Read Online Garage Sale Diamonds (Garage Sale Mystery) by Suzi Weinert - Free Book Online
Authors: Suzi Weinert
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he’d endured long days in the strict, all-male madrassa where memorization of inflexible religious rules reinforced Islam’s rigid Sharia law. Islam was heritage, in your genes, like your nose shape or skin color. This wasn’t a choice. Destiny assigned you to this religion, your ultimate Muslim identity. Even doubting Islam was a sin. Reading other religions’ holy books, if they could be found, meant grave heresy and severe punishment.
The mullah identified devoted, obedient Ahmed as an alert boy. He sent the thirteen year old to an all-male Yemeni terrorist camp to train for military skills. Impressed with his quickness to improvise auxiliary solutions when primary solutions failed, the commandant selected him for the competitive special-operations hierarchy. This brought him to the attention of the Great Leader, who finally chose him to lead a part of this brilliant, long-planned suicidal strike against America.
Hate lessons during those formative years included pictures of heathen American women wearing disgusting, skimpy clothes and garish makeup. Yet inwardly, powerful emotions warred between Ahmed’s learned revulsion for such blatant decadence and a natural curiosity about women and their seductive magic. After all, most Middle-Eastern men took one to four wives, to discover what forbidden mysteries lay beneath their flowing robes. The brashness of Mahmud’s daughter shaking his hand should affront him. Instead, her touch left an electric tingle upon his palm.
“Hello, Ahmed,” Zayneb spoke from across the table, her polite smile not reaching her eyes. “A blessing that God kept you safe during your travels. How was your flight?”
My flight? Good, Ahmed thought, Mahmud told her nothing of his real journey here, never mind his purpose. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” He repeated the memorized, respectful phrase before adding, “My trip was long. I am glad to arrive at last. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Will you take breakfast with us now?” Mahmud asked his wife.
“Thank you, no. Friday mornings I drive Safia to school and stay to assist her teacher. We already had a bite in the kitchen.” She gave Ahmed another superficial smile. “Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you very much.” He recited the expected response.
“Sorry, but my youngest and I must leave now for the school. Please excuse us.” Zayneb left holding Safia’s hand.
“Thank you for inviting us to join you for breakfast this morning, Baba,” Khadija said. Her father frowned disapproval as she put food on a plate, sat at the table and turned toward Ahmed.
“Your English is good. Where did you learn to speak our language?”
“In the madra…in my school and later at special language camps,” he answered.
“Would you like to learn more?”
“Yes, I would.” His answer surprised him. Why improve his language skills when he’d be dead in a week?
“Watching television is a good way to hear and practice the language, especially the news channels. Did you notice the TV on the wall in your room?”
“Not yet, but I will make a point to do so when I return upstairs.”
“If you like, maybe I can help also. I teach ESL at a nearby community college.”
“E…S…L?”
“English as a Second Language. I teach my students to speak and write English plus practical skills, like filling out a job application. I also teach them about our culture because life here may be very different from what they’re accustomed to in their homelands.”
Mahmud frowned harder. He allowed women at the table after his own twenty-four-year exposure to American habits, but this high-ranking guest came straight from a different Middle-Eastern culture. Khadija’s refusal to behave according to Sharia law, the cornerstone of Muslim life, angered her father and must horrify Ahmed. He felt rage that his daughter embarrassed him in front of this honored visitor with whom he would soon shape a violence of such proportions all
The mullah identified devoted, obedient Ahmed as an alert boy. He sent the thirteen year old to an all-male Yemeni terrorist camp to train for military skills. Impressed with his quickness to improvise auxiliary solutions when primary solutions failed, the commandant selected him for the competitive special-operations hierarchy. This brought him to the attention of the Great Leader, who finally chose him to lead a part of this brilliant, long-planned suicidal strike against America.
Hate lessons during those formative years included pictures of heathen American women wearing disgusting, skimpy clothes and garish makeup. Yet inwardly, powerful emotions warred between Ahmed’s learned revulsion for such blatant decadence and a natural curiosity about women and their seductive magic. After all, most Middle-Eastern men took one to four wives, to discover what forbidden mysteries lay beneath their flowing robes. The brashness of Mahmud’s daughter shaking his hand should affront him. Instead, her touch left an electric tingle upon his palm.
“Hello, Ahmed,” Zayneb spoke from across the table, her polite smile not reaching her eyes. “A blessing that God kept you safe during your travels. How was your flight?”
My flight? Good, Ahmed thought, Mahmud told her nothing of his real journey here, never mind his purpose. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” He repeated the memorized, respectful phrase before adding, “My trip was long. I am glad to arrive at last. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Will you take breakfast with us now?” Mahmud asked his wife.
“Thank you, no. Friday mornings I drive Safia to school and stay to assist her teacher. We already had a bite in the kitchen.” She gave Ahmed another superficial smile. “Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you very much.” He recited the expected response.
“Sorry, but my youngest and I must leave now for the school. Please excuse us.” Zayneb left holding Safia’s hand.
“Thank you for inviting us to join you for breakfast this morning, Baba,” Khadija said. Her father frowned disapproval as she put food on a plate, sat at the table and turned toward Ahmed.
“Your English is good. Where did you learn to speak our language?”
“In the madra…in my school and later at special language camps,” he answered.
“Would you like to learn more?”
“Yes, I would.” His answer surprised him. Why improve his language skills when he’d be dead in a week?
“Watching television is a good way to hear and practice the language, especially the news channels. Did you notice the TV on the wall in your room?”
“Not yet, but I will make a point to do so when I return upstairs.”
“If you like, maybe I can help also. I teach ESL at a nearby community college.”
“E…S…L?”
“English as a Second Language. I teach my students to speak and write English plus practical skills, like filling out a job application. I also teach them about our culture because life here may be very different from what they’re accustomed to in their homelands.”
Mahmud frowned harder. He allowed women at the table after his own twenty-four-year exposure to American habits, but this high-ranking guest came straight from a different Middle-Eastern culture. Khadija’s refusal to behave according to Sharia law, the cornerstone of Muslim life, angered her father and must horrify Ahmed. He felt rage that his daughter embarrassed him in front of this honored visitor with whom he would soon shape a violence of such proportions all
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