Brian Freeman - Marathon

Everything had changed when he was twenty-three. His uncle introduced him to Ahdia.

She was a Pakistani, like him, but her parents were both technology professionals, and she had a degree from the University of Chicago in computer science and a job with a local medical device manufacturer. She was traditional but strong-minded, and she was beautiful. He learned about life from her in a way he’d never appreciated before. She made him a better person. It was Ahdia who convinced him to become a citizen, and Ahdia who suggested they leave Chicago and move somewhere quieter and smaller, where they could build a family.

They married. Ahdia got a job offer from the high-tech aircraft manufacturer Cirrus, and they made the move to Duluth. Khan continued to drive a cab. Pak was born a year later, and they bought their little house a year after that. The Muslim community was much smaller here than in Chicago, but they had built a small circle of friends at the mosque, some from Pakistan but others from places like Somalia and Iraq. Right now, today, Khan had everything he wanted in life, and the only thing he needed from the rest of the world was to leave him in peace.

As he walked through the quiet woods, though, he realized that the world always catches up with you. He hiked a trail he’d hiked a hundred times before, and he saw someone waiting on a bench near the bank of Amity Creek. It was Malik.

His friend stood up when he saw him. They didn’t embrace.

“ Salaam Alaikum ,” they both murmured.

Ironically, Malik looked more American than Khan did. He wore American clothes and kept expensive sunglasses tucked into the V-neck of his white shirt. His black hair was buzzed and came to a sharp point on the peak of his forehead. He had a chin curtain beard that followed the line of his square jaw. Malik, at twenty-two years old, was more than a decade younger than Khan. He was a senior at UMD, studying engineering, and his parents in Detroit were both doctors, but his privileges masked something hollow.

Like Khan years before, Malik had no purpose, and the purposeless life always looked for meaning.

Khan wasted no time getting to the point. “Did you do this?”

“Nice to see you, too, Khan,” Malik replied.

“No games! I want the truth. Was it you?”

“Does it matter? They will blame us. They always do.”

“And what if it was us? People died, Malik. People were blown to bits. Men, women, probably children, too.”

His young friend sat back down on the bench. Behind him, water gurgled over the rocks, gathering strength. Barely two miles away, the creek crashed downward in waterfalls on its way to Lake Superior.

“They bring it on themselves,” Malik replied.

“How can you say that? This was a vile act. If a Muslim did this to innocent people, he is no Muslim to me.”

“Nobody in this country is innocent,” Malik told him.

Khan sat down next to him. “I was there. It could have been me, too. One minute this way or that, and I’d be dead.”

For the first time, Malik looked concerned. “Why were you there?”

“Looking for you ,” Khan told him.

Malik said nothing.

“I wasn’t the only one,” Khan said. “Many of us have been worried about you. The things you’ve said lately? All the anger? The threats you’ve made against this awful woman Dawn Basch?”

“Are you saying she doesn’t deserve them?” Malik asked.

“I’m saying she is baiting us! She wants to incite violence. She only needs one fool to give her what she wants. These are not children’s games, Malik. Our community is trying to protect itself.”

“If you think I’m guilty, turn me in.”

“I think you’re hiding something,” Khan said.

“My plans don’t concern you.”

“If they put you at risk, they do concern me. You know how I feel about you.”

Malik’s angry eyes softened. “Yes, I know that, and I love you like a brother, too. That’s why I don’t want you involved. You have a family. A life to protect.”

“So do you.”

Malik stood up. “I have dedicated my life to something else now.”

His friend walked away toward a bridge that crossed the creek. Khan called after him. “Malik! How can I reach you? Where are you staying? You haven’t been at the dorm in days.”

“It’s better that you not know where I am,” Malik replied.

“Then turn on your phone.”

Malik retraced his steps. “I destroyed my old phone. I have a new one now. Memorize the number, but don’t use it except in emergency.”

Malik rattled off a number, and he made Khan repeat it several times to be sure he had it right.

“Tell me what’s going on with you,” Khan urged Malik, but his friend simply walked away. In a short time, he’d become someone different. He was older and harder, with a cold line to his jaw. He looked like a man who’d found his purpose, and that was what worried Khan. It was too easy to find purpose in evil.

“Go home to your wife and boy,” Malik called to him without looking back. “Keep your head low, Khan. Bad things are coming our way.”

@AP tweeted:

Press conference under way in Duluth. Minnesota governor asks for calm, advises people to remain indoors.

#marathon

@AP tweeted:

Governor introduces Patrick Maloney, Special Agent in Charge of the Minneapolis office, FBI, to lead investigation.

#marathon

@AP tweeted:

FBI’s Maloney cites “multiple casualties” from one explosive device. No other devices found.

#marathon

@AP tweeted:

FBI’s Maloney says no suspects or motive, no claims of responsibility, investigation “wide open.”

#marathon

@myopeneyes tweeted:

No motive, Pat? How about allah akbar. Wake up.

#marathon

#copsareblind

17 people favorited @myopeneyes

@a_private_i tweeted:

Marathon photos showing up on diggitt.com. Got photos? Post them. Let’s solve this thing.

#marathon

@fredsissel tweeted:

Thousands of photos at diggitt already. Come on, people, we can find this asshole.

#marathon

182 people retweeted @fredsissel

@dawnbasch tweeted:

Motive? This was terrorism.

This was an attempt to silence me.

I will not be silenced.

#marathon

#islamismurder

#noexceptions

Stride stood with Special Agent Gayle Durkin in Canal Park. The lift bridge, which separated the city from the strip of land known as the Point, loomed like a gray steel monster two hundred yards away. He could see the deep blue of Lake Superior from the street. The entire area around them had been taped off as a crime scene. FBI personnel swarmed the half block surrounding the Duluth Outdoor Company retail store, laying down numbers to mark evidence to be collected.

Shrapnel. Metal. Fabric. Human tissue.

The FBI Special Agent in Charge, Patrick Maloney, had cornered Stride after the press conference to introduce him to Durkin. Stride, in turn, had introduced Durkin to his cops at the bomb site. It helped that she was from Duluth. That gave her credibility as a police liaison, because she knew the local area, but no one — including Stride — was naïve about her role. Liaison was just a fancy word for the fact that Durkin would be telling his team what to do.

“Was there any chatter around town before the marathon?” she asked him.

“You mean threats? No, nothing specific. We were on high alert because of Dawn Basch and the unrest she’s caused. There’s been a lot of angry rhetoric back and forth. Campus protests. Things like that.”