Agency Rules - Never an Easy Day at the Office by Khalid Muhammad

up was actually the roof. Much to his surprise, Kaleem and the Imam were climbing the stairs to the roof.
    “Dawood bhai , we are up another floor,” Kaleem called back down, motioning for Dawood to join them. Dawood, slightly embarrassed, scrambled, jumping stairs to catch up to Kaleem.
    “Isn ’t it too hot to sit on the roof?” Dawood asked Kaleem as they moved in stride up the staircase, “Does the house have…”
    The words choked in Dawood ’s throat as he got his first look at the security door on the third floor. The Imam was awaiting their arrival by the door. From the outside of the building, the naked eye would never have been able to determine that this floor existed. The idea of sitting behind secure, locked doors worried him. Why would you serve lunch behind a security door? Dawood was concerned about the level of security that was available to a simple mullah in a region where mullahs were extremely respected.
    With all three assembled at the door, someone from inside the room triggered the electronic lock and released the door. Dawood felt like he had walked onto a floor at GHQ with the sheer state of the art security that was installed. The entire floor was air-conditioned to the point that he had to roll down his sleeves and button his cuffs. The floor and walls looked to be soundproofed with no natural light entering from anywhere. No windows. I’ve lost that bet. They walked through the hallway toward an ominous black door at the end of the hall, but with each step Dawood wondered what he had gotten himself into.
    Behind the door was an expansive, handcrafted wooden dining table with high-back leather chairs. The room had lighting above the table, but the rest of the room was completely dark and uninviting. Is this a formal meeting room for government officials or the dining room for guests? Dawood pulled a chair out and sat down. He strained to see beyond the darkness, to see if anyone was lurking there, but with the bright light above him, his eyes couldn’t adjust. He had to rely on his ears instead, and hoped for a few moments of silence before they started lunch.
    It was almost like the Imam had a silent buzzer in his hand, because as soon as they sat down, servers immediately emerged from the darkness with large glasses of juice on a silver platter. The servers all looked like Kaleem, ragged, malnourished and, honestly, envious of the lifestyle that their ‘master ’ was living He couldn’t help but compare the quietly honest Imam in his village with the lavishness of Imam Shahid, starkly offended by the vast difference. His Imam would never be allowed to live like this, mostly because the village elders paid his housing and salary.
    “Imam sahib, how long have you been the Imam here?” Dawood asked.
    “I established the madrassah during the conflict to help support our brothers during the cause,” the Imam said, almost puffing his chest with pride like a cock. “My nephew was part of the Mujahideen and embraced shahadat in battle.” He paused for a moment to make sure that the words sunk into both gentlemen’s minds. “The brothers were so honored by the work that we did here that they built me this house and the masjid that we passed when we turned towards here.”
    Dawood didn ’t hesitate with his reply, leaning forward in his chair. “The cause? You mean Afghanistan?” The Imam nodded proudly. Dawood feigned respect. “Masha’ Allah, Subhan Allah. Being a Shaheed is an extraordinary honor for any man’s family, as there is no higher praise of Allah than to fight for Islam.”
    “Yes, yes. Indeed. Masha ’ Allah.” The Imam took a sip of his juice, and Dawood thought he saw a gleam in his eyes that he didn’t trust. Here it comes , he thought. The interview . He mentally geared himself up for it. “Do you have any brothers?”
    “No, sir. Unfortunately, I am my parent ’s only son. I have two sisters though.”
    “Ah. I am sorry. Are they married, in