The Burning Gates

by Parker Bilal

  The three Land Rovers crunched off the road and spun in a circle across the stony dust until they were roughly arranged around them in a semicircle, their long radio antennae whipping in the air. The passenger door of the lead vehicle opened and a large, baggy figure of a man descended and hitched up his uniform trousers. When he waved, the doors of the other ve­­­hicles opened and men poured out. There had to be over twenty of them in all. Dressed in black, they wore body armour and helmets and carried an assortment of weapons.

  ‘What a magnificent sunrise, eh? Don’t you think?’ Marwan lifted his arms up to the sky and stretched. ‘Makes you feel proud to be Egyptian, doesn’t it?’ He moved closer. ‘Well, in your case, maybe not, right? What are you doing out here, Makana?’

  ‘You were following us?’

  ‘Now why would you think a thing like that?’ For a man who spent most of his nights drinking himself into a stupor, Marwan looked surprisingly alert at this early hour. An eager executioner anticipating a good day’s work ahead of him.

  ‘You were just driving this way?’

  ‘We’re stationed out here. The CSF is running things in this part of the Sinai now.’

  ‘I’d like to believe this is a coincidence.’

  ‘I’d like to think the same, but we both know it isn’t true. Cairo was turned into Falluja yesterday afternoon, or maybe you hadn’t heard?’ Marwan glanced over Makana’s shoulder. ‘Who’s your friend?’

  ‘Somebody we picked up along the way.’

  ‘That’s interesting. He wouldn’t happen to be American, would he?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘No reason.’

  ‘Where are you headed?’

  ‘The same place as you, I imagine.’ Marwan studied Cassidy for a moment longer before turning back to face Makana. ‘I don’t know what to make of this, to be honest. There we are driving along and what do I see?’ Marwan nodded at the Thunderbird. ‘You really ought to get yourself something a little less conspicuous.’

  ‘So everyone keeps telling me.’

  ‘There were reports of a strange old car in connection with the shoot-out.’

  ‘You know how unreliable eyewitnesses are. One day it’s blue, the next it’s red.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right.’ Marwan scratched his neck. ‘But then there’s the other thing.’

  ‘What other thing?’

  ‘You remember that person you asked me about? High-level Iraqi officer? Well, you’re not going to believe this, but it seems he’s no longer welcome in our country. In fact, I have orders to put him on a plane out of here as soon as I can find him.’

  ‘What about his friends in powerful places?’

  ‘You know how it is with friends.’ Marwan shrugged. ‘When people start getting gunned down in broad daylight nobody is safe.’

  ‘He’s not alone. Samari has a woman and her child with him.’

  Marwan’s big head shook in dismay. ‘When are you going to learn?’ He stared off at the rising sun for a moment. ‘I understand, I really do. You lost your wife and kid. But you need to learn that you can’t save the whole world.’

  ‘All I’m asking for is twenty minutes, that’s all. You know what happens. If you go in with your guns drawn a lot of people are going to get shot.’

  ‘I’m touched by your faith in our skill.’

  ‘You know it’s true.’

  Marwan said nothing. Instead he helped himself to one of Makana’s cigarettes. Makana cupped a match for him. For a few moments the two men stood and smoked in silence.

  ‘Even if I wanted to help you, I don’t think it’s worth it.’

  ‘She has a young son by our people back home. She was raped and tortured.’

  ‘I hear what you’re saying. This is personal. You want to do right by her.’

  ‘Twenty minutes to get her out. That’s all I’m asking. Then you can go in and get him.’

  Looking Makana in the eye, Marwan took three quick puffs and dropped the cigarette to the ground. He stepped on it with his boot heel.

  ‘I warned you. You can’t say I didn’t. I told you not to get involved.’

  ‘I’ve been involved for as long as I can remember,’ said Makana.

  They took off with the Thunderbird sandwiched between the first two Land Rovers.

  ‘What exactly is happening?’ Cassidy asked.

  ‘We’re cooperating.’

  ‘You sure that’s wise?’

  Makana looked back at him. ‘We don’t have much choice.’

  They drove along the coastal road, past row after row of houses, chalets, hotels with names like Sea View and Blue Bay, all unfinished, the empty doorways and window frames facing out at the sea optimistically, as if awaiting the return of a vanquished fleet. Eventually they turned off and started climbing into the hilly interior. The advantage of having a police escort, Makana learned, is that you don’t waste time at checkpoints. The men on duty recognised Marwan and waved them straight through. They swept past barriers of old oil drums filled with sand and strips of traffic spikes that were dragged aside. The narrow, winding road cut through the stark landscape. Slabs of rock jutted out of the barren grey dust. The Thunderbird creaked and groaned in protest, the underside scraping the ground as they bounced along the uneven road.

  Santa Katerina barely qualified as a town. A scattering of disconsolate buildings ranged over a rising slope hemmed in by rocky pinnacles including, somewhere among them, the blunt hill that was Jebel Musa, where Moses received the Ten Commandments, if you happened to believe in that sort of thing. There was an air of serenity in the valley, and it was easy to imagine this as a sanctuary, a place of refuge from the world. One of the most sacred places on earth according to the old books of prophecy and legend; certainly one of the most desolate. The convoy swept past a solitary camel being led by a figure wrapped up from head to toe and came to a halt in a cloud of grey dust on an unclaimed space somewhere in the middle of it all. The air was cool when Makana climbed out. Marwan was marching around making sure everyone remembered who was in charge. He came over and rested a boot on the front bumper of the Thunderbird. He pointed over Makana’s shoulder.

  ‘The monastery is up there, to the south. That’s where God spoke to Moses from inside a burning bush, so if you hear any voices you’ll know someone is trying to tell you to turn around and go home, forget about this sharmuta. If you go up there it’s at your own risk. I’ll give you fifteen minutes, then I’m coming after you.’ Marwan crunched back across the stony ground to his men.

  ‘Ya basha, it’s not my place to question, but would it not be wiser to leave this girl to her own fate and return to Cairo?’

  ‘It would be, undoubtedly, but that’s not what we’re going to do.’

  ‘I thought as much,’ said Sindbad with a sigh as the engine coughed into life. ‘May Allah watch over us,’ he muttered as he thrust the gearstick into place and put his foot down.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  They drove east, up a rising curve that cut into a narrow rocky cleft. On the last bend, Makana indicated for Sindbad to pull over. He turned around to address Cassidy.

  ‘There’s no reason for you to risk coming in. You may as well stay out here and keep an eye open for Kane. If all goes well we’ll be back in less than fifteen minutes.’

  Cassidy thought it over and got out of the car. They left him standing by the side of the road as they drove on. Makana felt a degree of relief. The American was an unknown quantity and therefore something of a liability. He didn’t want to complicate negotiations with Samari any further than was necessary.

  It wasn’t hard to spot the place. A couple of men standing around the entrance, wearing the headscarves of the Bedouin and nursing machine guns, reported their arrival. Makana counted the minutes as they consulted someone on a small radio. To his surprise, they waved him through. The short drive leading off the track rose steeply, winding through a tight corner and out onto a flat plateau. A high brick wall an
d a solid metal gate protected the villa. Beyond it the view was spectacular. A commanding vista of the little town below and the rocky landscape surrounding it, dotted with lumpy hills that stretched off into the distance.

  The iron gate slid aside to reveal a modern villa set in the shadow of a rocky outcrop. A couple of armed guards, one of whom carried his arm in a sling, sauntered across. They looked the car over before waving them through. Everyone was a little jumpy, no doubt as a result of what had happened in Cairo. Inside the compound were a number of vehicles including the two BMWs Makana had seen. Over on one side was a pickup truck. Next to it a man wearing a khaki overalls was wiping engine oil off his hands with a rag.

  ‘This way.’

  ‘Stay here,’ Makana told Sindbad as he climbed out of the car.

  The guard gestured with his good hand. He had an automatic pistol hanging in a shoulder holster under his bad arm. A second guard carrying an M16 followed behind Makana.

  The villa was perhaps twenty years old and two storeys high. A functional structure of metal, glass and concrete, clearly it had been chosen more for its remote location than for its design. Apart from the view there wasn’t much to recommend it. Wide steps led up to a long open terrace of cracked tiles that extended across the front of the house. A sliding glass door gave onto a lobby furnished with a long dining table. More steps led up to a living area that was starkly furnished with ugly sofas and a glass coffee table. A stone fireplace to one side did its best to add a touch of style and came up short. The room was cold and un­­­attractive. Above it a gallery with iron railings ran along the upper floor with a spiral staircase on one side for access. Beneath this an archway led further into the interior of the house.

  ‘Sit there.’

  Makana sat. The guard took up a position by the door, so that the light was behind him. The M16 was trained on Makana and his finger was on the trigger. The wounded guard went slowly up the spiral staircase and disappeared through a doorway. Makana resisted the urge to reach for a cigarette. He didn’t want to make the guard any more nervous than he clearly was. The ambush in town must have scared them all. They weren’t taking any chances. The question was why they had let him in so easily. Time was ticking by. Any minute now Marwan would come charging in with his boy soldiers and people were going to get hurt.

  ‘You are either very brave or very foolish.’ Kadhim al-Samari stood by the railings on the upper gallery. He came slowly down the staircase. ‘First you try to kill me and then you walk in here calmly as if nothing had happened.’

  ‘I didn’t try to kill you.’

  ‘Where is your mercenary friend?’

  ‘I told you, I don’t work for Kane.’

  ‘You told me, it’s true.’ The Iraqi moved closer. He reached into his sleeve and produced a knife. It was black and had a short, square blade – the same knife Makana had watched him slice across Raul Santos’s neck in the square. He was wearing a dark blue suit and smelled of expensive cologne. He leaned closer to rest the blade flat on Makana’s shoulder. ‘You know what this is?’

  ‘A samurai knife.’

  ‘Very good. It’s known as a kaiken. It’s so sharp it would cut through your jugular without your feeling a thing, until it was too late, that is.’

  ‘I’ve seen how it works.’ Makana stayed very still.

  ‘The smartest thing you did today was to arrive unarmed. If you had been armed you would be dead by now.’

  ‘I believe you.’ Makana tilted his head in the direction of the gunman. ‘Since I’m not a threat, perhaps you could ask him to lower that?’

  Samari considered the situation and then stepped back from Makana and signalled. The gunman unclamped his finger from the trigger and lowered the gun to hang on its strap from his shoulder. Makana decided a cigarette at this point was well deserved.

  ‘Okay, Mr Makana, now tell me why you’re here.’

  ‘I came to propose a deal. A way that both of us can profit and at the same time eliminate a common problem.’

  ‘A deal?’ Samari folded his arms and considered Makana for a moment. ‘I warn you, if you are lying to me I shall kill you myself.’

  ‘I’m not lying.’

  ‘Very well, let’s hear it.’

  ‘There are three cars full of CSF troops waiting for me down in the valley. Soon they’ll be on their way up here. They plan to put you on a plane and get you out of the country.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. They would never do that.’

  ‘You’ve overstayed your welcome in Egypt. After that shootout yesterday your friends are no longer all that interested in protecting you.’

  ‘It was regrettable, but I am still a useful partner to them.’

  ‘No doubt, but this is politics. It’s all about appearances. Kane lost a man yesterday. The Americans are asking questions. It’s only a matter of time before they discover that the Egyptians are harbouring a man on their Most Wanted list. You.’

  ‘So far I have no problem with your reasoning, but what exactly are you proposing?’

  ‘If I’m right, Kane is on his way here. He may already be in the area.’

  ‘How can you be sure of that?’

  ‘Because you’re his only objective. He’s not going to give up now.’

  Samari’s face hardened. ‘He’s persistent, that much I will give him, but even supposing he could find me, he wouldn’t dare come after me here.’

  ‘Why not? He attacked you in downtown Cairo in broad daylight. There’s not much that puts that man off.’

  ‘He killed two of my men. He almost killed me. What is he after?’ Samari’s voice was tense. He too was shaken.

  ‘My feeling is that it’s personal.’

  ‘But why? Who is this Kane?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that. All I can say is that he won’t stop until you’re dead.’

  ‘So what do you propose?’

  ‘We hand him over to the CSF. Dead or alive. He’s all they want. He killed Kasabian and caused a scandal in the middle of Cairo. Kane is an embarrassment to the Egyptians and the Americans will want to end the whole affair as quietly as pos­­­sible. You would be able to stay on in this country.’

  The Iraqi considered the logic of Makana’s argument.

  ‘And you, what do you get out of this?’

  ‘You let the girl and her son go.’

  Samari laughed. He seemed genuinely amused. ‘I didn’t think people like you still existed. You belong in the history books, an extinct species.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath.’

  ‘Tell me, you really have no other ambition? You want to help the girl. That’s it? You aren’t after money?’

  ‘I get paid for doing my job. Kasabian paid me to find you. Kane paid me more.’

  ‘Yet here you are offering him to me.’

  ‘Kane will want to cover his tracks. He’ll kill me as soon as I’m no longer of use to him.’

  Samari’s eyes glittered. ‘You don’t trust Americans. You would rather take your chances with me.’

  ‘At least with you I feel that I know where I stand.’

  ‘A rational man. How interesting.’

  ‘Then we have a deal?’

  Samari stared at Makana for a long time. ‘You are a strange one. Strange enough to be telling the truth. It would be inconvenient to have the CSF arrive now. Can you really stop them?’

  ‘I’m the only chance you’ve got.’

  ‘I’ll tell my men to prepare themselves.’ Samari went over to the door and called his lieutenants to him. Makana lifted his telephone and called Marwan. He wasn’t happy.

  ‘This isn’t what we agreed,’ he grumbled.

  ‘This is better. You get the man who started the shooting and Kasabian’s killer. On top of that the brigadier doesn’t lose face. He can keep his friend and business partner around. They’ll shower you with decorations.’

  ‘How can you be sure this man Kane is going to show up?’

  ‘He hasn’t let me
down yet. Just keep your men out of sight.’

  Makana could hear Marwan mulling over the possibilities.

  ‘All right, you have twenty-four hours. But you’d better not try anything else.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Makana and hung up. He wond­­­­er­­­­ed what to do about Cassidy and decided that the homicide detective was resourceful enough to take care of himself.

  ‘You’re wasted in this job of yours.’ Samari squared his shoulders and produced a silver cigarette case and a gold lighter. ‘You could be making a fortune. Why don’t you come and work for me?’

  ‘I have enough trouble sleeping as it is.’

  Samari chuckled. He squinted through the cigarette smoke at Makana. ‘Do you know where I made my name as a military officer? The war with Iran was coming to a close and we were losing. Our generals were threatening to rebel against Saddam. We had fought the Iranians for six long years and still they were not defeated. A new strategy was devised, a flexible defence force. I was part of a unit of the Iraqi Republican Guard.’ He strolled about. It was a big room, with long leather sofas in black and glass coffee tables. The walls were whitewashed and bare. A hideaway for a man who moved around a lot.

  ‘One night we came under attack, a massive offensive around Basra. Our situation was critical. We were outnumbered and could expect no reinforcements for twenty-four hours. I knew we would not last the night, so I came up with a plan. We flooded the Iranian trenches with water. Not too much, up to about knee height. A discomfort but nothing more. Then we dropped a high-tension electric cable into the water and switched on the power. We killed over a thousand of them that night. I was promoted and decorated. My career was made, as one general told me.’

  Lighting another cigarette with the lighter, Samari sat down on the sofa opposite and contemplated Makana. ‘We are not so different, you and I. I too have lost my country. The Americans will redraw the map of the region to serve their interests. Civil war will make it easy to divide the country into three manage­able parts, and do not imagine they will stop there. Secure Israel’s control of the West Bank, push the Palestinians into Jordan? In the end we will have a toothless, docile Middle East, a client state to American interests, begging for Western aid, much like Egypt.’ Samari smiled. ‘For a time we stood up to them. We defied them, that is something I am proud of.’