Bleeding Edge, pp. 312-313

[Kai Frederik Lorentzen]

    In the taxi on the way home, there's loud traffic in Arabic on the 
radio, which Maxine figures at first for a call-in show till the cabbie 
picks up a handset and joins in. She glances at the ID up on the 
Plexiglas. The face in the photo is too indistinct to make out, but the 
name is Islamic, Mohammed somebody.
    It's like hearing a party from another room, though Maxine notices 
there's no music, no laughing. High emotion all right, but closer to 
tears or anger. Men talking over each other, shouting, interrupting. A 
couple of the voices might be women's, though later it will seem they 
could have belonged to high-pitched men. The only word Maxine 
recognizes, and she hears it more than once, is /Inshallah/. "Arabic for 
'whatever,'" Horst nods.
    They're waiting at a light. "If it is God's will," the driver 
corrects him, half turning in his seat so that Maxine happens to be 
looking him in the face. What she sees there will keep her from getting 
to sleep right away. Or that's how she'll remember it.

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