pazzol'
'Most of them are,' said Weingrass as he walked quickly to the telephone.
The Icarus Agenda
Chapter 10
The early light progressively threatened. Azra looked up at the morning sky, swearing at himself—including the rough-hewn Yosef in his oaths—for taking a wrong turn at the Kabritta Tower and thus wasting precious minutes. The three fugitives had torn off their prison trousers high above the ankles, at mid-calf, and the sleeves away from their shoulders. Without the benefit of sunlight they could pass for labourers brought in from Lebanon or the slums of Abu Dhabi, spending their rials on the only recreation accessible to them: The whores and the whisky available in the el Shari el Mish kwayis, that land-locked island of the city.
They were in the recessed, concrete employees' entrance of the Waljat Hospital less than two hundred yards away from the gates of the American Embassy. A narrow street on the right intersected the broad thoroughfare. Angling around the corner was a line of shops, indistinguishable behind their iron shutters. All business was suspended while the madness lasted. In the distance, inside the gates of the embassy, were ragtag squads of lethargic young people walking slowly, the weight of their weapons dragging their arms and shoulders down, doing what they were ordered to do for their jihad, their holy war. The lethargy, however, would vanish with the first rays of the sun, and manic energy would erupt with the first wave of onlookers, especially the radio and television crews—mainly because of those crews. The angry children would go onstage within the hour.
Azra studied the large square in front of the gates. Opposite, on the north side, stood three white two-storey office buildings close to one another. The curtained windows were dark, no signs of light anywhere, which was immaterial in any event. If there were men inside watching, they were too far away from the gates to hear what he would say softly through the bars, and the light was still too dim for him to be definitely identified—if, indeed, word of their escape had reached the post. And even if it had, the enemy would not mount a rash attack on the basis of vague possibilities; the consequences were too deadly. Actually, the square was deserted except for a row of beggars, their clothes in shreds, squatting in front of the embassy's sandstone walls, their alms plates in front, several with their own excrement in evidence. The filthiest of these outcasts were not potential agents of the sultan or foreign governments, but others might be. He focused his eyes on each of the latter, looking for sudden, abrupt movements that would betray a man not used to a beggar's locked, hunkered stance. Only someone whose muscles were trained to withstand the interminable stress of a beggar's squat could remain immobile for any length of time. None moved, none squeezed a leg; it was not proof but it was all he could ask for. Azra snapped his fingers at Yosef, removing the MAC-10 weapon from under his shirt and thrusting it towards the older terrorist.
'I'm going over,' he said in Arabic. 'Cover me. If any of those beggars make an unbeggarly move, I expect you to be there.'
'Go ahead. I'll swing out behind you in the hospital's shadow and slip from doorway to doorway on the right side. My aim is unequalled, so if there's one unbeggarly move, there is no beggar!'
'Don't anticipate, Yosef. Don't make a mistake and fire when you shouldn't. I have to reach one of those imbeciles inside. I'll stumble down as though it wasn't the best morning of my life.' The young Palestinian turned to Kendrick, who was crouched in the sparse foliage by the hospital wall. 'You, Bahrudi,' he whispered in English. 'When Yosef reaches the first building over there, come out slowly and follow him, but for God's sake, don't be obvious! Pause now and then to scratch yourself, spit frequently, and remember that your appearance doesn't belong to someone with good posture.
'I know those things!' Evan lied emphatically, impressed with what he was learning about terrorists. 'You think I haven't employed such tactics a thousand times more than you have?'
'I don't know what to think,' answered Azra simply. 'I do know that I didn't like the way you walked past the Zawawi Mosque. The mullahs and the muezzins were congregating. Perhaps you're better in the refined capitals of Europe.'
'I assure you I'm adequate,' said Kendrick icily, knowing he had to retain the Arabic version of strength, which came with cold understatement. His playacting was quickly deflated, however, as the young terrorist grinned. It was a genuine smile, the first he had observed in the man who called himself Blue.
'I'm assured,' said Azra, nodding his head. 'I'm here and not a
