Michael Ammar declined a glass of wine for the sixth time. He weaved his way among the guests at the Health Technology party. Ostensibly held to celebrate the breakthrough in genetic engineering they’d made to combat the cold virus, it was really an excuse for the employees to get drunk at company expense. Why couldn’t these fools understand that a Muslim does not drink?
He hoped that Zehra Henning would be there and he could meet her. Once Michael had made the connection between Donald Henning and the possibility the prosecutor was his daughter, Michael had approached Don. Michael’s guess had been right. He’d even persuaded Don to invite his daughter to the party.
Michael tried to avoid running into Posten, but it was difficult at a company party. Posten bumped into him at the food buffet—or trough.
“Mikey-boy.” Posten lurched to the side. He balanced three small plates heaped with fried chicken wings and mini-hot dogs in his hands. One almost flipped over onto Michael’s Armani sweater. “How ya doin’?”
“Fine, John.” Michael glanced at his Patek Phillipe watch. He’d suffered through enough times with Posten in the office to still be polite. “Look, I have to run. Keep eating.”
Posten’s smile opened between reddened cheeks. He didn’t realize Michael was mocking him. “Great wings.” He smiled again to show greasy teeth from too many wings.
“Are you getting enough to eat?”
“Hey, if the company’s payin’, I’m here. Know what I mean? And the booze. Four kinds of beer, including two micro-brews. I feel like I’m in fuckin’ heaven.” He straightened his back and looked at Michael. “I mean, do you guys believe in heaven?”
Disgusted, Michael nodded and turned away. He looked for the CEO and the vice president of his division. He wanted to make certain the funding for his upcoming trip to Egypt was secure. The social aspect of the party appealed to him, like the big family that he’d once had in his childhood. But he detested the drunken, gorging excesses. These Americans couldn’t seem to get enough. Especially if it was free. It was like they actually enjoyed celebrating things like the Super Bowl.
The chatter in the room rose to a constant hum, glasses clinked, and spots of sharp laughter punctuated the crowd. The room warmed with the crush of people, and someone turned on music in the corner. Some kind of crap they called “disco.”
Michael paused for a moment, sheltered beside a heavy chair. He looked at all the white skin, dotted here and there with darker people—mostly Indians from Bangalore who were tech wizards. The white people were flushed and smiling. He saw his secretary, a young and stupid woman. She was single and had one thought in her mind: to find a husband. Michael spotted her next to the long table used as a bar. She had her arms draped over the shoulders of a man while she leaned her body into his. Behavior like that would get her in trouble in a Muslim world. These Americans were so loose and sex-crazed. No wonder so many people the world over hated their immoral arrogance.
Michael shook his head. He couldn’t give his true feelings away. He’d come so far, accomplished so much, and had so many people depending on him, that he couldn’t fail now. Just a couple more weeks. The Science Expo would start it all and change these fools forever.
Instead, Michael searched the room for Donald Henning.
If Michael could manage to befriend the daughter, maybe he could get the information he needed about El-Amin and the case. Michael was certain the man would not break and reveal anything, but Michael still worried—as he did about all aspects of the plan. Don’s daughter was probably dumpy and dull, like most lawyers Michael had met. It didn’t matter. He knew that his charm and good looks could win over any woman.
“Here he is.” Donald Henning tapped Michael on the arm.
He turned to see Henning and a young woman next to him. A beautiful woman. Dark, slim, smiling, with a head of thick, black hair. Michael was momentarily stunned.
“Hey, Michael. Meet my daughter, Zehra.”
She reached out her hand and grasped Michael’s in a shake as firm as a man’s shake.
“Nice to meet you.” He nodded once and opened his mouth to give her the killer smile. “Your father told me you might be here. I hope our gathering isn’t too overwhelming.”
“No. Actually, I probably need to have a little fun. I haven’t been at a party in a long time.” She raised a glass of pale yellow wine and sipped.
Michael watched and noticed her full lips that left a faint impression on the rim of the glass. She lowered the wine and looked up at him. Like most American women, she was bold and looked directly into his eyes. Zehra half-smiled, probably nervous.
“Where do you work?” he asked.
“I’m a public defender in Hennepin County.”
“Do you help the bad guys?”
“Well, I represent them in their criminal charges. I really believe in our constitutional duty to give everyone a fair trial. In the end, that’s what I try to do.”
“How fascinating.”
She blushed a faint red. “Oh, it’s a lot of hard work, but I like it. Gives me a sense of doing something important for the community.” She shifted her weight to the other leg and propped her arm on her waist. “How about you? What kind of work do you do here?”
“Research scientist. I have a PhD in molecular biology and work on something called the IL-4 gene. I know, really exciting, isn’t it?” He laughed. He saw her glass was empty. “Would you like more?”
They moved around to the front of the bar. She ordered another Chardonnay, and he asked for Diet Coke. Turning to her, he said, “I don’t drink alcohol. I’m Muslim.”
Zehra’s eyes darted toward him. “I think people drink too much anyway.”
Michael could tell she was interested in him. “Are you working on any interesting cases?”
She frowned. “I’ve got this murder case. There was a young Somali man who came back, after disappearing from the Twin Cities, and was killed. I’ve been appointed to defend the accused person.”
“I’m sure the case is all around the Somali community. Is it hard work?”
“This case is really difficult because—well, the defendant is a terrorist with an extreme interpretation of Islam. I hope that doesn’t offend you.”
“Of course not. These kinds of people do great harm to the rest of us Muslims by giving us all a bad name. I find it difficult to live in America. So many people don’t know anything about moderate, progressive Muslims. All people know is what they see in the biased media.”
Zehra stopped talking and looked at him. Her eyes searched over his face, and he could tell she liked what she saw. “So, you aren’t making bombs in your kitchen?”
Michael laughed so hard he bent over forward. “No. I’m far too busy with my work. I’m trying to alter the genetic makeup of viruses. When I have time, I do volunteer work in the schools.”
“Like what?”
“I try to give my time to the poor people in the Somali community, even though they don’t often accept help from someone like me. I’m Egyptian. I also volunteer in a high school by helping in the science classes. For instance, we have a huge science expo coming up in a couple weeks. I have been working with the students to prepare their projects.”
Zehra nodded and smiled. It usually worked this way for him. He could smell her perfume. Thank Allah it wasn’t floral like so many American women’s. It smelled like sandalwood. She had a full figure, and he loved her thick hair. What a stroke of providence—Allah be praised —she was the defense lawyer in the murder case. Michael was certain he could get the information he needed from her.
The noise from the party rose, and they squeezed together into a corner to be able to hear each other. They shifted to one side to avoid some wild dancers who careened off other partygoers. It became difficult to talk. Michael had to leave soon.
He asked her, “May I see you again?”
Her eyes softened. “Yes. I’d like that.”
Chapter Seventeen