Sample Saturday, "His Beloved Infidel." Available via Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, Apple iBooks, and many other fine retailers:
Farukh Aria scratched his chin through the hated beard as his brother, Dadash, pulled the tiny Fiat Cinquecento into Paris traffic. The thick black mass obscured his jaw and reached to his buttoned shirt collar; Farukh loathed it. He watched the World Language Institute in the rearview mirror, growing ever smaller as Dadash drove them to the Ayatollah’s compound at Neauphle-le-Chateau. While his fellow teachers celebrated the end of winter term with weekend parties, Farukh would spend it surrounded by religious men, saying prayers he was no longer sure he believed in. It would be a relief when the weekend was over and Dadash dropped him off at the train.
“Your thoughts are elsewhere, brother,” Dadash remarked as he pulled the car on to the peripherique. He was shorter, rounder and swarthier than Farukh; most people would be hard-pressed to believe they were brothers.
“I am sorry, Dadash. I do not feel well.”
Farukh hoped that this would quiet his brother. Dadash had spent the week in Paris, at Farukh’s flat in the 11th arrondissement, and had much to say about the evils of the West and the infidels there. He had come from their home village of Qom, on fire with the ideas of the Ayatollah Khomeini. Dadash repeated Khomeini’s ideas obsessively; he was especially enamored with promises of great success and wealth without effort or cost.