Above the Streets of Amman
AMMAR AND ALI STOOD TALKING in an office located on the top floor of an Amman office building. The building was on one of the main roads of the city, and the window provided an excellent view of the street. Occasionally, there was laughter between them.
Standing near the window, they looked down at the street below, which was full of people going about their lives. Ammar knew that most—if not all—of them felt optimism about their futures and the futures of their children. He knew there was hope for peace and freedom for the first time in generations. Ammar’s goal was to push back that wave of optimism before it grew any stronger, and only a few days and a handful of people stood between him and his goal. He smiled.
Ali had been with the Supreme Party since his twenties. He had started as a low-level worker and moved up the ladder of the organization to become a leader during the first Gulf War with the US. In spite of the rigors of the war, he was still fit for his age and with the sun shining on his jet-black hair, he looked younger than most men his age. The war had taken away his family and friends, and he was practically alone, with no one to worry about him or notice if he didn’t return home for days at a time. The Party had also verified that there was no woman even remotely associated with him. That was another reason he was an ideal choice for the mission. All the years of war and personal loss had affected Ali on a deep emotional level. He was a man starved for company and for a personal connection with another human being. He was starved indeed.
When he was out of the presence of the Leader, Ammar conducted himself even more confidently. The Leader had planned well for her son’s future on the world stage. She had ensured that he learnt international languages like English and French. She had also insisted on Ammar pursuing a university degree in economics and history. After all, the days when he would attend conferences on peace and trade in the international arena were not very far away. For his part, Ammar already felt he was ready to hold the reins of power in his hands, and he ached for the day when his mother would hand them over to him.