The Caliphate by André Gallo (books to read for 13 year olds .TXT) 📕

He gets his justification from Allah. The only interested organizations are the intelligence agencies. But, in the U.S. anyway, their main responsibility is to gather information.”

     Kella got out in front of an apartment building in the sixteenth arrondissement off the Rue de la Tour. Before getting out of the car, she kissed Steve on the cheek.

     “Thanks. Food is the last thing on my mind, but I’ll probably change my mind. See you tomorrow night.”

She buzzed herself in and disappeared behind a wrought-iron and glass door.

***

Steve savored driving back to Neuilly. He loved the surprising turbocharged power of the small engine―a kiddy car on steroids. He was glad that Coogan had chosen manual transmission and the six-gear system was smooth, quick, and responsive. Although left-handed, he had long ago adjusted to a right-handed world and the center console mounted shifting lever offered no problems for him. Feeling the machine respond to his commands restored a good measure of the control he felt he had lost during the day’s events—a good antidote to the high emotions of the previous hours.

***

In the morning, Steve and his host had breakfast together. French café au lait, croissants, toasted buttered slices of crusty French bread, juice, and a jar of peanut butter.

     “Peanut butter? In France?”

     “It’s the only thing I miss about American food,” Coogan laughed. “It looks like I need to buy another jar. It’s only available at Fauchon’s, an exclusive shop near the Madeleine. It’s right next to the caviar, and almost as expensive.”

     After Steve described Kella’s experience, Coogan said, “Honor killings are not all that rare. They just don’t get reported. So if there is a hint or a rumor that a female is promiscuous, it becomes the duty, the obligation, of the senior male to either kill her himself or assign one of his sons to do it.”

     Steve’s voice went up a notch.

     “You don’t sound surprised. It’s incredible to me that these killings, these dishonor killings, are accepted as part of the landscape. I’ve even read that in a rape case, the female is usually the one who is punished. I assume, I hope, that the French police will hunt this guy down.”

     He could see that Coogan was letting him blow off steam. He took a breath, had a sip of the strong French coffee and changed the subject.

     “What about the break-in? Anything new?”

     “The advice from the police and from the U.S. Embassy is to wait for the investigation to take place. As far as I know, the police haven’t even contacted the Saudis yet. So I’m going to raise the wall or make it somehow more difficult to get over.”

     “I don’t think you can make that wall high enough.”

     “You’re right. Then I’ll just have to mine the flower beds.”

     He chuckled at the idea.” Actually, I’m going to pay call on my neighbor.”

     “Why would a Saudi want to break in here?” Steve asked.

     Coogan studied his toast before replying.

     “It’s not surprising that the intruder came from the Saudi residence, assuming that the reason for it was to find the Quranic documents. I can’t believe that this was an officially sanctioned attempt; it was pretty sloppy. It was probably an overzealous servant. The House of Saud tries to keep everyone happy through hand-outs. They need the American military but are also dependent on the fundamentalist Wahhabi clerics with whom they have had a Faustian agreement since the 1800s. The Saudis finance the spread of Wahhabism globally, to include madrasas in the United States. But they’re also attacked by al Qaeda for being apostates, for being too close to the American ‘Jews and crusaders.’”

     Steve reached for the coffee pot and said, “Looks as if, by trying to please everyone, they please no one.”

     “By the way, you probably haven’t seen this yet.”

     Coogan handed him a French newspaper that was folded to a story about the discovery of the documents, complete with pictures of Coogan and Steve at the airport.

     “They spelled your name right.”

“Yes, thanks to Benjamin. With everything that’s going on, I don’t like having my picture in the paper.”

     “You’re right, and I’m sorry I got you involved.”

6. Neuilly-sur Seine

That evening, after the police frisked her, Kella rang the bell of the Coogan house under the unwavering gaze of the French policemen.

     Steve opened the door and, in answer to her curious nod toward the armed security guards, explained, “The Saudi ambassador lives next door. And the Moroccan ambassador is on the other side. I don’t know if I should feel safe or if I’m in the middle of a shooting gallery.”

     “I can’t believe it. They actually searched me.”

    “Yes. Me, too. I’m sorry; I should have warned you.”

     He led her up the stairs to the den. Coogan had stacked the books and photos in piles since his return.

     “There was a break-in the other day. Nothing is missing but they took the place apart.”

     She sat on one of two leather sofas as Steve opened a bottle of Veuve-Cliquot champagne that had been chilling in a silver ice bucket.

     “A break-in?” she asked. “I saw your picture in the paper this morning. You’re famous. Is the break-in connected?”

     He handed her a glass of champagne.

    “That article is trouble. But, there is no fatwa on me yet,” he grinned. “But I’m starting to believe that these people are serious. Now they’re going to associate me with this Quran research.”

     “Plus, Hamad, Faridah’s father, saw you. I doubt that he reads the French newspapers, but if he does, he now knows who you are. I don’t know if he has my name.”

     They moved to the dining room carrying their champagne