Dogstar Rising (43 page)

‘It’s not that,’ Damazeen swallowed nervously. ‘I just don’t want to drink this early in the day.’

‘
Comme vous voulez
,’ shrugged Assani. He sat down on the sofa and stretched out to rest his long legs on the coffee table. ‘Myself, I fly to Paris tonight. My friends keep telling me to move to Dubai, but I can’t stand the Arabs. All of them are two-faced, even you who should be African.’ He chuckled to himself as he sipped his drink. ‘At least in Paris you can get a decent meal.’

It took forty minutes for the call to come through. Assani was dozing on the sofa by then. Neither Damazeen nor Makana had moved a muscle. They remained under the vigilant eye of Bruin and Fitch. Rubbing his eyes, Assani sat up and pressed the phone to his ear. He listened for a few moments and then nodded. Getting to his feet he gave a signal and the mercenaries pulled on jackets and headed for the door. One was out in the corridor while the second held the door.

‘Now, gentlemen, I am afraid I must leave you.’ Turning to the attaché case, Assani spun the tumblers once more and plucked out the bag of diamonds and handed them over. Damazeen’s eyes lit up as he opened the bag and dug his hand inside to let the glittering reward trickle through his fingers.

‘Do not attempt to leave this room for the next half an hour,’ Assani warned, ‘or one of my associates will shoot you. It has been a pleasure doing business. I suggest you lighten up and have a drink.
À la prochaine
.’ With a slight bow he headed for the door, briefcase in hand. ‘Oh, I almost forgot.’ He turned and revealed the silenced pistol he must have taken from the case after extracting the diamonds. ‘Your friend, Mek Nimr? He sends his regards.’ He fired twice and Damazeen collapsed backwards into the chair he had been sitting on. Two, star-shaped tears appeared in the otherwise pristine white shirt. Assani leaned over and picked up the bag of diamonds from Damazeen’s lap. The barrel of the gun swung towards Makana. There was a moment’s hesitation and then the pistol sailed from his hand forcing Makana to catch it. With a smile, Assani was gone.

Makana heard the door to the suite click shut and stood for a moment. He stooped over Damazeen and confirmed that he was certainly dead. A diamond fell from his hand as it dropped lifelessly to his side. As Makana went through his pockets quickly to see if there was anything connecting the two of them there came a knock at the door. He went over and carefully turned the bolt to lock it from the inside. As he stepped back he heard Sharqi call out:

‘Open up, Makana!’

Makana glanced at his watch. The ever eager Sharqi had arrived earlier than agreed, which Makana now realised he should have taken into his calculations when making his plans. He considered his options. He was locked in a room with a dead man and he was holding the murder weapon. Leaving by any route other than the door was going to be difficult considering this was the twelfth floor. He went over to the window and considered the long drop. Death no longer held the same appeal it once had, now that he knew Nasra might be alive.

‘What are you playing at Makana? Open the door before we break it down!’

It wouldn’t take long, he knew, for Sharqi to get hold of a pass key or decide to simply forget about the expense and give his men the satisfaction of kicking the door in. Makana wasn’t sure how far he could trust Sharqi, but he guessed that expecting him to forgive the murder of his prime source of information was probably too much to ask. Their agreement was that Sharqi would get Assani and Damazeen, after Makana had a chance to talk to Damazeen in private, maybe offer him some clemency in return for Nasra’s whereabouts. He looked down at the gun in his hand. Escape seemed out of the question.

Out of the corner of his eye a movement made him look left as a man floated up before him through the air. A miracle, or was his mind playing tricks? The windows facing him looked out over the river and were covered by balconies. The window to the left in the dining area was flat. The face on the other side of this window was one he had seen before. Not exactly pretty, nor what you might expect of an angel or performer of miracles. The last time he had seen this particular face had been in the alleyway behind Yunis’ house of birds. Before that it had been riding a motorcycle with a television set strapped behind him. Slightly overweight, his flabby features blurred by grey stubble, the man came to a halt when he was level with the room. Makana went over and opened the window.

‘There isn’t much time,’ the man said calmly. He held out a hand. Tucking the gun into the small of his back, Makana climbed out. The platform started to rise.

‘Sorry about last time,’ said the man apologetically, as he pulled the window closed.

‘Never mind,’ said Makana, peering down at the ground and thinking it looked a long way.

‘They use these things for cleaning the glass.’

The electric winch whined as it lifted them slowly. High above a metal arm jutted off the roof over which the cables ran. A rubber wheel on either side squeaked along against the side of the building as they rose. Without warning it came to an abrupt stop and for a few moments they hung there, suspended in the air. The man sniffed and fiddled with the buttons on the control panel. Neither of them said anything. Then there was a click and the maintenance platform began to rise again. A couple of floors up the man pulled another lever and they began to move sideways. There was a good deal of swaying as the platform changed direction. In a few moments, however, they had reached the corner of the building. The man pulled a lever back for them to descend and they soon came to a halt outside another window. The man lifted the safety bar and gestured for Makana to step inside. Then he disappeared upwards again towards the roof. Makana pushed through the billowing net curtains into the room to find the slim figure of Zayed Zafrani waiting for him.

‘So, Mr Makana, we meet again,’ he said, holding out his hand.

‘So it appears.’

‘I believe you have something for me?’

‘If you mean diamonds, I am afraid that Assani took them with him.’

‘Ah,’ Zafrani took the loss of two million dollars with a philosophical shrug. ‘That is unfortunate. This means that they are in the hands of Mr Sharqi and his boss, Colonel Serrag.’

‘It looks that way.’

‘Well, that can’t be helped.’ Zafrani gestured towards the room. ‘Please, make yourself comfortable. I suggest we wait an hour or so for the excitement to settle down before attempting to leave the hotel. Can I offer you tea?’

‘Tea would be nice.’

‘And Mr Damazeen?’

‘I’m afraid he won’t be joining us.’

Zayed nodded as if he expected this. ‘Mr Damazeen was playing a dangerous game. What I don’t understand is that you were prepared to take such a risk. What was there in it for you?’

‘I was trying to get my life back.’

‘Ah,’ Zayed Zafrani frowned and then smiled as if this was the kind of answer he expected.

Makana felt sick. He felt as though a cold door had been shut in his face and Nasra had once more been condemned to the grave.

‘There is a matter we still haven’t settled yet,’ Makana said, bringing himself back to the present. ‘The details of the Eastern Star story are going to have to come out after all this.’

Zayed Zafrani tilted his head to one side. ‘Perhaps there is a way in which they could emphasize the role played by Sheikh Waheed?’

‘Would you be satisfied with that?’

‘It would be a sacrifice,’ said Zayed Zafrani, ‘but it would be something.’

By the time he got back to the
awama
it was after sunset. His mind was in turmoil, preoccupied with all that had happened, and with what had not. Distracted, he did not register the fact that as he came down the path Umm Ali’s little shack was silent and dark. It was only as he came aboard that he realised something was amiss. As he reached the foot of the stairs a voice spoke out of the shadows behind him:

‘A man could get tired of waiting for you.’

Makana had half-turned before the blow hit him.

Chapter Forty-One

Makana came to as the smell of kerosene hit him. It made him feel nauseous. It was everywhere, all around him, on his clothes, on his skin. He was drowning in the stuff. When he tried to open his eyes he felt them sting. Where was he? It felt like a bad dream. Fuzzy spiders crawled around inside his head. He knew this place, but somehow he didn’t. A moment later he realised he was at home, on the upper deck, in his favourite chair. A sinking feeling told him this was not a dream. He managed to lift his head. There was a ringing pain over his right ear. Someone had hit him. He remembered now. His clothes were wet. He shook his head to clear it and looked around him. When he tried to move he discovered that his hands were tied to the arms of the wicker chair. There was kerosene sloshing about. He turned his head as a large, yellow plastic jerrycan appeared, dousing everything in sight. A face loomed into view.

‘Just in time,’ said Yousef, setting down the jerrycan.

‘What are you doing?’ Makana didn’t recognise his own voice.

Yousef clicked his tongue. ‘You disappoint me, you know. We could have been such a good team. Do you ever ask yourself what the point is, of what you are doing?’

‘What I am doing?’ Makana followed his eyes across the deck to the bed pushed against the wall. Rania lay there, her hands and feet tied, a gag covering her mouth. Her eyes were wide with fear. ‘All of this just to protect Sheikh Waheed?’

‘Waheed? Waheed is a fool,’ Yousef said. ‘I don’t care about him. You see, that’s the problem. You’re always trying to look beneath the surface. Waheed is a clown. What do I care? No, this is about me. That’s the way it should always be, right? It could have been about you, too. But then . . .’

‘You killed Meera.’

‘Rocky killed Meera. It was necessary. If you don’t understand why then you are stupider than I thought. People have a right to protect their investments, don’t you think?’ Yousef squatted in front of Makana.

‘You and Rocky?’

‘I came across him in my time in the Military Police. I was ordered to arrest him for beating a conscript half to death. I realised that someone like that could be very useful, if directed in the right way. Rocky was an animal. I made sure he got off the charges and he was very grateful. Of course in time he got out of hand. People like that always do. No control.’ Yousef bounced to his feet again and carried on splashing kerosene about. ‘To tell the truth, it’s a relief he’s gone. Rocky was a liability. And how do you get rid of someone like that?’

‘Meera found out what you were up to, moving money through the Blue Ibis accounts. Nobody noticed because the books were in such a mess, not even Faragalla.’

‘Faragalla’s an idiot. I mean, why take on a woman like that? Women who think they know something, they’re the worst. Like this one.’ He went over and stroked Rania’s thigh. She squealed and tried to turn away, which only seemed to increase Yousef’s enjoyment. ‘Women should know their place. In the kitchen . . . or in the bedroom.’ He caressed her again, taking his time now. ‘Think of how far that would go to solving the world’s problems.’

‘Let her go, Yousef. She’s no threat to you.’

‘There, you see, that’s where you’re wrong.’ Yousef came back over. ‘She is very much a threat, maybe even more than you. She has the facts. I thought we were finished with all that when Hikmet went out of that window, but no. She had to come along and find his other computer. Who would have that?’ Yousef kicked an object lying on the floor. ‘Well that’s all taken care of now. By the time we’ve finished here it won’t be any use to anyone.’

‘Why are you doing all this? For a group of army officers who are making themselves rich. You think they care about you?’

‘You see that’s where you’re wrong.’ Yousef had a distant look in his eye. ‘These people, Waheed, Serhan, all the other big fish up there, they know they would be nothing without me. Nothing. I make them and I can bring them down any time I want.’

‘They could find someone to replace you in an instant.’

‘No, you’re wrong. It’s about commitment. Just like in the military. You have to be prepared to make sacrifices. That’s what people respect. This country is made by people like me. No one can claim to love Egypt more than I do. These kids don’t understand. Can you imagine what would happen if we handed the place over to them?’

Yousef stood off to one side, looking out, his face in the shadows, lit only in part by the white glow from the buildings across the river.

‘The little men. Where do you think all those politicians and businessmen would be without us? Even the president. They all depend on people like me to make things happen.’

‘They use you because you are expendable,’ said Makana, suddenly weary of this raving lunatic. ‘Even the Zafrani brothers. They were already onto you. How much longer did you think it would last?’

Yousef snorted his derision. ‘I can’t expect someone like you to understand. Like I said, you and I could have made a great team.
Maalish
, you’ll have to excuse me now, I have work to do.’

With that he picked up the jerrycan and disappeared down the stairs. The
awama
was as dry as a tinderbox. It wouldn’t take much to set it alight. But Yousef obviously wasn’t taking any chances. Makana wrestled with his bindings but Yousef had done a good job. He thought about smashing the chair, but although it was old he had the feeling it would still take a lot of punishment before it gave way. He looked over at Rania, who was watching him with a look of terror in her eyes. Her hands were tied behind her back, but perhaps she could untie his knots.