Until that moment, Sameh had not known whether the officer even spoke English. But the policeman offered his hand and the words, “Major Hamid Lahm.”
“An honor, sir. Marc Royce. I am sorry to have caused you to wait.”
“Please. It is nothing.” Lahm’s English was heavily accented but understandable.
Marc said to Sameh, “It’s all arranged.”
Sameh was still sorting through which question to ask first when a wide-eyed officer popped into the corridor and almost shouted, “Major Lahm! You have a phone call! It is the Justice Minister himself!”
– – Sameh and Marc were ushered through the bullpen and into Major Lahm’s office. Tea was served while forms were filled. Major Lahm stopped by long enough to confirm that pressure from Washington had resulted in the justice minister offering them whatever assistance they might need. The officer then left to order the prisoner brought into an interrogation room. When they were alone, Sameh explained, “Major Lahm is far more than he appears.”
“Sort of like the highway,” Marc said. “The different names for things around here. There are lessons beyond the visible.”
“Precisely. Major Hamid Lahm is from a good Shia family. He is also a graduate of Baghdad University with a degree in criminology. He chose police work against his family’s wishes. For two reasons. First, because he liked the work. Second, because there were very few Shia policemen in the Saddam era, and Lahm wanted fairer treatment for his people.”
“Shia, as opposed to what?”
“Sunni. That discussion will need to wait for another time.”
“Fine.”
“For several years, Hamid Lahm was in charge of the police station near my home. I represented his cousin in a case involving a land dispute. We became friends. Lahm was promoted, and when war broke out, Lahm commanded a group similar to your SWAT teams.
“Immediately after Saddam’s defeat, all policemen were sacked. But the first Iraqis who entered the new bureaucracy urged the Americans to reconsider. The police were always very far down the chain of Saddam’s power structure. And the Iraqis desperately needed order. So the Americans permitted the former police to reapply, but only when a respected member of society would vouch for them.”
“You endorsed Major Lahm.”
“That is correct. But afterwards I never heard from him. In Arab society, such a silence is very strange. A debt like this is always acknowledged. I feared the worse.”
“He didn’t contact you because…”
“He is ashamed,” Sameh replied. “A senior officer who before handled the highest-profile cases is now assigned to work far below his abilities. He guards prisoners. It is a disgrace, a symbol of our nation’s current state of disrepair. But Hamid would not want to tell me this. After all, I was the one who helped him. Etiquette demands that he show me only gratitude.”
Marc looked through the glass wall, out to the bullpen. “There are two different kinds of men at work out there.”
Once again, this American surprised him. Though Marc was the newcomer to Sameh’s world, he had noticed something Sameh himself had missed. The majority of desks were taken by typical prison guards-overweight, tense and bored, and not particularly intelligent. The other group was something else entirely. Tight looks and taut frames and sharply creased clothes. Men who took pride in their appearance and their uniforms, even here.
Sameh said, “Major Lahm has obviously used new openings to give jobs to his old crew. At least now they have a way of feeding their families. They too no doubt share the major’s impossible mix of gratitude and shame.”
Marc turned around and faced the empty desk. “With all that hanging over him, it’s no surprise he hasn’t contacted you.”
– – The man was being held in the basement, which Major Lahm described as the prison’s secure wing. Lahm led them downstairs and into an interview chamber. A polished steel table was bolted to the floor. The chairs were plastic and new, the walls freshly painted. An air-conditioner pushed cool air through a pair of overhead vents. The lighting was new as well. Even so, Sameh stared at the painted metal door with its small wire-mesh window and could almost hear the screams emanating from years past. He did not want to be here. This was not his world.
The door opened and the prisoner shuffled into the room, cuffed and wearing ankle chains. Guards firmly gripped each arm. Major Lahm waited until the prisoner was manacled to the table, then motioned the guards outside. He locked the door and stood so his head blocked the window. Lahm said in Arabic, “You are welcome to begin.”
Sameh settled into the chair opposite the prisoner. Marc stationed himself beside Lahm. Sameh shifted his chair so the prisoner had the choice of either looking at him or at the major and the American. “My name is Sameh el-Jacobi. I am an attorney. By any chance have you heard of me?”
The prisoner did not speak. His file said he was Palestinian. He was of medium height and build. His belly hung slightly over the cloth tie holding up canvas trousers. He was in his late forties, with blunt fingers and callused hands. His face was flat and nearly an even circle. His nose was little more than a nub, like he had been struck with a frying pan during his formative years. He met Sameh’s eyes with a blank gaze. Sameh could understand how the family had trusted him. He looked the part of a gardener.
“We know you were employed by Hassan el-Thahie,” Sameh began. “Tomorrow he will come down and identify you as the gardener who vanished with his little son.”
Lahm interrupted with, “Perhaps we should offer the child’s father the chance to ask you where his son is located. Chain you to this same table, lock the door, and-”
“Please,” Sameh said. “Such discussion is unseemly. This man is well aware of what awaits him. A court case. Two, actually. One for the robbery that went wrong, another for the kidnapping of a child.”
“After that you will be my guest for the rest of your life,” Major Lahm said. “I will personally see that you are assigned to this cellar. I will also make it known to the other prisoners that you stole a young child.”
“But that is not going to happen,” Sameh said. “We have an offer for you. Tonight only. A very special proposition.”
The Palestinian spoke for the first time. His tone was as flat as his face. “I am not surprised that an empty bubayet like you has floated to the top of this scum.”
If Sameh had any doubt of the man’s heritage, it was gone now. A bubayet was a water flask. The expression was Palestinian, and it signified an individual who was utterly barren, a shell.
Major Lahm said, “Please do me the service of refusing my associate’s offer.”
“Our gardener is far too intelligent to allow that to happen,” Sameh said. He turned to Marc and continued in English, “Perhaps you should be the one to explain. I would imagine our guest speaks English. But I will translate to make sure he understands.”
Marc made a process of seating himself beside Sameh. “We have a car upstairs. It will drive you to the airport. A plane is waiting there. Your very own private jet. You will be loaded inside. The pilot will confirm that he has been instructed to fly you to Beirut. He will show you a flight manifest.”
The Palestinian’s impassive expression was momentarily fractured by the prospect of freedom. His gaze flickered back and forth between the three of them. “This is true?”
Major Lahm lifted his hands. “I cannot believe I agreed to such nonsense.”
Sameh said, “You already know what the price for this journey is. But my friend is now going to tell you anyway.” He said to Marc, “Finish your tale.”
Marc said, “You are going to tell me what I need to know. Where the child is located, and every detail you can give us about the setup. We will leave you on the jet and drive to where you tell us. We will rescue the boy. As soon as we are successful, we will call and you will be flown to Beirut.” Marc leaned back in his chair. “Or, if you prefer, you can remain here in this place with the interesting name.”
Sameh looked from the American to the prisoner and back again. It was impossible to say who had the harder expression.
Major Lahm caught his attention. The police officer said, “Sameh, I ask that you join me in the hallway.”
“We are not finished-”
