Boris had told him, "There are actually many cultures in America, from very high to very low. Also, there are many people, such as yourself, Asad, who believe deeply in God, and there are those who believe only in pleasure, money, and sex. There are patriots and those who show disloyalty to the central government. There are honest men and thieves. The average American is basically more honest than the thieving Libyans I've dealt with, despite your love of Allah. Do not underestimate the Americans-they've been underestimated by the British, the French, the Japanese warlords, Adolf Hitler, and by my former government. The British and French empires are gone, so is Hitler, the Japanese empire, and the Soviet empire. The Americans are still very much with us."

Khalil recalled replying to Boris, "The next century belongs to Islam."

Boris laughed and said, "You've been saying that for a thousand years. I'll tell you what is going to defeat you-your women. They are not going to put up with your nonsense much longer. The slaves will turn on their masters. I saw it happen in my country. One day your women will become tired of wearing veils, tired of being beaten, tired of being killed for fucking a man, tired of sitting home wasting their lives. When that day comes, people like you and your fucking mullahs had better be ready to negotiate."

"If you were a Muslim, that would be blasphemy,, and I would kill you right now."

To which Boris had replied, "Yob vas," then buried his fist in Khalil's solar plexus and walked away, leaving Khalil doubled over, gasping for air.

Khalil recalled that neither man spoke of the incident again, but both knew that Boris was already a dead man, so the incident needed no further resolution; it was the equivalent of a condemned prisoner spitting in the eye of the man who would behead him.

The aircraft was still climbing and still being tossed about by the mountain winds. Khalil looked down and saw the moonlit peaks of the snowcapped mountains, but the moonlight did not penetrate into the dark valleys.

He again settled into his seat and again thought of Boris. Boris, for all his blasphemies, his drunkenness, and his arrogance, had proved to be a good teacher. Boris knew America and Americans. His knowledge, Khalil had once discovered, had not been entirely accumulated during his time in America; Boris, in fact, had once worked in a secret training camp in Russia, a KGB facility, called, Khalil remembered, Mrs. Ivanova's Charm School, where Russian spies had learned to become Americans.

Boris had mentioned this secret to him once, in a drunken moment, of course, and told him that this was one of the last great secrets that had never been revealed by the old KGB after the collapse of the Soviet Union. The Americans, too, according to Boris, wanted this secret forever buried. Khalil had no idea what Boris was talking about, and Boris would not mention it again, even after much prodding by Khalil.

In any case, during Boris' time in that school, he claimed to have come to an understanding of the American soul and psyche beyond anything he'd learned by living in America. In fact, Boris had once said, "There are times when I think I am an American. I remember once going to a baseball game in Baltimore, and when The Star-Spangled Banner was played, I stood and felt tears forming in my eyes." Boris added, "Of course, I still feel the same way when I hear The Internationale." He smiled and said, "Perhaps I have developed multiple personalities."

Khalil recalled telling Boris, "As long as you don't develop multiple loyalties, you will be much happier and much healthier."

The intercom crackled, breaking into Khalil's memories of Boris.

Captain Fiske said, "Mr. Perleman, I apologize for the turbulence, but this is typical of a mountain range."

Khalil wondered why the pilot would apologize for something that God, not he, controlled.

Captain Fiske continued, "The air should smooth out in about twenty minutes. Our flight plan tonight will take us southwest across Colorado, then over what is known as the Four Corners-the place where the state borders of Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, and Utah come together. Then we continue southwest across the northern portion of Arizona. Unfortunately, you won't be able to see much after the moon sets, but you should be able to make out the desert and high plateaus."

Khalil had seen more desert in his life than these two had seen in their combined lives. He picked up his intercom and said, "Please let me know when we are passing over the Grand Canyon."

"Yes, sir. Hold on a moment… okay, in forty minutes we'll pass approximately fifty miles south of the South Rim. You may be able to see the general area of the Canyon from the right side, and certainly the high plateau beyond. But I'm afraid it won't be a very clear view from this altitude and distance."

Khalil had no interest at all in seeing the Grand Canyon. He was only assuring himself of a wake-up call in the event he fell asleep. He said, "Thank you. Don't hesitate to wake me when we approach the Canyon."

"Yes, sir."

Khalil tilted back his seat and closed his eyes. He thought again of Colonel Callum and was convinced he had made the correct decision in letting the Angel of Death deal with that murderer. He thought, too, of his next visit, to Lieutenant Wiggins. Wiggins, they had told him in Tripoli, was a man of erratic movements, unlike the men of habit and predictable existence that he had already killed. For this reason, and because Wiggins came at the end of his list, there would be someone in California to assist him. Khalil did not want or need assistance, but this portion of his mission was the most critical, the most dangerous, and also, as the world would soon discover, the most important.

Khalil felt himself falling into a sleep, and he dreamed again of a man who was stalking him. It was a confusing dream in which both he and the man were flying over the desert, Khalil in the lead, the man behind him, but out of sight-and flying over both of them was the Angel of Death that he had seen in the Kufra oasis. The Angel, he sensed, was contemplating which man he would touch and make fall to the earth.

This dream somehow transformed into a dream of him and the lady pilot flying naked, hand in hand, looking for a flat rooftop on which to alight so they could engage in carnal pleasure. Each building they saw below had been destroyed by a bomb.

The intercom crackled, and Khalil awoke with a start, sweat on his face, and his organ aroused.

The pilot said, " Grand Canyon coming up to your right, Mr. Perleman."

Khalil took a long breath, cleared his throat, and said into the intercom, "Thank you."

He rose and went into the lavatory. As he washed his face and hands in cold water, the dreams continued to run through his mind.

He returned to his seat and glanced out the window. The full moon had nearly set on the horizon, and the earth below was black.

He reached for the airphone and dialed a number from memory. A man's voice answered, "Hello."

Khalil said, "This is Perleman. I'm sorry to have awakened you."

The man replied, "This is Tannenbaum. It is no problem. I sleep alone."

"Good. I'm calling to see if we have business to do."

The man said, "The business climate is good here."

"And where are our competitors?"

"They are nowhere to be seen."

The rehearsed exchange complete, Khalil concluded with, "I look forward to our meeting."

"As planned."

Khalil hung up and drew a deep breath, then picked up the intercom.

The captain answered, "Yes, Mr. Perleman?"

Khalil said, "My phone call has necessitated another change of plans."

"Yes, sir."

Boris had said to Khalil, "Mr. Perleman should not be overly apologetic when he keeps changing his flight plans. Mr. Perleman is Jewish, and he is paying good money, and he wants service for his money. Business comes firsthand everyone else's inconvenience is of no concern to him."