me of your father. He’s more concerned with the practical than with philosophical. As a matter of fact I do have a plan, and it should allow you to leave when your business is concluded, whether we have arrested the terrorists or not. You stay in Morocco for a while, go about your business normally. Your continued presence should bring the bad guys out. You’ll be protected, don’t worry.”

    “My father trusts you, so I do as well. Plus, I still have work to do with the Ministry of Defense.”

     “There is a Moroccan proverb that tells us, ‘If you