F Wilson - Fatal Error

"I have no 'old country.' I've spent more of my life in America than in Saudi Arabia. My father was on long-term assignment here with Saud Petroleum. I grew up in New York. I was in college here when he was transferred back. I spent two months in the land of my birth and realized that my homeland was here. I made my hajj, then returned to New York. I finished school and became a citizen-much to the dismay of my father, I might add."

"Still could be someone from over there behind it. I mean, your wife doesn't look like she's from that part of the world."

"Barbara was born and raised in Westchester."

That surprised Jack. "Not Muslim? I'd have thought that would be against the Koran or something."

"It's against the law for Muslim women to marry infidel men, but not the other way around. If there's a pre-nup that the infidel woman will convert to Islam, it's okay."

"So she converted?"

He shook his head. "No. She's an atheist. Thinks religion's silly."

"Well, there you go. Sounds to me like your marrying someone like that drove one of these fundamentalist nutcases-"

"No. Positively not." Habib's face hardened. Absolute conviction steeled his voice. "A true Muslim would never do what this man has done to me."

"Don't be so sure."

"He made me… he made me eat…" The rest of the sentence seemed to be lodged in Habib's throat. "… pork. And made me drink alcohol with it. Pork!"

Jack shook his head. "I take it you're still a believer then?"

He shrugged. "I don't pray six times a day or go to mosque, but some cultural proscriptions are so ingrained…"

But still, what was the big deal? Jack could think of things a whole lot worse he could have been forced to do.

"What'd you have to do-eat a ham on rye?"

"No. Ribs. He told me to go to a certain restaurant on Forty-seventh Street this past Friday at noon and buy a rack of baby back ribs. Then he wanted me to stand outside on the sidewalk to eat them and wash them down with a bottle of beer."

"Did you?"

Habib bowed his head. "Yes."

Jack was tempted to ask if he liked the taste but stifled the question. Some folks took this stuff very seriously. He'd never been able to fathom how otherwise intelligent people allowed their dietary habits to be controlled by something written in a book thousands of years ago by someone who didn't have indoor plumbing. But then he didn't understand a lot of things about a lot of people. He freely admitted that. And what they ate or didn't eat, for whatever reasons, was the least of those mysteries.

"So you ate pork and drank a beer to save your wife and child. Nobody's going to issue a fatwa for that. Or are they?"

"He made me choose between Allah and my family," Habib said. "I chose my family."

Jack figured if you had a god who couldn't forgive you for that, it was time to reassess that relationship, maybe the whole god thing. But he offered a more circumspect response.

"Well, I doubt if Allah or any sane person would forgive you if you hadn't."

"But don't you see? He made me do it at noon on Friday."

"So?"

"That is when I should have been in my mosque, praying. It is one of the five duties. No follower of Islam would make a fellow Muslim do that. He is not a Muslim, I tell you. You need only listen to the recording to know that."

"What recording?"

"I've been using my answering machine to record the monster's calls."

"Great. We'll get to that in a minute. Okay, so he's not Muslim. What about enemies? Got any?"

"No. We lead a quiet life. I run the IT department at Saud Petrol. I have no enemies. Not many friends to speak of except Russ. Barbara and I keep very much to ourselves."

If that was true-and Jack had learned the hard way over the years never to take what the customer said at face value-then Habib was indeed the victim of a psycho. And Jack hated dealing with psychos. They didn't follow the rules. They tended to have their own queer logic. Anything could happen. Anything.

"All right. Let's start at the beginning. When did you first realize something was wrong?"

"When I came home from work Thursday night and found our apartment empty. I checked the answering machine and heard a distorted voice telling me he had my wife and son and that they'd be fine if I did as I was told and didn't go to the police. And if I had any thought of going to the police in spite of what he'd said, I should look on the dresser in our bedroom. The photographs were there." Habib rubbed a hand across his eyes. "I sat up all night waiting for the phone to ring. He finally called me Friday morning."

"You recorded that?"

"No. I didn't think about it till later. He would tell me nothing about Barbara and Robby except that they were alive and well and were hoping I wouldn't 'screw up' and not do as I was told."

"Which was eating the pork?"

He nodded. "I did as I was told, then hurried home and tried to vomit it up. He called and said I'd 'done good.' He said he'd call me again to tell me the next trick he was going to make me do. He said he was going to 'put me through the wringer but good.'"

"And the next trick was…?"

"I was to steal a woman's pocketbook in broad daylight, knock her down, and run with it. And I was not to get caught. He said the photos I had were 'Before.' If I was caught, he would send me 'After.' "

"So you became a purse-snatcher for a day. A successful one, I gather."

Habib lowered his head. "I'm so ashamed… that poor woman." His features hardened. "And then he sent the other photo."

"Yeah? Let's see it."

Habib suddenly seemed flustered. "It's-it's at my office."

He was lying. Why?

"Bull. Let me see it."

"No. I'd rather you didn't-"

"I need to know everything if I'm going to help you." Jack thrust out his hand. "Give."

With obvious reluctance, Habib reached into his coat and passed across another still. Jack immediately understood his hesitance.

He saw the same blond woman from the first photo, only this time she was nude, tied spread-eagle on a mattress, her dark pubic triangle toward the camera, her eyes bright with tears of humiliation; an equally naked dark-haired boy crouched in terror next to her.

And I thought she was a natural blond was written across the bottom.

Jack's jaw began to ache from clenching. He handed back the photo.

"And what about yesterday?"

"He called in the morning and said Sunday was a day of rest. That all I'd have to do was go to Saint Patrick's and receive communion. He said he'd be watching."

"And did you?"

"Of course. After that, I received no further word all day. I was going crazy. Then he called this morning and said I had to urinate-'take a piss,' in his words-in the street on Fifth Avenue at midafternoon."

"Swell," Jack said, shaking his head. "Stop-and-go-traffic."

"Correct. But I would do it all again if it would free Barbara and Robby."

"You might have to do worse. In fact, I'm sure you're going to have to do worse. I think this guy's looking for your limit. He wants to see how far he can push you, wants to see how far you'll go."

"But where will it end?"

"Maybe with you killing somebody."

"Him? Gladly! I-"

"No. Somebody else. A stranger. Or worse-somebody you know."

Habib blanched. "No. Surely you can't be…" His voice trailed off.

"Why not? He's got you by the balls. That sort of power can make a well man sick and a sick man sicker." He watched Habib's face, dismay tugging at his features as he stared at his desktop. "What'll you do?"

A pause while Habib returned from somewhere far away. "What?"

"When the time comes. When he says you've got to choose between the lives of your wife and son, and the life of someone else, what'll you do?"

Habib didn't flinch. "Do the killing, of course."