The Burning Gates (32 page)

‘What are you suggesting I do, knock him out and drag him to the embassy?’

‘I thought you wanted this as much as I did. I thought you cared, that you understood, or was all that stuff about losing your wife just small talk?’ Makana said nothing. ‘With this money we could have a chance of a life.’

‘We?’ Makana felt his heart twist in an unfamiliar way.

‘Why not? We’re so much alike. You understand what I’ve been through. What it’s like.’

Makana said nothing.

‘Think about it, please, for me?’ She gave him a description of a tailor’s shop that was situated in the downtown area. Makana knew the area. On Sharif Basha Street, off Kasr al-Nil Street. ‘Don’t disappoint me,’ she said, and the line went dead.

Makana sat and listened as the night came down. He wondered if Zafrani meant it when he said he would release Bilquis in exchange for getting Samari off his back. Was it ever possible to trust a man like Ayad Zafrani? Trying to apprehend Samari was like writing your own death warrant. Perhaps there was another way. Above him the bats turned arcs through the shadows as the trees drew close and the darkness came to life.

Chapter Twenty-nine

The sound of the wailing sirens ought to have alerted him, but Makana was tired. After another long, restless night, he had only just fallen into a deep sleep. Even the sound of heavy boots was not enough to get him to open his eyes. It was only when he was dragged to the floor, handcuffed and hauled to his feet that he realised what was going on.

There were five of them. Two held him up while three others ransacked the room, making a point of going through his things. They pulled open drawers and tipped the contents on the floor, they pulled books down from the shelves and then trampled over them in their haste. He could hear others downstairs, the crash of plates and cups breaking.

‘What is this all about?’

‘Quiet! Speak when you are spoken to.’

A lull fell over proceedings when it was announced that the brigadier had arrived. He took his time, roaming around the lower deck with an entourage of yapping assistants. Finally, after a long wait, he emerged at the top of the steps. The look of triumph on his face was only partially concealed by apparent outrage.

‘I always wondered how a creature like you lived,’ he sneered. ‘Now I have my answer.’

‘Are you going to tell me what this is all about?’

‘I’ll tell you when I’m good and ready.’ Brigadier Yusuf Effendi tipped a pile of papers onto the floor with his swagger stick. ‘Bring him along.’

They allowed Makana to dress quickly and then marched him up the path.

‘Don’t worry, Umm Ali, it’s all going to be cleared up.’

‘May the lord have mercy on you,’ she implored. Her teenage boy bared his teeth at the policemen and then quickly ducked a blow aimed at his head. Aziza stood in the doorway and watched him go. Makana flashed her a smile that she did not return. Up on the road the cortege of vehicles moved off with all the ceremony of a presidential motorcade, with Makana tucked into the rear seat of a squad car between two uniforms.

‘Where are we going?’

‘You’ll see,’ grunted one of them.

It soon became apparent. As the dull brown pillar of the Ramses Hilton rose into the sky before them like a pagan monument, Makana felt his heart sink. He had a bad feeling about this.

The hotel lobby was busy with people coming and going. The procession of policemen cut a swathe through tourists and staff alike. When they arrived at the seventh floor the lift doors opened to reveal more people. The brigadier was standing by the door to room 719.

‘Go ahead,’ he invited Makana.

As he pushed the door open slowly Makana had the feeling he knew what he was going to find. The sound of laughter came from the television set on the far side of the room. Adil Imam rushing about a stage in a performance that was about a hundred years old. The audience laughing in fits at his antics. Makana stopped at the threshold of the main room.

She might have been asleep. But there was something wrong about the way she lay. Dalia Habashi was wrapped in the sheets of the unmade bed. She was lying face down, her head hanging over the far side of the bed. Instead of fleeing the country she had decided to leave this world. There was something terribly sad about the whole scene. The rumpled bedclothes, the television set with its inane racket.

‘Can’t you switch that off?’

There was a forensic technician standing by the bed. He looked up and stepped aside as Makana drew closer.

‘Don’t touch anything.’

Makana could hear the brigadier tapping his swagger stick behind him. He ignored him and flipped off the television. Then he knelt down and looked into her open, sightless eyes. They were staring off into the empty void. Her pale skin had already turned grey.

‘How long?’ he asked, without taking his eyes from her.

‘Difficult to say,’ mumbled the technician. Makana glanced at him. Either the man was an idiot, or he was waiting for someone to tell him exactly what time would suit them for death to have occurred.

Already the blood had drained downwards, forming dark patches of lividity around her neck and chin. He lifted the sheet slightly. She was wearing a nightgown. The lower part of her arms and shoulders displayed the same blue colour, which indicated that she had been lying there for at least twelve hours.

‘When was she found?’

‘She left a Do Not Disturb sign on the door, so hotel staff didn’t come in until this morning.’

On the bedside table was a bottle of vodka with the cap beside it. The bottle was almost empty. Next to it lay an array of smaller bottles, different sizes and colours. Pharmacy bottles. A collection of drugs. Some of Na’il’s products perhaps. Makana read some of the names. Seconal, ketamine, sleeping tablets, tranquillisers. There was enough to put a busload of rowdy football fans into a coma. Certainly enough to push one unhappy woman across the threshold from life to death. Makana remained there for a minute, staring at the side of her face. In death, Dalia Habashi seemed more beautiful than in life, as if the burden of chasing dreams and ambitions she could never achieve had loosened its hold on her features, allowing the real woman to rise to the surface and show her face one last time before she sank into darkness for ever.

Makana straightened up. He turned to face the brigadier. The look of satisfaction on his face was now easier to understand.

‘You’ve got some explaining to do. Murder is a serious charge.’

‘This was a suicide. Any fool can see that.’

‘Still trying to teach us our business, eh? Well, we’ll see how that works out for you. As far as I can see it’s a simple case, really. You developed a fixation on this woman. You pursued her, so much so that she had to seek refuge in a hotel. Still you refused to relent. You followed her here and forced yourself upon her. Then, to cover your shame you made her swallow pills to make it look like suicide. Let’s see what the medical examiner says about sexual assault.’

‘They won’t find anything because there isn’t anything to find. This is ridiculous, and you know it.’

‘Do I?’ The brigadier shook his head. ‘We have witnesses who saw you going up to her room. It’s as plain as the sun. You’re a demented and perverted man. When she wouldn’t give you what you wanted you killed her.’

‘You’ve spent so much time with politicians, you can’t tell fact from fantasy any more.’

The brigadier hit him across the face, hard enough to draw blood.

‘You forget who you’re talking to. Perhaps you think that because this little whore was busy corrupting my nephew I think she deserves this? Well, think again.’ He moved closer. ‘I’m going to enjoy observing your interrogation. When we’ve finished you’ll be only too happy to tell us everything.’ He signalled to his men. ‘Take him away, and if he makes one move to get away you have my personal permission to shoot the dog.’ He smiled at Makana. ‘This isn’t the jungle here. We’ll see how your fancy tricks fare against good Egyptian justice. Take him outside to the van and keep him there for me,’ he ordered.

There was an audience of equally shocked faces gathered to watch as they dragged Makana out of the lift. Despite the early hour the lobby seemed to be packed with slack-jawed tourists who were being afforded more entertainment than they had bargained for. Some were even taking pictures. You could see it on the brochures: ‘A city of danger and excitement!’ Two sets of hands grabbed hold of Makana’s shoulders and dragged him along, heels sliding on the polished floor, until he was outside. There was a police prison van parked at the bottom of the ramp. A high lorry with metal sides and tiny windows covered with wire grilles close to the top. Makana was led up the steps and thrown inside. He landed in a heap on the beaten iron floor as the door slammed shut behind him and the bolt screeched into place.

In the half-light Makana could make out benches on either side. These were occupied by three men who appeared to have been detained overnight. A fourth lay on the floor without moving. Despite the early hour, the inside of the prison van was airless and hot. It stank of unwashed men, the acrid stench of stale sweat and urine mixed with oxidised metal. Someone shuffled aside to allow Makana a place to sit. Getting up slowly, he examined himself cautiously and decided that nothing was broken. There would be plenty of bruises by tomorrow, but he would survive.

Somehow in their haste they had overlooked his telephone. When he pulled it out the man sitting opposite him said, ‘Don’t let them see you using that.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be quick.’ Makana dialled Okasha’s number only to be rewarded by the engaged tone. He had a feeling even Okasha was not going to be enough this time. He was going to need a good lawyer. He slipped the phone inside his sock for safety.

‘What did they pick you up for?’ The man opposite was staring at him.

‘I’m not sure,’ sighed Makana. ‘Trying to help them with their work.’

‘It doesn’t matter what you did.’ This from a young man further down who was nursing a nosebleed. ‘They don’t care what they charge you with.’

‘We were minding our own business when this big car rolled up,’ said the third man. These two seemed to be friends. ‘The driver told us to move on. We told him we had just as much right to be there as he did. So he called the animals out and that was it.’

‘What happened to your friend?’ Makana gestured at the man on the floor.

‘He was concussed. They were taking him to hospital when they got a call to come here.’ The young man thumped his fist into his thigh. ‘I don’t see what gives these people the privilege to walk all over the rest of us.’

‘What are you, students?’

‘Faculty of Architecture,’ he nodded. ‘Soon as I graduate I’m leaving this country.’

‘Shame on you,’ said the first man. He was older and clearly not one of the group. A rubbery-faced fellow with scabs all over his chin and the shifty eyes of a habitual offender. ‘As soon as you get your education you leave. How can you not think about helping?’

‘This country doesn’t need my help. It needs a miracle.’

‘Easy for you to say.’

‘Who was in the big car?’ Makana asked, if only to break the deadlock.

‘One of those fat crocodiles who sit on the president’s knee.’

‘You mean a minister?’ asked the man with the scabs. ‘If you mean a minister then you should show him the respect of his post.’

‘Listen to you,’ the young man laughed. ‘What have they done to deserve respect?’

‘Anyone in this country can rise to a government position. Where would you be if you were elected and people talked about you that way?’

‘Well, there’s not much chance of that happening, is there?’ the younger man retorted, ignoring the pleas of his friend with the bloody nose to desist.

‘People like you make me sick,’ the scabby-faced man whined. ‘You have all the privileges but all you can do is talk your country down.’

They were interrupted by a thumping on the door. A face peered through the grille.

‘Which one of you is Makana?’

‘I am.’

‘Say
Alhamdoulilah
, you’re being transferred.’

The scabby-faced man thought this was too much. ‘Why the hell is he being transferred? He only just got here. I’ve been here all night.’

The guard rapped his baton on the grille. ‘You carry on and you’ll stay there all week.’

There wasn’t room to stand up properly in the back, so Makana had to stoop as he went towards the door. He nodded to the young man as he went by.

‘Do you want me to call someone for you?’

‘No, it’s okay.’ The student sounded weary. ‘They do this all the time. They’ll drive us around until they get tired and then they’ll let us go. Processing us would be too much trouble.’

‘Why are you getting so friendly with him?’ snapped the scabby man. ‘He’s a snitch. They just put him in here to get us to talk.’ He started to laugh, as if he was losing his mind. The man with the bloody nose threw himself forward.

‘If anyone here’s a snitch, it’s you, so shut your mouth old man, before it’s shut for you.’

Makana stepped up to show his face at the grille. After a time he heard the bolt squeak and then he was climbing down the steps to the street.