The Proposition

They drove up in fleet of Mercedes SUVs, and fancier vehicles that Elizabeth didn't even recognize. Out of what had to be almost as expensive as Elizabeth's old home came a man in a simple white thobe. A dozen other men got out, walking to the compound.

While Yusuuf played it cool, Elizabeth could see the sweat on his upper lip and head, and she knew he was stressed. The wives, hijabed, went into the home. They expected to be there with the children for some time when Elizabeth alone was summoned.

Yusuuf's face was tight when Elizabeth came in. The oldest among the visitors looked at least 70, and he looked upon Elizabeth with kindly eyes.

"We would see your eyes, Elizabeth," he said. It wasn't unkind, but nor was it a request. Elizabeth gently pulled up her heaviest veil, leaving only her face uncovered. The men smiled seeing her blue eyes.

"These men are the sponsors of our life here," Yusuuf explained. "They fund our well-being, the costs to move us here, our salaries ... everything, my wife."

Well, Elizabeth could have assumed that it wasn't a social visit. Surely, it didn't have anything to do with her.

"We have always kept harems," a younger man with a big bushy beard. "Our recruitment efforts of late have been ... unsatisfactory."

"There was a time that all of the momentum was in our favor," the older man said, his voice raspy and wizened. "Now, paranoia and retrenchment have taken over, so our traditional tools of bringing attractive, comely young white woman into the fold have faltered."

"And ..." Elizabeth said meekly.

"And we need you ... and your friends ... to recruit for us. Show them the light."