Read Online A Gentleman's Game by Greg Rucka - Free Book Online

fruitless attempts at contact, it had been a lean and quiet man named el-Sayd who had explained it to him in the back of a Cairo café, off Sharia Muski, in the Islamic Quarter.
    “We fight to free our country,” el-Sayd had said quietly. “We fight to overthrow this government of
mushrikun,
to make Egypt a true Islamic state. That is not your fight, Shuneal, and you have no place in it.”
    “I want to be a
jihadi,”
Shuneal had answered in his best Arabic, the tongue finally beginning to sound natural on his lips. “I am a Muslim, and I must follow all the teachings, and you would deny me the Sixth Pillar of our faith. If you will not take me, where do I go?”
    El-Sayd had started to answer, then bitten it back, instead finishing his coffee. Shuneal bin Muhammad had waited, unmoving in his seat, staring. Aamil, seated beside him, seemed to barely breathe.
    “Continue your studies,” el-Sayd had said finally. “Be true in your faith. Allah, all praise to Him, will provide a way.”
    And with that, Shuneal and Aamil were escorted out of the café, to return to the
madrassa
with their disappointment.
    Less than a week later, the
imam
of the school spoke to Shuneal and Aamil after
isha’,
the evening prayer.
    “You are favored,” he told them both. “Prince Salih bin Muhammad bin Sultan, may Allah watch and keep him, has offered to bring certain of our students to Madinah, that they may make the Hajj. You have both been chosen.”
    •
    Sponsorship for the Hajj wasn’t unusual, but Shuneal felt fortunate nonetheless. To properly perform the Fifth Pillar—to make the pilgrimage to Makkah—was to guarantee one’s entry into Paradise, the desire of every Muslim. That Shuneal and Aamil had found a benefactor was remarkable; that such good fortune fell upon them at such a young age was extraordinary. There were millions who, in their lives, would never have the opportunity to see Makkah, to walk in the Prophet’s shadow, prevented by either poverty or other provenance.
    Near the end of January, Shuneal and Aamil flew from Cairo to Madinah in a private jet, supplied by Prince Salih bin Muhammad bin Sultan. Eighteen others traveled with them, young
madrassa
students like themselves, gathered from other schools in Egypt, Tunisia, and Sudan.
    The jet was like nothing Shuneal had ever experienced, and it spoke loudly of the Prince’s generosity and wealth, from the walnut-inlaid fixtures to the thick red carpeting on the floor and the marble-topped counters in the bathroom. They sat on comfortable couches and in overstuffed chairs, and Aamil drove the blood from his hands as he clutched the armrests of his seat when the plane climbed into the air, and Shuneal realized he had never flown before.
    At the airport, they were met by a guide from the Prince himself. He escorted them to an air-conditioned coach, then drove them to a private home in Madinah. There they were given rooms to share and a meal to eat, then taken to Masjid al-Nabee, the Mosque of the Holy Prophet, for prayers and the recitation of
ziyrat.
Kneeling toward Makkah, so close to the Holy City, Shuneal found it impossible to clear his head, to focus on his worship. Here, where it was said that one prayer was worth more than a thousand prayers offered anywhere else, except in Makkah, he felt insincere, and the more he fought his mind to concentrate and focus, the more obsessed with his thoughts he became.
    After the mosque, they returned to their lodgings, to settle in for the night. There were rumors that Prince Salih would be coming to greet them, to receive their thanks, and Shuneal imagined the encounter, practicing the different things he might say. He wanted to make a good impression, to show that he was humble and sincere, that he was grateful for this opportunity to mark his place in Paradise.
    But it was not the Prince who came to visit them that night at all, but a man named Abdul Aziz. He arrived late, nearly one in the morning, and of the