Abigail – The Avenging Agent: The agent appears again (45 page)

            Effendi
Khaidar was confused.

            Clearly,
 Karma, his brother-in-law, was his sworn enemy.  He also knew that he was a
member of the ‘Mojahedin’ organization and reports had reached him of his
meetings with Israeli ‘Mossad’ agents.  Khaidar had been raised by an Arab
mother and, therefore, thought he should be put to death.  Nevertheless, he
took pains not to be the person who would give his sister the title of “widow.”

            When
he heard of his marriage to a second wife, he boiled with rage. He sent people
to follow him and found that the new bride was a respectable Moslem woman, who
had found a bridegroom to her taste.

            He
wondered whether to tell Salima the story of Karma’s second marriage in spite
of knowing that every man can take another wife.  He assumed that the new bride
knew of his daughters and wife in the United States.  For a long time, he debated
what he should do and even participated in an additional attempt to assassinate
Karma at his wedding.  Now, an idea flashed through his mind.

            He
decided to fly to Arizona in the United States to meet his sister, Salima, look
into her eyes and tell her that Karma, her husband, had taken a second wife. 
This way, he hoped to obtain her moral release to kill him, but then, he
remembered his two little nieces, Naziah, and Kahit.  It was important that the
two should never know that he caused their father’s death.  He believed that it
was likely to pursue him to the last of his reincarnations for seven
generations and, only then, allow his soul to find eternal rest.

            At
first, he thought of sharing this with senior members of his organization but
then decided not to as it was a personal family issue.          

Two days later, he was on a plane and
when he met his sister he was convinced he had made the correct move.

            When
he disembarked, he walked to the arrivals hall and recognized the excited
members of his family. They waved and above all the voices greeting him, he
heard the joyous voice of his sister:

            “A’halan
(Welcome), and thanks to Allah for returning you to us, Ya’Effendi!”

            He
searched out Nimer, his mother and recognized her.  They were all yelling and
laughing.  He looked around and asked:

            “Where
is our father?”

            “He
was ill, Khaidar. You have taken his place now, as he wished and as Allah
determined,” he heard his mother announce with acceptance.  Only when they
arrived home, chattering away and excited, did he absorb the changes that had
taken place in his absence.

            His
sister, Salima, for whom he had flown to the United States, looked quite
different and his heart constricted in her presence.  She no longer wore the
traditional galabiya and hijab and resembled any other American woman.  Her
silken hair was gathered at the nape of her neck and tied with a white ribbon. 
Effendi wondered at the decolletage of her blouse, which, although it only
revealed a small part of her neck, would, none the less, shame any respectable
Muslim woman.

In the early days of his stay, he kept
his silence, trying to keep on good terms with her but, every passing day
increased his anger.  One day, he could no longer contain himself and he spoke
to her angrily, as he looked at the tears that welled up in her eyes with
satisfaction.

It happened two days before he was to
return to Iran.

She remained in the kitchen to wash the
dishes after the meal and he stood at the entrance and spoke.
 
 He was still able to keep his cool.

            “I
came here to speak to my sister, but I was unable to find her,” he began and
she turned to him, her hands dripping with water.  She noticed that he was
staring at her clothing.

            “Yes,
it’s true, I am not wearing an abaya, but I take care to preserve my modesty.”

            Effendi
sneered and said:

            “Did
you say modest?  A married woman, who sways her hips as if she’s looking for a
bridegroom.”

            “Effendi,
we are in America,” she replied, her voice growing louder but still restrained.

            “I
still say that you are dressed like an unmarried woman, trying to attract
attention to herself.”

            This
time, she did raise her voice.

            “Effendi
Khaidar, it is true that you are my brother, my elder brother, but you forget
that I have a husband and you are not a substitute for him.”

            He
spoke slowly when he asked:

            “Are
you telling me that your husband approves of you appearing this way?”        

“He didn’t object.”

            Effendi
remained silent.  He almost burst out screaming and said that, as far as he was
concerned, she was behaving like a wanton woman.  He wanted to yell and slap
her face and he restrained himself from tearing the clothes off the body of
this Western woman facing him.  Instead, he clenched his teeth hard and tried
to calm himself.  He knew and remembered that he needed her support and he
inquired with restrained anger:

            “When
did your husband see you dressed like this?”

            “Did
you come here to make fun of me?” she asked as her voice rose to a scream.

            Now,
tears rolled down her cheeks.  She saw how her brother’s rage grew steadily
stronger and her heart beat furiously.

            “He
came home this year, in March, and stayed with us for seven months.  You hear? 
Seven months! We didn’t just meet for a moment.” She recoiled in fear at the
sight of her brother’s face and her heart raced. His wrath reached its breaking
point and, without thinking, he made the error of his life and released the
words he had held back until this moment:

            “
So, that must be the reason he has taken another wife – a respectable Muslim
woman, a hundred times more beautiful than you. She will bear him sons, not
daughters, who see how immodestly their wanton mother dresses and strays from
respectability.”

            “What?!”
she screeched, “get out of here, you wild bastard!”  She stopped for a moment as
she absorbed what he had just said.

            “A
different woman? Another wife?!  Khaidar, what are you talking about?  I am his
first and only wife!”

            “Is
that what you think?!” He spoke slowly, in measured tones that emphasized every
word and took pleasure in the expression on her agitated and anguished face.

            “Over
three months ago, your husband got married at the Ayatollah Karim’s Mosque and
left Iran with her to the devil knows where.”

            “Can
you hear what you are saying?!”

The whites of her eyes turned pink, her
hands trembled and she was having difficulty controlling herself. She turned
around suddenly and passed him on her way to the room.  Khaidar rushed after
her and saw her trying to make a call, grabbed the phone out of her hand and
yelled:

“You are not to call anyone, do you
hear?!”

“Tell me it’s not true!” she screamed,
her voice begging.  She picked up her hairbrush and flung it at him.

Khaidar spoke more quietly now.

“He did it all in secret,” then he
lowered his voice to say what he had prepared to say in the last few days.

“Salima, if you allow me to kill him the
matter will be over, just as you wish.”

Salima remained standing, her hand
extended as though she was still holding the telephone and he continued,
without pity for her. He felt it was now the moment for which he had come.

“You should know that he could have died
several times, but that woman saved him from being killed and…”

“You’re a liar!  You invented this just
so I would agree to your killing him, so as to leave me a widow and his
daughters, orphans!”  She had turned as red as a tomato and she coughed wildly.

“I always knew what kind of man you are!
You are cruel and vicious.  I don’t know how I could have depended on you!”

He grew silent.  His eyes opened wide
when he realized that, instead of obtaining her agreement, he had turned her
sisterly love to hatred, and heard what she said in cold silence:

“Khaidar, if you touch him – you’re
dead!”

When he left the house, she waited in
silence for a few seconds and then locked the front door.  Only then did she
call the number she had copied from Karma’s telephone during his visit.

“I would like to speak to Yusuf or
Mustafa,” she said.

“Who is calling?” The voice replied,
firmly.

“Khaidar’s sister.”

Seconds later she heard a hoarse voice
that asked again:

“Who is speaking and how can I tell it’s
you?”

Instead of answering, she  replied:

“Effendi Khaidar hides his blue star
between his thumb and forefinger under a band-aid, and he is now in the United
States.”

She heard breathing on the other end of
the line though not a word was openly uttered and she took advantage of the
silence and spoke:

“Effendi Khaidar has betrayed you.  He
did everything possible to prevent the assassination of Karma.”

“Who is Karma?”

“My husband, his brother-in-law…”

Someone nearby remarked:

“Ah, yes, the Kurd, who married the
beautiful tour guide,” and Salima shuddered.  Her anger blazed to the point of
burning,  Now, she understood that her brother had been telling the truth and
she didn’t know how and where to direct her anger and said at once:

“I confirm that you may kill…”

Just then the call was disconnected and
Salima wondered if she should call again and she choked.  She beat her fist on
the wall beside her and roared out loud at the pain she had inflicted on her
hand with the blow.

The conversation made waves that spread
wider.  Already, that day, a meeting was urgently arranged.  Three bearded men
listened to the recorded conversation and Mustafa remarked:

“You must be aware that this was not
just any another conversation.  This is about the betrayal of the
organization.”

“It seems to me that he has been caught
up in a family feud so extreme that…”

“Forget about the family feud, I’m not
talking about that.  I am addressing the fact that Effendi prevented us from
exterminating that Kurdish bastard who is a ‘Mossad’ agent.”

Yusuf rapped his fingers on the table
and said:

“I have a really straightforward idea! 
Listen, we will set them up against one another and they will send each other
to hell.”

Mustafa shook his head and said:

“No, that’s not right, because if he
really objected and prevented his extermination, do you think  that all of a
sudden he is prepared to kill his brother-in-law?”

“Wait, he doesn’t have to know who he is
going to assassinate.  We can take steps to transmit a message to the Kurd to
blow someone up and will actually be…”

“Come on, really.  Who will give him an
instruction like that?”

In response, Rulam took out a folded
page and spread it out in front of the other two.

“Here is the page with the codes to
decipher the broadcast signals he receives.”

“Whose?  How did you get hold of it?”

 “With the help of Fatima, our agent,
who cleans hotel rooms.  She picked up the page that the Kurd left on the table
after receiving one of his assignments.”

“Well done!” Mustafa complimented him,
giving him a thumbs up, “we’re greenlighting your plan.”

In the hour that followed, a detailed
plan was put together.  The idea was to falsify an order that would be
transmitted to Karma.  He would be told to plant an explosive device in
Effendi’s car, without knowing, of course, who was driving the car.  For this purpose,
he would be given a “Bentley”, identical to the one his brother-in-law drove.

“I am arranging for the car.  Does
anyone know if Effendi still drives his “Bentley?” inquired Mustafa, the senior
of the three, and added:

“Rulam, you will take care of the bomb,
that’s your specialty, and we will leave the other matters that have to be
coordinated to our Yusuf, as usual.”

“In that case, I suggest that it should
not take place on our territory.  What about distancing the execution of the
plan to Turkey?”

“That’s fine, but why Turkey, of all
places?”

“The Kurd grew up in the Turkish tents
and that’s where he will end his life.”

“You initiated the suggestion so you
should continue it,” Mustafa decided and Yusuf began thinking aloud.

“I also suggest that the bomb should not
be planted on land but on a ship so that the explosion takes place in the land
of his birth.”  And asked at once: