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"It is only a name," Rapp prodded gently. "You know mine."
He answered reluctantly, "Khalili."
"How old are you?" Rapp wanted to start with the basics.
"Nineteen."
Rapp was surprised to hear how young the man was. It spoke to the harsh life that they lived that he could have easily passed for someone ten years older. Rapp looked up at Urda and held his hand up to his ear as if he was making a phone call. Urda nodded and started for the door. Rapp doubted they'd find the nineteen-year-old's name in their data base, but it was worth a try.
"Are you married, Ahmed?"
"Not yet."
The boy still wouldn't look him in the eye.
"Where are you from?" Rapp maneuvered his head to try and get him to look at him.
He chose not to answer, and kept his eyes fixed on the floor before him.
Rapp got up and walked behind the man, adding to the already tense mood. "I said, where are you from?"
"Karachi," the man answered, his shoulders tense with fear.
The large city in southern Pakistan. The young man was likely the product of one of the many Saudi-funded religious schools where children were indoctrinated into the strict Wahhabi sect of Islam
.
Rapp continued walking around the man until he was once again standing in front of him. "Were you an orphan?"
The young man nodded.
It was an all-too-common occurrence in the region and beyond. The Wahhabis were taking in the orphans and street children of these large impoverished cities and filling their heads with their firebrand rhetoric.
Rapp felt a slight touch of sympathy for the person sitting before him. He no longer saw a young man, he saw a child who had been brainwashed. Rapp nudged the bucket forward even farther and sat again. He reached out and lifted the boy's face. "I am not the angel of death, Ahmed, and I am not going to kill you." Rapp noted the gleam of intelligence in the boy's gaze.
Ahmed's hazel eyes began to fill with tears, and he pulled his chin away from Rapp. "You are a liar." His gaze rested on the dead body lying on the dirty floor. He closed his eyes tightly and shook his head in defiance.
"I did not say you won't die, you just won't do so by my hand." Rapp nodded toward the door. "Those two Afghanis who threw you in the pigpen their entire families were murdered by the Taliban. They wanted to do awful things to you, even before they knew you were a Pakistani. Things that I wouldn't even dream of."
Pointing to the bloody corpse on the floor, Rapp said, "That is the easy way out. He will be tormented in Hell for eternity, to be sure, but at least he didn't have to suffer the indignity of being forced to eat his own genitalia."
The young man began to whimper.
"If you do not talk to me," continued Rapp, "I will have no choice but to turn you over to them, and then you will lose any hope of setting things straight before you pass."
"I have done nothing wrong," the boy said defensively.
"Can you be sure of that? Do you pretend to know what Allah wishes? Can you be absolutely certain that those men who gave you your religious instruction know the full intent of the prophet?" Rapp lifted Khalili's chin again. "Ahmed, I'm guessing you're smart smarter than the others. Have you never read the Koran and wondered how the imams derive such hate from a book that is so filled with peace and beauty?"
The boy did not try to pull away this time. Rapp released his chin and placed his hand on his shoulder. "I can help you if you let me, Ahmed. I will take you away from this place and make sure no harm comes to you. You will meet other Muslims who are enlightened. Muslims who will tell you that the people who have taught you are false prophets, sick men who are blinded by bigotry and hate for their fellow man. There is a plane waiting only miles from here. A hot shower, a change of clothes, and a prayer rug for you to begin making things right. That is one path. The other one is several days, perhaps weeks, even months filled with pain and humiliation you can't even begin to comprehend.
Rapp withdrew his hand. "The choice is yours, but you must show me you are willing to cooperate, or I will turn you over to the Afghanis." He studied the boy, and watched as his breathing seemed to settle. Rapp did not want to give him too much time to think of his answer. He was sure the voices of his religious instructors were ringing in his head telling him that their version of Islam was the only true one. The Muslims, who disagreed with him had gone astray and been perverted over the centuries.
Rapp stood and took a step toward the door. Over his shoulder he said, "I will take your silence as an unwillingness to cooperate."
He had barely taken three steps when he heard the beaten voice of his prisoner say something that he could barely make out. He forced himself to turn around more slowly than he would have liked. "What did you say?"
"They are planning to kill your president."
