Page 179 of Whisper

He pressed his hand over his heart. “Shukran, brother. But I will not leave my baba.”

The fighter handed his rifle to Dawood. “Do you know how to use this?”

Dawood nodded, once.

“I will carry your father. My men will lead us down. Care for your people.” He stooped and gathered ’Bu Adnan in his arms, cradling his body. ’Bu Adnan’s lifeless cheek fell against the fighter’s chest, against his vest and his ammo clips. “Yallah, we must hurry! Before more bombs fall!”

Dawood rounded up his people, took Behroze back into his arms. Behroze was a young teen, but still small. Easy for Dawood to carry on one hip with the jihadist’s rifle still in his hands.

Together, the band of fighters and villagers crept down the mountain.

Kandahar Province

Afghanistan

“Allahu Akbar.” Dawood held his hands by his ears. The brothers behind him repeated the call, the glory to God. “Allahu Akbar.”

He centered Allah in his heart, his intentions.Oh God, this is the path You have led me to. Through the twists and turns of my terrible life. You have led me to this place. You give everything form, and then guidance, oh Allah. It is only now, at the end, looking back, that I see the path for what it is.

He placed his arms over his stomach and looked down. “Praise and glory be to You, O Allah. Blessed be Your Name, exalted be Your Majesty and Glory. There is no God but You. In the Name of Allah, the Most Compassionate, the Most Merciful. You alone do we worship and You alone do we call on for help.”

Remember, Dawood, ’Bu Adnan had said once.Every beat of your heart functions only by the permission of Allah.

Why does he keep me alive? Why keep me here?

Because he loves you, habibi.

“You who believe, be steadfast in your devotion to God. Do not let hatred of others lead you away from justice, but adhere to justice, for that is closer to awareness of God. Be mindful of God! God is well aware of all that you do. Allahu Akbar.” He led the brothers in the Quranic verse before he bowed. “Glorious is my Lord, the most great.”

When you called on your Lord for help, He responded to you.

Was his whole life a cry to Allah? Had he been too stubborn to see the signs? Had he been crying in the dark, raging in isolation, and had missed Allah’s reach for his soul? Days that built from shifting sands, unstable foundations, the hole in the center of his soul always leaking his anguish into the world, coloring everything in shades of pain, in loss?

Kris…

Dawood bowed his head.

Pakistan Northwestern Frontier

Bajaur Province

Federally Administered Tribal Areas

Three Years Before

The fighters led Dawood and his people down the mountain, into the tangled valleys of Bajaur, away from the bombs and the strikes, hidden deep in jihadist territories.

The first dawn, they buried ’Bu Adnan. Dawood led his people in prayer, and Ihsan, the man who’d saved them, brought his fighters to join in. He helped Dawood dig the grave and lower ’Bu Adnan on his right side, facing Mecca. Helped him cover the body in dirt and say the final prayers over the grave.

Later, convoys appeared, long lines of trucks and technicals, pickups with machine guns mounted in the back. Black flags flapped from the tailgates.

“Jihad?” Dawood asked Ihsan.

“It’s all we have left,” Ihsan said. They were standing around a fire, the first they’d had in days. Dawood couldn’t feel any warmth, though. Behroze curled at his feet, sleeping in a borrowed blanket. He never left Dawood’s side.

“Time stops for the West whenever they wish it. When they are angry, when they are hurt. But a thousand Muslims die in Afghanistan? A thousand more in Iraq, in Sudan? A thousand, again, in Chechnya? Time never stops us for us, brother. No one cares about our lives. Only we care.”

He stared at the fire, memories playing in the flickering flames. His father’s execution in Libya by Qaddafi had been the most evil thing in his entire world at ten years old. He’d thought the entireuniversewould react, that everyone would see the evil of Libya’s Great Guide, their dictator, that there would be salvation and justice from the world. But the world kept turning, even though the ground beneath his feet had stuttered to a halt. Everyone else kept moving on, following the rise and fall of the sun, kept moving forward in time. In Egypt, there wasn’t even a headline about the execution. In America, most everyone said “Libya” like it was a dirty word, a nasty country, and he was just lumped in with everything and everyone that made Libya such a terrible place.