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

now was beginning to show wear. As the crowds walked out toward public transportation, Steve felt he was swimming upstream.

     He realized why Coogan had asked to be met at the airport—he walked with a cane to alleviate his limp when he came out of the customs check point. Steve waved and made his way through the crowd.

     Coogan grinned and said, “Those thugs sent a boy to do a man’s job.”

     His grin was replaced by a grimace of pain and a sudden intake of breath as they started to walk toward the covered parking lot. Steve carried Coogan’s overnight bag and laptop.

     “I was leaving my hotel and he came at me in broad daylight. I was lucky because he showed his knife too early. He gave me a chance to…”

     A light flashed on their left. A news photographer said, “Thank you Dr. Coogan. Mind if I take another?”

     Without waiting for an answer, he took two more shots. The reporter who was with the photographer stepped forward, put a microphone in front of Coogan’s face and asked, “How did you feel when you were attacked in Berlin?”

     Coogan tried to walk past but his limp, the gathering crowd and the large reporter planted in front of him made a civilized escape impossible.

     Steve wedged himself in front of Coogan.

     “This is not a good time,” he said “Please excuse us.”

     The reporter scowled and leaned forward aggressively.

     “Who are you? Don’t interfere with the press.”

     His face inches from the public’s right to know, Steve stepped forcefully on the reporter’s foot.

     “Sorry,” he said.

     With the reporter now slightly off-balance, Steve lowered a shoulder and walked straight through him with Coogan in his wake.

     The reporter called out, “Crétin! Dr. Coogan, is it true that the attack in Berlin was related to your work on the Quran?”

     Coogan kept walking behind Steve and said over his shoulder, “Thank you. Contact Berlin.”

     Once in the passenger seat of his MINI Cooper, Coogan sighed and rubbed his leg.

    “Thanks for picking me up. That thug did stick me in the leg,” he pointed to his right leg. “No big deal. The hospital bandaged it and let me go. But the effect of the painkiller has worn out. Could you reach my bag for me? There’s an envelope in the side pocket.”

     Steve gave him the envelope and Coogan took two pills that he immediately swallowed. As Steve drove out of the airport, he asked, “What was that reporter talking about? The Quran project?”

     “Right, but first things first. Tell me how I can help you. I understand you’re on your way to Morocco. Great country! It was anyway. Things are changing. What do you hope to do there?”

     “My company, West Gate Scientific International, does a lot of consulting for the Pentagon. You know, almost everything is outsourced these days. I’ve been involved in counter proliferation in Korea and in helping the new North American Command for its first Congressional hearings. Now I’ll be trying to sell our services to the Moroccan defense establishment.”

     Coogan shifted in his seat, winced, and grabbed his leg as he tried to get in a more comfortable position.

     “It’s okay, I’m fine. The painkiller should kick in soon. Go on. Sounds like your company hired the Renaissance Man.”

    “You sure you don’t want to stop? After the 2004 terrorist attack on Madrid that had killed one hundred ninety-one people, I learned that the Army’s European command was starting to provide counterterrorist training and equipment to North African countries. Anyway, I put the two together and made a pitch to my boss that this was a business opportunity to win contracts either with EUCOM or with the countries receiving the assistance. Long story short, the idea found traction. Before I knew it, I was packing. Anyway, my father said you were the expert I needed to talk to before I went to Morocco. But this Quran project sounds interesting.”

     “It’s certainly bringing out the nut cases, isn’t it? The German Order of the Knights Hospitallers recovered very old, and very different,” he looked at Steve for emphasis, “versions of the Quran. They might have had them since the Crusades. These pre-date the official version started under the third caliph, Othman. They were lost during the Second World War, or hidden. The Hospitallers donated the manuscripts to a German research institute. I have been invited to join the research team.”

     “And why would anyone try to kill you for that? And you said that the break-in was related? How?”

     “The Quran is supposed to be the word of God, immutable, eternal, unique—in other words, unchallengeable. A group of infidels claiming that they have different versions of God’s word is upsetting to certain Muslim groups, to say the least. And the most extreme, the Salafists, are more than ready to eliminate those other versions as well as anyone who claims they exist. As for the break-in, they must have assumed that I had copies of the manuscripts at home. In fact, I had received one page by email to allow me to decide whether I could handle the skeletal Arabic. But, I brought my laptop with me.”

     He pointed in back of him toward his computer.

     “Speaking of which,” Steve asked, “have you ever heard of a Tariq al Khalil? I went to graduate school with him in Brussels. We weren’t exactly close friends but I saw him today, at the Institut Arabe.”

     Coogan nodded thoughtfully.

     “Al Khalil lectures and writes extensively. From a Muslim Brotherhood family as I recall. His pitch depends on his audience. He tries to be moderate with European audiences but, in front of a Muslim audience, he’s a take-no-prisoners kind of guy. Gaining in influence, too. I hope