Yussef.
The top of the page bore a crest with a rampant eagle and two scimitars. When Omar Yussef tried to read, his brain pitched and rolled and, in his stomach, the rough and tumble started again. He handed it to Khamis Zeydan. “I can’t. Please read it to me.”
“ The Saladin Brigades demand the release of the brother and struggler Bassam Odwan of Rafah. Corrupt forces in the ranks of Military Intelligence wish to transfer the guilt for their cruel crimes to the brother Odwan and the Saladin Brigades. The Brigades demand Odwan’s release in return for the freedom of the supposed UN official currently in the custody of the Brigades. The foreign UN official, who is under investigation for spying activities, will be handed over to the authorities in return for the release of Odwan. Odwan must be returned to his comrades in Rafah to continue his resistance against the Occupation. ” Khamis Zeydan folded the paper and put it on the nightstand. “There’s more of the usual sort of heroic verbiage, but that’s the essence.”
Omar Yussef gave an exasperated, furious exhalation. “What is this all about? Who the hell is Bassam Odwan?”
“Bassam Odwan was arrested for killing the officer who had the big funeral yesterday. You heard the officer’s comrades firing into the air during his funeral when you arrived at the hotel.”
Omar Yussef remembered the truck and the coffin draped in the Palestinian flag on the way into Gaza City. “Why did Odwan kill the soldier?”
“Odwan is a member of the Saladin Brigades.” Khamis Zeydan glanced at Sami. “Usually, the police don’t touch the Saladin Brigades. It’s the most powerful gang in the Gaza Strip. On this occasion, a Military Intelligence officer tried to arrest Odwan. Apparently Odwan didn’t want to be arrested and he killed the soldier.”
“What does that have to do with Magnus? And he isn’t a spy.”
“Don’t get excited about that accusation,” Khamis Zeydan said, laying his hand on Omar Yussef’s leg. “They can’t announce that they kidnapped a foreigner just to use him as a hostage. They have to make it look as though they did this to protect the Palestinian people.”
“We must find Magnus.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple.”
“What are you talking about?” Omar Yussef grabbed Khamis Zeydan’s arm.
“This needs to be handled at a senior level. Even if we could find out where they’re keeping Magnus, they wouldn’t just give him up after we knock quietly on the door. And if we take along the security forces, there’ll be one hell of a shootout. That’d be a lot more dangerous to Magnus than whatever they’re doing with him now. After all, this isn’t Iraq-they aren’t about to chop off his head.”
“Then we need to persuade whoever’s holding Odwan to let him go. After that, Magnus can be freed.”
“The commander of Military Intelligence, General Husseini, personally went to Rafah to coordinate Odwan’s arrest. Do you think he’ll just allow the killer to stroll away?” Khamis Zeydan grimaced. “Look, the Saladin Brigades run tunnels under the Egyptian border into Rafah to smuggle weapons into the Gaza Strip. A Military Intelligence officer named Lieutenant Fathi Salah tried to arrest Odwan, to stop the smuggling. Then Husseini paraded the coffin all over the Gaza Strip and put on a hero’s funeral for Salah, as a way of showing that his men make sacrifices to preserve law and order. He can’t just let Odwan go a day later.”
Omar Yussef pushed himself up onto his elbows. The dizziness spotted his vision with bright colors. “In the flyer, the Saladin Brigades claim Odwan is innocent. If Odwan killed Lieutenant Salah, we need to prove to the Saladin Brigades that their man is in the wrong. Or if someone else killed Lieutenant Salah, we can show General Husseini that Odwan’s not guilty. But we need to investigate, to find out the truth.”
“They really did hit you hard on the head. You’ve lost all sense of reality.”
The spots cleared from Omar Yussef’s eyes and he sat upright. “They knocked my head clean out of Gaza,” he said. “I’m thinking the way people think out there in the real world, not as they do in this madhouse.”
Khamis Zeydan shook his head and lit a Rothman’s.
“Don’t smoke in here,” Omar Yussef said. “I feel nauseous.”
Khamis Zeydan hesitated, stared at the cigarette, horrified to forgo its nicotine, then stubbed it into the ashtray by the bed. He drummed his fingers against the nightstand and jiggled his knee up and down. Omar Yussef thought it might be less irritating just to let the man smoke.
Cree took a swig of whisky. “I think you’re correct, Abu Ramiz. Your summary of our options is right on the nose.”
Khamis Zeydan stared at Cree, incredulously. “I’m not sure which one of you is more badly concussed.”
“They hit me at least twice, but I’d be willing to bet that I’ve got a thicker skull than Abu Ramiz.” Cree laughed and toasted Khamis Zeydan.
The Bethlehem police chief poured himself a drink from the bottle on the desk beside Cree. “Look, when you two were out cold, I confess that I had the same thought as you, Abu Ramiz. But I discussed the reality of what you’re suggesting with Sami. He understands Gaza best. That’s why I know your idea’s crazy.”
Omar Yussef put his hand on Sami’s lean forearm. “What’s he talking about?”
Sami grinned. His teeth were discolored but healthy, and it was a sympathetic smile. “I’ve heard from the guys in the Saladin Brigades that Lieutenant Fathi Salah had gone to meet Odwan late that night in Rafah when he was killed.”
“To meet him? Not to arrest him?”
“To meet. The Saladin Brigades people in Rafah wouldn’t tell me much, because I’m tight with their outfit here in Gaza City and there’s a big rivalry between the two wings,” Sami said. “But I managed to get a little information out of them. They’re adamant that Odwan didn’t kill Salah.”
“Who would have framed him?”
Sami shrugged and looked at Khamis Zeydan.
The Brigadier nodded. “There would be so many candidates, so many enemies for a man like Odwan. There are rival smugglers down in Rafah. Then the security forces, which want to make trouble so they can get bigger budgets. Gaza’s in a state of anarchy. You can see that from your window by the guard General Husseini has outside his home.”
“He has extra soldiers there tonight. I saw them arrive.”
Khamis Zeydan glanced at Sami. “These military men are all fighting for power,” Sami said. “Particularly General Husseini and Colonel al-Fara.”
“Sami, there’s a rivalry, you said, between the Saladin Brigades in Rafah and in Gaza City?” Omar Yussef frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“They’re the same organization in name alone, Abu Ramiz,” Sami said. “They’re arguing over the profits from weapons smuggled under the Egyptian border. Parts for missiles are the big thing at the moment. In Rafah, the Brigades leaders say that they’re the ones who bring in the weapons, so they should get the majority of the money. The Gaza City gang says it faces a greater risk of Israeli attack, so the big money should come to them.”
Omar Yussef took another drink of water. It no longer tasted cool like the mountains. It was lukewarm and there was a bitter aftertaste. He put his hand on Khamis Zeydan’s forearm. “It’s strange. When the gunman hit me on the head, I remembered what you told me in the breakfast room, about each crime in Gaza being connected to every other apparently separate offense. Could there be a connection between the case of Eyad Masharawi and Magnus’s kidnapping?”
Khamis Zeydan scoffed and drank his whisky.
“I was walking home from Professor Maki’s place,” Omar Yussef said. “The gunmen who did the kidnapping came down Maki’s street after me.”
“Are you saying the professor set up the kidnapping? Come on. Those same gunmen were here at the hotel while you were out,” Khamis Zeydan said.
“Here?”
“While you were still dining with Professor Maki, they came into the lobby. Sami was sitting there making eyes at the pretty receptionist, and he saw them come in a little after nine. Some of them spoke to the desk clerk and went upstairs. Then they left. Sami checked what they wanted. It turns out they asked the desk clerk what rooms the Swede and the other UN schools inspector were in.”
“We need to see this Odwan,” Omar Yussef said.
“You want to break him out of jail?” Khamis Zeydan said, pouring another glass of Scotch.
“We’ll have to ask General Husseini to let us interview him.”
