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IT’S VERYlate at night and Rashad Hussain is finishing a delightful meal in his first-class cabin aboard the RMSQueen Victoria,a cruise ship on its maiden voyage, speeding toward New York City.
His luxury cabin on Deck Six has twenty-four-hour personal concierge service and a king-size suite with floor-to-ceiling windows and a private balcony. In the private dining room Rashad is hosting Abdullah al-Fahd, a prominent Saudi imam who is an old family friend. At the far end of the cabin stand the imam’s two Russian bodyguards, their cheap and ill-fitting black suits not quite hiding the bulges of concealed weapons. Each has a fleshy face, short-trimmed blond hair, and dead blue eyes.
The imam is dressed in plain brown robes and an equally plain white kaffiyeh. His beard is dark brown, thick, reaching almost mid-chest, and his brown eyes are bright and full of warmth.
“A fine meal, my son,” he says, wiping his fingers again on a white napkin. “Hard to believe that a ship like this can produce such a delicioushaneeth.”
Rashad nods in pleasure at the compliment for the traditional Saudi dish of spiced lamb and basmati rice. “I chose the chef myself—stole him from the Al Orjouan at the Riyadh Ritz-Carlton. After all, I own a good portion of this ship.”
He pours the imam another cup of sweet Saudi coffee, and the older man smiles. “Allah has graced you.”
“And you as well,ya sheikh,” he says, raising his porcelain cup in salute. The old family friend earned his knowledge at the Imam Muhammad ibn Saud Islamic University in Riyadh and is now a noted scholar and teacher at the Umm Al-Qura University in Mecca.
For years Abdullah al-Fahd has been ignored, shunted aside, persecuted because his view of Islam does not fit into the conservative Saudi tradition. But now, with a new prince leading the kingdom and a new openness to the West, the imam has gained power and influence.
The imam gently replaces his coffee cup on a saucer and says with wonder, “Look here: we are speeding across the Atlantic, yet the cup barely vibrates.”
Rashad says, “On our maiden voyage, I gave orders that we try to win the Blue Riband for the speediest crossing. The current record is just under three and a half days. I mean for us to smash it.”
The imam smiles, but it’s not one of pleasure or accomplishment; it’s the sad smile of a man about to disappoint his host.
“Ya akhi,I am so proud of you and your accomplishments, and your commitment to jihad, but I beg of you to please reconsider the life you have chosen,” he says in a soft and cultured voice.
“And what life is that,ya sheikh?” Rashad asks.
The sparkling and open brown eyes of his beloved guest harden. “Please, let’s not play games here, Rashad. I know of your commitment to Islam, your donations, your public acts. But your other acts…your other jihad. There is no true evidence, but you and I know the truth. There is the blood of many innocents on your hands, and I know that you have plans to spill much, much more.”
Rashad speaks carefully. “From whom do you receive such news?”
The imam speaks just as carefully in reply. “From brethren who have worked with you, and continue to work with you, and who are starting to have doubts.”
There is silence for a few seconds. After another sip of coffee, the imam says, “These are new days, new times. After decades of bloodshed, the car bombs, the hijackings, the civil wars…we are taking the first gentle, tottering steps toward peace with the West, toward an accommodation.”
“A surrender,” Rashad says.
The imam shakes his head. “Oh, no, no, my son. Anunderstanding.A realization that compassion, friendship, and openness will serve us much more in our House of Peace—Dar-es-Salaam—than violence and bloodshed.”
“But jihad demands—”
The imam gently interrupts. “Jihad has meant many things over the centuries, my son. It does mean struggle, of course, but there is a realization now that it means striving or struggling on a personal mission, especially one with a praiseworthy aim.”
Rashad says, “And setting the stage for a new caliphate, that is not a praiseworthy aim?”
“Over the bodies of hundreds of thousands of innocents?”
Rashad wants to yell,What innocents? Who are indeed innocent in this world?
But he keeps his composure, steps up and away from the dining-room table, extends a hand. “Ya sheikh,will you join me for a breath of fresh ocean air?”
Imam Abdullah al-Fahd smiles. “That would be a delight.”
Rashad crosses the dining room and opens the doors onto the suite’s private balcony. Outside the North Atlantic air is brisk, and even with the running lights from the RMSQueen Victoriathe stars overhead shine bright and crisp, as if from the depths of the Empty Quarter.
The imam slides his arm into Rashad’s. “Look at Allah’s glory and creation all above us. Do you think Allah wants us to live with hate, fire, deaths, explosions?”
Before Rashad can answer, the imam says, “Please, my son. Please tell me you will reconsider your actions. Choose the jihad of a commitment to understanding, to peace.”
Rashad pats the man’s hand. “I will consider it. Honestly, I will consider it,ya sheikh.”
