for this attack. Parvez told the two Al Qaeda operatives that he regretted that a man would miss this opportunity to become a martyr. He said that he would have blessed the man and recorded his statement, as he had Adnan’s, for all the world to see. In his mind, Parvez knew that he would have provided great comfort to the martyr; he had even rehearsed his descriptions of the paradise that awaited the brave jihadist.
Short Mohammed turned around holding a vest. “There will be a martyr wearing this vest. After the van blows up, there will be rescuers…”
Of course, the one-two punch. Parvez almost said so aloud, but decided to let them think they were enlightening him. Sometimes a real leader had to treat men this way to get the most out of them. Look how much he, a simple cleric, had accomplished with his insight, understanding, and courage.
Consumed in his thoughts, Parvez had missed part of short Mohammed’s speech.
“I’m sorry, would you please repeat that?”
“When hundreds gather to help,” the man said, “you, Parvez, the great cleric of the Maldives…”
Parvez beamed with pride.
“… the Islamist who came up with this great plan, you will become the martyr of the Maldives.”
What! Parvez wanted to shout. “Tha-tha-that’s Adnan’s name,” was all he managed.
“So there will be two great martyrs of the Maldives in paradise. You, too, can become the jihadist of your dreams.”
Both Mohammeds smiled at Parvez and nodded enthusiastically.
Parvez smiled, too, but his face felt frozen. This cannot be, he said to himself. Not for a man so wise as me. A man with insight, understanding, and … courage.
* * *
Jenna felt flash-fried as soon as she stepped from the Gulfstream, brow and bare arms beading instantly with perspiration from the heat and humidity of the Maldives. Even after drought-stricken New York, the tropical sun felt nasty and brutish on her skin. She couldn’t recall ever feeling so hot in the archipelago. The tarmac radiated heat like a backyard grill. But the text she’d just received from Dafoe put a smile on her face: “Hi, Jenna, IMU so MCH. So do d cows! Dafoe.” She quickly texted him back: “I ms d cows. O, + U2! Ha-ha.”
She pocketed her phone and, exerting as little effort as possible, walked slowly to the private plane terminal. She had no desire to be drenched when she saw Rafan for the first time in ten years. As she approached the entrance, she noticed cumulus clouds forming in the distance. She’d have to keep an eye on them.
Oh, just relax, she told herself. You’ve got bigger fish to fry right now. She took a deep breath, unsure whether Rafan would even be waiting for her. He hadn’t responded to e-mails or texts noting her arrival time, and she hadn’t reached him by phone. She found his silence puzzling because he’d reinitiated contact with her, but his sister had perished in a ruthless terrorist attack, and Jenna could not fathom how the loss of someone so young and vital might have changed him.
The terminal doors opened automatically, and a rush of refrigerated air welcomed her. As the coolness settled over her moist skin she spotted Rafan. Her heart skipped, and she saw his dark eyes gleaming at the sight of her. He was as slyly attractive as ever, a man whose distinct features matched his mannerisms so seamlessly that she’d been drawn to him as soon as she’d spotted him at a party in Malé, the city to which she had now returned. In the months that had followed their first meeting ten years ago, she’d become even more entranced by his alluring appearance, whether in bed, on a starlit beach, or in the cozy breakfast nook of the condo he owned by the sea.
His beard remained black and closely cropped, and his face and waist were as lean as ever. The decade, despite the loss of his parents and sister, hadn’t bowed his back with grief or rounded his square shoulders. But his eyes looked laden, as if they bore all his pain, and when he opened his arms to receive her, she knew that it was he who needed holding.
The rest of her news team might have recognized this, too, because they edged past without a word.
“I’m so sorry,” Jenna whispered. “Basheera was an amazing woman.” More than once, she’d wondered if Rafan’s sister would someday become her sister-in-law. He’d been her first real love, but she was eight years younger than he