A probing intelligence

Homework! Hooray!

Fatima bin Laden, as only a person deprived of formal education for 21 years could be, felt excitement as she unloaded her bulging backpack of books and notebooks onto her kitchen table, made a small pot of coffee and sat down to do homework. There was a chapter to read in her biology text and one in astronomy, plus an English paper to write, and she was anxious to get started. Saving the best for last, she'd review notes made today while working with Lt. Basel Zakly Faris, USMC, to analyze front pages of the two daily papers and prepare for a discussion in journalism class tomorrow.

Although her IQ was never tested back home in Saudi Arabia or Pakistan, Fatima had a Mensa brain. Her mastery of the Koran in studying with other women, and her facility for languages, was reported on the other side of the walls that kept men and women largely apart. (Left unsaid, lest it unduly tempt a man, was her mastery of all forms of Middle Eastern dance, their histories and cultures.) It was her intelligence as much as her faith that led Uncle Osama to send her on this mission. (Plus she was half-Filipino and could pass for full.) He'd learned you could send the most devout Muslim on jihad, but if he were stupid, he would likely fail. Allah's help, praise his name, only goes so far with idiots.

The biology and astronomy chapters went quickly, and she opened her i-Lap to start the English paper, based on her reading of the thrilling essay "Punctuation: Traffic Signals of Language, or Speed Bumps?"

She was supposed to have used the laptop to report back to her uncle, and had a secret e-mail address memorized, but she was also supposed to have had an apartment with high-speed Internet arranged by the Chinese agents who were arrested just hours before she arrived. It would be another two weeks before she could get Internet service in this cottage, and her uncle warned against using computers at UH-Windward -- government computers.

She might have been more nervous about being out of touch, except that she was making miraculous progress in identifying an ally in the U.S. military. And Allah be praised, Baz was an MP at the Navy brig on Ford Island, her uncle's No. 1 target. Going over her notes of the 45 minutes spent with Baz, she was reminded of how intelligent he was, and how much more worldly experience he brought to his analysis of the news. Intelligence without experience, she knew, counted for very little.

And again, this time under her probing, he voiced complaints about the way things worked in the Marines in particular and the U.S. in general. He also complained about the way American media covered Muslims. When they went for coffee after class tomorrow she would continue her jihadist probing.