The Gods' Gambit (14 page)

“I’m sorry. I don’t know where it is,” Elizabeth responded
and reached out to close the door.

“I was told it’s near the bus station,” the man said and
came closer.

“Getting to the bus station is easy. You need to turn left,
continue up the hill and follow the signs. It’s about a couple—” She never
finished the sentence.

The man swiped at her face. There was something shiny in his
hand.

That’s a knife,
flashed through Elizabeth’s mind. She
reacted instinctively but was not quick enough. The shiny object in the man’s
hand was not a knife but a knuckle-duster. The blow landed on the left side of
her jaw. She hit the car and fell to the ground. The attacker swiftly looked
round, picked up her motionless body and bundled her into her car. Using duct
tape, he tied her legs and arms and pushed a rag into her mouth. He then picked
up the smartphone, which he had dropped, and the key to Elizabeth’s car, got
into the driver’s seat and drove off, followed closely by the other car.

Algiers, Algeria

Irina had gone down to the hotel’s lobby and sat in an
armchair near the reception desk to wait for James. James noted from a distance
how much the green scarf she was wearing suited her. He had recommended that
she wear a scarf in reverence to sheikh Mussa Hussein with whom Halil had
arranged a meeting that morning.

James approached Irina with the intention of complimenting
her, but she stood up and wagged a finger at him. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t
mention it,” she said.

“I’m sorry if you don’t like my idea, but I think it’ll be
helpful to wear it. It’s up to you,” said James.

“Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate your advice. It’s just
that this piece of cloth reminds me of the inequality of women in some parts of
the world.”

Halil’s black car was waiting for them at the hotel
entrance.

“Good morning. That head cloth suits you very much, Miss
Bellin,” said Halil while they were taking their seats. James could not hide
his smile.

Halil crossed the Port Said square driving north. After half
an hour of zigzagging through the busy traffic, he stopped close to a coffee
shop full of customers.

“Knut Vebber was found dead in the service area at the back
of this coffee shop,” he said. “One of our patrols spotted that the door had
been forced. They ran into the killers inside. We were very busy then because
of the civil unrest. We were all on the streets.”

“How far is it to the place where Knut Vebber was last seen
before being ambushed?” asked Irina.

“Two streets off on the left. It’s the zawiya we’re going to
visit now.”

“A zawiya is a residency of a Sufi leader. That’s where the
Sufi adepts normally gather,” James explained to Irina.

Halil parked in the main road because it was impossible to
drive down the narrow street, which was packed with motorbikes. The Sufi school
was a two-storey house situated at the end. Three young men stood at its
entrance and watched them approach. Halil exchanged a few words with them
before signalling to James and Irina to follow him.

Sheikh Mussa Hussein, accompanied by another man wearing a
white turban, met them in a smallish room containing a long narrow sofa and a
small table upon which was a steaming Turkish coffee pot and cups. The sheikh
offered them seats and coffee and chatted in Arabic with Halil.

“I told him about you and why you’re here,” Halil explained.

The sheikh said something.

“He told the police everything they needed to know,” Halil
translated.

“We read his statement. It would help if he tells us more
about Knut. What kind of man was he? What were his intentions? Who were his
friends?” said Irina.

Halil translated sheikh Mussa’s answer. “He was a sincere,
wise man. He was open to receiving knowledge. The sheikh valued him highly
because of his personal qualities and took pleasure in meeting him. The death
of Knut hurt him a lot. Knut didn’t have friendships here in the ordinary
sense.”

“He didn’t have friends because he kept himself to himself?”
Irina asked.

“Because he didn’t care about things most people consider
valuable.”

“Maybe he had a disagreement with somebody. Was he worried
about something?”

“No. The sheikh has told the police all that already.”

“Maybe sheikh Mussa can remember something odd about Knut
Vebber’s behaviour, something which a true Muslim wouldn’t approve of?” James
asked.

“No. He says that Knut discussed with him the possibility of
becoming a Rahmania murid …” Halil struggled to find the right word in English.
“Er … an apprentice.”

“He wanted to join the Rahmania Sufi Order as a novice. The
sheikh’s school belongs to that Order,” James explained in response to Irina’s
questioning look. “Rahmania is the most widespread Sufi Order in Algeria. It
was founded around 1770 by Mohamed Ibn-al-Rahmani from whom its name is
derived.”

The sheikh stared at James for a while and then exchanged a
few sentences with Halil.

“Sheikh Mussa says that you know a lot of the prophet’s
message,” said Halil.

“The sheikh estimates my humble knowledge of that vast
matter too highly,” James responded. “I’d like to talk about Knut’s intention
to join the Order. He would have needed to be converted to Islam before that
could happen.”

“He had considered making that step and didn’t hide his
intention.”

“So the motive for his murder was not fate,” Irina noted.

“Nobody who had known him here would have had grounds to
kill him. People liked Knut. Baraka – the spark of God’s grace – was shining
within him.” Halil raised his eyebrows in astonishment at the sheik’s next
words. “The sheikh says that Baraka shines in you, too, Mister Whiteway.”

“I’m flattered. It’s my understanding that we’re all
children of God and carry a spark of Him.”

The sheikh turned to Halil and spoke quickly.

“Sheikh Mussa has duties. It’s time for us to go. He asks if
you want to see Knut’s notebook. The police checked it but didn’t show further
interest.”

“Of course,” said Irina.

“You must come tomorrow at the same time. The notebook is
not with him now.”

“We’ll be here. Thank him, please,” said James.

* * *

Halil left Irina and James at a French restaurant not far
from the hotel. Irina asked him if he could be available again later that
afternoon. She wanted to discuss with James alone the information they had
gained so far and a plan for future action. They sat at a table near a window
with a view of the sea and the port.

“Knut Vebber could have been killed by Islamic xenophobes
who accidentally came across him,” Irina began.

“Or by cult members,” James added.

“Yup. The first hypothesis seems the less likely one.”

“The police report says that Knut spoke Arabic very well. He
didn’t look like a typical German – he had black curly hair and dark eyes. He
could very well pass as a local on the street. Hence, it’s unlikely he would
have been picked up by chance,” James reasoned.

“The second hypothesis makes most sense if the killers were
local cult members. They would officially be Muslims but would in reality hate
Islam. They may have chosen Knut Vebber with opposite motives to what we
thought. Although, indirectly, what sheikh Mussa said about Knut Vebber’s
personality supports that.”

“I think both murders – Vebber’s and Costov’s – are quite
tangled. Also, in both cases the perpetrators covered their traces very well.”

“Let’s say that both were done by the same organization. The
similarity in style is logical.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t believe we’d obtain any serious evidence
against the cult here. We’re dealing with a cold case in a foreign country
where our hands are bound.”

“We’ll crack the Costov case. That’ll lead us to the cult.
However, I’ve a feeling we’ll get something here, too.”

“We’ve already done well linking the two cases.”

“More than well. It gives me access to more Interpol
resources—” Irina stopped because James’ mobile phone started ringing.

“Sorry,” he said.

His face paled as he listened to the voice on the other end.
“I’ll take the first flight … I’ll be home tonight. Don’t worry. I’m sure
she’ll have called by then.” He was trying to sound confident. He ended the
call and turned to Irina. “My fiancée has disappeared,” he said with a
hollow voice and stood up. “I’m going home.”

Surrey and Hampshire, UK

From early morning until afternoon, James and Lao hung
Elizabeth’s picture with a caption reading ‘Missing person – please help!’ in
as many places round the Whiteway Estate as they could. The night before, James
had called all of her acquaintances. He and Lao had driven along all the
possible routes she could have used between Haslemere and their home. They had
checked side roads, roadside parking areas and ditches alongside the roads.
They had walked in torchlight in the forest and had checked every parked car.
Malee, who had come from London immediately after Elizabeth’s disappearance,
had stayed near the phone. She and James had periodically contacted the police,
who were also looking for Elizabeth. So far, they had found nothing.

Driving slowly through Haslemere’s streets, James peered at
the people and at the passing cars. He hadn’t slept a wink since he had
returned from Algeria, but he didn’t feel tired. He was trying to ignore any
bad thoughts as they appeared. He wanted to believe that Elizabeth had been
kidnapped. Yet he found it increasingly difficult to continue to ignore other
possible outcomes. He knew that every minute that passed worked against the
assumption that she had been abducted for a ransom.

In the next half hour, first Lao – who had already gone back
to the estate – then Malee called, asking him to come back home. James decided
to listen to them. It made sense to stop for a while for a rest and rethink the
situation.

* * *

He headed straight for his study, rejecting Pema’s call for
him to have some lunch on the way. The last thing he could think about was
eating. In the study, he picked up the phone and called detective Stockton, who
was in charge of the investigation. There was nothing new. James got one more
dose of assurance that the police were working intensively. The second
conversation he had was with Elizabeth’s parents.

He had just hung up when Pema and Malee entered the study.
Pema was carrying a bottle of mineral water.

“I worry about you. No food. When did you drink water last?”
Pema filled a glass and handed it to James. He automatically gulped it,
realizing how thirsty he was. “I left a meal for you on the kitchen table. Eat
it,” Pema added.

“Mama, would you leave us alone, please,” Malee asked. She
waited until her mother had gone and closed the door. She then stepped towards
James, her eyes lowered. She fidgeted her hands as if she didn’t know where to
put them.

 “What is it, Malee?” James asked. He recognized her
typical gesture of embarrassment, but couldn’t understand what was making her
feel like that.

“I don’t know how to tell you, James.” She started to
interweave her fingers. “I’m afraid.”

For an instant, James started. He thought she knew something
about Elizabeth. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that. Please, take
a seat.” He sat and offered her the chair next to him. “Tell me.”

Malee sighed deeply as she sat down. “Some days ago I had a
premonition about her, but didn’t tell her.”

“You saw a threat to her in the future? Is that it?”

“Yes. It was unclear, dubious. I was afraid to go further
into it, but maybe I should have. Maybe I would have seen something more
concrete. I …” Malee suddenly tailed off and started crying.

James gave her a hug. “No need to torture yourself like
that. You’re not responsible for … this.”

“I told her to be careful but didn’t explain why. If I’d
told her about that bad sign she would have taken it seriously.” Malee was
sobbing.

“Calm down, Malee. You’re a good friend of hers. You did
what a friend would do,” James said softly.

“I hope she’s well wherever she might be,” Malee whispered.

“She knows we’re looking for her. Try to remember something
that could give us a lead. Even the smallest thing. Something unusual she may
have said to you. We need to be focused on that,” James said.

“I’m thinking constantly, but nothing comes up. There are
many police officers and friends looking for her. I pray somebody finds her.”

“I’ll talk with your parents again. Maybe they can remember
something. Lao and I must map more routes and check them.”

Both stood up and walked towards the kitchen, where Lao and
Pema were waiting.  The doorbell rang, echoing loudly in the silent house.

“I’ll see who it is,” said James.

Malee watched him walk to the door and open it. Her face
went pale when she saw detective Stockton and a female police constable
standing on the doorstep. The detective spoke to James in a low voice. James
listened in silence, interrupting him just once with a short question. When
they had left, James slowly and carefully closed the door and turned around.
The question Malee wanted to ask him stuck in her throat. She already knew the
answer. The worst had happened.

“They’ve found a woman answering Elizabeth’s description in
the forest. Several miles away. Dead.” James spoke lifelessly.

Malee let out a moan and leaned against the wall. “Oh no!
Maybe it’s not her.”

“Her car was found nearby. There’s no hope,” James added in
a low voice.