by Ciaran Nagle
'How does it actually work Hideki?'
'It will work because we will lead her down a series of paths which will cut her dependency on others until she lives only for herself. She will be emotionally isolated. She will lose her belief in the natural goodness of humanity and sink deeper and deeper into our way of thinking. At that point she will be presented with something mysterious which she wants to believe. She will have left her old self behind and she will be ready for her new life. Then the unseen bonds that connect generations of families together will become pathways transporting the sins of the fathers to the sons and the sins of the mothers to the daughters. For seven generations. The dark qualities of her ancestor will cascade through the centuries between them and will be manifested fully in her. She will be both powerful and deadly. It is all about the timing.'
'What's the next seed in the trail, Hideki? The next letter in the code?'
But for answer, Hideki turned away and resumed his gaze into the distance. He was as obstinate as he was clever. He wasn't going to just roll over and divulge all his work to Bezejel at her whim. Not over drinks at Navaho's anyway.
Bezejel looked around her. Everywhere there were vixens scurrying from bar to table with drinks. There were demons escorting squaws to the spiral staircases. And there were satyrs and imps from many different army groups drinking to oblivion.
In one area a fight had broken out and two drunken jager imps were trying to cut each other's throats with the rusted edge of a fuel can. No-one was paying any attention to them. But the noise was intense nonetheless. In the background the doom doom beat added to the sense of frenzy. It wasn't a good place to be planning a strategy.
'Hideki, I want you to come to our next squad briefing. Captain Kodrob and his crew need to hear directly from you about your planned activities. We have to remember that we're all on the same team here. We win together or we lose together. What do you say?'
Hideki, surprised, put down his drink in front of him. He loomed his face up at hers, searching her eyes, trying to read her intent.
'Very well,' he responded finally, sitting back. 'I will come. But don't try to interfere in my scheme. And don't,' he wagged a finger at her, 'try to control me.'
Bezejel grasped his hand with the still wagging finger and shook it.
'It's a deal,' she replied instantly. 'But I'll go one better than that.'
'How so?'
'If we succeed in bringing Nancy to Inferno, I plan to send her straightaway to Tyrant's Fall. But if it would motivate you, Hideki, I will delay her departure there. I could send her to you first. She could be your plaything.' Bezejel looked down at the still-life footstool under his feet. 'You can do anything you wish with her. For as long as you want.'
Hideki removed his glasses. He looked up at Bezejel with cold eyes as a smile grew across his face.
'Thank you Bezejel,' he said. 'Consider me motivated.'
Nancy's Apartment, Eilat, Israel
The Arab walked purposefully up the narrow road towards the apartment that Nancy and her friends had hired for their holiday. The mid-morning sun was exceptionally bright and its slanted rays created a lane of two halves. Wherever the light shone in across the rooftops and poured itself over the white wall of houses on one side, everything seemed friendly, bright and cheerful. But on the other side where the shadows fell it was cold, brooding and still. The light spoke of growth and change. The dark whispered of stagnation and stolen hope.
The wooden door to Nancy's apartment was in full sun and already hot to the touch. A small hanging pot of primroses near its top corner danced lightly in the breeze coming in from the nearby Gulf of Aqaba. A bee reversed out of one of its flowers, selected another, landed, hesitated then flew off in a hurry.
The Arab slowed his pace till he stood in front of Nancy's door, casting his shadow over it. He took a last pull on his cigarette, threw the butt behind him and prepared to knock. He was looking forward to his encounter.
Habib Bourguiba was from Aqaba, just two miles away along the coast in Jordan. Though his family were too poor even to own a camel, Habib was born with one great advantage. He was raffishly handsome. Over the years his dashing good looks would turn many a veiled head - and many a non-veiled one. Indeed if the birth angel had waited just a few hours for the world to turn before he planted Habib naked upon its surface, Habib could have easily found his fortune in Hollywood's studios and made a mogul or two very rich.
Never mind, the fates were not so easily thwarted. If Habib could not go to Hollywood, they instead brought Hollywood to Habib. When he was 20 years old and whistling away his days repairing his father's nets while simultaneously avoiding the fathers of two young women he had carelessly impregnated, a warm summer evening brought into Aqaba's tiny harbour a rare sight. It was a two-masted luxury sloop with a Kenyan crew, an ancient South African captain and two slightly used Los Angeles starlets, names that had graced the screens more than 10 years before and who were now enjoying their after-fame years cruising the seas, indulging the senses and mooching the middle eastern muscle.
Habib saw the arrival of the cruise boat and word soon spread of its two minor celebrities. He sensed an opportunity immediately and acted fast. He sought out his friend Hamid, another footloose Aqaban with as many holes in his pockets as Habib had in his morals.
Rapidly coaching Hamid in etiquette, English and dress sense, Habib led the swarthy pair to the quayside an hour later just as the actresses' boat-taxi brought them to the port.
'Good evening, lovely ladies. How are you tonight? This is Hamid and I Habib and we your escorts for the evening.'
The two American women looked up at Habib with a mixture of suspicion and amusement. They were not naïve, they knew that many would see them as easy targets. But the quiet port scene looked as harmless as an oasis to thirsty travellers and surely, they figured, it would be nice to have a local to show them around?
Anyway an adventure beckoned and another night with just the two of them talking to each other would be such a bore. Besides, Habib was every bit the gentleman, helping the ladies onto the quay with his strong arms and playing the smiling romancer with the devilish composure of a dark Clark Gable. He was fun, friendly and so, so handsome.
So, so devious too.
When the two men left the sloop early the next morning after a night of eating, joking and carnal pleasure and very satisfied with their night's endeavours, one of the grateful ex-leading ladies emerged after them onto the deck. She pulled her robe around her, kissed Habib on the lips and pressed $100 into his hand saying 'That's for the two of you to share.'
But Habib was not the sharing kind. After coaxing Hamid into an almond orchard where the two could be alone and plan their next escapade together, Habib slew Hamid with a knife slipped under his ribs into his heart. Habib held his friend while he slid to the ground then buried his body and pulled the sun-dried leather carcase of a dead donkey over it to keep the dogs away.
Habib began to pursue his new career on the wrong side of the law with vigour. He was surprised at how easy it was to make money from giving people what they wanted. Sex, drugs, car radios, whatever. He found he had a natural flair for crime. But his growing ambitions meant he needed a bigger theatre to work in. It wasn't long before he had moved from the backwater of Aqaba across the border into the relative boomtown that was Israel's own Red Sea port, Eilat. Israel had access to western tourists in a way that Aqaba didn't and money and investment were flowing into Eilat like sun cream sloshing over white skin. Hotels were rising, restaurants were opening, cruise boats were multiplying and tourists were arriving by the charter-load, browning themselves on the sand and splashing in the warm water gulf.
But in the evenings tourists wanted fun. Families wanted hamburgers and innocent cartoon films. Youthful holidaymakers wanted soft drugs. And older single tourists wanted discreet sex. Habib understood these needs and set out to meet them all. Particularly the latter two.
Before long he came t
o the attention of the Israeli constabulary. These were on a mission to keep Eilat free from crime so that Israel could continue to earn huge amounts of foreign exchange from tourism. Habib's Arab credentials made him of more than usual interest to them. But his instinctive understanding of power and his ability to placate it meant that he worked within the system, not outside it.
Israeli officialdom was initially suspicious of this smooth, handsome bedouin but Habib was respectful towards uniforms and made sure he regularly performed favours for them.
Frequently he turned in fellow Arabs who tried to carve out their own crime niche without cutting him in. This both endeared him to the police as well as removed competitors from the field. Sometimes he informed on tourists that he had just sold drugs to (which helped the police get their conviction rates up). And once he handed in the rifle of an Israeli soldier who had left it in a bus shelter.
Habib knew how to make friends where it mattered.
But unbeknownst to Habib, or the Police, another group had become interested in him. This group were based far from Israel and were building a drug supply chain that could take illegal compounds in any direction around the globe, safely. They were impressed with Habib's unusual ability to develop a criminal enterprise whilst simultaneously working with the authorities. They valued discretion.
For months they shadowed his activities, crossing his path only to observe him more closely. In Habib they saw a natural lieutenant who shared their values and who could help them in their global endeavours. They particularly needed a reliable fixer in the Middle East, it being the nexus of Africa, Asia and Europe.
Eventually the group made contact with Habib. They sent two of their senior members to Eilat specially to interview him.
The two emissaries spelt out their society's mission of global domination and their peculiar code of honour. They highlighted the failures of European and American criminal networks and ridiculed them as short-termist and clumsy. They pointed out the material benefits of membership of their group and emphasised the power of their gathering influence in governments and boardrooms around the globe.
Habib was mesmerised. Here were friends that had no interest in whether he was Arab or Jew. They saw no ethnic or national boundaries. They would be his new family and help him succeed as he helped them. They wanted only his unswerving loyalty.
This group was Brother.
Nancy was alone inside the apartment. She swallowed the last crust of a piece of toast and sipped her instant coffee. Beside her on the sofa was the detritus of the boys' breakfast. Men's socks, jeans, a cassette player and some batteries lay scattered on the floor like a latterday Marie Celeste.
There was a knock.
Nancy put down her cup, went to the door and opened it. Outside was the Arab man who had sold them the drugs last night. He was standing alone, dressed in a very smart suit and highly polished brown shoes.
'May I come in? I need to discuss.'
'Er, what?' said Nancy, trying to recover from her surprise.
But Habib was already walking into the corridor, pushing past her. A waft of tobacco smoke combined with strong cologne assaulted her nostrils. She closed the door behind her but left it on the latch.
'Please to sit down.' Habib stood in the centre of the small living room and gestured towards the sofa.
'So kind of you to let me sit in my own room.'
'Actually, this is my room. My name is Habib, at your service. I rent out this room, and some others', he waved his hand airily 'to help out the tourist industry.'
'Oh', said Nancy momentarily taken aback.
'You like my house?'
'It's fine. Actually it's a bit small', she recovered. 'I'm used to more space. Have you got anything bigger?'
His demeanour changed sharply. 'You must come with me. Some friends of mine need help. You will be back in a day or so.'
'Day or so? But I've got Martin, Pete and Andy to look after. They're my friends. I can't just leave them.' Nancy's mind was whirring. He couldn't make her go with him, surely? But he seemed so confident.
'Oh yes, your friends.' He regarded her with a slight sneer for a few seconds.
Did he know about the sex, thought Nancy. How could he? Oh, it's his property of course. A hidden camera, a microphone?
Habib interrupted her thoughts. 'Get some paper and a pen. I'm sure you brought some with you to write home. You are going to write your friends a note.'
But Habib had pushed Nancy beyond a certain point. She was suddenly on her feet before he realised she had even moved.
'I'm not writing anyone a note and if you think I am you've got cotton wool for brains and if you don't get out of my house this instant I'll call the police. Now good day mister, close the door behind you.'
The tirade was delivered in a rising crescendo. Habib's mouth dropped open as he surveyed the transformation of nervous young female into flinty jabberwock in front of his eyes.
If Habib had been unaccompanied it would have been a victory to Nancy like a mother rabbit seeing off the weasel that invades its home. But the day was full of surprises.
A click of the latch and the door opened. A figure appeared in the threshold dressed in the uniform of the Israeli police. The policeman had his hand on his holster and spoke to Habib in a language Nancy could not understand. Habib turned his head a little and spoke back. Then another Israeli policeman appeared. They stood and waited, apparently respectful of Habib. The weasel had friends.
'You see,' said Habib. 'I am in charge here.' He waited for the evident truth of his words to sink in. 'Now enough of your womanly temper. Get the paper and pen. If you refuse I have your friends arrested. There were witnesses who saw them buy hashish last night.'
'From you,' shouted Nancy in a rising panic.
'There are photographs.' Habib raised his voice, he was used to intimidating others. 'They show you and your friends buying hashish from a man who has his back to the camera. He cannot be identified. It's a shame. For you. And I think we find remains of hashish cigarettes in your bin if we take a look?'
He indicated the policemen with a slight incline of his head. Then he returned his eyes to look intently at her and allow time for his words to take effect.
Nancy's fury faded and her shoulders slumped. Images of courtrooms and prison cells came into her mind.
'Now, if you please.' Habib had won the first battle.
Nancy alighted from Habib's car onto a large flight apron. A variety of aircraft, mostly military, were parked to left and right of her. Beyond the aerodrome was nothing but desert in all directions. It was completely secluded. She reached into her handbag for sunglasses.
Stretching away from the apron was the runway which disappeared from sight in the heat haze. It was still morning. Only an hour before Nancy had still been the little girl on holiday with three boy academics, passing the time till they returned home.
Nearby, a refuelling truck serviced a twin-engined light plane. Beside it some men were unloading boxes from the cavernous interior of a huge four-engined transport monster.
Hangars bearing logos and corporation names in both English and Israeli alphabets stood next to each other. A control tower was visible far off.
'What's this aerodrome called?' Nancy's professional interest had overridden her fear. 'It's not on the map. Do charter flights come here?'
'Now, Nancy', he began. He had discovered her name and a lot more about her as she had written the letter he'd dictated. 'There's no reason to be afraid. If you do exactly as I say you will be back in a couple of days, three at most.' He had ignored her question. 'Then you can resume your holiday and the police will forget about the drugs.' Habib was all charm now. Nancy looked at him in awe.
'You will get on an aeroplane and take a flight. Quite a long flight. When you get off you will be in West Africa. You will be met by a man called Lafi. Lafi will ask you to drive a lorry. You can drive, yes?'
His face descended aggressively on hers, forcing her to
jerk her head back.
'Yes,' she replied reactively before thinking why didn't I say no? 'But I don't have a driving licence. I'm not legal. Not legal to drive.'
'Don't worry,' he smiled condescendingly, 'you won't need a driving licence where you're going. Lafi has to transport some medicines,' he continued with barely a break in his flow 'for the UN. United Nations. Medicines that will save lives, to another area away from his home. But it is, how do I say, difficult.'
He looked down at her with the face of a frustrated saint. He was just a good man trying to bring hope to the suffering and all around him were selfish people getting in the way of his and his friends' noble actions. Nancy was impressed by Habib's ability to paint himself with a halo. A natural manipulator.
'Those people, you see,' he went on with a knowing look to Nancy, 'are tribal. They are not like us.'
'Us,' exclaimed Nancy. Who are 'us'?'
'So Lafi, who is bringing medicines across a border,' Habib ignored her again, 'is being stopped because he is one tribe and the other people are another tribe.'
Nancy leant back against the car and put her head in her hands. She stared down at the tarmac in front of her and at the planes around. She could see Habib was watching her closely. He didn't pause for a moment.
'So this is where you can help, Nancy. You can drive the lorry. For the UN. And deliver the medicines. And then you come home. OK? Nice girl like you, in Africa. They will let you go through. You aid worker, OK? You pretend you aid worker, OK?'
'I don't want to do it. I can't. I'm just a girl. I'm a travel agent. On holiday.' Nancy felt she had to fight back, somehow. Plead uselessness. Play the girly card. Anything.
Habib was relentless. 'If you don't help me, your friends, I can't help them. They go to jail. Get criminal record. Go back to England with criminal record. OK? What happen to them then? What happen, Nancy? They get 'international drug dealer' stamped in passport. That's what happen. By Israel court. Then no job forever.' He stared at her until they both realised she had no answer. 'You help me and the UN. Then I help your friends. OK Nancy?'
