“You should have let us marry.”

“I should have done many things.”

“I was an officer in the Fedayeen then, I had brought honor to you. There was no reason for you to deny us your blessing.”

“My blessing seems to be the only thing denied the two of you.”

Rakkim felt his cheeks flush.

“You were cautious, I’ll give you that. I thought once she was married, that would be the end of such foolishness.” Redbeard dipped a hand in the stream, let the cold water rush over his fingers, his eyes half-closed. “I spoke with your imam. He said you haven’t been to mosque in years.”

“Guilty.”

“You avoid the company of believers. You spend your days with Catholics and worse.”

“Oh, much worse.”

“Have you become an apostate, then?”

“I believe that there is no God but Allah, and that Muhammad is his messenger. That is all I am certain of. I remain a Muslim. Not a good Muslim, but a believer all the same.”

“Then there is still hope for you.” Redbeard peered at him. “I heard a story that might interest you. It’s about a travel agent who takes no money for his services. Imagine that. Emigration without permission is an act of treason. Anyone connected with the act is equally culpable. Yet there is a smuggler who works for free. What would make a man do something like that?”

“A good Muslim is required to feed and shelter those who appear on his doorstep.”

Redbeard looked amused. “Ah, but you are not a good Muslim. Isn’t that what you just told me?”

Rakkim didn’t return the smile. “Was I really so unsuitable?”

“I had other plans for Sarah. Other plans for you too.” Redbeard backhanded the stream, sent water splashing into the foliage. “A lot of good it did me.”

Rakkim noticed that the right side of Redbeard’s face was slack. He had thought at first that it was just a trick of the poor light. “What happened to you?” He moved closer. “You favor your left leg when you walk, and here…” He lightly touched Redbeard’s cheek. “A fresh scar. Your beard doesn’t grow there anymore. Something happened.”

“There was an attempt on my life last month. They died. I didn’t. That’s all.”

“The Black Robes?”

Redbeard shrugged. “As you said, Mullah Oxley is too cautious to attack me directly, but it might have been someone in the hierarchy, one of his deputies hoping to curry favor. Or, it might have been another’s hand at work. A new player perhaps.”

“Who do you think was behind the attempt?” persisted Rakkim.

“Find Sarah, and perhaps you and I will turn our attention to that riddle.”

There was no sense trying to get more information out of Redbeard. “If Sarah’s been gone since Friday, she could be anywhere by now. You should have called me sooner.”

“She’s still here. Her call Friday night was local. The airports and train stations were already keyed to her profile-”

“There are other ways to leave the city.”

“Sarah doesn’t know she’s running for her life. She thinks she just has to stay gone long enough for me to call off the wedding. She knows Seattle. She won’t feel the need to leave. She thinks she can call me up in a month and invite me to lunch, and I’ll forgive her. I would forgive her too, but we don’t have that luxury.” Redbeard straightened his posture, winced. “I’ve assembled a complete file for you: her phone logs for the last six months, the memory cores from her computers, a list of her friends.” He sounded calm. “Whatever else you need, just ask and-”

“I’ll handle it.”

Redbeard looked past him. “I promised myself when you quit the Fedayeen that I was done with you. I told myself that you were dead…but you were not. The nights seem longer as the years pass. More often now, I wander through the house with only my footsteps to keep me company and wish you were beside me.” He swallowed. “Sarah…” His voice broke, but he kept his head high. “Now she’s gone too. I blame myself.”

If Redbeard was waiting for Rakkim to disagree, he would be waiting for a long time.

They sat beside the waterfall, listening to the cascading water, neither of them speaking. Alone in the garden, out of sight of the stars and satellites. Whether God was watching, neither of them knew.

Rakkim pushed his sleeve up, reached through the waterfall, and brought out a couple of bottles of Coca-Cola from Redbeard’s hiding place. He handed one to the startled Redbeard, unscrewed the other, and took a swallow. It was so cold his teeth ached. “Ahhh. No matter what they say, Jihad Cola is swill.” He clicked his bottle against Redbeard’s. “Fuck the embargo.”

Redbeard was aghast. “How long have you known?”

“Since a month after you brought me home.”

Redbeard shook his head as he opened the bottle. “That’s what I get for not counting.”

Rakkim had always been careful not to hit the stash unless Redbeard had recently restocked the secret grotto, and though he had shared his pilfered Cokes with Sarah, he had never revealed her uncle’s hiding place to her. She would not have been able to restrain herself, would have gotten them caught, not out of greed, but from a sense of joyous abandonment, a deliberate flaunting of the rules. He loved Sarah for her sense of invulnerability, but he knew better.

Rakkim drank deep. “Those peckerwoods in the Bible Belt are black-hearted infidels and eaters of swine, but you have to admit, they know how to make soda pop.”

Redbeard took a sip. “Peckerwoods have the formula, that’s the difference.”

“Time for our scientists to start working on that formula.” Rakkim admired the bottle. “Who could imagine something this good would be illegal?” he asked innocently. “Possession of contraband. Two years hard labor, no parole.”

“Don’t try to understand the law.”

“The law is beyond my comprehension, we both know that.” Rakkim took another swallow. “You ever had RC Cola?”

“Long time ago.”

“I had some about eight years ago…Tennessee…my first solo recon inside the Bible Belt. Checking out rumors of nuclear activity at the old Oak Ridge facility.” Rakkim took a sip, savoring the taste. “I spent three months blending in, beardless as a newborn. Worked the turpentine trail, fixing home electronics door-to-door, chatting up the housewives and factory workers. Joined the local church. Sat right next to the local sheriff, skinny black man with a wine-stain birthmark on his cheek, the two of us belting out ‘The Old Rugged Cross.’ I like that hymn.” Another sip. “Didn’t handle any snakes. Peckerwoods are supposed to do that, but I never saw it. Good people…I was surprised at that too. I guess I shouldn’t have been. Sarah always said they weren’t that different than us. Read your history, Rakkim.” He felt Redbeard’s eyes on him as he fingered the bottle. “And the food-you have fresh peach pie at a Pentecostal church social, fresh peach with a ball of homemade vanilla ice cream, and you’ll think about converting back to that old-time religion. Don’t give me that look, it’s the truth. I was there. The people, the food, the little kindnesses…girls in their summer dresses…small things, but if it hadn’t been for Sarah, the memory of her…” He looked at Redbeard. “I didn’t find any nukes. At least I never got a hit on my radiation patch.” He watched the bubbles rise in the bottle of Coke. “Oak Ridge people are partial to RC Cola. Their roads are worse than ours, and beef is scarce, but they got everything you’d ever want to drink. Bubble-Up, Seven-Up, Everclear moonshine, and bourbon so smooth it’s like drinking sunlight. I drank it all, Redbeard. I had to. They’re on the lookout for infiltrators, and a man who turns down corn whiskey gets a long, hard look. Coca-Cola’s still my favorite, though. So you can tell my imam I’m not beyond the light.” Rakkim took a long swallow, the icy sweetness like an avalanche down his throat. He stared at Redbeard. “All that fresh-bottled Coca-Cola…peckerwood’s finest, and none of it tasted as good as what I stole from your secret stash. Why do you think that is, Uncle?”