That night Yusef was spirited out of the camp. A long series of journeys by Land Rover, by boat and camel brought him to a city of minarets he did not recognize.
"What city is this?"
"Tehran."
"I am in Iran!"
"Yes."
"You are a Persian?"
"Yes. My true name is Aboof."
Yusef Gamal frowned. It was true that the Persians worshiped Allah and their leader the ayatollah was a devout Muslim. But they were Persians, not Arabs. It was a very different thing.
"For the work that lies ahead, you will need a new name."
"Abu Gamalin," Yusef said quickly.
"That is a good name for waging terror campaigns and issuing communiques and threats, yes. But I was thinking of a contact name for our files."
"It will not be a name that I use?"
"No, it will be for internal use only."
"Then I do not care what I am called," Yusef snapped.
"Good," said Aboof the Persian, who told him his code name would henceforth be Yusef the Jew.
The only thing that stopped Yusef Gamal from throttling the despicable Persian on the spot was the presence of the armed Revolutionary Guards.
"You will go to America," said Aboof when Yusef had calmed down.
"I will never go to America. It is an un-Islamic place."
"There you will apply for US. citizenship."
"Never! I would rather burn in Hell first."
"You will get a job and you will sleep," continued Aboof the Unflappable.
"What manner of orders are these for a warrior?"
"The job will support you until you are called. The sleep I speak of will be the sleep of a sleeper agent."
"How long must I sleep?"
"Until you are told to awaken."
"What will my duties be at that time?"
"Whatever is decided then. For you may sleep a long time."
IT was, in fact, six years. So long that Yusef the Jew had wondered if he had been forgotten by the lordly Persians. The intifada had ended. Many had been martyred. The Gulf War had also passed. Yusef had missed out on all of it. Worse, he was a lowly American citizen driving a cab in New York City, unmartyred and unfulfilled.
It was a terrible destiny. All of his friends, he had heard, were dead and already in Paradise, safely in the arms of Allah. And he was stuck fighting treacherous traffic and conveying Jews to their destinations like some camel driver of old.
The call came in the middle of the night, six months after the World Trade Center bombing.
"We are assembling an army," the soft voice said.
"Who is this?" Yusef asked sleepily.
"Aboof asked me to contact you."
"Aboof! Where is he?"
"In Paradise."
"He is lucky. For I am living in Hoboken. A place worse than Hell itself."
"Come to the Abu al-Kalbin Mosque in Jersey City, Yusef the Chosen."
"Why?"
"Because we are creating a secret army to smash the Great Satan."
Now Yusef knew for sure he was speaking with another Persian. For only Persians spoke of the Great Satan. But he agreed to go anyway. Driving a cab in New York City was slowly driving him mad.
The Abu al-Kalbin Mosque was a storefront mosque in the heart of the dirty place called Jersey City, not very far from city hall. Yusef took the PATH train to the Journal Square stop and walked as instructed along Kennedy Boulevard.
The neighborhood was unpleasant, but such was the lot of Muslims who came to dwell in America. There was no justice. Never once had the taxi company Yusef worked for given him his Fridays off or allowed him to pull over and face Mecca for his daily prayers.
At the door, he was greeted by an Egyptian face he did not know. But the man's dark eyes exploded as if in recognition. Then they narrowed in anger and disgust.
"Go away, Jew. We want none of you here."
"I am no-"
The plain door slammed in his face. Annoyed, Yusef knocked again.
"Go away, Zionist entity," he was told.
"I am no Jew, but Abu Gamalin the Feared."
"Liar."