The Samaritan's secret

“We must thank Allah, because that really puts my mind at rest,” said Mareh, mocking and scornful. He raised his weapon. “But you’ll understand that I need to put you to rest, too.”

Omar Yussef’s neck muscles quivered with fear, but he took another step toward the assault rifle. “How is this civil war between Fatah and Hamas going to benefit you or your people in the casbah?”

“Awwadi’s family is about to attack mine. I’m striking first.”

“You’re doing Kanaan’s bidding, that’s all. This isn’t really about a family feud. You’re a slave to that rich bastard.”

Mareh said nothing, but something hardened in his deep brown eyes and betrayed his boss to Omar Yussef.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

Mareh cursed.

“Watch your tongue in front of the child,” Omar Yussef said.

“Nasty words won’t be the worst thing she learns today.” Mareh leaned close and grinned.

Omar Yussef smelled cardamom on the man’s breath. “Kanaan sent you to beat up Sami Jaffari, too.”

“I was the one who slapped you.” Mareh smiled broadly. “Little Grandpa.”

Omar Yussef quivered with rage. He heard Nadia’s feet shuffle, nervously. His knees jerked back and forth and his jaw trembled. He raised his hand and slapped Mareh’s face.

It was a feeble blow, but the gunman stared at him, astonished and affronted. Mareh’s lips tightened. He braced his rifle against his hip and shoved the barrel into the schoolteacher’s belly.

Omar Yussef shut his eyes. He heard a shot. Nadia screamed. Then he looked.

Mareh squirmed on the ground with a bullet wound in his neck. The gunman pressed his hands to his throat, but blood spewed through his fingers.

Khamis Zeydan came breathlessly to Omar Yussef’s side. Nadia rushed to hold her grandfather tight once more.

“You shot him?” Omar Yussef asked.

The police chief grunted and pointed over his shoulder.

“I’m not so good with my left hand, Abu Ramiz.” Sami holstered his gun. “That’s why the bastard’s still struggling.”

Omar Yussef’s legs were weak. “Sami, Nadia mustn’t. .”

The young policeman beckoned to them. As Omar Yussef rounded the corner, Khamis Zeydan stood above Mareh. Nadia shuddered when she heard the shot.

Khamis Zeydan followed them into the alley.

“You just finished him off?” Omar Yussef whispered, his eyes wide.

“Because slapping him in the face like a girl won’t stop him trying to kill you again.” Khamis Zeydan grabbed Omar Yussef’s elbow. “Come on, he saw Sami shoot him. He saw me, too. If he’d lived, he’d have been after all of us. I prefer to share my secrets only with the dead.”

“What were you doing here?”

“Sami and I got hungry for some qanafi, so we thought we’d join you.”

Omar Yussef recoiled when Khamis Zeydan turned his eyes on him. The habitual blithe confidence of the police chief’s gaze, his ability to be at once as hard as nails and yet to take nothing seriously, was gone. In its place a naked wildness oscillated. He hauled Omar Yussef along the passage.

Nadia was pale and she whimpered with every gunshot that echoed through the casbah.

Sami was right about Ishaq’s murder, Omar Yussef thought. The amount of money involved is so great, it was bound to interest powerful people who would pay someone like Mareh to take my life without hesitation. I ignored Sami and I exposed my sweet Nadia to the killing of a man. And still I’m not safe, just because Mareh’s out of the way. They’ll send someone else.

I have to get to them first.

At the bottom of Sami’s stairwell, Omar Yussef leaned on the metal banister, exhausted and wheezing. Nadia mounted the first flight of steps. “Come on, Grandpa, hurry.” He waved her on, but she stayed where she was, until he followed her.

In Sami’s apartment, Maryam hugged Nadia and gave Omar Yussef a look of reproach and concern. He puffed out his cheeks, thrust open the bathroom door and let himself down onto his aching knees. He gripped the cold rim and vomited.

Chapter 24

Though the assault weapons in the casbah splintered the quiet, the women fell asleep in the bedroom, where they had gone to comfort Nadia. Omar Yussef drowsed on the black leather couch. The chase through the old town with his granddaughter disturbed his dreams. He plunged back into the panic he had felt when he had let go of Nadia’s hand. Shivering with desperation, he awoke, gasping, detecting cardamom on the air and fearing that Mareh wasn’t dead after all.

Khamis Zeydan watched him from an armchair, tapping his pinkie on the leather.

Omar Yussef’s breath was quick. A shot sounded close to the apartment block and he let out a frightened grunt.

“Sami ought to have bought an apartment that was less noisy,” Khamis Zeydan said. “After his marriage, he’ll find the nightlife of the casbah too exciting for a steady family man.”

In the kitchen, Sami boiled a pot of coffee. At least that’s the source of the cardamom, Omar Yussef thought. I must have smelled it in my sleep. He shuddered at the thought of the gunman’s breath, hot and sweet on his face.

“I couldn’t afford Amin Kanaan’s neighborhood,” Sami said. “Not on a policeman’s salary.”

“Serves you right for being an honest policeman,” Khamis Zeydan said. “You should accept some bribes.”

“As a police officer, I have a good role model.” Sami smiled at Khamis Zeydan. The police chief waved a dismissive hand at him.

Omar Yussef’s sons had arrived while he slept.

Ramiz sat on the edge of the sofa, biting his knuckle and sucking on the mouthpiece of a nargila, his eyes nervous. The water rumbled in the glass bulb at the bottom of the nargila.

Zuheir held himself taut and upright on a dining chair, his elbows close to his sides, his hands folded on his lap, watching his brother.

Another volley of gunfire rattled through the casbah.

Ramiz exhaled a blue cloud of nargila smoke. He offered his brother the brightly striped pipe.

“What’re you smoking?” Zuheir sniffed. He grimaced at the fruity odor of the smoke. “That’s Bahraini apple tobacco. I’m not touching that cheap crap. Why don’t you get something good?”

Ramiz shrugged. “I was in Amman last month and I found nargila tobacco scented with something called ‘Frappuccino.’ Whatever that is.”

“Foreign nonsense, that’s what. The oldest tradition is to flavor the tobacco with roses, and that’s how it should continue. Isn’t that right, Dad?”

Omar Yussef stared at his sons. “I dreamed that I lost Nadia.”

Ramiz sucked on the nargila.Water rumbled in the pipe.

A low crack resonated out of the casbah. “Grenade,” Khamis Zeydan muttered.

“I don’t know why you can’t just hang around the hotel and chat with the other wedding guests, Dad,” Ramiz said, irritably. “Why must you always take these risks?”

“Your father is on the trail of some big money,” Khamis Zeydan sneered. “Somehow he seems not to have grasped that there are sure to be some nasty types trying to get to it before him.” He looked hard at Omar Yussef. “Your friend Amin Kanaan wanted to get you out of the way, before you could help the World Bank woman find the