Authors: Parker Bilal
‘This is better. You get the man who started the shooting and Kasabian’s killer. On top of that the brigadier doesn’t lose face. He can keep his friend and business partner around. They’ll shower you with decorations.’
‘How can you be sure this man Kane is going to show up?’
‘He hasn’t let me down yet. Just keep your men out of sight.’
Makana could hear Marwan mulling over the possibilities.
‘All right, you have twenty-four hours. But you’d better not try anything else.’
‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Makana and hung up. He wondered what to do about Cassidy and decided that the homicide detective was resourceful enough to take care of himself.
‘You’re wasted in this job of yours.’ Samari squared his shoulders and produced a silver cigarette case and a gold lighter. ‘You could be making a fortune. Why don’t you come and work for me?’
‘I have enough trouble sleeping as it is.’
Samari chuckled. He squinted through the cigarette smoke at Makana. ‘Do you know where I made my name as a military officer? The war with Iran was coming to a close and we were losing. Our generals were threatening to rebel against Saddam. We had fought the Iranians for six long years and still they were not defeated. A new strategy was devised, a flexible defence force. I was part of a unit of the Iraqi Republican Guard.’ He strolled about. It was a big room, with long leather sofas in black and glass coffee tables. The walls were whitewashed and bare. A hideaway for a man who moved around a lot.
‘One night we came under attack, a massive offensive around Basra. Our situation was critical. We were outnumbered and could expect no reinforcements for twenty-four hours. I knew we would not last the night, so I came up with a plan. We flooded the Iranian trenches with water. Not too much, up to about knee height. A discomfort but nothing more. Then we dropped a high-tension electric cable into the water and switched on the power. We killed over a thousand of them that night. I was promoted and decorated. My career was made, as one general told me.’
Lighting another cigarette with the lighter, Samari sat down on the sofa opposite and contemplated Makana. ‘We are not so different, you and I. I too have lost my country. The Americans will redraw the map of the region to serve their interests. Civil war will make it easy to divide the country into three manageable parts, and do not imagine they will stop there. Secure Israel’s control of the West Bank, push the Palestinians into Jordan? In the end we will have a toothless, docile Middle East, a client state to American interests, begging for Western aid, much like Egypt.’ Samari smiled. ‘For a time we stood up to them. We defied them, that is something I am proud of.’
‘Your view of history is a little selective,’ said Makana. ‘You forget the repression, the prisons and torture chambers, the gassing of the Kurds, draining the marshes. Anyone who was suspected of not being loyal was killed or thrown into prison.’
‘You disapprove.’ Samari smiled as though indulging a feeble relative. The long scar rigidly divided his face into two uneven halves. ‘You think we need more idealism and justice. Well, let me tell you, we are not ready for democracy. You cannot end centuries of feudalism at the stroke of a pen. We are tribal. We don’t understand the idea of voting for someone who is not one of us, not of our family, or clan, or tribe.’
‘Tell it to the Americans.’
Samari laughed. ‘You think the Americans are in Iraq to spread freedom and equality, to bring us the light of democracy? Don’t be stupid. They want oil to drive their cars, water for Israel and land to control the region. Democracy is just a formality, a game they are asking us to play. Saddam’s big mistake was defying them, firing missiles into Israel. I’ll always admire him for his courage and despise him for his foolish vanity. You cannot defy a giant.’
There was a sound from above as the wounded guard appeared on the upstairs gallery. He held a pair of field glasses in his good hand.
‘The CSF are withdrawing.’
‘Very good,’ Samari nodded, turning to Makana. ‘You’ve done well. It looks like I shall let you live.’
‘What about Kane?’
Samari shrugged. ‘If he appears my men will deal with him. Yesterday he had the advantage. He took us by surprise. I have his measure now. The next time we will be ready.’
Samari pushed his hands into his pockets. For a man who had a price on his head and a group of professional soldiers after him, he looked relaxed. He snapped his fingers and the guard upstairs disappeared back through the doorway behind him. Samari strolled over to the wide glass window that looked down over the high wall and the long drop down into the valley. The house was in shadow, but the valley was bright with afternoon sunlight. At this distance the town looked like a toy model. A moving dot marked the passage of a vehicle along one of the roads. It was quiet. Marwan and his men were out of sight. The only tourists around would be up at the monastery looking at the burning bush, or whatever they had found to mark the spot.
‘I shall miss this place,’ Samari was saying. ‘You can feel there is something special about it, a spirit from the times of the prophets.’
‘What is it about men of violence that they yearn to be seen as wise and knowledgeable?’
Samari snorted his disbelief. A movement caused him to turn.
‘Ah, here she is.’
Makana turned to see Bilquis standing on the upper-floor gallery. She was dressed in a way he had never seen before. A pair of blue jeans and a white blouse. Expensive, fashionable. She looked elegant and modern in a way that surprised him. She descended the spiral staircase and went over to sit down on the leather sofa vacated by Samari.
‘So you decided to come after all?’ she asked. She wore make-up, a layer of powder on her face that lightened her skin colour, and blue eye shadow along with a dark lipstick. Makana wasn’t sure who he was looking at.
Bilquis reached across the table, helping herself to a cigarette from the silver case which she lit with the gold lighter. She seemed entirely at ease, completely familiar with her surroundings.
‘I was worried. I assumed you had been taken by force.’
Her eyes narrowed as she blew a plume of smoke in his direction.
‘Your son?’
‘Upstairs, sleeping.’
Makana wondered where this new-found confidence had come from. She sat back on the sofa, crossing her legs, her feet neatly fitted into a pair of shoes with slender gold straps. Samari moved around behind the sofa to rest his hands on her shoulders.
‘I made Bilquis an offer, which she has accepted.’
‘An offer?’ asked Makana, glancing at her. Bilquis didn’t meet his eyes.
‘As soon as the mechanic has finished we shall fly out of here,’ Samari explained.
‘Fly where?’
Samari made a throwaway gesture, as if it hardly mattered. ‘Beirut, or Libya, maybe the Gulf for a time. Just until things blow over.’
‘What about Kane?’
‘I pay my men for that. No need for me to stay here and wait for him.’
‘You’re going with him?’ Makana asked.
‘What did you expect?’ Bilquis regarded him coolly.
‘Don’t be cruel to him,
habibti
, he came all this way to rescue you.’
Makana saw that he had misjudged the situation. Bilquis wasn’t in need of rescuing. That moment had passed. He had effectively had his chance and had failed to take it. Instead of helping her to claim the reward he had tried to talk her out of it. Now she had made her move.
There was a knock at the front door and the mechanic appeared. Samari went over and stepped out onto the terrace, sliding the door to behind him.
‘What has he promised you?’
Her eyes flickered towards his. ‘A new life in a new world.’
‘Of course he has.’ Makana lit a cigarette and glanced over at the terrace where Samari and the mechanic were still talking. He could see now that it wasn’t overalls but some kind of jumpsuit, like the kind pilots wore. He wondered where it was possible to land a plane around here.
‘And the reward?’
‘I’m reconsidering.’ Bilquis leaned forward. A whiff of expensive perfume floated across the room. ‘This way I have something at least.’
‘You’ll always be at his mercy.’
‘What choice do I have?’ Bilquis glanced towards the door, her voice low and urgent. ‘It’s not as if you have anything better to offer. Scraping by on the change you make?’
She was right, of course. Compared with the life of luxury Samari was offering, what did he have? She stared at him for a moment longer and then stubbed out her cigarette and got to her feet. Without another word she left the room. Makana watched her climbing the stairs as Samari returned, followed by the guards, who ushered Sindbad in ahead of them.
‘I’m afraid that until our departure we are going to have to take some precautions.’
Makana got to his feet and looked at Sindbad.
‘Sorry about this.’
‘
Maalish, ya basha
.’ Sindbad seemed to take it in his stride.
The archway under the stairs led into a corridor that brought them to a large open kitchen where a man was busy chopping vegetables. In the far corner there was a storeroom sealed off by a heavy wooden door. Makana hesitated.
‘Wait a minute.’
The guard prodded him in the back with the barrel of his M16.
Samari was apologetic. ‘We can’t risk having you wandering around. I’m sure you understand.’
‘At least let Sindbad go. You only need me as insurance.’
‘I’m sorry, that would be imprudent.’
Sindbad and Makana were told to sit on the floor with their backs to a metal pillar in the middle of the room. Their hands were bound behind them with chains and padlocks. The door was closed and Makana leaned back against the pillar.
‘Did you see the American out there?’
‘No,
ya basha
. No sign of him.’
Makana hoped that Cassidy would remain out of sight. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, glad of the silence. There was enough to think about.
As afternoon turned into evening and the light coming through the tiny window faded, Makana listened to the sound of Sindbad snoring to himself on the other side of the iron pillar. He wondered how close Kane and his men were and when they would make their move. There was no doubt in his mind that they would be coming. How or when he did not know, but soon, he was sure of that.
‘
Ya Allah
,’ yawned Sindbad as he came awake. ‘Why do they have to keep us next to the kitchen? It’s torture. Can you smell that? What do you think it is?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Makana, although he had to admit that after five hours he too was beginning to feel hungry.
‘I could smell aubergines frying, I swear it.’
‘You were dreaming. Go back to sleep.’
‘Do you think they will feed us?’
‘I wouldn’t count on it.’
Sindbad slumped back into a dismayed silence. The rattle of pots and pans from next door was a distraction. Makana was trying to hear what else was going on. Several times he had heard the sound of the gates being opened and a heavy vehicle going out. A van of some kind, or a small truck. A while later it could be heard returning. Then the sound of men being ordered around. The truck passed by their little window, which indicated that the track twisted round and descended behind the house. Makana was wondering how Samari planned to make his getaway. He was sure now that the man in the jumpsuit who had spoken to Samari was a pilot or flight mechanic. The only airports Makana could think of were down on the coast, at Taba or Sharm el-Sheikh, at least an hour away by road. Would they make for there, or was there an airstrip close by?
To take his mind off the issue of food Sindbad had turned his attention to the chains that bound them. He rattled and heaved.
‘Save your strength.’
‘Don’t worry,
ya basha
, I’ll just give it a try.’
It looked like a hopeless case, but Makana didn’t have the heart to tell him. Sindbad strained and struggled until sweat beads popped from his forehead but to no avail. He finally slumped back.
‘I haven’t eaten all day. Now, if I wasn’t working on an empty stomach, it would be another matter.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Makana. But the truth was that he was worried. If Kane arrived and found them chained up they would make very easy victims.
The hours went by and the house grew quiet. The noises from the kitchen died away until there was only the hum of the refrigerator. Outside, through the high window, Makana could hear the cry of some kind of nocturnal predator, an owl perhaps, warming up for the evening’s hunt. That was when he heard footsteps. The door opened to silhouette the last person in the world he expected to see. Bilquis. Dressed in a silk gown, she knelt beside him, fumbling with a set of keys.
‘Don’t make a sound. You have to go now. The guards won’t notice if you leave by the back way. Follow the track down. Eventually it will bring you to town. Wait there until we have gone.’
‘Come with us,’ Makana said.