Blowback

Kaseem had indeed done well in securing the exclusive contract to distribute the holy water in the U.S. Any of the faithful who wanted to purchase some would have to do so at their local mosque, which in turn had to purchase it from him. The arrangement was going to make him even richer than he already was. What he didn’t like about it, though, was the Saudis’ insistence that he only sell the water to their list of approved mosques in the United States, all of which catered solely to the majority Sunni faith. No provision had been made to sell the water to any of the Shia mosques.

In addition, his counterparts in Saudi Arabia had also insisted Kaseem’s company take delivery of several tons of a spice known as mahleb. It was made from the pits of black cherries and was readily available throughout the United States, but apparently his Saudi contacts saw a need for a pure Muslim version. Branding was not a concept solely restricted to American companies. The Muslim world was catching on as well. Today it was spring water and cherry pit spice, tomorrow tennis shoes and watches. If the truth be told, Kaseem was very pleased to see the Muslim world begin to keep pace with modern times. He had no doubt that given the choice, his customers would rather buy a Muslim version of mahleb than a non-Muslim one.

Though he would never say so out loud, Kaseem realized that his business could very well end up being as profitable as, if not more so than, Jewish companies that specialized in kosher foods.

Another aspect of the transaction was that none of the mahleb had been made available to Kaseem to sell through his vast distribution network. Instead, it was intended for some new Muslim spice conglomerate based in the U.S. The Saudis explained that as the conglomerate’s import credentials had not been set up yet, they needed Kaseem’s company to take delivery of the spice and then repackage it and send it along to the conglomerate’s various offices.

A responsible businessman, Kaseem had done a little checking up on the supposed conglomerate. Its principals were all former immigrants like himself and all from Muslim countries, but that was where the similarities ended. As far as Kaseem could tell, none of the men had any experience in the food industry whatsoever. They owned a variety of businesses across the country, most often the types associated with Middle Eastern immigrants who arrive in America and try to get a foothold on one of the lower rungs of the American dream-payday loan, currency exchange, and check-cashing businesses, as well as 7-Eleven-style convenience stores, gas stations, and taxicab companies. They were in fact successful entrepreneurs, but why they would want to get into such a low-margin endeavor like the spice business was beyond him. Maybe they knew something he didn’t. None of it mattered, though, as Kaseem had randomly checked samples of the bitter-tasting mahleb himself and was convinced that it was the real deal. The last thing he wanted to do was be an unwitting party to importing any kind of illegal substance. Whether his client was a Saudi royal or not, he still had his family’s good name and his country to look out for.

As he packed up the last of the mahleb to go out via UPS that afternoon, Kaseem’s mind was on getting home and getting a little sleep before the morning prayer service. Tired and distracted, he failed to notice that one of the packages he had randomly tested had been put back in with the rest of the shipment and that its lid had not been fully reattached.

The mystery illness from the Iraqi village of Asalaam, the same one once destined to decimate all of Rome, had just made its debut on American soil.

FORTY-THREE

FRANCE

Harvath was in his room scanning the reference book Vanessa Whitcomb had allowed him to take with him, Greek Fire,Poison Arrows amp; Scorpion Bombs-Biological and Chemical Warfare in the Ancient World by Adrienne Mayor, when Marie Lavoine knocked on his door and told him he had a phone call. It could have only been one of two people, and whoever it was had either come up empty or had information that would throw some light on what direction he should take next.

Harvath took the call in Marie’s office. “Harvath, “He said as he picked the receiver up off the desk.

“Scot, it’s Kevin McCauliff.”

“That was fast, Kevin, “He replied, looking at his watch. It had only been a couple of hours.

“Well, lucky for you, my guy here in Chantilly is friendly with someone at Spot’s headquarters in Toulouse.”

“What were you able to find?”

“Just like you said, your guy Bernard Lavoine did order a lot of imagery from Spot. The dates from the credit card transactions helped them locate the stuff a lot faster.”

“Good. What did they give you?”