Escape by Robert K. Tanenbaum

to provide security for Karp, and he took his job very, very seriously.
    Fulton followed Karp into the office and shut the door. His big, broad face was creased into an angry scowl. "Boss, we got a problem," he said. "It finally happened."

4
     
    All of Islam will know your name." Khalifa could still hear the promise above the honking of the taxis and general roar of traffic on Third Avenue. I will be somebody. And, with Allah's blessing, they will pay.
    Imam Jabbar had been saying that Khalifa and his other "American mujahideen" would soon be called upon to wage jihad against white America and the Jews. Then in March, the imam had announced that they would begin their training for a "spectacular" task. Soon a man whom he called only "The Sheik," along with one of the foremost mujahideen in the world, known as Tatay, would arrive, and together—with the help of Jabbar's handpicked jihadis—they would rock the world.
    They needed to prepare themselves physically as well as spiritually for the event, which in all likelihood would result in their martyrdom—and, Jabbar noted quickly, their automatic admittance to Paradise. If anyone had reservations about his ability to make the sacrifice, he needed to make it known then and there, the imam warned.
    When no one bowed out, Jabbar hugged each man, saying how proud he was to be their imam. It was clear that he had no real idea of what the event would be, but he asked if there were any questions.
    A quiet, bookish man named Omar Al-Hassan raised his hand, as Khalifa and the others cast knowing sideways glances at one another. Omar, a native of Pakistan and the only one in the room not raised in Harlem, was a computer genius, and for unexplained reasons, that gave him special status .with Jabbar. The imam even seemed to put up with what Khalifa and the others considered a lukewarm commitment to jihad. So it did not surprise them that he asked again to hear how his family would be taken care of if they did not return from the mission.
    "Your families will receive a generous stipend provided by some of our wealthy benefactors in Saudi Arabia," the imam promised, with a grand flourish of his large, spider-like hands.
    "And, as the widows and orphaned children of martyrs, they will have the goodwill of Muslims all over the world and be blessed in the eyes of Allah." The imam fixed the questioner with his protruding eyes the way a large brown lizard sizes up a bug. "However, be forewarned; it is highly unlikely that you will return from this mission. Resign yourself to the will of Allah, or leave now."
    Omar averted his eyes. But Khalifa and his friend Abdalla could see his face and later told each other that they thought the man looked troubled. Not the right attitude for a mujahideen.
    Abdalla raised his hand next. Most of the others in the room didn't like him because he had a skin disease that was turning him white. Even Khalifa, who was about his only companion, thought he tended to be a bit of an ass-kisser. "I have a question, imam," Abdalla said.
    "Yes, Suleiman?"
    "Would this sheik be Osama?" he said, turning to inform the others, "Osama is sometimes referred to as a sheik by Al Qaeda."
    Jabbar raised an eyebrow. "No, it is not Osama," he said. "He is the new Osama, but more than that I cannot say at this time."
    Training was broken into two phases. Phase One, they were told, would be conducted in the administration building on the mosque grounds, late at night after all worshipers and staff had left.
    At the first meeting, the mujahideen were introduced to a woman who spoke with what sounded like an Eastern European accent of some sort. She said she would be leading one of two teams on the mission. However, her purpose at this phase was to teach them what they would need to know for Phase Two.
    Khalifa was surprised by her presence. For one thing, she was a woman, and Jabbar rarely spoke of women except as property, and for another she was white. In fact< she was a