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By Root 892 0

Muslim immigrants rejected their culture, adopting modes of dress and customs that did not fit in with the wine-drinking bons vivants, and thus leaped out of the melting pot. And why would any man or woman not wish to be French? they asked themselves. And so the myriad French police agencies kept an eye on such people. Hadi knew this, and therefore made an effort to fit in, in the hope that Allah would understand and forgive him out of His infinite mercy. And besides, he was hardly the only Muslim who imbibed alcohol. The French police took note of this and consequently ignored him. He had a job, as a salesclerk in a video store, got along well with his workmates, lived in a modest but comfortable flat on rue Dolomieu in the 5th Arrondissement (“district” in Paris), drove a Citroën sedan, and made no trouble for anyone. They did not notice that he lived somewhat in excess of his means. The cops here were good but not perfect.

Nor did they notice that he traveled a little, mostly within Europe, and occasionally met people from out of the country, usually at a comfortable bistro. Hadi particularly enjoyed a light red from the Loire Valley, not knowing that the vintner was a Jew who was a vigorous supporter of the State of Israel. Anti-Semitism was regrettably alive in France once again, rather to the pleasure of the five million Muslims who now lived there.

“Mind if I join you?” a voice said near Hadi’s shoulder.

Hadi turned. “Be my guest.”

Ibrahim sat down. “How was your trip?”

“Uneventful.”

“So what do you bring me?” Ibrahim asked.

Hadi reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the CD-ROM disks, which he passed over without attempting to hide the transfer. Trying to appear inconspicuous was often conspicuous in and of itself. Besides, if the casual stranger—or even a seasoned customs official, for that matter—were to see the contents of either CD, they’d find themselves looking at a digital slideshow of someone’s summer vacation.

“Did you look at these?” Ibrahim asked.

“Of course not.”

“Any problems with customs?”

“No. I was surprised, actually,” said Hadi.

“There are five million of us here. They cannot watch us all, and I keep a low profile. They think that a Muslim who drinks alcohol is not a danger to them.”

Keeping a low profile meant that he never attended a mosque and didn’t frequent places used by Islamic fundamentalists, called “Integrists” by the French because “fundamentalist” was a term locally applied to Christian religious fanatics, who were probably too busy getting drunk to be a threat to him, Hadi thought. Infidels.

“They mentioned a possibility of my role changing,” Hadi prompted.

They were at a sidewalk table. There were people within three meters, but there was traffic noise, and the usual bustle of a big-city environment. Both men knew not to hunch over the table in a conspiratorial manner. That had gone out with 1930s movies. Much better to drink wine anonymously, smoke, and turn heads to look at the women passing by in their chic dresses and bare legs. The French could understand that readily enough.

“If you’re interested,” Ibrahim replied.

“I am.”

“It will be different than what you’re used to. There is some risk.”

“If God wills it.”

Ibrahim looked hard at him for five seconds, then nodded. “Your trip to Brazil … How many times have you been there?”

“Seven in the last four months.”

“You enjoyed yourself?”

“It was nice enough, I suppose.”

“Nice enough to return if you are asked?”

“Certainly.”

“We have a man there. I’d like you to meet with him and arrange accommodations.”

Hadi nodded. “When do I leave?”

Got him,” Jack said, handing the pages over.

Bell took them and leaned back in his swivel chair. “France?” he asked. “The birth announcement?”

Exploring his suspicions about the URC’s sudden communication protocol change, Jack had backtracked and cross-referenced until he managed to strip away one of the alphanumeric handles, revealing a new name on the e-mail distribution list.

“Yep. His name is Shasif Hadi. Apparently lives in Rome, not sure where exactly, but he