Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 10 (23 page)

 
          
PEOPLE'S
ASSEMBLY
BUILDING
,
CAIRO
,
EGYPT
 
SEVERAL DAYS LATER

 
          
“My
brothers and sisters, the danger all around us is great, and we must be strong
and united,” Ulama Khalid al-Khan said in a deep, resonant voice. He was
speaking before a special session of the People’s Assembly, the 454-member
legislative body of the Egyptian government. As ever, Khan wore traditional Arab
garments, the white
jubba, quba
,
sirwal,
and
qalansuwa
, even though most of the rest of the members of the
People’s Assembly wore Western- style business suits. But it was not only his
clothing but his long, angular features, his carefully trimmed beard, haunting
voice, and hypnotic eyes that commanded attention from all, even those who
thought of holy men such as Khan as threats to freedom in
Egypt
.

 
          
“Our
nation, our way of life, our very
souls
are under attack,” Khan went on, his voice growing louder and more strident by
the moment. “The horrible murder of our beloved President Salaam, may he stand
at the right hand of God, is vivid proof that we are not safe and secure even
within our holiest shrines and most precious places of worship. The danger is
everywhere, my friends. It is time for bold leadership and unity for Misr.”
Khan preferred using the traditional name for his country, rather than the
foreign-derived name,
Egypt
.

 
          
“I
know many of you do not stand with me,” Khan went on. His eyes drifted toward
where he knew a large congregation of his political opponents sat. “Although
our laws are based on Shari’a, the holy book, you do not feel those laws should
be strictly interpreted and applied, as I and my fellow high priests do. I am
not here to debate your attitudes about how to serve God. I am here to offer to
you my vision for our country.

 
          
“My
goal is to stop the anarchy, stop the violence, stop the corruption of our
laws, our families, our companies, and our beliefs. I believe those dangers
emanate from two places: the Zionists and the Americans.” Several dozen
legislators shook their heads and voiced their displeasure in carefully muted
tones. “Yes, you know it as well as I. Our nation has slipped into crushing
recession and inflation ever since the traitor Sadat signed the so-called peace
treaty with
Israel
. We have barely been able to hold on to the very fabric of our country.
And who has come to our aid to help? The Americans, with their spies, their fat
bloodsucking industrialists, their weapons of hatred and class warfare, and
their corrupting cash. It is all tied together, my brothers—the Zionists weaken
us, and their masters the Americans suck us deeper into their lustful, depraved
ways.” More voices, some disagreeing but more of them agreeing with Khan,
easily drowning out the dissenters.

 
          
“Well,
I say, no more.
No more!
Allow me to
place my name on the ballot in the next elections, and I promise to root out
the evil in our government and our society. I promise to return Misr to the
people and to God. You know the people are behind me. You cannot risk our
future and alienating the will of the people by not allowing my name on the
ballot. It is vital that our country begin the process of healing. With God’s
wisdom, strength, and strong guiding hand, I pledge to you that I will carry
the banner of unity and honor for our country.”

           
There was a round of light, polite
applause throughout the People’s Assembly—most of the members knew enough to at
least appear enthusiastic. There was little doubt that the Assembly would vote
to approve al-Khan’s candidacy; the question was, would the people of
Egypt
vote for him? Khan was a very shadowy
character, powerful in the Egyptian mosques and in smaller, more religious
communities, but not very well known or trusted in the cities. He represented a
step backward for many folks in
Egypt
, and that did not make him very popular.

 
          
Al-Khan
bowed and stepped off the dais. The Egyptian prime minister extended his hand
to shake Khan’s, but al- Khan simply bowed and kept his hands inside the
sleeves of his robes. The prime minister awkwardly lowered his hand, ignored
the gestures and whispers of disapproval from the Assembly, then stepped up to
the dais as he was being introduced, “Thank you, Ulama al-Khan. Ladies and
gentlemen of the Assembly, we will now hear from the National Democratic Party
candidate, Prime Minister Dr. Ahmed Kalir.”

 
          
Khalid
al-Khan took his place in the front row center of the Assembly, reserved for
special guests, and sat quietly while the next presenter was ushered to the
dais with a round of enthusiastic applause. Dr. Ahmed Kalir represented the
greatest challenge to Khan’s candidacy. He was an experienced politician, a
wealthy and internationally recognized cardiologist and surgeon, and well respected
in the cities and among the business community. Kalir had transformed the post
of prime minister, allowing the common people greater access to government.
Although certainly not a charismatic personality, he was well known in the
capital and well respected everywhere. Kalir was definitely the man to beat.

 
          
“I
am pleased to be here,” Kalir began. “On behalf of the National Democratic
Party, I thank you for this opportunity to speak.” He paused, an uncomfortably
long silence, then went on: “And on behalf of the National Democratic Party and
myself, I wish to announce to the National Assembly and the people of
Egypt
that I am withdrawing my name as candidate
for president.”

           
The entire National Assembly
exploded into bedlam— all except Khalid al-Khan. He could not have been more
pleased, although he fought hard not to show it. With the death of Kamal
Salaam, Ahmed Kalir was by far the most powerful secular politician in
Egypt
—he was as influential and respected as
al-Khan was feared. With him withdrawing his name from nomination, the road was
clear for al- Khan to be elected the next president of
Egypt
.

 
          
And
at that, Kalir looked directly at al-Khan and nodded. What was going on?

 
          
“I
wish to place my support and prayers for my choice as candidate for president,
the one person in all of
Egypt
who has the moral strength, intelligence,
and vision to lead our nation forward out of this crisis and toward the peace
and security we all seek,” Kalir said. Was Kalir actually endorsing him for
president? al-Khan thought. This was too good to be true! “With the blessings
of Allah and the hopes and prayers of a nation, I place into nomination today
the next president of
Egypt.
.. our first lady of
Egypt
, Madame Susan Bailey Salaam.”

 
          
Khan
was already placing his hands on his left breast, feigning surprise at this
unexpected endorsement, when he gasped in total shock.
Susan Salaam was alive?

 
          
And
then he noticed Kalir looking directly at al-Khan, the accusation obvious in
his face. Al-Khan had to fight to erase his surprised expression. It was a
test, a stupid trick, nothing more.

 
          
And
then, to al-Khan’s complete surprise, Susan Salaam walked out on stage, and
then there was no doubt. The entire People’s Assembly fairly leapt to their
feet and applauded, some even cheering and stamping their feet.

 
          
Susan
Salaam walked gingerly, as if still in pain, but she did so without using
crutches or a walker, just a simple wooden cane with a large, wide crook
supporting her left leg. She wore an eye patch on her left eye, and the
hairline on the left side of her head was higher than on the right, indicating
she had lost some hair or sustained a head injury.

 
          
Her
hands were marred with cuts and burns; her arms and torso were covered by
simple, unadorned clothing, but the burns definitely appeared to extend down
her arms.

 
          
But
her natural beauty was still striking, still breathtaking. Susan made no
attempt to hide any of her wounds with makeup, which enhanced her beauty, her
sense of pride—and her pain—even more. She embraced Ahmed Kalir and then
stepped to the podium, waving to the assembly. Yes, even al-Khan had to admit,
she was still beautiful, achingly so.

 
          
It
took several long minutes for the cheering and applause to die down, and then
she began: “Members of the People’s Assembly and fellow Egyptians, with great
pride and with your support and prayers, I gladly accept the National
Democratic Party’s nomination for president, and on behalf of my husband, our
late President Salaam, I announce that I am a candidate to be your president.”

 
          
The
applause was back, even louder than before. Khalid al-Khan was stupefied. In
just a few brief moments, he had gone from a close second in the election race,
to the uncontested winner, to just another also-ran.

 
          
He
could stand it no longer. He stood up, raised his hands, and said in a loud
voice, “Hold!
Hold!”
The assemblymen
weren’t responding, so Khan quickly stepped up on stage. “A point of order!”

 
          
The
Speaker of the People’s Assembly hurried back to the dais. “Order!” he shouted.
“Order!” Susan Salaam had stepped back away from the dais to allow al-Khan to
speak. “Please let Ulama al-Khan speak!”

 
          
After
the assembly had quieted down, mostly in rapt attention to the looming
confrontation on stage, he said, “I am most grateful to God that Madame Salaam
is alive and well. And I know that it warms our hearts and strengthens our
souls for Madame Salaam to seek the same office as her dear husband, who
certainly now sits at the right hand of Allah.” More applause, not for al-Khan
or for Susan, but for Kamal Ismail Salaam, their slain president. How can he
possibly fight a dead man? Only with the law—that’s all he had left.

           
“But if I am not mistaken, a
candidate for president of Egypt must hold a seat either in the Supreme
Judicial Council or the People’s Assembly,” al-Khan went on. “As much as we
honor the memory of President Salaam, as much as it would gladden our hearts to
see Madame Salaam once more in the presidential palace, she cannot run for
president because she does not hold a national elective office.” He turned and
bowed graciously to her. “I am sorry, my child, but it is the law.”

 
          
Finally,
what appeared to be leaders of the various groups were getting together. More
talking, more gesturing. Finally, several from the group of leaders began
filtering up toward the speaker’s seat.

 
          
This
didn’t look good at all. Al-Khan turned. His angry gaze caught the attention of
the Speaker of the People’s Assembly, Representative Jamal Gazali, a member of
the National Democratic Party coalition but also the leader of the Society of
God, a smaller party representing the religious conservatives in
Egypt
. Gazali motioned al-Khan quickly to the
podium. “What is happening here, Gazali?”

           
“It is of no consequence, Ulama,”
Gazali replied. “The matter will be dealt with, and all will be taken care of.”

 
          
“I
asked you what is happening, Gazali.”

 
          
Gazali
looked nervous. “There apparently is a statute still in the law that allows the
wife of a legislator or other public official to take her husband’s office if
he dies while in office,” Gazali said. “The law was put into effect after the
War of Retribution so the government could continue functioning even if
lawmakers serving in the armed forces were killed in battle—”

 
          
“Are
you saying that Salaam may still become a presidential candidate even though
she is
not even Egyptian
?” al-Khan
thundered.