Leda: Profile of an American Terrorist

By Grace Austin

Leda, a retired American physician, joins her friend Aliyah to work in a refugee camp in the Middle East despite warnings from her husband. After observing conditions under Israeli control she becomes overpowered by a sense of injustice. Talib, a younger, handsome Egyptian physician seduces her and begs her to be an avenging angel for his downtrodden people. Her psychological turmoil plays out in Arizona, Florida and Maine. Her plans include lavish fundraisers at her estate in Connecticut, ingratiating herself into the highest levels of government in Washington DC. In Paris she concludes her plans for terror in Manhattan. The fate of an unlikely terrorist reveals itself in Leda’s psychological choices to sacrifice everything for the good of the Palestinian people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Apr 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781458221629

Grace Austin

In her travels Grace Austin experienced the plight of Palestinian refugees in the Middle East and became interested in the psychology of terrorism. She has a background in health care and lives in Chicago.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Every nightmare begins as a dream.

Leda, enveloped in sleep, dreamed of jagged red rocks against a purple sky. She floated in a caressing sea of sand, felt the warm wind on her face and smelled the parched, pure air that held the aroma of rosemary. Silence—a heavy, profound presence smothering all that was distracting, and inconsequential. Silence was not the absence of sound; it was the presence of the eternal.

As the sound of lawn mowers woke her, she murmured, Damn, thinking silence was unobtainable: second-hand smoke only harmed bodies, noise pollution harmed minds and souls. Her age required silence to process the end of life.

Leda, stretching in her silk bed, stroked the empty pillow beside her. Arthur, her husband of thirty years was on a ten-day trip to Montana. She glanced at a painting across from her on their bedroom wall, a gift from Aliyah, a friend since their medical school days. The artist depicted the Bedouin life of desert, tents, camels and sheep. Leda inserted herself into the scene, shrouded in a burka, and her thoughts escaped the confinement of habit and routine.

She again unfolded the letter with the Syrian stamp she had read three times before falling asleep. Doing medical charity work together in the Middle East had dominated their discussions in their last year of medical school. The letter inviting Leda to join her struck a chord at this twilight of her life; a new adventure, a totally different perspective on all her beliefs. Working in a refugee camp would stop her useless reading, thinking and philosophizing. Thinking without action was useless.

But what would she tell Arthur? He would object to her leaving him for a three-month sojourn in the Middle East. He urged her to sell her medical practice so they could spend more time together and now she would be less available to him for three months than at any time during their marriage.

She rose, wrapped herself in a white silk robe, and headed downstairs for coffee. She traversed rooms filled with silver, crystal, and Persian rugs inhaling the essence of fresh flowers and lemon furniture polish. The massive living room walls held books on eclectic topics including music, history, philosophy and finance. She almost stopped to look at books on travel to the Middle East but the rich aroma of coffee propelled her on.

The sunlit breakfast room had a place set for her with her usual grapefruit and cereal. The walnut clock chimed eight o’clock and Leda reflected that for years this would have been the time of her first surgery of the day. She sat down and opened the New York Times. An article on the bombing of Gaza, buried on page nine, made her frown; pictures of injured children impaled her eyes. As a charitable endeavor she had sponsored a victim of the occupation. Ali, a boy of eight, had thrown a rock at an Israeli tank and the response was a bullet in his spine. She paid his medical bills for two years before his death from complications of the injury.

Good morning, Doctor Eimont, said Rhoda as she noticed Leda’s eyes filling with tears. Bad news?

Just the usual news from the Middle East which makes me think of Ali.

To distract her, the elderly housekeeper poured her a cup of coffee and said, "Mr. Arthur is coming home from Montana today."

Leda smiled at Rhoda, I will surprise him and pick him up at the airport myself. Please cancel the driver and tell him I will pick up Mr. Lodge.

You sure did miss him. You’ve the best husband I ever did see, Rhoda answered as she slowly cleared the table. You got a beautiful day for a ride

After breakfast Leda returned to her bedroom and smiled as she started her daily routine of grooming: the perfumed shower, the clean slick teeth, and the transformation of the canvas of a plain face with creams and colors into a pleasing portrait. She loved herself because in life she had been well loved.

To avoid the indignities of a declining life, she tried her best to be attractive but it was not with the desire to recapture youth. Leda believed a woman with no care for her upkeep was akin to an abandoned house, an eyesore. Painting and restoring a historic, hundred-year-old house did not indicate it was new construction. She knew the most brutal aspect of aging was not in the physical changes, but the mental ones—the unattractive hesitancy, the fear, the lack of confidence, validating the prime was past.

Zipping up her new green Versace dress she strode out of her bedroom firm in her conviction not to succumb to the prevailing ethos of her life being over. She took her purse, went downstairs, took a set of the car keys on the side table and left.

The ghost of the Trade Towers was a void in the skyline on Leda’s drive to the airport. The radio news reported a suicide bombing in Tel Aviv. Since college, Leda had been an avid follower of Middle East politics and the Israeli Palestinian conflict loomed large on her radar of injustice. Of course the Palestinians committed suicide; they were fighting a war with only their own bodies as weapons.

Reaching JFK Airport she parked. Entering the terminal, at arrivals, in the midst of limousine drivers holding name signs Leda observed the disembarking passengers with an evaluation of each according to appearance. Leda judged people at first glance. "Arthur!" Leda started running toward him.

You didn’t have to pick me up, Mike was supposed to come, Arthur said, embracing her. But it’s great. I couldn’t wait to see you.

Observing him in western wear with new cowboy boots and a black cowboy hat shading his eyes, she whispered, You really look sexy. Arthur replied with a grin.

As they left the terminal she bombarded him with questions, How did your childhood home look? Did it seem familiar after all those years? Are you sorry you spent your life on the East Coast? Their contact had been minimal since Arthur was unreachable most of the time.

Arthur was laughing as he followed her. All will be revealed in due time, too many questions all at once. What’s new here?

She turned around and kissed him. Also, all in due time. It’s good to have you home. You are my lifelong addiction.

They exited the terminal and Leda found her Mercedes among the acres of parked cars. Reaching the car, Arthur took the keys from Leda. So how was Montana? Leda asked as she slid into the passenger seat.

It’s still America – pure, young, and vibrant. It’s only in New York the hard reality of our civilization becomes apparent. I fear for our future. Arthur lit a cigarette and started to pull out of the hourly parking lot.

Your fear for the future is justified. I just finished an interesting book, said Leda as they got on the thruway. Sir John Glubb outlined the theory that the life of empires has a curve—nations are young, have a peak, and then a decline. He concluded the decline is associated with the rise of women in power; they leave the home and child rearing, destroying the nucleus of the family. Without strong families, the peak passes and the decline starts. I think it describes current America.

Arthur smiled, I remember that book. I read it long ago but women’s role in society wasn’t the only reason. The many wars fought at the borders and a devaluation of the currency to fund those wars led to the death of empires.

Do you think by not wanting children I’ve contributed to the decline? Leda asked with a lilting voice.

Leda, with your standards of perfection it’s a blessing you didn’t have a child. I’m sure civilization does not depend on your reproduction. Arthur said and they both laughed at the notion.

They rode for a while listening to a CD of John Adams’ opera Nixon in China. After small talk about household concerns, anchored by an enormous bill from their gardener, Leda looked out the window at a picture perfect landscape of green lawns, idyllic homes, an occasional nanny pushing a stroller, or a pained jogger.

Arthur, what do you think of the Palestinian situation? Do you think we can afford to look away? What can be done to help? asked Leda wondering about the best time to discuss Aliyah’s invitation.

Leda, stop talking about religion and politics! Arthur said as he reached over and touched her cheek. Let’s talk about sports or sex!

You know the only things worth talking about are religion and politics which reveal a person’s philosophy, their mind and soul. Sex and sports aren’t topics of conversation, but activities to be indulged in. Seeing his serious expression, she added, Sex will be more than talk very soon, and Arthur started laughing as the car entered the enclave of Greenwich, Connecticut.

The driveway, shaded by large oak trees, lined with a profusion of white Rhododendrons, led to a three story brick Tudor house embellished with huge carved oak doors. They parked in the circular driveway and ascended the steps flanked by pots of vibrant red geraniums.

As Arthur set the luggage down in the high-ceilinged entryway, a small, blond Cairn terrier, jumping in eager anticipation, ran up to Arthur. Have you been protecting Leda, Frodo? exclaimed Arthur, lifting the dog to receive a sloppy kiss. A man in Montana told me dog owners need to get love whereas cat owners want to give love. Is that why we have both?

A black and white cat sauntered in and Leda picked him up. Knowing Felix, I would say I agree. There are people who love animals to the extent that animals are their best friends, they understand and love them more than humans. A friend of mine calls these people animalists. Arthur took Felix from Leda and petted him.

Leda smoothed her green dress as she slid next to Arthur on the sofa in their neutral beige and white living room. Leda believed her guests should stand out instead of competing with furniture and walls. Unattractive people dismayed her as if they were upsetting her composition of life.

Rhoda entered beaming and served them small sandwiches and iced tea. It’s great to see you back, Mr. Lodge. That tan looks mighty good on you. You’ve lost some weight. Arthur’s passing painful expression made Rhoda wince but escaped Leda’s notice.

To get that tan you must have spent a lot of time outside. Leda moved the crystal vase on the marble coffee table an inch to the right.

I did a lot of walking around my family’s old ranch. The view is spectacular, a picture of green trees for miles capped by a brilliant blue sky. The air is so fresh I almost considered stopping smoking but I think it’s too late for me.

It’s never too late to improve yourself. Leda said with a sly smile. Who owns the property now?

It was bought by a consulting giant as a corporate retreat. I should have kept it for my own company.

After taking a bite of Rhoda’s smoked salmon sandwich, Leda said, The only excuse for going to Montana is because you spent your early years there but I never understood why you wanted to make this trip alone. I’d have liked to go with you.

Arthur, sipping his iced tea said, At my age it is important to process life and it’s best to do that alone. After all, everyone must come to terms with their mortality.

I also want to examine my life and make it mean something, to achieve something significant. Perhaps I should take a trip also, Leda said in an attempt to draw Aliyah’s invitation into discussion.

Leda, no, I just got back.

Now was not the time to tell him of her decision to go to the Middle East. It could wait. How was travel in a pick-up truck? Leda asked.

I thought with my rented red pick-up and my western wear I could blend in. I stopped at a truck stop for breakfast. As I went in I took my hat off but I noticed everyone else had his hat on. So I scratched my head and put my hat back on. When in Rome do as the Romans do. I went up to the buffet and filled a bowl full of what looked like oatmeal. When the waitress thanked me for my tip she said she never did see anyone eat so much of their cream gravy without biscuits.

Leda laughed so heartily the cat jumped off the sofa. See that is what you get for pretending you are one of the ‘good ole boys’. You will never fit in with them although all that Western gear looks mighty good on you.

Are you saying you missed my body? Arthur teased Leda.

I missed all of you. Leda, laughing, took Arthur by the hand and led him upstairs.

Arthur took a shower. Your turn, Arthur said as he walked into the bedroom with a towel around his waist. I was hoping you would join me.

I’ve missed you and sex in the afternoon seems so naughty but appropriate, Leda said as she took off her dress. Glancing at herself in the gilded floor length mirror, a pensive expression clouded her face. Arthur, I want to achieve more in life.

You’ve achieved enough in your life. What more could you want? A successful career, a life without the problems of children, financial security, my love. Isn’t that enough? You’ll achieve more if you get into that shower or I’ll carry you there! said Arthur laughing as he chased her into the bathroom.

Chapter 2

At breakfast the next day, Sunday, Arthur handed Leda the New York Times. Leda put down her grapefruit spoon, took the paper and read the headline Pedophile Priest to Face Charges. Aren’t you outraged in the face of this information? Arthur asked as he poured another cup of coffee. You’re a Catholic so this scandal must shake your faith.

I think the Church is made of fallible humans, but this doesn’t detract from the basic teachings. It’s a scandal and will be an excuse for all those who find the Church’s teachings too strict, answered Leda plucking a dry leaf from the center bouquet of white roses. What choice do I have? When a starving person receives food do they ask for a list of the ingredients, the qualifications of the chef, or worry about allergies? No! They grab whatever they can get and gobble it down. What else but religion gives an explanation for this dastardly, unfair and often evil existence?

Arthur put down his Wall Street Journal and said, God would be outraged at your description of life. You, who have been blessed with the best of everything.

Leda smiled and said, The best of everything is never enough.

She left the breakfast room and bypassing the kitchen dumped the Times into the trashcan. She reached her upstairs bedroom and entered her room-sized closet. Only the chore of choosing her outfit for church soothed her turmoil.

Leda came down the stairs in an impeccable beige suit. Are you coming? she asked Arthur still sitting at the kitchen table.

Not today, I have too much to do before the rat race tomorrow. I’m expecting an overseas call at eleven.

Leda studied her husband for a moment, took her car keys from the small table in the foyer and left by the front door.

Guitar music and a youth choir with a hip-hop sound assaulted Leda as she entered St. Mary’s. The priest, in Oprah imitation, walked the aisles and solicited comments as parishioners chuckled and laughed.

His sermon began: What a beautiful day the Lord has made. Turn to your neighbor and give them a big smile. Smile. Yes, that is what the Lord wants you to do. Can anyone give me a reason for smiling? He pointed to a teenage boy with severe acne. You, why are you smiling?

The boy turned a bright red and mumbled, Because you told us to. The congregation broke out in hearty laughter. Leda cringed in her pew. Sermons never seemed to relate to any authentic matter of moral concern.

Leda perceived the sacred ritual of the bread and wine becoming the body and blood of Christ, performed by the priest facing the congregation, as taking on aspects of a cooking show. At the consecration, Leda thought, a miracle deserves a proper setting shrouded in incense, accompanied by ancient sacred chants, then the soul is uplifted and a true union occurs between the human and the divine. But not in this rendition of an afternoon TV show.

As Leda left the church, she encountered a woman in wrinkled grey cotton dress, a small black headscarf covering wispy grey hair, and an enormous wooden crucifix on her ample bosom. She held a basket with the sign HELP THE HOMELESS. The man in front of her greeted the woman as Sister Alice and dropped in a bill.

Leda remembered the ethereal looking nuns of her childhood in their long black robes and white starched wimples. To go from the high style of saintliness to the dumpiness of the commonplace was tragic. Perhaps style was superficial to the spirit, but all our human senses dealt with externals, according to Leda.

Sunday afternoon consisted of a jumble of phone calls and a golf game for Arthur. Leda went to the gym where her favorite trainer put her through a difficult workout. After a relaxing massage in the spa Leda returned and resolved to have a talk with Arthur. Arthur was changing from his golf clothes when Leda approached him. Arthur, come downstairs, it’s time for a drink before dinner!

Leda’s voice cut into the fog of his thoughts as Arthur entered the living room. He picked up some photographs on the side table and sat down.

Leda in a white silk caftan was mixing drinks at the bar and approached Arthur with a chilled dry Martini with blue cheese stuffed olives. Here is the Leda specialty, she murmured. I love the Dorothy Thompson saying, ‘I love martinis, two at the most, three, I am under the table, four I am under the host.’ However, since I have already been under the host, I think one Martini before dinner will be adequate.

Arthur and Leda roared with laughter. Leda, with a Martini in one hand picked up Arthur’s pictures of Montana in the other hand and sat down next to Arthur. This is beautiful desolate scenery, miles and miles of nothing.

Yes, solitude helps contemplation.

This large house was where you grew up? Leda turned the photo to Arthur.

My father had a great desire to have an impressive home and he started his career in copper mines.

I know he made money in copper but I’m more familiar with his Wall Street career. I didn’t realize he was successful so early.

Arthur then asked, And what’s new around here?

Leda almost blurted out her Middle