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

school?”
    There it was again – that gleam. Dawood replied smoothly, unhesitatingly. “Both are married, sir. They had schooling up until grade five, but my father felt they would be better served learning to cook and sew at home after that.” He smiled, hoping it didn’t look as fake as it felt. “Learning to be good wives.”
    “Yes, that is essential. This is a big issue in our society – the decadence and lure of the West corrupts our own pure culture, and we must fight against the bastardization of our heritage.”
    “Beginning with our women…”
    “Our women are our mothers. They teach our sons and daughters values, and if the mother has the wrong values, then there is no hope for the children.”
    “Yes sir.” What could he say to this? Technically, the Imam was right. Dawood looked across at Kaleem, who had been eerily quiet through all of this. Time to change the subject. “In Punjab, though, where I have worked for many years, it’s not Western culture that we need to fight. It’s Indian. They have absorbed their music, their movies, even their customs.”
    “Our enemies are on all sides, my son. With India, our battle is in Kashmir. India is itself a victim of cultural adulteration. They are more and more clones of Western culture with each passing day.”
    “But we can fight it, can’t we, Imam sahib?”
    “That is what our brothers in Afghanistan are doing. They are implementing true Sharia, and it is a matter of time before we do the same here.”
    “How can we bring it here?” Dawood leaned forward.
    “How do you think we should?”
    “Well…we need to teach our boys our values. In the madrassahs…”
    “You lived in Lahore. How many parents in Lahore will send their children to a madrassah?”
    Dawood had to acknowledge that. He let a hint of bitterness creep into his voice. “Yes, they would rather send them to expensive private coed schools which teach them to sing and dance, and their curriculum is vetted by the West.”
    The Imam ’s heavy hand slammed down on the table. The juice glasses rattled and rocked, and the Imam’s voice rose by several decibels. “They are not just vetted by the West – it’s their bloody education!” Dawood and Kaleem both jumped. The Imam looked down and breathed heavily for a second, before bringing himself under control. The severity of his reaction told Dawood plenty, though. He has big plans, and they’re obviously not peaceful plans.
    Dawood allowed himself to be subjected to the Imam ’s questions throughout lunch. They discussed everything from Palestine to Kashmir, the ineffectiveness and corruption of the Pakistan government and the secret desire of the West to eradicate Islam. That point alone, which Dawood had brought up, took up the bulk of the meal, but Dawood noticed a slight shift in the Imam’s posture, a louder laugh, and the smooth forehead, no longer creased with lines. I’m in , he thought, turning his attention to the sumptuous feast before him. Time to eat.
    * * *
    Dawood and Kaleem both leaned back from the table in unison, looking like as satisfied as the cat who swallowed the canary. There were pieces of naan , chicken bones, leg of lamb and the skeleton of a trout strewn around the table as a reminder of the massive feast that had been prepared in their honor. The Imam sat at the head of the table, still picking meat from his second fish, with crumbs falling from the corner of his mouth.
    Dawood ’s satisfaction over his successful interrogation had waned a little bit. He’d managed to tune in to the darkness and could have sworn there was someone breathing in the shadows. It took every bit of training he had not to turn and stare. Instead, he followed Kaleem’s lead and pretended to be satiated and relaxed after the sumptuous meal they had just shared.
    The Imam looked around at the two, realizing that they had stopped eating, and with a chuckle slid the plate away, “I guess I should stop as well.” Both