Dogstar Rising (27 page)

‘
Al-hamdoulilah
, the Lord saw fit to preserve our lives from those devils.’ She paused to wail a little and then told her story. Around sunset three men, their faces covered, had appeared in the doorway of the little shack. After tying them up and gagging them, they left them all lying on the bed together, which is where the police had found them. As they went by the little shack he caught a glimpse of Aziza and her brother standing in the doorway, holding themselves back in the shadows.

‘Where was Bassam?’

‘That useless donkey? He went out in the afternoon and we’ve seen no sign of him yet, probably out gambling with his friends, just when we needed a man to protect us. We could have been slaughtered like chickens.’ Umm Ali clutched a hand to her throat and wailed some more. ‘Is it true what they did to
ustaz
Sami? The policeman told me. These Christian devils? None of us is safe.’

‘We don’t know who did it yet, or why.’

But Umm Ali’s remark told him that by now the story would be eating its way through the city from one end to the other. Twenty-four hours. That was all it would take, probably a lot less, before the story was on the lips of every newscaster and front page in the country.

‘May Allah guide you in finding the guilty ones. How is
ustaz
Sami,
ya basha
?’

‘He suffered, but he will recover,
inshallah
.’ It always surprised him how the words came naturally to him.
If God wills it
. Did he really believe that God was anything more than an alibi, a licence to do violence? It was a reflex that had not been worked out of his system yet. Umm Ali began wailing again and tearing at her hair when she saw the upper deck.

The blood had thickened into stringy patterns along the cracks in the old, dry planks, spreading out in a spiderweb across the deck. Had they found their intended target Makana knew he might have spent all night in agony before being found. He wasn’t expecting anyone and assuming nobody dropped by . . . Even if Umm Ali’s useless brother had returned to find his sister and her children tied up, how long would it have taken for them to discover him? His eye caught something fluttering in the breeze. Gently he detached a scrap of paper stuck to the deck with Sami’s blood. The same note he had left in the café opposite the building where Rocky lived.

There was a commotion down below and he went over to the railing to see two men in casual clothes trying to make their way past Aziza. Slight in build she was far from defenceless. A furious Amazon defending her territory. Her mother called down to ask what was going on, but she coolly ignored her. The two men tried charm, then bribery, and then threats. Aziza stood her ground. Finally they retreated, tails between their legs. The girl beamed with delight.

‘They’ve been trying to get up here all night,’ Umm Ali moaned as she dragged a bucket of soapy water up the stairs. She began to scrub at the floorboards.

‘Who are they?’

‘They want to take pictures. Imagine that? May Our Lord lead them all to damnation.’

The telephone disturbed his thoughts. It was Damazeen. His voice full of cheery bluster despite the early hour.

‘Have you considered my offer?’

‘I’m not sure I trust you any more than I can stand the sight of you.’

‘Put your pride to one side. Think of what I am offering you. What I said is true. I can give you your life back.’

‘Does Talal know that you were the one who betrayed his father?’

‘He’s a talented boy. I can help him.’

‘That won’t make what you did right.’

There was a long pause. ‘I have told you a good deal of my plans. Perhaps that was foolish of me, but I did it as a mark of trust. I need to know you will help me.’

‘Now that sounds like a threat. Why do I have no trouble believing you mean that?’

‘This offer does not stay open indefinitely. I need your answer, Makana. Remember what I said. I am your only link. Without me Nasra stays dead.’

After Damazeen had hung up Makana stared at the receiver in his hand. He dialled Amir Medani’s office and it was answered immediately.

‘Did you find out anything?’

Makana heard the lawyer sigh, which wasn’t good. It sounded like he had someone in the office with him as he lowered his voice to a whisper, muting it, as if he were cupping the receiver in his hand.

‘I made some calls. There is no record of either of them having survived the accident, but that is only to be expected. The militias could do what they wanted back then and they answered to nobody. Then I called a cousin of mine, a journalist. It seems that Mek Nimr has an extensive family – three daughters and two sons. One of the girls is said to be adopted, apparently from his wife’s family.’

‘So, Damazeen is telling the truth.’

‘We don’t know that, but yes, there is a possibility she is alive.’ There was a long pause, then Amir Medani said, ‘I know this is difficult for you, but you must not get involved with Damazeen. Even if it was true, I still think this could be a trap.’

Makana thanked Amir and rang off. After that he took a shower and dressed in fresh clothes, which made him feel a little more human. When he arrived back at the hospital he found Rania asleep on a simple bench in the corridor, her head resting against the wall, a veil of dark hair covering her face. When he sat down beside her she jerked awake with a cry.

‘What? Did something happen?’

‘Don’t you think you ought to go home and get some rest?’

She yawned and rubbed her hands over her face. ‘I must look awful.’

‘Here,’ he said. ‘I brought you coffee from the place you like in Zamalek. Latté, right?’

‘How did you know about that?’ she frowned, taking the paper beaker and removing the lid.

‘Sami told me.’ Makana recalled the afternoon with Meera in the café.

‘And I also brought you some food,’ he said, handing over the paper bag.

‘I can’t think of food at a time like this,’ she said, opening the bag to sniff. ‘What is it?’

‘Cheese fiteer and fried chicken.’

‘I’ll get as fat as a duck,’ she fretted, but nevertheless reached inside to begin tearing strips of savoury pancake off and stuffing them into her mouth. ‘I haven’t eaten since yesterday.’ Rania leaned back in her chair and chewed for a while, the bag in her hand forgotten. She stopped and tears flooded her eyes. ‘I keep thinking that if only he hadn’t talked so much.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I mean, all his big ideas.’ She sniffed, found a paper napkin in the bag and wiped her nose. Then she took a deep breath and tried again. ‘You know how he’s always talking about revolution and changing the world, and all those crazy things that come into his head.’

‘That had nothing to do with what happened.’

She stared at him and her eyes filled with tears.

‘Eat,’ he encouraged gently. ‘He needs you to be strong.’

‘I just don’t understand how anyone could do such a thing,’ she said, staring into space, then she stopped again, her hand halfway to her mouth. ‘I mean the
way
they did it.’

‘The Romans crucified slaves, pirates and thieves. Early Christians adopted it as a form of martyrdom, a symbol of their struggle to be allowed to practise their religion.’

‘You’re saying someone wanted to make it look like Christians had done it? That’s horrible.’

Closing her eyes, Rania sipped her coffee, holding the cup in both hands to breathe in the aroma. Watching her drink took Makana back to that now distant afternoon in the Alhambra café with Meera. Rania spoke without turning to him. ‘We don’t really know each other, do we?’

‘Well . . .’

‘I mean, without Sami there to bounce around between us.’

‘I suppose there’s some truth in that.’

‘He admires you, you know. Calls you his moral compass.’

‘I’m not sure what that means.’

‘I suppose it means that whenever he is in doubt he asks himself what you would do.’ Her eyes remained fixed on the cup in her hands.

‘He’s going to be all right, Rania. I’m sure of it.’

Now her eyes came up to meet his. ‘What if he can’t walk again, or write, what kind of life will he have? How will we manage?’ Her whole body began to tremble and she pressed a hand to her eyes as if to blot out the world. Makana sat quietly. A moment passed. The hospital seemed quiet at that time. Somewhere in the distance a child was crying. A telephone began to ring. A door slammed and a voice called for help. A nurse went by and eventually the crying stopped.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Makana found Faragalla on his feet behind the desk in his office. He was busy going through the drawers, dumping things into the briefcase that lay open before him. He seemed agitated and jumped when Makana appeared in the doorway.

‘Oh, it’s you. I was wondering when you would show up.’

‘Are you going somewhere?’

The tall man straightened up awkwardly, one hand going to the small of his back. He regarded Makana with the usual expression of disdain.

‘Well, I’m not staying here. It’s madness. One minute people are being shot right on your doorstep and now this journalist. He was nailed to the floor. Can you imagine?’

‘I was there.’

‘Yes, of course you were.’ Faragalla gave the matter a moment’s pause. ‘Well, I’m off anyway. I shall spend a couple of weeks in Beirut until things settle down.’

‘What about the business?’

‘The business can take care of itself.’

‘I suppose it’s done so for centuries. A couple of weeks won’t make a difference, right?’

Faragalla’s face tightened. ‘I don’t like you, Makana. Right from the moment I set eyes on you, I said to myself there is something bad about that man. I suppose I owe you some money.’ He moved to the filing cabinet and opened one of the drawers using a key from a ring that was attached to his belt by a chain. ‘Did you find out about the letters?’

‘They were intended as a warning.’

‘A warning? To me?’

‘To Meera. An old friend of hers thought she was in danger and sent her a rather obscure message.’

‘Obscure is right.’ Faragalla placed a small petty-cash box on the desk and spent a moment selecting another key to unlock it. He stopped. ‘But there’s more to it than that. I mean, why kill her, and why here?’

‘Well, that’s where you come into it.’

‘Me?’ Faragalla sank down into the chair behind the desk. ‘So it
has
got something to do with me?’ The money forgotten, he reached absently for the pipe which lay in the ashtray before him.

‘Do you remember when you hired Meera? Do you remember why?’

Faragalla frowned. ‘She was smart, smarter than most people in here. Not unpleasant to look at. I thought she would be a great asset, and I was right. She cleared up the administrative system, did remarkable things.’

‘She was friendly with your nephew Ramy.’

‘And what of it?’ Faragalla peered at Makana over the rim of his spectacles as he reached out a crabbed hand for his lighter. It clicked like an angry insect.

‘Meera was here to conduct her own little investigation into your financial transactions. Ramy helped her.’

‘He’s an ungrateful little whelp.’

‘You didn’t send him to Luxor, did you?’

‘What?’ The flame trembled over the bowl of Faragalla’s pipe.

‘Ramy went all by himself. He did what you are doing now, running away. It must be a family trait.’

Makana moved about the room, his eye falling on a poster hanging on the wall – a picture of the gigantic pillars of the temple at Karnak. Faragalla set down his pipe and lighter with a sigh.

‘He just vanished, with no warning. There was an incident with a woman, one of our guests.’

‘This happened just before he vanished?’

‘Around that time. I didn’t want to punish the boy but he disappeared all by himself. I’d been trying to get him to go to Luxor for some time. I wanted someone to keep an eye on operations down there. One day I got a call from him saying he was already there. I assumed he felt ashamed by what had happened. He’s not a bad kid but he’s a real loser. This is the thanks I get for trying to help family.’

‘You just let it be known that you had sent him there, as punishment for the business with that woman.’

‘One has to maintain authority, everyone knows that.’ Faragalla fiddled with his lighter.

‘How much trouble are you actually in?’

‘I’m sorry?’ The clicking stopped.

‘I mean financially,’ Makana said. ‘Yousef goes around the hotels bribing the managers to give you special rates. Most of the people employed out there can barely bring themselves to turn up for work. The number of tourists passing through your books is hardly enough to sustain a company this size.’

‘You see, this is what I was talking about. Your insolence! What gives you the right to start asking me questions? I’m the one who hired you, remember?’ He reached for the steel box and took out a bundle of notes which he tossed across the desk. ‘Here you are. This is what you came for isn’t it?’