to get the Belt and the Republic to kiss and make up."
"I'm a peacemaker at heart."
Baby giggled. "Me too." She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "You planning on putting the two pieces together again?"
The Old One shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. Ibrahim would have never understood; his faith would have blinded him to the possibility.
"Reunification's the only reason I can think of for you to do what you're doing." Baby didn't look at him. "Strange thing, though. You busted up the United States so you could put it back together again?"
"To reunite it under the banner of Allah, stronger than ever. A beacon to the faithful around the world, a call to initiate the caliphate."
"That's going to be a hard sell, Daddy. Ask Humpty Dumpty how that worked out."
"Desperation reminds even half brothers that they are brothers nonetheless."
"Yeah, nothing like a wolf scratching at the door to stop folks from squabbling." Baby glanced at him. "You got a big problem, though. From what I hear, even the Belt and the Republic together aren't strong enough to defeat Aztlan, not as long as the Mexican air armada can pound every one of our cities flat."
"Yes, that is a problem."
"I guess you're working on it, huh?"
The Old One didn't respond.
Baby swayed against him. "One thing I always wondered about. Why start your caliphate in the USA instead of some Muslim country? I mean...why not make it easy on yourself?"
"I did try to make it easy on myself." The Old One watched the stars on the water. "I placed the Shah of Iran back on the Peacock Throne, but that upstart Khomeini ruined things. Then the Saudi prince I had maneuvered to succeed King Fahd fell from favor. My contacts in the U.S. State Department convinced Benazir Bhutto to return to Pakistan, but the silly bitch got herself killed before I intended." He shook his head. "After fifty years of failure in the Muslim world, I decided the solution lay elsewhere."
"The Great Satan," said Baby, fingers on her head making devil horns.
The Old One laughed and for an instant he forgot all about Massakar's sad face and even sadder diagnosis.
"I like hearing you laugh, Daddy."
"What could have greater impact on the Muslim world than the collapse of their ancient enemy?" said the Old One as Baby's hair wafted across his face like angel wings. "I had already laid the groundwork--politicians and journalists, newsanchors and academics, they were all for sale, and the religious leaders sold themselves cheapest. Their whole culture was rotten, riddled with greed and filth. I merely helped things along." The tide splashed in, the waves stacking up in the moonlight. "However...it turned out that bringing down the Great Satan was easier than putting it back together again. I came close five years ago, but our friend Rakkim and his meddling wife made me postpone my plans." Clouds edged across the moon. "That's why Ibrahim is so cautious. Inevitability is a tenuous asset, not to be squandered. I can't afford another high-profile setback."
Baby kissed his cheek. "Well, you didn't have me beside you back then. Now, you do."
"Yes," said the Old One, the feel of her lips lingering. "Now, I do."
CHAPTER 9
Rakkim was hurrying home when he spotted Sarah and Michael getting on the monorail at Fremont, both of them dressed as modern Muslims, which made no sense. He had to run to catch up, just managed to slide through the door of the Catholics-only car behind them. He didn't even have time to sit down before the monorail left, the elevated train shooting rapidly across the capital. The Catholics-only car was half full at midmorning, service workers and young mothers, mostly, a few old people staring out the windows as they gnawed on fibrous vitamin bars.
He settled back in the hard plastic bench, kept one hand half over his face, as though deep in thought, watching Sarah and Michael through the smoked glass between the cars. The Muslim cars were more luxurious, the seats padded, the air
"I'm a peacemaker at heart."
Baby giggled. "Me too." She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "You planning on putting the two pieces together again?"
The Old One shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. Ibrahim would have never understood; his faith would have blinded him to the possibility.
"Reunification's the only reason I can think of for you to do what you're doing." Baby didn't look at him. "Strange thing, though. You busted up the United States so you could put it back together again?"
"To reunite it under the banner of Allah, stronger than ever. A beacon to the faithful around the world, a call to initiate the caliphate."
"That's going to be a hard sell, Daddy. Ask Humpty Dumpty how that worked out."
"Desperation reminds even half brothers that they are brothers nonetheless."
"Yeah, nothing like a wolf scratching at the door to stop folks from squabbling." Baby glanced at him. "You got a big problem, though. From what I hear, even the Belt and the Republic together aren't strong enough to defeat Aztlan, not as long as the Mexican air armada can pound every one of our cities flat."
"Yes, that is a problem."
"I guess you're working on it, huh?"
The Old One didn't respond.
Baby swayed against him. "One thing I always wondered about. Why start your caliphate in the USA instead of some Muslim country? I mean...why not make it easy on yourself?"
"I did try to make it easy on myself." The Old One watched the stars on the water. "I placed the Shah of Iran back on the Peacock Throne, but that upstart Khomeini ruined things. Then the Saudi prince I had maneuvered to succeed King Fahd fell from favor. My contacts in the U.S. State Department convinced Benazir Bhutto to return to Pakistan, but the silly bitch got herself killed before I intended." He shook his head. "After fifty years of failure in the Muslim world, I decided the solution lay elsewhere."
"The Great Satan," said Baby, fingers on her head making devil horns.
The Old One laughed and for an instant he forgot all about Massakar's sad face and even sadder diagnosis.
"I like hearing you laugh, Daddy."
"What could have greater impact on the Muslim world than the collapse of their ancient enemy?" said the Old One as Baby's hair wafted across his face like angel wings. "I had already laid the groundwork--politicians and journalists, newsanchors and academics, they were all for sale, and the religious leaders sold themselves cheapest. Their whole culture was rotten, riddled with greed and filth. I merely helped things along." The tide splashed in, the waves stacking up in the moonlight. "However...it turned out that bringing down the Great Satan was easier than putting it back together again. I came close five years ago, but our friend Rakkim and his meddling wife made me postpone my plans." Clouds edged across the moon. "That's why Ibrahim is so cautious. Inevitability is a tenuous asset, not to be squandered. I can't afford another high-profile setback."
Baby kissed his cheek. "Well, you didn't have me beside you back then. Now, you do."
"Yes," said the Old One, the feel of her lips lingering. "Now, I do."
CHAPTER 9
Rakkim was hurrying home when he spotted Sarah and Michael getting on the monorail at Fremont, both of them dressed as modern Muslims, which made no sense. He had to run to catch up, just managed to slide through the door of the Catholics-only car behind them. He didn't even have time to sit down before the monorail left, the elevated train shooting rapidly across the capital. The Catholics-only car was half full at midmorning, service workers and young mothers, mostly, a few old people staring out the windows as they gnawed on fibrous vitamin bars.
He settled back in the hard plastic bench, kept one hand half over his face, as though deep in thought, watching Sarah and Michael through the smoked glass between the cars. The Muslim cars were more luxurious, the seats padded, the air
Similar Books
Coming Home
M.A. Stacie
The Bones of Avalon
Phil Rickman
Secret Seduction
Aminta Reily
Snow Crash
Neal Stephenson
Push The Button
Feminista Jones
Eleanor and Franklin
Joseph P. Lash
The Whites and the Blues
1802-1870 Alexandre Dumas
The Edge of Courage (Red Team)
Elaine Levine
The Violet Line
Bilinda Ni Siodacain
In Pursuit of Garlic
Liz Primeau