The Fourth Assassin

found the mute button and silenced the television.

“Greetings, ustaz Abu Ramiz.” The hearty voice sounded distant on the crackling phone line.

“Hamza? Double greetings. How’re you?”

“Thanks be to Allah. May Allah bless you, dear ustaz Abu Ramiz.”

“His blessings be upon you. What time is it where you are?”

“It’s six in the morning in New York, but I’ve been up all night. We’ve busted the Islamic Jihad drug-trafficking ring.”

“Congratulations.”

“A thousand congratulations to you, my dear friend.”

“Why to me?”

“It was your discovery of the Alamut Mosque prayer timetable that led us to these men. You saw that every week there was one prayer time that seemed to be off by an hour and guessed that this was some kind of code.” Hamza’s voice was raw with excitement and fatigue. “You found the mosque’s schedule in the apartments of Nizar and Marwan. Both men were involved in the drug trade, so I figured that the off-schedule prayers might mark the times when the drugs would be delivered to Marwan’s cafe. Yesterday evening, three Lebanese guys came to the cafe with a case full of hashish, right on schedule, and I was waiting for them.”

“My congratulations to you.” Omar Yussef sensed that Hamza had something else to talk about. He waited.

“I’m still very sorry to have shot that boy, ustaz,” Hamza said. “I heard the gunshot and-”

Omar Yussef detected deep contrition in the detective’s voice. He had wished many times that Hamza hadn’t shot Nizar, though he also felt the boy wouldn’t have wanted to survive after Rania had been killed. His part in the girl’s death troubled him, too. Remorse is a heavy thing for a man to carry, he thought, but to give a little kindness will make my load lighter. “I insist you feel no regret over that, Hamza. You were doing your job.”

Hamza’s voice became wistful. “By Allah, what is it like to be home, ustaz?”

“Praise be to Allah, it’s wonderful.”

“What’s Bethlehem like now? How is my hometown?”

It’s the same as it always was, Omar Yussef thought, though I’ve changed. I’ve seen people I loved do dreadful things, yet I’ve also come to love one of them even more. I’ve seen New York, a city I never imagined I’d visit, and I’ve experienced it at its worst. But I also found people there to trust. “Bethlehem has no policemen as dedicated as you, Hamza.”

“Thank you, uncle. Let me reminisce about the old town with you a little. You’ve eaten lunch, I assume. Where will you go now for the afternoon?”

Omar Yussef glanced at the muted television. The satellite channel was broadcasting footage of the president’s abortive speech at the UN. Over the politician’s shoulder, Omar Yussef noticed the green windows of the translators’ gallery. He caught the outline of a dark head through the glass of the last booth. “This afternoon,” he said, “I’m going to visit the parents of a friend.”