"And that is our job," said Taymullah, clutching a blanket in both hands. "As the imam said yesterday at the mosque, it is up to us to bring the word and the ways of Allah to this Godless place."
Amal was only human and thoroughly female. She enjoyed the admiration she received from people, men and women both, as she walked the street toward home.
Thus, it came as quite a shock to her, so much of a shock that she didn't even cry out, when five boys surrounded her, exclaimed, "This is our sister," dropped a blanket over her head and pulled her into a cellar.
Germans and German law had, long since, stopped defending Muslim women. Turks and Arabs, often terrified of retribution and having lost any faith that German law would protect them, simply turned away.
The "smiley," the cutting of a Muslim girl's face from one ear to the corner of her mouth in retribution for her dressing as a westerner, had been something of an urban legend in the early part of the century. Many had written and spoken of it yet no examples had ever been produced, no criminal cases had ever been launched.
Yet life can imitate art. Barraged with reports of the phenomenon, the urban legend had been adopted and turned into horrific reality. There were girls with "smileys," now, and in every corner of western Europe.
It was, after all, an excellent way to make a girl cover her face, in accordance with the hadiths and the sunna.
"You can't do this," Amal wept. "I'm not a Moslem. I've never been a Moslem."
"In the name of Allah we can do as we wish," insisted Abdul-Halim. "Besides, everyone is born a Moslem, that's what the imam says. It's just that some of them, like you, are apostate."
"You see," added Zahid, "there are only two kinds of women in the world. There are those who follow the law of God, and then there are sluts. Which are you?"
Chapter Eighteen
I will not blame Norwegian women for the rapes. But Norwegian women must understand that we live in a multi-cultural society and adapt themselves to it.
—Professor Unni Wikan, Oslo, Norway,
6 September 2001
Flight Seven Nine Three, 24 Muharram,
1538 AH (4 November, 2113)
"There's the castle," said Lee/Ling, looking through the airship's own night vision. "But . . . oh, oh . . . they've got company and there's more on the way."
Matheson, who had more than a little time under fire while praying for air support, answered, "Pity this thing doesn't have a loaded bomb rack, or a 25mm pod."
The Chinese shrugged. "Nothing we can do about that. And the winds here are going to be a pure bitch when I try to hold her steady above the castle walls."
The black nodded, then keyed the earpiece he wore. "Hamilton, Hans, this is Matheson. Report."
"We've got problems here, Bernie. More when I can talk."
Matheson heard the pffft . . . pffft . . . pffft of a silenced submachine gun in his earpiece along with the louder ringing of bullets careening off stone.
Castle Honsvang, Province of Baya, 24 Muharram,
1538 AH (4 November, 2113)
The corbasi had a simple, if inelegant, solution to the problem of the mines. He'd turned to the truck driver and asked, "Do you believe in Allah?" When the driver had, very nervously, answered in the affirmative, the colonel had said, "Go then, and drive your truck through these mines to clear a path."
Much to the surprise of both men the driver had survived the ordeal, though the truck was now considerably the worse for wear.
Through the broad, cleared path, the colonel and his remaining janissaries had poured, linking up with the dozen or so remaining to the sergeant of the guard. Not one for indecision, the colonel immediately detailed off ten men, five to each side, to watch the towers flanking the main entrance to the castle and keep anyone from shooting down at the gate. He then told the sergeant of the guard, "Get your men back on that battering ram. Make me a passage."
Hamilton felt more than heard the steady pounding coming from somewhere upstairs. "They're at it again," he told Hans. "Watch these; I'm going up to block the door."
Hans nodded, causing his face to twist and his eyes to open wide with the pain. He looked at Meara, the pederast, and said, "I think it would be simpler just to kill them now."
All three of the renegade scientists began squealing their objections through the tape over their mouths.
Hamilton shook his head. "No, not just yet anyway. But if I can't stop the people at the gate, kill these and then thoroughly destroy everything in lab. Then put all the virus containers into the crematorium and toast it."
"What about the kids?" Hans asked.
"I'll leave that to you and your conscience," Hamilton answered, glancing at Hans' weapon.