Patriot M.A. Rothman (free ebook reader for iphone .TXT) 📖

each time he visited he was surprised by how fast the city grew. New skyscrapers and office towers appeared almost monthly, adding to the already complex landscape.

The car lurched forward, and Connor had to put a hand up against the partition to stop himself from slamming into it. He gritted his teeth, wondering why it was so difficult for people all over the world to just drive without slamming on their brakes and screaming at each other.

The driver held down the horn and let out a string of curses in Hindi. He looked like he was in his early twenties, but his medallion proclaimed he’d been driving in the city for almost ten years. That was the one thing Connor refused to do here—drive in the city. The man’s picture showed him with a turban, which would almost certainly mean he was a Sikh, yet he was now clean-shaven and with neatly cropped hair. A shame. Connor had noticed that the observance of some religious practices—like Sikhs not cutting their hair—had become less common for immigrants, especially after 9/11, when Sikh men were mistaken for Muslims.

Connor adjusted his kufi again, then silently admonished himself. Fidgeting with it too much could reveal that he hadn’t worn the traditional garb since he was a boy, and even then it hadn’t been a regular thing.

His parents had escaped the fall of the Shah, fleeing to America while his mother was pregnant with him. His Muslim father had instructed him in the tenets of Islam, but his mother had been Jewish, and she’d exposed him to Judaism as well. As a result, he’d had a religious upbringing uncommon to any child in either faith.

Historically speaking, Jews and Muslims were cousins of sorts—always having shared territory and history. But nowadays, there were factions that certainly didn’t see eye to eye—and that was an understatement. But because Connor had grown up with comingled religions, he had a deep-seated respect for all religions, no matter how different. His parents had raised him to be aware of not only their own faiths, but others as well, and then allowed him to decide on his own path. To this day, he still wasn’t quite sure what his path was, but because of his parents’ early teachings, he thought he had a pretty good understanding of and personal connection to the Almighty.

Now, however, he forced himself to set aside that broad understanding of faith so he could focus solely on Islam and play the part of a Middle Easterner. The men at this mosque weren’t interested in learning about other faiths or seeing that most faiths taught similar paths to the same enlightenment.

“You’re not from here, eh?” the driver asked, eyeing Connor in the rearview mirror. His brown eyes were curious.

“It has been many years,” Connor said, using a near-perfect Persian accent instead of his American one. “I’ve just returned from a haj, a pilgrimage to my Holy land, and have come to this place to serve as best I can.”

The driver nodded. “Ah, yes, Mecca. I have heard it’s a beautiful city. One of these days I will visit and see for myself.”

“Are you Muslim, my friend?”

“Me?” The driver laughed. “No, no. I would just like to see the world, you know? I’ve lived in the city so long, it’s the only thing I know. My grandparents immigrated from India, opened a sandwich shop in the Bronx. It’s called New Deli, get it? If you’re hungry, I can take you?”

“Thank you, no,” Connor said. Apparently the cab driver didn’t understand that he’d never be allowed to visit the Muslim holy city of Mecca. It was literally illegal for a non-Muslim to enter the city. “I must get to the mosque. My friend is waiting for me to arrive.”

“No worries at all, my friend. I like that, get down to business, that’s what this city is all about. I get so tired of all the people whining about how unfair their lives are, you know? Three or four times a day I get passengers that just complain through the entire trip about how other people are doing better than them. That’s just the way the world works. You work hard, you gain benefits. You are lazy, you don’t do so well. Am I right?

“That’s always the way I’ve seen things.” Connor nodded, amused at how people like this cab driver were chatterboxes. He could only hope some of the folks in the mosque would be as talkative, it would make things a lot easier.

“I mean, life isn’t fair, and you’re not entitled to anything. How hard is that to understand? My daughter understands that, and she’s five.”

“She sounds like a smart girl.”

“That she is. Ah, here we are.” The cab pulled to the side of the road, cutting off a delivery van and receiving a blaring horn, a middle finger, and several choice words from the van’s driver. “Forty-seven fifty.”

Connor pushed sixty dollars through the slot in the partition. “Thanks, and best of luck to you and your family.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

As Connor climbed out of the cab, shrugging the backpack over his shoulder, he gazed up at the mosque. Its light tan brick walls contrasted with the steel and glass of the rest of the city, giving the building an old-fashioned, traditional look. An arched entryway covered the heavy double wooden doors, which came to a point at the top.

The right-hand door opened, and a young man dressed in a purple thobe stepped out. He smiled and extended a hand. “As-salāmu ʿalaykum, my brother.”

“Wa ʿalaykumu s-salām,” Connor said, bowing his head slightly. “My apologies for my tardiness. I’m Bashir Siddiqui. I’ve come to serve. I sent word to—”

Recognition flashed in the man’s eyes. “Yes, of course! And no apologies necessary.” He waved his hand dismissively through the air. “It’s good to finally meet you in person. My name is Hamid bin Azim. We conversed briefly over email, yes?”

Connor smiled. “Good to meet you, brother.”

“And how did you enjoy your