“One moment the boy was indoors playing with his sisters,” Sameh said. “The next he slipped from the murabiah ’s grasp and flew out the door. By the time she was able to follow him outside, he was already a tragic statistic.”
Those waiting their turn played the choir, shaking their heads and bemoaning Baghdad’s lawless state. Kidnapping had become a favorite tool of criminals. The banks and businesses all employed armed guards.
Despite himself, Omar was ensnared by the tragic drama. “How old is the boy?”
“Four,” Sameh replied. “Today is his birthday.”
“This is the truth? The kidnappers stole him away from his celebration?”
“You know me,” Sameh replied. “I do not lie.”
“It is true,” several murmured. “Sameh is the most honest man in Baghdad.”
“But I am just a clerk,” Omar said, palms raised. “What can I do?”
“The family’s gardener vanished the same day as the child,” Sameh said.
The choir went silent.
Sameh said, “The murabiah is the mother’s aunt; she has arthritis and is overweight. Even so, she claims it took her less than three minutes to follow the boy outside. Perhaps a carload of criminals happened to pass at this same moment. But neighbors do not recall seeing a car, and the street in front of their home is a quiet one. I wonder if perhaps the gardener had been waiting for just such an opportunity.”
The clerk said, “You want to know if the gardener has a record.”
“It is possible, no? One of Saddam’s parting gifts to Baghdad.”
This drew a knowing murmur from the audience. In the closing days before the war, Saddam had released all violent criminals from prison. Why, no one knew. Even the members of his cabinet had been baffled by the action.
Sameh went on, “Perhaps the man decided to use the recent chaos as an opportunity to improve his economic position.”
Omar pursed his lips. “I suppose it is possible. But to discover this would be most difficult. So many of our archives from the Saddam era have been either lost or destroyed.”
Sameh knew the man was asking for a bribe. But Sameh was one of a growing number of people who felt corruption should die with the old regime. He said, “You wish they had all been destroyed. But they were not. So could you request a search of those we still have? Please, brother. For the sake of a lost and frightened child.”
Omar obviously realized that argument would do him no good. Sameh el-Jacobi was known far and wide as a man who stubbornly refused to offer a sweetener.
The clerk sighed noisily, wrote hastily, and tore the coveted slip from his pad. He handed it over without meeting Sameh’s gaze. “For the child.”
“I and the child’s parents offer our deepest thanks.”
Sameh bowed to Omar. He shook hands with the other petitioners, accepting their best wishes in finding the child. He walked down the long hall to the central file office. Behind the counter, file clerks clustered about the few functioning computers and avoided even glancing toward anyone seeking help.
The office’s lobby area was filled with people long used to waiting on bureaucracy. They formed a sort of club, bound together by grim humor. People slipped out for a smoke, supposedly forbidden during Ramadan, and returned. There was humor about that. Even after twenty-three days of daylight fasting, still the banter continued. Sameh was greeted as a member in good standing. A space was made for him on one of the hard wooden benches lining the walls. Sameh asked how long the wait was. Even this was cause for laughter. Days, a lawyer replied. Weeks, another responded. The old man seated next to Sameh said he had been there since the previous Ramadan.
But this day, Sameh was fated not to wait at all.
– – A few moments after Sameh settled himself, two men stepped into the room. Instantly the lobby’s atmosphere tensed. Like all bodyguards to Baghdad’s power elite, the pair wore dark suits and light-colored shirts and no ties. But these two also had closely trimmed beards. Which meant they guarded a religious official. All talk on both sides of the counter ceased.
The vizier, the personal aide to the Grand Imam, entered behind them. Respectful murmurs arose, hushed greetings. The vizier looked thoroughly displeased to be here. Which was hardly a surprise. During Ramadan, such officials rarely took on anything other than the most important religious duties. For the vizier to personally come to the courthouse indicated a most serious matter.
The bodyguards pointed in Sameh’s direction. The vizier’s features twisted in bitter lines. “You are the lawyer el-Jacobi?”
The use of surnames was relatively new to Arab culture. After the First World War, Ataturk had ordered it in his drive to westernize the Turks. Over the last century most Arabs had reluctantly adopted the practice, taking the name of their family’s home village or a trade or the name of one of the Prophet’s descendants. Sameh’s grandfather had adopted the first name of a famous forebear, Jacobi, a powerful minister during the Ottoman Empire. Sameh bore his surname with pride.
Before Sameh could respond, a fourth man entered. This time everyone rose to their feet. Their greetings were both grave and loud. Jaffar was the Grand Imam’s son, the heir apparent, and a recognized imam in his own right.
The word imam meant “one who stood before others.” An imam was generally recognized as both a scholar and religious leader. The Imam Jaffar spent a few minutes circulating among the waiting group, greeting each in turn, including the clerks who now clustered by the front counter. But his gaze repeatedly returned to Sameh.
Sameh knew Jaffar’s father, the religious leader of Iraq’s Shia population, which was the majority of Iraq’s Muslim community. The Shia formed a majority only in Iraq, Iran, and Bahrain. In the rest of the world, they were not just a minority, but persecuted. Saddam Hussein’s regime had been Sunni by heritage. The Shia under Saddam had suffered immensely, along with the Christians.
Jaffar’s father was part of an august Persian dynasty that traced its heritage back to the Prophet. Unlike many of the current generation of Shia scholars, Jaffar considered himself utterly Arab, endearing him to the local populace. Jaffar was also fluent in Farsi, the language of Iran, out of respect to his father and the family dynasty. This had forged alliances among the conservatives.
Sameh had never met the man before. But Sameh held great hopes for his country under Jaffar’s religious guidance. The father was ailing and not expected to live long. Sameh would never have prayed for a man’s demise. But he looked forward to the day Jaffar became leader of the Shia community.
Those sentiments were not shared by the father’s vizier. Sameh had never met this man either, but his first encounter confirmed everything he had heard. The vizier directed the same hostility toward Jaffar as he aimed at Sameh.
Jaffar had made no attempt to hide his plans to institute changes as soon as he officially became Iraq’s chief cleric. And the first change would be to retire the vizier.
The vizier controlled access to the Grand Imam and held enormous power. Jaffar never spoke of what he thought of the vizier. He did not need to. Everyone knew the vizier’s days were numbered.
Jaffar now approached Sameh with his hand upon his heart, a gesture of deep respect. “Sayyid.”
Even the vizier was surprised by this manner of address. Sameh himself was staggered. Sayyid was used by devout Muslims to denote a distinguished superior. It was ironic for Jaffar to address Sameh in this manner, as sayyid was the term most often used to describe Jaffar himself. What was more, Sameh was known throughout Baghdad as a devout Christian. Yet the imam addressed him as he would another religious leader. Throughout the room, eyes went round.
“Sayyid,” Jaffar repeated, shaking Sameh’s hand. “A matter of great import has arisen.”
“How might I be of service to the honored teacher?”
Jaffar gestured toward the door. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to accompany me?”
Sameh was too skilled a negotiator to let such an opportunity slip by. He grimaced with regret and raised his voice. “Unfortunately, honored sir, I also have a matter that cannot wait. A child has been kidnapped. The information I seek could be of crucial importance. Both for the child and his family.”
Jaffar’s eyes glimmered with understanding. He turned to the others and said, “Good sirs, I am in great need of this man’s services. Would you grant me a Ramadan boon and allow him the first place in line?”
From that point, the inquiry took on a dreamlike ease. Sameh approached the counter, where eight file clerks
