only a loin cloth.
Loz put his hand to his lips. ‘We will speak quietly. Karim is asleep.’ His hands returned to Khan’s leg. ‘We expected you two women, but not this person. Who is this, Foyzi?’
‘The man who had Khan tortured,’ said Foyzi. ‘He followed me here.’
‘That is interesting,’ said Loz. He let Khan’s foot down and stepped away from the bed. ‘We found that it was best to travel with Karim sedated. It has certainly helped his recovery, but he will no doubt wake in a short while, and then I think it will be good for him to meet the man responsible for his torture. It will be a pleasing symmetry, for him to see his persecutor killed. Now tell me who this is,’ he said, moving to Eva. ‘A nice erect posture and a firm, well-exercised figure.’
Eva returned his look with an absolute lack of fear and said nothing. Herrick absorbed Loz. He had started a beard, which gave a pronounced hook to his chin and he seemed to be thinner. The wild look she had seen in his eyes on the island had been replaced with what she thought was a rather self-satisfied calm.
He waved a remote at the CD player to silence the music. ‘Isis, who is this woman?’
‘I don’t know. She was trying to help me find this place. You should let her go. She has nothing to do with this.’
Foyzi handed him the passport and a piece of paper. Loz read out the name Raffaella Klein.
‘She’s an Israeli,’ said Foyzi.
Loz dropped the passport and paper and brushed his hands on his white shift, then adjusted the little white hat that signified he had undertaken the pilgrimage to Mecca during Haj. ‘She has everything to do with you, Isis. You see, we watch the comings and goings in my room.’ He pointed to a monitor sitting on a pile of telephone directories. The screen was divided between a view of the consulting room and one of the reception desks. They had watched everything for the last hour or so.
‘I wish now that I had asked Foyzi to install microphones also. But then we didn’t know we’d have such interesting visitors. ’ He looked at Herrick sharply. ‘Why did you come here?’
‘How did you get off the island?’ she shot back.
Loz placed his palm in the air as if holding a serving plate. ‘Foyzi helped us. I hired him on that last night on the island. British Intelligence was paying Mr Foyzi only a little money. I could pay a lot more. It’s as simple as that. It was Foyzi who gave me the idea of placing the bodies of the men he lost to suggest that we had all perished in the missile attack. It worked well, did it not? And then we were able to travel to Morocco and to Canada with very little trouble.’
‘To be picked up on the Canadian border by Youssef Rahe – the Poet?’ said Herrick.
‘Yahya. His name was Yahya al-Zaruhn. There was no one his equal. No one! And now he is dead, killed by British spies.’
‘Police actually,’ said Herrick. ‘But let’s not forget that Rahe had a man tortured and killed to make it look as though he had died. That’s hardly heroic.’
‘A traitor,’ said Loz. ‘A filthy Jewish spy.’
Herrick sensed Eva stiffen and realised that she must have known the man they were talking about. The Mossad had certainly been wired into the Rahe-Loz network from an early stage.
‘Sit down,’ he shrieked suddenly.
Foyzi waved the gun and they all sank to the floor. Herrick and Eva leaned against the wall while Gibbons sat upright with his legs crossed in front of him. Loz returned to Khan and began to stroke the backs of his legs. He seemed to have resolved to concentrate on the treatment, and for nearly an hour said nothing to them. Herrick let her eyes wander the room. Near the windows there was a bowl filled with candles, the flames shuddering in the draught from the window, and some dirty plates with the remains of a meal. Propped on the table was the Arabic inscription mentioned by Harland. There were also some books, a copy of the Koran and other texts. One, entitled Hadith Literature and the Sayings of the Prophet, was lodged in the seat of an elaborate new wheelchair that had evidently been purchased for Khan.
The three of them exchanged glances, but each time anything meaningful seemed to pass between them, Foyzi stirred himself from Herrick’s computer and gestured at them with the gun. At length, Loz stretched upwards, cracked his knuckles and moved away from Khan’s side towards the windows.
‘How long are you going to keep us here?’ asked Herrick.
‘Not now, please,’ he said. He seemed to be entranced by the passage of the storm, which had swept round to the south and was creating an astonishing display over the ocean.
Eventually, Herrick could stand it no longer and started to translate the framed inscription. ‘ “A man who is noble does not pretend to be noble, any more than an eloquent man feigns eloquence. When a man exaggerates his qualities it is because of something lacking in himself ”. ’ She paused. ‘Why does that mean so much to you?’
Loz did not turn round. ‘Because they were the first words spoken to me by Yahya, in the middle of a gunfight in Bosnia. Can you imagine that sort of presence of mind? Later, he gave me that to remind me of the friendship that was born in the moment all those years ago.’
‘But what about the last part of the quote?’ asked Herrick. She turned and read, ‘“Pride is ugly. It is worse than cruelty, which is the worst of all sins.” Hasn’t it occurred to you that the action you and Yahya planned in Europe for tomorrow constituted the very worst kind of cruelty – the killing and maiming of innocent men and women. The suffering is almost too great to imagine.’
He got up slowly and straightened his robe. ‘We are always like this,’ he said to Foyzi, as though explaining an old and cranky friendship.
‘Like what?’ she said. ‘Last time we laid eyes on each other you were trying to rape me. Tell Foyzi what you were doing in that bath-house when the missiles struck. I’m sure he has no idea you were attempting that.’
He moved across the room as quickly as a cat, seized her by the hair and banged her head rapidly against the wall five or six times. ‘Dirty white bitch lies,’ he said, still holding her hair. Suddenly Herrick was in the police interrogation room in Germany, where she was hurt in exactly the same way during the Intelligence Officers’ training course. Later, she had decided that it was being screamed at that she couldn’t stand, and so it was now.
Eva placed her hand on her shoulder and Gibbons threw her a look of sympathy. She prayed they realised she was pushing Loz for a reason.
‘That hurt,’ she said. ‘Why do you take such pleasure in hurting women? Is it because you fear them?’
Loz returned to Khan. ‘I do not, but sometimes it is necessary. ’
‘No, the truth is you’re a psychopath who thinks that because you heal people you are morally excused when it comes to hurting and killing. I suppose it’s a kind of God complex. The great Dr Loz dispensing kindness and random acts of cruelty and slaughter, with all the capricious will of God Almighty. I had heard of doctors playing God before, but I never dreamed I’d live to see one who actually thinks he’s God.’
Loz’s hands stopped moving and his gaze sought Foyzi’s. ‘Listen to that woman,’ he said despairingly. ‘It reminds you of every mother.’ Foyzi nodded and opened Isis’s Apple.
‘Is that your problem?’ she said. ‘Is that why you’re such a fucking psychological freak? A mother problem?’
His head turned to her and he lifted his upper lip to display a row of perfect white teeth, and picked at something in his mouth. ‘I have none of those problems. I am merely doing what must be done.’
‘But you’re not – all the men have been caught. Hadi Dahhak, Nasir Sharif, Ajami, Abdel Fatah, Lasenne Hadaya, Latif Latiah.’ She included names of people they knew had been to the Haj but had not been arrested. ‘Those men who were going to spread disease, and murder with explosives and poison, they’re all in jail.’
‘She’s clever, no?’ Loz said to Foyzi. ‘She thinks we do not know which ones are still at liberty. She thinks she can trick us. She is in love with trickery, this girl. But she doesn’t know how many soldiers we have in the field. She has no idea, which is why she comes snooping in the Empire State building. She comes to my building and pokes around with her friends.’
Foyzi nodded and walked over to the bed with the open laptop. Herrick caught a glimpse of the Bosnia picture.
‘This is very impressive,’ said Loz. ‘Where did you get this from?’
‘A British photographer.’
‘Yahya… Larry… myself. The Brothers. I must certainly have a copy.’
‘You can get one in the papers tomorrow.’
