The Jericho Deception: A Novel Read Online Free Page B

rationalized that they wouldn’t need one more doctor, especially one who was lame and accompanied by a child. If he stayed, the police would ask him questions. A quiet voice in his head told him that he had a duty to tell them about the Jordanian, but he also knew how things worked. A louder voice said that it was better not to get involved. He had a greater duty to the little girl beside him.
    Now that he sat on the peaceful beach out of danger, his daughter safe and himself with only a burst right eardrum and a bum knee, he felt guilty. Maybe he should have remained and helped. But he’d been afraid. Terrified, if he was honest with himself. More for Amira’s safety than his own, of course, but he’d also heard rumors of where men were taken after a terrorist attack. He shook off a chill even though the sun warmed his skin. Within a few hours they would be back in Amman with his wife and new son.
    As he looked up across the flat waters of the Persian Gulf, he noticed how the city looked manufactured, the same thought he’d had the previous day in the mall. The beach was groomed by a crew with rakes every morning and was off limits to the local population. He and Amira were the only Arab-looking people on the beach; only guests at one of the expensive hotels bordering the Gulf were allowed access. Three German tourists strolled ankle-deep in the water. Bellies, pink from overexposure to the sun, extended over their too-smallbikinis. Just offshore he saw more high-rise buildings than he could count, thousands of condos recently constructed on a manmade island in the shape of a palm tree.
    The display of wealth around him reminded him of the news reports that morning. The story about the bombing played worldwide. The UAE was supposed to be an example of a peaceful, safe Muslim state that had put aside politics and religious fanaticism in the name of capitalism. But that was exactly why terrorists had targeted the city.
    An Internet press release from an unknown terrorist group had declared a jihad against any Muslim state or organization that had turned its back on the teachings of the Prophet and had embraced Western capitalism and the lust for material items. The actions of fanatical Muslim terrorists over the past two decades pained him. Their exploitation of his religion—a faith centered on prayer, charity, and justice—in the name of terrorism was a dismaying phenomenon he’d seen develop since his childhood. In the seventies and eighties, when terrorism in the Middle East began to rise, its proponents had been motivated by politics. He recalled hearing Yasser Arafat, founder of the PLO, quip that “fighting wars over religion is like arguing about who has the best imaginary friend.” But the previous day’s bombing was even more troubling: now they were pitting Arab against Arab.
    The irony was that Mohammad had been known during his day not just as a Prophet of Allah, but as a great statesman—a ruler who had united the Arab world and brought an economic prosperity that had not been seen before and would last for centuries. Mousa shook his head. The problem in his fellow Arab countries was not rampant religious fanaticism itself; it was poverty, a lack of opportunity for young men, and illiteracy. Discontentment bred anger, and those who couldn’t read and think for themselves were easily led astray. The billions invested in the construction on the fake island before him was one example of the wasted resources of countries that concentrated their vast oil wealth to benefit the few. Simple economics , he thought.
    “Baba, come play with me.”
    He pushed himself out of his chair and hobbled to her side. “Just for a minute, dear, and then it is time to go home.”
    “I miss Ummi.”
    He thought of Bashirah’s silky curls, her warm embrace, and the mischievous twinkle in her eye. “I miss your mum too, Princess.”

    While he searched the signs for directions to the departure gates, Mousa kept an eye on