City of Jackals

by Parker Bilal

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ the Reverend Preston Corbis greeted his sister. His face was flushed from the heat and possibly whatever the glass contained apart from fruit juice.

  ‘Do you remember Mr Makana? He was at the church the other day.’

  ‘Of course, how can we be of service?’ His broad smile was a professional balm, guaranteed to smooth over all the cracks. Makana explained his business.

  ‘You mentioned this the other evening, am I right?’

  ‘At the Church of Our Lady.’

  ‘I promised I would help you and I shall.’ He lifted his glass and tilted his head back. His front teeth were big enough to choke a horse.

  ‘That would be very helpful. The young man’s family are worried about him.’

  ‘Remind me again what the connection is.’ Reverend Corbis smacked his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  ‘The young man was friendly with a girl who used to help out at the church. Estrella. She might be able to help me, only now she seems to have disappeared herself.’

  ‘And you think she might have gone to the States as one of our angels? Well, it’s easy enough to check. I have to say the name doesn’t ring any bells, but a lot of these young people change their names. It’s a transient population and they might use one name one place and another elsewhere. It can get quite confusing.’

  The Reverend Corbis didn’t strike Makana as the kind of man who was easily confused, but perhaps this wasn’t the moment to contradict him.

  ‘I’m constantly astonished at how our Homehavens Project has become a tribute to its own success. Word of mouth has spread the idea like wildfire. So many people have heard of it that we are quite overwhelmed with applicants.’ He drained the dregs from his glass and waggled it at a passing waiter for a refill. ‘Sure I can’t get you something?’ Makana declined.

  ‘Of course you can lay some of the blame on the policies of this government. Frankly, the situation has become quite alarming.’ Corbis’s manner grew solemn. ‘The way Christians are being treated is not encouraging people to stay.’

  ‘I imagine that doesn’t actually hurt your enterprise.’

  Reverend Corbis frowned. ‘I’m afraid I don’t follow.’

  ‘Well, I simply meant that nothing motivates benevolence like a little religious persecution.’

  That drew a sharp response. ‘It’s certainly not our intention to profit from the misfortunes of our fellow believers.’

  ‘No, of course not. Forgive me, I was thinking aloud.’

  ‘Which of course you are free to do.’ The minister’s manner, rather like his smile, had taken on something of an icy tone.

  ‘As I am sure my dear sister has explained to you again, our records are confidential. We can’t go around sharing that information with anyone. Now I consider myself a good judge of character, and I am in no doubt that you are motivated by good intentions. Nonetheless, I cannot risk jeopardising the reputation of our endeavours, or our position in the country.’

  ‘He’s trying to help someone, Preston.’

  Reverend Corbis threw a withering glance at his sister before turning his eyes back to the pool where the old lady was being helped out of the water by her helper. She had the wrinkled skin of a golden lizard trying to look dainty.

  ‘My sister has the heart of a saint, Mr Makana. I can tell that she is determined to help you no matter what I say, so let me impress on you what we have built here. I like to think that we are meticulous when it comes to selecting our candidates. Our success back home depends on creating trust. The donors want to invest in the future, and that means a firm bond between the child and their new family. So we interview carefully, Lizzie does her medical tests. We screen hundreds of people and we do a thorough job of it. Only a fraction make it through.’

  ‘As you can imagine’ – Liz Corbis took up the torch – ‘it’s not easy for them. Moving away from the people and places they know. It’s a leap into the unknown.’

  ‘A leap of faith, I like to say,’ Preston Corbis grinned, pleased with himself. He sat back in his recliner as the waiter handed him a fresh drink.

  ‘Well, I understand what an undertaking this must be,’ said Makana. ‘And naturally, anything you tell me will remain confidential.’

  ‘You’re trying to help someone, just like we are,’ Preston Corbis nodded. ‘We’re in the same game, saving souls, as I like to say.’ With that he leaned back and closed his eyes. ‘I bear no grudges.’

  Liz Corbis got to her feet. ‘Let me take you to the office and we can check the records.’

  As they were about to move someone called her name and Makana turned to see an athletic man in his forties coming towards them. He was dressed in a swimming costume, with a towel draped over his shoulder.

  ‘There you are!’

  Liz Corbis’s face turned a shade of crimson and Makana thought he detected a muttered comment from her brother. The new arrival bounded up with the energy of a man half his age. He had a winning smile that displayed perfect rows of gleaming white teeth.

  ‘Now Liz, you promised me a chance to win back my pride.’

  Liz Corbis began to stammer out an excuse. Then she dismissed the idea with a toss of her head and turned instead to introduce Makana.

  ‘This is Doctor Ihsan Qaddus, the brains behind this wonderful enterprise.’

  Unusually for an Egyptian, Ihsan Qaddus had distinctive blue eyes, which now fixed on Makana. He had the easy confidence of a man who is comfortable with the fact that he wins at most things he attempts. Easy to see how Liz Corbis might be awed by him.

  ‘Mr Makana is an investigator. He’s trying to help locate someone.’

  ‘How intriguing! I don’t think I’ve met an investigator before.’

  There was a slightly mocking edge to his tone which Makana ignored. They shook hands. Qaddus’s grip was strong. Clearly he was in good physical shape. His thick greying hair only added to the distinguished manner. He grinned as if they were old friends. Whatever had brought Makana here mattered little beside his own concerns.

  ‘She beat me yesterday at tennis and promised me a chance to get my own back.’ He spoke English fluently, with the cadence of one who has lived abroad for extended periods, and barely a trace of an accent.

  ‘Well, I’m afraid that’s my fault. Doctor Corbis was giving me a tour of the institute.’

  ‘Ah, and how do you find it?’

  ‘Very interesting. I’m surprised I hadn’t heard of it before.’

  ‘Not many people take an interest. In this country, as in most of the developing world, people are in thrall to modern medicine. Drugs and more drugs.’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘We have forgotten so much of what the ancients knew. We need to trust ourselves more.’

  It sounded like a speech he had made before.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right. Speaking of the medical profession, I believe we have a mutual acquaintance.’

  ‘Really?’ By the look on his face Ihsan Qaddus was uncomfortable with surprises.

  ‘Doctora Siham?’

  ‘Jehan?’ The tension went out of his face. Qaddus threw his neck back and laughed. ‘I know her well. Haven’t seen her in years. How curious that you should mention her.’

  ‘One of your old flames, Ihsan?’ Preston Corbis chuckled heartily into his drink.

  ‘Actually, yes. We were engaged to be married at one stage.’

  Now it was Makana’s turn to be surprised.

  ‘Really? You must tell us what happened,’ said Liz Corbis. Ihsan Qaddus gave a boyish shrug.

  ‘You know the kind of impulsive decisions you make when you’re in your twenties.’

  Liz Corbis looked as though she had never made a rash decision in her life.

  ‘We broke it off when we came to our senses. Luckily, I must say.’ It was Ihsan Qaddus’s turn to laugh at his own words. ‘Please give her my regards when you see her. Actually, no,’ he corrected himself. ‘I’m going to call her myself. Is she
still at the Pathology Department?’

  They shook hands again and Liz Corbis led Makana back towards the main building and the records room, which turned out to be in the basement. As they stepped out of the lift Makana found an enormous painting of the jackal-headed god facing him.

  ‘I thought this was the mortuary.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s why they gave us an office down here.’ Liz Corbis smiled at her own humour as she led the way along a corridor to the right and a small room that she opened with a key she carried on a lanyard around her neck. The lights fluttered on. It was a simple room with a desk and a set of grey metal shelves along one wall. On the shelves hung folders arranged in alphabetical order.

  ‘So, these are all arranged according to the legal names of our angels.’ She flipped on a computer console. ‘We’ll need to look in here.’

  ‘What can you tell me about the medical checks?’

  ‘We have to be quite thorough. We check for everything, from HIV to TB and hepatitis C, to a host of illnesses that can lie dormant in the body. There are things like bilharzia for example, West Nile Fever. Diseases that can be picked up in tropical regions by doctors who are familiar with them. Take that patient to Nebraska or Idaho and they will only have read about them in medical journals, never actually seen, let alone treated a case. That’s why we must be careful.’

  Liz Corbis produced a pair of prim reading glasses from her top pocket and clicked through the keys until she came to what she was looking for.

  ‘Estrella, you said?’ She glanced up at Makana and shifted in her seat. ‘Unusual name. Spanish?’

  ‘Her mother was trained by Cubans for a time, during the civil war.’

  ‘Well, if this is the same one, she was on our programme.’

  ‘That’s her.’

  The picture on the screen showed Estrella dressed up. Makana recalled the first time he had seen her at Westies. A young woman whose eyes conveyed a wisdom beyond her years. What could she tell him about Ihab and Mourad?

  ‘Seventeen years old. A little old for our programme, but still. Looks like she filled out the forms and took the medical check.’ Liz Corbis clicked down through the pages. ‘Ah, she fell at the last hurdle. She was pregnant.’

  ‘How long ago was this?’

  ‘Not so long. Less than a month.’ Liz Corbis removed her spectacles. ‘I remember her now. Nice girl, presentable. Strong. She hadn’t even known she was pregnant. It was a shock to her but she took it well when I told her. Always a tragedy when that happens. But that’s a no no. We can’t rule on how people live their lives. We make no moral judgements, but a pregnant girl is not going to find a family to take her. It’s as simple as that.’ Her eyes returned to the screen. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I took a shine to her. She would have made something of herself in the States, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘And you have no idea where she might be? No way of contacting her?’

  ‘There’s a telephone number. Beyond that, nothing, I’m afraid.’

  Pregnant and refused the chance to go to America to make a new life for herself. It added up to a fairly desperate situation. How had she become pregnant? A day ago he might have speculated that Mourad could be the father. Now he was not so sure. He tried the number but got a voice telling him it was not available.

  ‘Estrella had a friend named Beatrice. I believe that she and her brother Jonah were also on your programme. There was a picture on the wall at the church. I don’t have a surname.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. We cross-reference by first name. But in this case I do remember them. Rare to get a brother and sister placed.’ She flicked through the files on screen before pulling them up. There was a photograph of the siblings. Beatrice was a tall girl with a broad smile. Makana’s eyes were on the young man who stood next to her. Jonah. Across his forehead ran the horizontal striations that identified him as a member of the Mundari ethnic group.

  ‘I take it they were more successful.’

  Liz Corbis nodded as she read. ‘A family in Seattle was willing to take them both.’

  ‘Clean bill of health?’

  ‘Excellent candidates. Intelligent, charming.’ Liz Corbis continued nodding as if to a tune in her head. ‘You understand that I can’t allow you to contact them.’

  ‘That would mean they are already in America? You have confirmation of that?’

  ‘I don’t see a confirmation here, but it may just not have come through. This is the middle of what we call our immersion period. We leave our wards alone with their host families for a period of time. Even I don’t have contact with them. It helps avoid homesickness and allows them to get used to their new lives together. Contact with family and old friends can be a distraction, especially during the difficult preliminary adjustment phase.’

  Makana sat back for a time and thought. After a while he became aware that she was waiting for him to leave, so he got to his feet and thanked her.

  ‘Don’t mention it, I only hope it helps you to find who you’re looking for.’

  Chapter Thirty

  The question of Estrella’s pregnancy bothered him. What would a girl do in a situation like that? Why had she told her mother that she was going abroad when she knew that she’d been turned down by the Homehavens Project? What options did that leave her?

  There was something else that bothered Makana. The two cops, Hakim and Karim. The first time he’d seen them they had been hanging around the church. Was it possible that rather than trying to scare Ihab and Mourad they were actually searching for someone? Were they looking for Estrella in the hope that she would lead them to Mourad? Makana called Fantômas but was rewarded with the voicemail service. His aversion to telephones increased with each repeated clip from a song in a language he didn’t recognise but which he assumed was from Darfur. Makana had started to wonder if perhaps the artist was more involved with Estrella than he let on. The meeting with Estrella’s mother had felt almost staged. And then there was the fact that he managed to conveniently disappear whenever he wanted to get hold of him.

  The traffic was gridlocked and it seemed that Jehan too was in a car when she called. He could hear hooting and shouting in the background.

  ‘We both seem to be caught in the same traffic jam. Where are you?’

  ‘I’m stuck in Mansoura. Some microbus drivers are having an argument. What is it with men that they have to control everything?’

  Makana had no answer to that. Already the conversation felt disconcertingly familiar.

  ‘What are you doing in Mansoura?’

  ‘I’m supposed to be teaching, but at this rate I’m going to be late.’ He heard her sigh. ‘Tell me something good.’

  ‘I wish I could,’ he began, but he found himself telling her all about what he had learned. It helped somehow to clarify his thoughts.

  ‘So Estrella didn’t get on to their programme?’

  ‘It doesn’t look like it.’

  ‘That means she’s still missing.’

  ‘Both her and Mourad. After what happened to Ihab, I have to say it doesn’t look good.’

  ‘But why would anyone hurt them?’

  ‘Maybe there is no reason,’ said Makana. ‘Once you get to the point where you are dismembering corpses, then perhaps reason is no longer a factor.’

  ‘It’s hard to argue with that,’ she said. There was a pause and some cursing which indicated that driving was distracting her from the conversation.

  ‘I wanted to call you this morning to find out if you’d made any progress.’

  ‘I’m still waiting for lab reports. I’ll know more this evening.’

  ‘Perhaps we could continue this conversation later,’ he heard himself say. What was he thinking? Continue it how? Where? There was a lengthy silence, during which it struck him that she might have hung up, except that he could still hear the raucous racket of tooting and swearing in the background.

  ‘Why don’t we have dinner?’

  ‘Dinner?’ he ec
hoed. Now he recalled their earlier conversation and how he had somehow managed to avoid committing himself.

  She laughed. A light, pleasant sound. ‘You make it sound as if you never eat.’

  ‘No, yes, of course. Dinner . . . Where?’

  ‘I know a nice place. I’ll arrange it and text you the details.’

  ‘What was it you wanted to tell me?’

  ‘Never mind,’ she shouted above the noise around her. ‘It’ll keep until tonight.’

  Which left Makana staring at the instrument in his hand, wondering how it had taken control of his life. He realised he had forgotten to ask her what he had called her to find out in the first place, but he couldn’t really see how to call her back now. It would have to wait.

  Sami was not at the office in Bab al-Luq. Makana found Ubay wandering down the scruffy hallway murmuring to himself. It turned out he was speaking on his telephone, through a device plugged into his ear.

  ‘It’s getting harder to distinguish the insane from the sane.’

  ‘I find that all the time,’ said Ubay, plucking the earpiece out.

  ‘How are things going around here anyway?’

  ‘Oh, you know. Ask anyone and they’ll tell you things are hard, but the fact remains we’re working.’ He wagged his head. ‘The truth is that so long as this problem with Sami continues, Rania doesn’t give any of us a moment’s rest.’

  ‘That’s too bad.’

  ‘That’s why you’re here, right?’

  ‘Our man of mystery.’

  ‘Yeah, mystery indeed.’ Ubay scratched his afro, which looked big enough to give shelter to a family of sparrows. The wall beside him was scratched and scarred by years of abuse. The window frame that gave out onto the staircase was cracked. He seemed to lose track of the con-versation.

  ‘Any idea where I might find him?’

  ‘The usual. He seems to have taken up residence at the Café Riche, but don’t tell Rania.’ Ubay’s index finger hovered in mid-air like a philosopher trapped on the spur of some major metaphysical breakthrough. Makana took the opportunity to hand over the plastic bag he was carrying. Ubay took a look inside.