Salaam’s group focused on the United States, labeling them as their biggest threat. Targeting them and their allies every chance he got. He supplied weapons. He blew up embassies. He attacked buses and subways. He did everything he could to hurt his enemy, all in hopes of uniting his people under a common cause. Hoping his passion would be contagious.
Yet his actions were for naught. Islam remained a house divided.
Ultimately, he realized he needed to alter his approach. He had to figure out a way to bridge the gaps that separated his people, gaps that were significant. There were more than 1.2 billion Muslims scattered around the world, making it the second-largest religion behind Christianity. Yet Islam wasn’t isolated in the Middle East. In fact, there were more Asian Muslims than Arab ones—more than 150 million in Indonesia alone. Not to mention a large number of Muslims in the United States, nearly twice as many as Jews there.
Still, the variety of cultures and languages was just part of the problem.
The biggest hurdle was the diversity of beliefs.
There were the Sunnis, the largest subgroup, which contained more than 80 percent of Muslims, who believed one school of Islamic thought. And the Shiites, who followed another. Then there were the Wahhabis, whose influence was spreading quickly. Plus all the minor sects that had so many subtle differences that even he couldn’t tell them apart.
How was he going to unite all these people under one flag when most of them weren’t even willing to be in the same room?
He knew it would take a miracle.
Ironically, it was the tragedy in New York City that gave him the idea.
He watched in amazement as the events of 9/11 unfolded on his television screen. The way the planes crashed into the Twin Towers and sent them toppling to the ground in a burst of fire and ash. How people scurried for their lives and mourned those who didn’t survive. It was an amazing sight to see in such a diverse nation. The way Americans and their allies joined together and formed a united front. Men and women. Young and old. Rich and poor. Blacks and whites. Democrats and Republicans. It didn’t really matter. Everyone was equal.
In their time of tragedy, they became one.
Salaam disappeared into the mountains for days, meditating like Muhammad had done, thinking about his problem from all angles, weighing the positives and the negatives, trying to determine the best way to take advantage of what he had witnessed in America.
In his mind, all he needed to do was find a common thread among all Muslims, and once he did, he would give it a yank. The natural reaction would be to pull together. To unite. Whether it was out of love, sorrow, or fear, it didn’t really matter as long as they were standing as one.
Of course, the key was finding that thread.
And then it dawned on him. There was only one thing that all Muslims—Sunnis, Shiites, and all the sects— agreed upon. One thing they would fight for. One place they cared about.
The birthplace of their greatest prophet.
The site of their most holy mosque.
The centerpiece of Islam.
30
The boy buried his face in his father’s hip, unable to look at the blood. He had seen enough in the past week to last him a lifetime.
Trembling, his father held him tight. One hand on Yong-Su’s head, the other on his gun. He tried aiming at Payne but was doing a poor job. Adrenaline made him shaky. Emotions made him unstable. Tears flowed from his eyes as he grasped the situation. Four shots fired. One man down. Cornered and unable to run. No other options in sight.
Thankfully, Payne recognized the mind-set. The desperation. The feelings of hopelessness. Many of his former enemies had felt the exact same way. So he knew how to deal with it.
“Chung-Ho,” he said. His voice was calm, steady. “My name is Jonathon Payne, and I’m here to help. I know it doesn’t seem that way, but I am.”
He waited for a response, but none was forthcoming.
“Can you understand me? Do you speak English?”
Several seconds passed before Chung-Ho nodded.
“Good. That’s good.” Payne lowered his weapon six inches, a gesture of goodwill. “Your neighbor Mr. Kim told me what happened to you. I’m sorry for your loss. I truly am.”
But Park said nothing.
“He’s worried about your safety. Same with Yong-Su’s.”
“You no talk about my son! Leave him alone!”
“Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ...” He bowed his head slightly. “I’m sorry.”
“How you find me?”
“I talked to Chi-Gon Jung, the man who rented your boat. He told me where to find you.”
“Why? What you want?”
“I want to help. I simply want to help. I’m not here to hurt you. I swear I’m not.”