hair and a slouching curve to his back and neck. He looked around the room quickly, grimacing and touching his uneven front teeth with his tongue as though they pained him. Behind him came a smaller man in a blue baseball cap with skin almost as light as a European. He wore a rounded black beard and a black vest. Both carried M-16s across their chests, their right hands on the triggers, left hands low on the barrel ready to lift and fire. They came toward Sami and Omar Yussef, their heavy military boots resounding on the thin floor.
The restaurant owner went down the stairs.
Sami rose to greet the men. Omar Yussef held his hands tight to his sides, fighting the temptation to step forward and strike these murderers in their faces. Both men offered him their hands. He looked at the floor and gave them quick, light handshakes. The tall gunman’s shake was weak, but the smaller man’s hand was thick and hard against Omar Yussef’s palm. The tall man pulled out two chairs at the table where Omar Yussef and Sami were sitting and placed them far enough away to be out of reach.
Sami introduced Omar Yussef as the colleague of the UN official who had been killed. The shorter gunman flicked his eyes toward Omar Yussef. The irises were dark brown, surrounded by malevolent sclera the color of milky coffee.
The tall gunman cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, ustaz, for the death of your colleague. We acted upon instructions, but we were misled.” He coughed again. “I’m Walid Bahloul from here in the camp. This is the brother Khaled al-Banna, who’s also from the Saladin Brigades in Gaza City.”
The second man’s eyes twitched, as though his name shouldn’t have been disclosed.
“Why did you carry out this act against the UN?” Omar Yussef said. He concentrated on the taller gunman, Walid. His wet, gray eyes were less disconcerting and he seemed ready to talk.
“We really are sorry about the foreigner, ustaz,” Walid said. “We thought there would just be a driver or some local staff in the car.”
“Local staff? A Palestinian? Someone like me?” Reme mber what Sami said: cool it, Omar Yussef thought.
“It wasn’t an operation against the UN, in truth, ustaz,” Walid said. “It was a signal to the security forces to release our departed brother Bassam Odwan, may Allah be merciful to him.”
“But you already kidnapped Magnus Wallender and were holding him in return for Odwan’s freedom.”
“Who?”
“The Swede, also from the UN.”
“Him? That wasn’t us, ustaz.”
“Who was it?”
Walid looked nervously at Khaled, whose eyes were firmly on Omar Yussef.
“The Swede was taken by someone from Rafah,” Walid said.
“The Saladin Brigades from Rafah?”
“I don’t know. I think so.”
“But you aren’t sure?”
“Communication is difficult.” Walid’s smile was as weak as his handshake and he lifted his shoulders apologetically. “We took action against the UN car and killed your colleague, because we thought it would be a gesture to the Saladin Brigades in Rafah. To show that we were willing to perform drastic acts in support of their man Bassam Odwan.”
“You saw the leaflet that the Saladin Brigades put out after the Swede’s kidnapping? Demanding Odwan’s release in return for the Swede?”
“Yes.”
Omar Yussef was angry with these men for killing James, but now they were lying to him, as well. He raised his finger and pointed at the tall man. “You were just trying to show that if Rafah people invaded your turf in Gaza City to kidnap a foreigner, you could do a more spectacular job?”
Walid turned fully to Khaled. The second man didn’t look at him, but he licked his thick lips in the midst of his black beard and sniffed. “There’s no need for excuses,” Khaled said. “Walid is trying to make this sound nice, like we had fine motives. I don’t care what you think of me, I only want to be sure that I don’t end up carrying the can for this. So let’s cut the bullshit. We were paid to blow up the UN car.”
“By whom? Someone in Gaza City?” Omar Yussef was thinking of the Revolutionary Council people at the funeral and the order to kill him.
“No, he’s not from here. He’s a real bastard.”
“You don’t have real bastards in Gaza City?”
“We have people here with hard hearts and we have others here with shit for brains,” Khaled said. “But this guy’s the other way around. His head is hard and a dirty piece of shit throbs where his heart ought to be.”
Omar Yussef thought he might have liked Khaled, if the man hadn’t also been Cree’s killer. “Who is he?”
Khaled breathed deeply and wrinkled his nose. “Yasser Salah.”
“Yasser Salah paid you to kill the UN man?”
“He paid us to blow up the UN car.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Whoever was in the UN car was supposed to die.”
“Meaning me, too?”
Khaled shrugged. “He called us early yesterday afternoon. He said a UN car was on the way to the checkpoint. He told us he’d pay us to blow it up. He didn’t give us the passenger list.”
“That was a short deadline.”
Walid smiled, proudly. “We have the northern areas of the Saladin Road rigged with explosives permanently, in case the Israelis use it to invade Gaza again.”
Khaled hissed and raised his eyes briefly toward the ceiling. “So now you know what you need to know. We’re clear with you and you’ll square it with the UN?”
“You think I’m a decision-maker at the UN?” Omar Yussef said.
“Don’t fuck me about,” Khaled leaned forward. “They won’t know anything unless you want them to know it. We’re not big fish, either; we’ve been exploited in all this. You figure out how to keep us in the clear, or you’ll go the same way your colleague did.”
“I don’t know the whole story yet.”
“Yes, you do.” Khaled pushed out his bearded chin.
“I do not.” Omar Yussef scratched his mustache and narrowed his eyes to hold Khaled’s stare. “Why did the Saladin Brigades kill General Husseini?”
Khaled broke the stare with a humorless laugh. “The UN thing is your business. You’re entitled to know about it. Husseini’s another matter.”
“I think it’s connected and I want to know the truth.”
“You don’t think Gaza’s better off without that bastard?” Khaled said.
“That’s not my judgment to make. Why did you kill him?”
Khaled’s face was stern once more. “He killed our brother Bassam Odwan.”
“And he was coming after us,” Walid said. “At the Revolutionary Council last night, General Husseini said he knew that the Saladin Brigades killed the UN man and he vowed to bring us in for it.”
Omar Yussef glanced at Sami. He was smoking and watching the street, but he was listening. “Who told you that? Colonel al-Fara?”
The gunmen weren’t about to answer that. They both sniffed and coughed.
Omar Yussef touched the ends of his mustache, as though something unexpected had just occurred to him. “Do you know about the Saladin I?”
“The what?” Khaled asked.
“Never mind. Do you have any of the old Qassam missiles?”
“ Qassam missiles?” Khaled leaned forward. “Is the Saladin I a missile, as well? What do you want to know about missiles for?”
“It may be important.”
Khaled pulled his upper lip high toward his nose, as he breathed in. “We have some Qassams. We don’t use them much-it pisses off the Revolutionary Council leaders.”
“Why?”
