Free The Apostate by Jack Adler Page A

everyday California casual clothing, though Sanah looked more formal in a high-necked dress.
    â€œWhat led you to these studies?” Tariq asked. Tariq was clearly less impressed. He had cold, dark eyes that were unsettling and Ray tried not to show his aversion to his manner.
    â€œI needed to take a language, and Arabic seemed to be a key language of the future. Islamic Studies just fit in.”
    â€œAnd Ray is trying to get the company he works for to publish Islamic fairy tales,” Abra reported with pride again at Ray’s accomplishment.
    â€œI suggested it,” Ray said. “No decision has been made. And it’s just North Africa minus Egypt.”
    â€œI recommended a couple of Muslim writers who can write an introduction or other commentary,” Abra said.
    â€œThis is all most remarkable,” the imam said, more to Abra than to Ray. Tariq nodded, still studying Ray carefully. The imam’s wife, whether by culture or inclination, was silent. But her eyes, directed at Abra, showed continuing approval of her non-Islamic boyfriend.
    He had been too apprehensive about Abra’s family. They were more tolerant of him than he anticipated. His next step was proceeding well, Ray thought, as they sat down to a dinner of tender lamb and anise flavored rice.
    â€œThis is delicious,” Ray said. Jeyd . (Good.) Jeyd jid-dan . (Very good.) Then he added as if he had lost his cue though he had carefully rehearsed this line. “ Shukran li ashaa .” (Thank you for dinner.)
    â€œ Aafwan” (You’re welcome) , replied the imam with a broad smile.
    Fortunately, there weren’t any obvious expectations for more use of his limited Arabic as the evening went on with pleasantries. Questions were posed about his family, which Ray was able to answer without difficulty.
    At the door he trotted out, “ Ma-saah al kheyr . (Good evening.) I hope that means good evening.”
    Everyone grinned, and the imam took his right hand and placed it like a loaf between his hands and squeezed. “Be well, my son.”
    The evening went well, Ray thought. He was making progress. Perkins should be pleased, but he was never sure with his dour handler.

Chapter 15
    â€œSo you’re in with the family?” Perkins said like a question that didn’t need confirmation as Ray sat with him at a cafeteria on Wilshire Boulevard near downtown. Perkins had ordered coffee and a slice of apple pie, while Ray settled for just coffee. From their booth from inside the cafeteria—Perkins had deliberately chosen a table that wasn’t next to a window—they could still see a constant succession of cars going in both directions. Many pedestrians were also on the street, entering and leaving the numerous office buildings. Perkins carried a briefcase, and he had put a folder containing what looked like a manuscript on the table as if they were discussing the material. Just two literary types having a meeting, Ray thought. But Perkins was his handler, a word Ray disliked. It sounded vaguely homosexual. Who wants to be handled by another man? But he had no reason to think Perkins played for the other side.
    â€œSince you’re getting cozy with our Muslim friends, we won’t be meeting like this too often,” Perkins said, finishing his pie and wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. “You’ll be contacted when and where each time. Pay attention to anyone who looks like they’re following you.”
    â€œYou think that’s happening now?”
    It was fascinating, Ray thought, how such unusual information could be delivered in such a banal way and setting.
    â€œThe closer you get to the family, the more they’ll check you out.”
    Ray absorbed this comment. No doubt it was true. Abra’s family seemed to accept him, and the imam had squeezed his hand paternally. But what did that all really mean?
    He didn’t have any experience in detecting anyone