“It was not something to talk about in public, not something to set exams about,” Umm Rateb said.
“It’s more than that,” Salwa said. “It became personal.”
“Between Eyad and Professor Maki?” Omar Yussef said.
“Worse.” Salwa waved her hand. “Colonel al-Fara.”
“Bloody hell,” said Cree.
“Who’s that?” Wallender asked.
“The head of the plainclothes police. One of the most powerful men in Gaza and certainly one of the nastiest bastards you’ll ever come across.” Cree slapped his thigh. “He’s tortured more prisoners than you’ve had pickled herring and Aquavit, Magnus.”
“James,” Omar Yussef said, flicking his eyes toward Salwa.
Cree looked at the woman’s solemn face. “Sorry, dear,” he said, with a little cough.
Salwa nodded, but her mouth was tense. She shivered slightly before she continued. “Professor Maki told my husband that he had embarrassed him in front of Colonel al-Fara. As you point out, Mister Cree, that’s not a favorable situation in which to find oneself in Gaza these days. With men like Maki and al-Fara, all kinds of politics are involved which, as I told my husband, he couldn’t possibly know about.”
“Shouldn’t the head of the university protect academic freedom?” Wallender asked.
Salwa and Umm Rateb shared a glance that suggested the Swede might as well have dropped in from Mars. “Professor Maki didn’t become head of the university because he’s a notable academic. Rather, it was because he’s involved in politics,” said Salwa. She turned once more to Umm Rateb, who nodded with grim approbation. “He’s a member of the Fatah Party’s Revolutionary Council and very senior in the PLO. So is Colonel al-Fara. No doubt many secret deals could be strained by a conflict between them. I warned my husband they would need a scapegoat to allow them to patch up their differences.”
“After he was suspended, what did your husband do?” Wallender asked.
“He should have waited until next year and the suspension would have been lifted, when everyone had forgotten about what he did. But he went to one of the human-rights organizations, which has campaigned against corruption. They decided to make this an issue of academic freedom. They wrote to Professor Maki about my husband’s case.”
Omar Yussef felt a darkness enveloping him. He thought of this woman’s impulsive husband, determined and arrogant. Those aloof eyes in the photo were too proud for Gaza, debased as it had become. To live here, you would have to accept the shadows, swelter in airless rooms, choke on your resentment.
“They also wrote to Colonel al-Fara,” Salwa said.
Omar Yussef knew where that letter must have led. The boy returned with a tray of small glasses filled with mint leaves and dark tea. Omar Yussef saw a flicker of fear on Salwa’s face and her lips tightened, as though the boy before her were in as much danger as her husband. Naji set a cup before Omar Yussef and glanced at the open file on the older man’s knees. Omar Yussef reached for the tea. His hand shook and he withdrew it. His pulse raced.
“Did Colonel al-Fara make any reply to the letter from the human-rights group?” Cree said.
“The arrest was his reply,” Salwa said.
“You said they asked for his papers,” Omar Yussef said. “We can see from the empty shelf that he gave them the papers they wanted. Why did they arrest him, as well?”
“The policemen insulted him. I heard one of them say that the papers looked very suspicious and that they would need to interrogate him about them. Eyad lost his temper and shouted at them. I’m sure they wanted to provoke him, so they could arrest him.”
“Where were you?” Omar Yussef asked.
“I was upstairs. As I came down, I saw them taking Eyad through the door of this room and out of the front of the house. He was in handcuffs and one of them made him bend forward as he walked, pushing his neck down. I called out to him, but an agent stood at the bottom of the stairs and refused to let me pass.”
Omar Yussef heard the desperation of that moment even now in Salwa’s voice. “They were Preventive Security agents?”
“Yes. They wore leather jackets, even though it wasn’t cold. They took Eyad through the garden and went away very quickly.”
“Did anyone tell you why he was arrested?”
“First thing this morning I went to their local office. They told me Eyad was held at their headquarters in the south of the city. They said he was being investigated, that perhaps he worked for the CIA.”
“The CIA?” Cree shouted.
“That’s right.”
“Jesus Christ, they’re aiming for the bloody top.” Cree clapped his hands. “No messing around with piddling accusations of collaboration with the Israelis here. No, he’s a big CIA hotshot. Christ.”
Salwa drew herself straight. Her voice was soft and precise. “I agree, Mister Cree. If my husband is a spy, then take him to Palestine Square and shoot him, I told them. But he should be put on trial first. There should be justice.”
“They didn’t mention a trial to you?” Omar Yussef said.
Salwa shook her head.
Cree scoffed and waved his hand. “Trial? No chance.”
Magnus Wallender looked up from his notes. He rested his elbow on his knee and rubbed his short beard. “Your husband will have the backing of the United Nations, Umm Naji. We will see to it that he’s freed or, at least, allowed to have a fair trial. We will work with all our contacts here in the government, and we will inform our diplomatic representatives.”
“Thank you,” said Salwa.
Omar Yussef sensed the meeting was at a close. His hand felt steady enough to lift the glass of tea from his side table. He put it to his lips and took a sip.
Umm Rateb sat forward. “Perhaps, Mister Wallender, you will visit Professor Maki at the university to discuss the case?”
“Yes, Umm Rateb, I think we shall.”
“Leave it a few hours,” the plump woman said. “He was in Rafah this morning, and he’ll go home for lunch and a siesta before he goes to the office. You will find him there after four or four-thirty. Go to the main entrance of the university and ask directions from there.”
“Thank you.”
Umm Rateb stood, resting her weight on one leg and pushing out that hip. Omar Yussef liked the way she held herself. “Salwa, I have to go and prepare lunch for my family. I’ll talk to you later.”
Salwa stood and kissed Umm Rateb’s round cheek.
Umm Rateb smiled at Omar Yussef, showing the teeth in her wide mouth. “I’ll meet you later today, Abu Ramiz.”
Omar Yussef was taken aback. Had she sensed his attraction to her? Could she be propositioning him in front of these people? His hand shook and dropped splashes of tea onto the manila file and the crotch of his trousers.
Wallender covered Omar Yussef’s embarrassment. “At the university, Abu Ramiz. Umm Rateb is Professor Maki’s secretary, you remember.”
“You will have to pass my desk to reach his office,” Umm Rateb said.
Omar Yussef put down his tea and cleared his throat, composing himself. “If Allah wills it,” he said.
Chapter 3
Omar Yussef heard gunfire as the UN Suburban pulled down the drive of the Sands Hotel. Wallender looked toward him nervously. The guns sounded close, short resonant bursts.
“You boys get nice and comfy here and I’ll pick you up later this afternoon on my way to the university,” Cree said. He winked at Omar Yussef, and the UN car spun in the drive and left.
