Daniel Silva - The Secret Servant

“Who are you?” he asked in heavily accented English.

“My name is Arthur Hamilton,” said Strauss.

“You work for the American government, Mr. Hamilton?”

Strauss shook his head. “I want to make clear from the outset that I am a private citizen. I have no connection to the government of the United States whatsoever.”

“But surely you didn’t come to this place on your own volition. Surely you have been sent here by others.”

“That is correct.”

“Who sent you here?”

Strauss looked up at the guards in the tower, then gazed directly at Sheikh Abdullah. “I am an emissary of the president of the United States.”

The sheikh accepted this piece of information with an air of detachment. “I’ve been expecting you,” he said calmly. “What can I do for you, Mr. Hamilton?”

“I assume you are aware of the fact that your group has kidnapped the daughter of the American ambassador in London and is threatening to murder her if the United States does not release you and return you to Egypt.”

“Choose your words carefully, Mr. Hamilton. Elizabeth Halton is a legitimate target in our eyes. Her death, should it come to pass, would not be murder, but a justifiable killing.”

“So then you are aware of what has transpired on your behalf?”

“I am fully aware, Mr. Hamilton.”

“Are you in any way connected to the attack?”

“Are you asking me if I ordered it or helped plan it?”

“That is precisely what I’m asking.”

He shook his head slowly. “I have had no contact with the Sword of Allah since my incarceration in this facility. What has been done on my behalf was set in motion without my approval or knowledge.”

“By your brother?”

“I wouldn’t know.” The sheikh gave a fleeting smile. “You are very good at asking questions, Mr. Hamilton. Am I to assume that you are a lawyer?”

“Guilty as charged, Sheikh Abdullah.”

“I appreciate your candor. May I now ask you a question?”

Strauss nodded.

“Will you convert to Islam, Mr. Hamilton?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“As a devout Muslim, I am obligated to do many things, including bringing the gift of Islam to the unbelievers.”

“I’m afraid my allegiances are already spoken for, Sheikh Abdullah.”

“You are a person of the Book?”

“I believe in the law, Sheikh Abdullah.”

“The only law that matters is God’s law.”

“And what would God say about the atrocities that have been committed in Europe on your behalf? What would God say about the murder and kidnapping of innocents?”

“The number of dead pale in comparison to the number who have been tortured and killed by your friend Hosni Mubarak. They are but a pittance compared to the number of innocent Muslims who have died because of the American and British adventure in Iraq.” The sheikh fell silent for a moment. “Do you know what happened in my country after Osama’s airplanes hit your Twin Towers? Your government gave the Mubarak regime a list of names- hundreds of names, Mr. Hamilton. And do you know what Mubarak and his secret police did? They arrested all those men and tortured them mercilessly, even though they had absolutely nothing to do with 9/11.”

“And this justifies the kidnapping and murder of an innocent woman?”

“Without question.” The sheikh turned his face to the arc lamps. The harsh light washed all color from him. “But the president didn’t send you all the way here from Washington to engage in a debate, did he, Mr. Hamilton?”

“No, Sheikh Abdullah, he did not.”

“What then is the purpose of your visit?”

“The president has dispatched me here to request a favor. He would like you to issue a fatwa condemning the actions of your group and calling for Elizabeth Halton’s immediate release. The president feels your words would have a profound influence on the minds of her captors.”

“Her captors are listening to other voices, Mr. Hamilton. Mine would be mere background noise.”

“The president thinks otherwise.” Strauss’s next words were spoken with care. “And he would be extremely grateful for whatever help you could provide us in this matter.”

“How would the president demonstrate this gratitude?”

“I’m not here to negotiate, Sheikh Abdullah.”

“Of course you are, Mr. Hamilton.”

“The president believes you are a reasonable man who would not want Elizabeth Halton harmed. The president believes bargaining at a time like this would be inappropriate. It would also be against the stated policy of the United States of America.”

“If the president believes I am such a reasonable man, then why did he refer to me as a bloodthirsty terrorist?”

“Sometimes things are said for public consumption that don’t necessarily reflect true feelings,” Strauss said. “As a man of the Middle East, I’m sure you can understand this.”

“More than you might think,” the Egyptian said. “But the president doesn’t need my cooperation in this fatwa. He can tell his clever spies in the CIA to fabricate one.”

“The president feels it won’t be believed by the captors unless it is spoken by you. He would like you to read your statement on camera. We would make provisions here, of course.”

“Of course.” The sheikh tugged thoughtfully at his beard. “Am I to understand that the president of the United States is asking me to end this crisis for him and yet he is offering me nothing in return?”

Strauss removed the file from his briefcase and placed it on the table. “It has come to my attention that the prosecutors from the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Eastern District of Virginia did not turn over to your lawyers certain exculpatory evidence that they were required by law to give them. I believe a well-crafted Section 2255 motion would receive a favorable reception in the courts.”

“How favorable?”

Again Strauss proceeded with caution. “I can foresee a scenario in which your conviction is overturned, at which point the government would have to decide whether to retry you or simply release you. In the meantime, steps can be taken to make your stay here more comfortable.”

“You make it sound as though I am an invited guest.”

“You were an invited guest, Sheikh Abdullah. We granted you permission to enter our country and you repaid our hospitality by conspiring to attack some of our most important landmarks.”

“But you would be willing to take my case nonetheless?”

“It’s not the sort of work I do,” Strauss said. “But I can think of several lawyers who would do a very fine job.”

“And how long would such a process take?”

“Two years,” Strauss said. “Three years at most.”

“Do I look like a man who has three years to live?”

“You have no other options.”

“No, Mr. Hamilton, the president is the one without options. In fact, his options are so limited he has sent you here cap in hand to plead for my help. In return you offer me false hope and expect me to be grateful. But that’s what you Americans always do, isn’t it, Mr. Hamilton? What you don’t seem to understand is that there is more at stake now than just the fate of a single American woman. The Sword has set fire to Egypt. The days of the Mubarak regime are now numbered. And when it falls, the entire Middle East will change overnight.”

Strauss put the file back into his briefcase. “I’m not an expert on the Middle East, but something tells me you have miscalculated. Issue the fatwa, Sheikh Abdullah. Save Elizabeth Halton’s life. Do the decent thing. God will reward you.” He hesitated, then added: “And so will the president.”

“Tell your president that America doesn’t negotiate with terrorists and we don’t negotiate with tyrants. Tell him to comply with the Sword’s demands or he’ll be standing at Andrews Air Force Base soon, watching a coffin coming off an airplane.”