The Chosen One

The haggard women finally had been freed from the ghastly horror. A few months later, Lauren set out for college with profound goals and vivid memories imprinted upon her brain. The severe scars ran deep. Even so, she resolved to make herself into the absolute best she could be. And so far, her plan was proceeding exactly as she hoped.

“Good evening,” Watson said on the tape. “Tonight, in an exclusive interview, America gets its first look at Muhammad Mourad, ruler of the Pan-Arab Federation. Our guest is ABC’s chief Middle East correspondent, Lauren Wells.” He turned to look at the auburn-haired newswoman sitting next to him. “Good evening, Lauren. Welcome back to Seven Days.”

“Good evening, Tony. It’s great to be here. I’m always thrilled when the opportunity arises to appear on your show.”

“I’m told you’ve something quite special to share tonight.”

“I believe I do. This interview was truly one of a kind.”

“It’s my understanding you’re the only reporter ever to interview the powerful Arab leader.”

“That’s correct. After months of delicate negotiations, Mourad’s government notified me a week ago that the meeting had been granted. Last Thursday I arrived in Algiers. My cameraman and I were whisked straight from the airport to a waiting caravan of four-wheel-drive vehicles. For most of a blistering day and well into a torturous night, we drove south across the unending Sahara and up into the high mountains near the Libyan border. Under cover of darkness, we were taken to see the man the Islamic world calls the Chosen One.”

“Before we show our audience your interview,” Watson said, “I’m certain everyone would be interested in hearing your impression of him. You’ve interacted with many of the world’s most influential people. What was it about Mourad that made your discussion with him so unique, so different from the rest?”

“Tony, this was one I’ll remember for the rest of my life. Muhammad Mourad’s remarkable. Very gracious, very kind, and quite patient even when I asked some really difficult questions. Easily the most humble political leader I’ve ever encountered. Even though he was obviously ill at ease with the idea of being interviewed, he did everything in his power to make us feel we were his honored guests. As our viewers will see, his English is impeccable. He’s one of the most brilliant people I’ve ever met. He’s also one of the most physically unimposing men I’ve ever seen. He can’t be over five feet tall. And I doubt he weighs more than one hundred pounds. Beneath his scraggly beard, his aging cheeks are sunken and weathered. His skin has little vitality and an odd sort of sickly hue. But there’s something if you ever meet him you’ll never forget.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s his eyes, Tony. There’s something haunting in those eyes of his. There’s an anger, and at the same time a sadness his dark eyes can’t conceal. As for the ground rules, there were no conditions attached by Mourad’s government and no limits on what I could ask. The questions were entirely mine and his answers are unedited.”

“Well, with that as an introduction, let’s get to the actual interview.”

A recording of Wells’s meeting with the Chosen One began to run. The picture showed a nondescript room with peeling plaster walls. There was no furniture to be seen. Muhammad Mourad sat cross-legged on the floor. She had expected to find him wearing flowing Arab robes or a clownish military uniform. Instead, she found a simple man dressed in peasant’s clothing. Three of his followers, also modestly dressed, sat on his right. Wearing a scarf, and clothing that covered all exposed skin, she was seated to his left.

“Mr. Mourad, first I wish to thank you for giving me the opportunity to conduct this interview.”

“It’s my pleasure, Miss Wells. I get too few chances to practice my English these days.”

“I know the entire world is greatly interested in what you have to say. It’s my understanding this is the first interview you’ve ever granted to a non-Arab journalist. So I’m certain there’s much our viewers would like to know.”

“Actually, Miss Wells, this is my first interview with anyone.”

“Oh, I hadn’t realized that. Why then did you pick me to conduct it?”

“Because my people saw your work and were impressed with your fairness and integrity.”

“You’ve never watched any of my interviews yourself?”

“In my entire life, I’ve never seen anything on television. When I lived in France as a university student they had such things. But I didn’t have the time or inclination to look at them.”

“Since you, as you just mentioned, were a student in France, you’ve obviously had some contact with the world outside North Africa.”

“Aw, Miss Wells, that was so many years ago. I’m certain I remember little of what I saw. The one thing I’ll always remember, however, is it was the place where I met my sweet wife.”

“That was something I definitely wished to ask you about, sir. Let’s talk about your wife, if you don’t mind. From what I’ve been able to gather, it was her death that started you down the path to where you are today. Can you tell me about her?”

“Sharif was a remarkable woman. For twenty-four years we were husband and wife. We had a wonderful life together. We lived in the small village in the southern desert where I’d been born. One day, after the military seized power, a large armored column appeared. No one had any idea why they were there. The next thing I knew, they opened fire with their cannons. The shelling didn’t stop until the entire settlement had been destroyed. Over twelve hundred people lost their lives in a matter of minutes. Only a handful of villagers survived the attack. By the grace of Allah, I was one of them. But he chose not to spare my wife and five-year-old son.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Please don’t unduly concern yourself with my loss. The sainted people of my village, my wife and son included, now live in paradise with all of the martyrs.”

“But I still don’t understand. Why did the military attack your home?”

“Because they were afraid of me.”

“Afraid of you? Why were they afraid of you?”

“Because I’m the Mahdi . . . the Guided One . . . the Chosen One. At the time the Algerian people wished to create a government based upon the teachings of the Quran. But the secular government and the Western powers resisted the idea of a fundamentalist Islamic state in North Africa. So the army canceled the election and seized power. Although I’d never been directly involved in politics, they knew I supported the Islamic party. It wasn’t long thereafter they sent their soldiers to kill me and destroy my people.”

“But you killed them instead.”

“Yes, I killed them. It took many years after I declared holy war to create a people’s army strong enough to defeat the blasphemers in Algiers. But with Allah’s guidance, we were victorious. And a true nation of Islam was formed.”

“That brings me to a rather controversial issue, Mr. Mourad. I hope you’re not going to be offended by my broaching the subject.”

“As we agreed, you’re free to ask anything you wish.”

“Your campaign to overthrow the military government, in the early years, contained some of the most violent acts of terrorism the world’s ever witnessed. At least in the West, we had a great deal of difficulty understanding how a man, especially a man whose own wife and child had been murdered, could base much of his campaign on entering sleeping towns and indiscriminately slitting the throats of innocent men, women, and children. You’ve never denied your involvement in the slaughter of over one hundred thousand of your countrymen. These were people just like you. How could you do such a thing?”

“I’m afraid you’re only partially correct in your assumptions, Miss Wells. I won’t deny I was the one who gave the orders to kill those people. But they weren’t as innocent as you’ve claimed. When jihad’s begun, there’s no longer room for innocent people. You either accept the call to arms or become an enemy of Islam. Those people were given a choice. When they refused to join our cause, we’d no other course from the one we took. They’d made their decision, and the Quran called for prompt punishment for all sinners. I realize such a consequence is beyond your limited understanding of our ways. Still the people who forfeited their lives knew what their refusal to join us would bring.”