professor at twenty-five. His deliberate speaking manner evoked an air of polished authority.
Raheem invited Gold and Battle to take seats in the leather chairs opposite his cluttered desk, then he sat down in his tall swivel chair. The walls of his office were lined with dusty tomes in a dozen languages. A new laptop sat on his credenza. His window overlooked the mature oak trees lining University Street. He gestured toward the closed door. “I trust you were able to navigate the language barrier with Karim. I just brought him over from Baghdad to be my research assistant. It’s his first time here.”
“Seems like a fine young man,” Gold said.
“He is.” Raheem’s expression turned somber. “He’s an exceptional student. His parents were killed by a stray bomb when the U.S. invaded Baghdad.”
“How awful.”
“Indeed.”
“How did you meet him?”
“His uncle is a professor at the University of Baghdad. We’ve known each other for years. We thought the change of scenery might help his nephew.”
“One student at a time. Did Karim have any contact with Hassan Al-Shahid?”
“They exchanged e-mails about classes, housing, and such. I’ll have Karim forward them to you if he still has them.”
“Thank you.” Gold glanced up at the photo gallery behind Raheem’s desk. In addition to pictures of his wife and two young children, there were shots of Raheem with the heads of state of several Middle Eastern countries. An enlarged photo with President Obama had the most prominent spot. “When were you in Baghdad?”
“I went over to get Karim last week. We flew here on Wednesday.”
“How does your wife feel about your travels to Iraq?”
“She worries.”
I’ll bet.
Battle made his presence felt. “Where are you from?”
“Evanston.” Raheem said his father was a Saudi businessman married to an American lawyer. “I was born here, but we lived in Jeddah until I was four. Then we moved back to Evanston. I met my wife here at the U. of C. Her family is from Jerusalem.”
Battle flashed a knowing smile. “I’ve seen you on CNN.”
Raheem smiled back. “I never intended to become a celebrity.”
“You don’t seem to mind the attention.” Battle pointed at a framed copy of a New York Times op-ed piece on the corner of Raheem’s desk. “You caught some heat on that one.”
“That’s the beauty of a free press, Detective. I’m trying to elevate the level of discourse between the Western and Islamic worlds.”
“If I remember correctly, you argued that violence is one of the tools.”
“I don’t condone it. I simply said it may be inevitable.”
“I believe your exact words were ‘One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.’”
“I was trying to make the point that it’s better to create institutions to prevent people from becoming disenfranchised. We live in a world of sound bites and twenty-four-hour news cycles. Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck need villains to help their ratings. They did the same thing to Bill Ayers when Barack ran for president.”
“Ayers and the Weathermen set off bombs in Washington.”
“In empty offices.”
“They were lucky nobody was killed. I don’t recall hearing Ayers apologize.”
“I don’t think he ever did.”
“Does that mean you think his behavior was justified?”
“Absolutely not. I think it was a sincere—albeit misguided—attempt to end the Vietnam War. And just so we’re clear, I believe it is morally bankrupt to try to justify murder by citing scripture—whether it’s the Bible or the Koran. Those who kill innocent people are terrorists—period. Those who attack my ideas never mention my writings about Dr. King and nonviolent dissent. For what it’s worth, I believe people would be more sympathetic toward Islamic causes if our leaders emulated Gandhi.”
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re right.”
Raheem arched an eyebrow. “Do you still think I’m a terrorist, Detective
Raheem invited Gold and Battle to take seats in the leather chairs opposite his cluttered desk, then he sat down in his tall swivel chair. The walls of his office were lined with dusty tomes in a dozen languages. A new laptop sat on his credenza. His window overlooked the mature oak trees lining University Street. He gestured toward the closed door. “I trust you were able to navigate the language barrier with Karim. I just brought him over from Baghdad to be my research assistant. It’s his first time here.”
“Seems like a fine young man,” Gold said.
“He is.” Raheem’s expression turned somber. “He’s an exceptional student. His parents were killed by a stray bomb when the U.S. invaded Baghdad.”
“How awful.”
“Indeed.”
“How did you meet him?”
“His uncle is a professor at the University of Baghdad. We’ve known each other for years. We thought the change of scenery might help his nephew.”
“One student at a time. Did Karim have any contact with Hassan Al-Shahid?”
“They exchanged e-mails about classes, housing, and such. I’ll have Karim forward them to you if he still has them.”
“Thank you.” Gold glanced up at the photo gallery behind Raheem’s desk. In addition to pictures of his wife and two young children, there were shots of Raheem with the heads of state of several Middle Eastern countries. An enlarged photo with President Obama had the most prominent spot. “When were you in Baghdad?”
“I went over to get Karim last week. We flew here on Wednesday.”
“How does your wife feel about your travels to Iraq?”
“She worries.”
I’ll bet.
Battle made his presence felt. “Where are you from?”
“Evanston.” Raheem said his father was a Saudi businessman married to an American lawyer. “I was born here, but we lived in Jeddah until I was four. Then we moved back to Evanston. I met my wife here at the U. of C. Her family is from Jerusalem.”
Battle flashed a knowing smile. “I’ve seen you on CNN.”
Raheem smiled back. “I never intended to become a celebrity.”
“You don’t seem to mind the attention.” Battle pointed at a framed copy of a New York Times op-ed piece on the corner of Raheem’s desk. “You caught some heat on that one.”
“That’s the beauty of a free press, Detective. I’m trying to elevate the level of discourse between the Western and Islamic worlds.”
“If I remember correctly, you argued that violence is one of the tools.”
“I don’t condone it. I simply said it may be inevitable.”
“I believe your exact words were ‘One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.’”
“I was trying to make the point that it’s better to create institutions to prevent people from becoming disenfranchised. We live in a world of sound bites and twenty-four-hour news cycles. Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck need villains to help their ratings. They did the same thing to Bill Ayers when Barack ran for president.”
“Ayers and the Weathermen set off bombs in Washington.”
“In empty offices.”
“They were lucky nobody was killed. I don’t recall hearing Ayers apologize.”
“I don’t think he ever did.”
“Does that mean you think his behavior was justified?”
“Absolutely not. I think it was a sincere—albeit misguided—attempt to end the Vietnam War. And just so we’re clear, I believe it is morally bankrupt to try to justify murder by citing scripture—whether it’s the Bible or the Koran. Those who kill innocent people are terrorists—period. Those who attack my ideas never mention my writings about Dr. King and nonviolent dissent. For what it’s worth, I believe people would be more sympathetic toward Islamic causes if our leaders emulated Gandhi.”
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re right.”
Raheem arched an eyebrow. “Do you still think I’m a terrorist, Detective
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