by Farah Zaman
When they came out of the souk, a thin trickle of spectators was exiting the stadium. By the time they reached the doors, people were pouring out in thick streams. The teenagers stood to the side, gazing at the sea of faces around them. They stiffened when they saw a familiar figure pushing his way through the slowly moving snarl of people. It was the Mole Man and he saw them the same moment they saw him.
Adam shouted, “There he is! After him.”
As the teenagers threaded their way through the crowd, the Mole Man gave them a look of malice and began shoving people out of his path. When he finally forced his way out, he picked up his robes and ran towards the parking lot. By the time his pursuers untangled themselves from the crowd, the Mole Man was way ahead of them. As he reached the parking lot, a white object flapped out of his robe. It sailed backwards, landing under the wheels of a black Toyota Tundra. The man did not seem to notice. He reached a dusty blue Nissan Pathfinder and yanked open the door.
“Oh, no,” Zaid panted, “He’s getting away.” Even though they put on an extra spurt of speed, they were too late. They came to a stop and watched as the Mole Man accelerated away with a screech of tires. They were too far away to get a reading of the license plate.
Tariq pointed to the Toyota Tundra. “Something fell out of his robe and went under that car. Maybe it will give us a clue about him.” Going over to the vehicle, he stooped and picked up a thin white object.
“It’s a piece of paper,” he said, holding up the folded square.
“It must be the note the man in the souk gave to him,” said Layla. “What does it say?”
Tariq opened the paper and held it aloft so they all could read it. It bore several typewritten sentences. After reading it, they looked at one another in puzzlement.
“It makes no sense,” said Tariq. “The words are all jumbled.”
“I think it’s a cipher,” said Zaid, his face lighting up with interest. “I got interested in them after our adventure at Bayan House last year. If I can figure out the pattern of the cryptogram, I can decode what’s written here. I hope it won’t require a special key.”
“Leave it until we get back home,” said Tariq. “Let’s go have lunch now.”
They bought lunch at the food court and found an empty table. As they ate, conversation centered around the Mole Man and what could be the reason for his strange behavior.
“We won’t know what he’s up to unless we question him,” said Adam. “To do that, we need to find him. He seems to be a very slippery character.”
“Maybe he’s staying at a hotel in Khaldun,” said Tariq. “We can check a few of them today to see if he’s there. If not, we can return another day and check a few more until we’ve checked them all.”
“He might be staying with friends or relatives and not at a hotel,” said Zaid. “Or he could be on his way out of Khaldun right now.”
“I think we should check the hotels,” said Layla, taking a bite of her falafel. “I’d like to know what that man is up to.” Glancing at her once pristine scarf, now stained with tomato juice and seeds, she said, “I have to wash my scarf as soon as we get back home before it starts growing tomatoes.”
Zahra said, “Zaid, can you do a sketch of the Mole Man for us to show at the hotels? It would be easier than describing him every time.”
Zaid nodded. “I’ll give it a try.”
From their adventure last year, Layla knew he was quite talented at sketching.
“Let’s do that in the car,” said Tariq. “It will save us some time.”
Back in the car, Tariq gave pencil and notepaper to Zaid. By the time they entered the city center, Zaid had sketched an amazing likeness of the Mole Man. It yielded no results at the first three hotels they checked. Tired and sweaty from their quest, they decided to give up the search for the day.
While walking back to Tariq’s car, they saw an old woman seated on a bench under the awning of a clothing store. Her dark hair was sprinkled with gray and fell in a single plait down her back. She wore a faded dark-blue gown with a red shawl slung over her shoulders. She was shuffling a pack of cards with great expertise. With her leathery brown skin and hooked nose, she was the epitome of a fairy tale witch.
“Would you like me to tell you your fortunes?” she croaked as they passed by.
When Tariq politely declined, the woman muttered words in a strange tongue.
“Is she putting a curse on us or something?” asked Layla.
“No, she was speaking in Domari. She’s a gypsy,” said Tariq.
Adam chuckled. “Maybe we should ask her to look in her crystal ball and find the Mole Man for us.”
“If fortune tellers really knew the unseen or unknown, they’d all be rich and famous,” said Zaid. “I don’t understand how people get fooled by them.”
“Maybe we should show her the sketch and ask her if she knows the Mole Man,” said Zahra. “She looks very observant.”
“That’s a good idea,” Tariq agreed.
They retraced their steps to the gypsy woman. She looked up at them, her eyes bright and eager. Zaid showed her the sketch and asked, “Can you please tell us if you know this man?”
The gypsy woman took the sketch from him and peered at it. A look of terror came over her face. “Al-Aqrab,” she gasped, dropping the sketch as if it had become red hot.
Muttering under her breath in Domari, she elbowed them aside and took off down the street. The teenagers stared after her until she turned a corner and disappeared.
“What in the world,” Layla exclaimed. “I guess she knows our Mole Man.”
“And is terrified of him,” said Adam.
“She called him The Scorpion,” said Zahra.
“It’s probably a nickname,” said Zaid. “At least one person in this city seems to know our man.”
“Al-Aqrab,” Layla repeated. “I’ve heard that name before, but I’m not sure where.”
“I wonder why she’s so afraid of him,” said Adam.
“That we shall soon find out,” Tariq promised. “We’ll come back another day and our bird will sing for us.”
Layla laughed, her dimples flashing. “You’ve seen too many bad gangster movies.”
When they got back to the castle, they decided to rest a bit before gathering in Zaid’s suite to figure out the coded message. When she got to her room, Layla scrubbed the tomato remnants from her scarf and hung it out to dry. Changing into a soft cotton nightdress, she gave a great sigh of relief as her head hit the pillow and her body sank into the soft mattress.
Later, when she went over to Zaid’s room, the others were already there. Tariq came in right behind her, Bilqis at his heels. The cat’s gaze flicked around the room, her tail making patterns behind her. She found a dark corner, curled herself up and went to sleep.
Adam grinned. “Now that Her Royal Highness, the Queen of Sheba, is fast asleep, I guess we can get down to business. Bring out that piece of paper, Zaid.”
Zaid held up the piece of paper. “I’ve already decoded it.”
“That was quick work,” said Tariq in admiration.
“It wasn’t really difficult,” said Zaid, modest as always. “It’s written in a simple code known as a Caesar Cipher. Each letter represents another letter at certain fixed points of the alphabet. When you put the letters together, they form the plain text of the message.”
“What does it say?” said Zahra.
“It says, Bird to be caught next Thursday night at nine. Select the catchers and prepare the cage.”
“Hmm, that sounds suspicious,” said Layla. “Our Mole Man, a.k.a. Al-Aqrab, is definitely up to no good.”
“I didn’t think people used coded messages anymore now that there are cell phones,” said Adam.
“Cell phones leave electronic traces,” said Zaid. “I guess whoever wrote this message didn�
�t want that.”
Layla sighed. “We’re no closer to knowing why Al-Aqrab has been following us. I wish I could remember where I heard that name before.”
“Do you think it was here or in Ghassan City?” asked Zahra.
“I have no idea. All I know is, I heard it somewhere before.”
“We need to speak with that gypsy woman again,” said Adam. “She knows who he is and can tell us about him.”
“Do you think we can go back tomorrow, Tariq?” asked Layla.
Tariq, who was wearing a faraway look on his face, seemed not to hear her.
Layla waved a hand in front of him. “Earth to Tariq.”
Tariq blinked. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
Layla repeated her question and Tariq said, “Yes, we can go tomorrow afternoon, insha Allah. We can leave at two to get an early start, if you wouldn’t mind giving up your rest.”
“Not at all,” said Zaid.
“Is something wrong, Tariq?” asked Zahra. “You had a weird look on your face just now.”
Tariq said slowly, “Thinking of this piece of paper gave me a flashback of what Uncle Rashid said the night he visited me. I’m sure he mentioned something about paper. I’ve tried to remember exactly what but I’m drawing a blank.”
“Yeah, I know that feeling,” said Layla. “Keep trying.”
Tariq stood up. “I will. I must go now. I promised Grandfather I would tell him about the races. Bilqis, let’s go, habibi.”
Bilqis opened her eyes, stood up and stretched. She walked regally out the door with her owner.
Layla leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes. “Al-Aqrab, Al-Aqrab,” she muttered. “Where in the world did I hear that name before?”
“It doesn’t matter where you heard it,” said Adam. “All that matters now is finding that lunatic and learning what he’s up to.”
Chapter Thirteen:
The Sign of the Scorpion
On the way to Khaldun the next afternoon, Layla said, “How are we going to get the gypsy woman to talk to us? She might bolt again.”
“Leave it to me,” said Tariq. “I know what might loosen her tongue.”
It was a little after three when they reached Khaldun. They found the gypsy woman sitting in the same spot she was the previous day. At first, she did not notice them. She was busy reading the fortune of a couple who tossed her a few bills before proceeding on their way. When she became aware of their presence, her eyes widened. She stared at them like a mouse would at a prowling cat.
Tariq smiled brightly at her. “Good afternoon. We’ve come to ask for your help.”
The gypsy woman shook her head and muttered, “I know nothing. I can’t help you.”
“You know who Al-Aqrab is,” said Zaid. “Won’t you tell us about him?”
The gypsy woman flinched, her eyes darting around fearfully. “I know nothing,” she repeated. “You’re wasting your time here.”
Layla gnashed her teeth in frustration. It was clear the gypsy woman was lying.
Tariq held up a roll of bills in front of the fearful woman. “All this will be yours if you tell us about Al-Aqrab.”
The gypsy woman licked her lips as if she had sighted a rare delicacy she had not tasted in ages. The teenagers hoped the money would soften her stance. They could see her desire for it warring with her fear of Al-Aqrab. It was a tense moment as they waited for her to make her choice. She finally did, and they relaxed at her next words.
“I can’t talk to you here,” she mumbled. “Go to my house at Number Eleven Hamdani Street. It’s five blocks away between Rida and Burda Streets. Wait in the courtyard. I’ll leave in a few minutes and meet you there.”
As they headed back to the car, Zahra said, “I feel bad she has to walk in the sun and we’ll be riding in the car.”
“She wouldn’t have come if we had offered her a ride,” said Adam. “She’s afraid Al-Aqrab is watching.”
Tariq drove slowly. It was soon apparent they were in one of the most squalid parts of Khaldun. The streets were cracked and potholed while walls enclosing courtyards were crumbling or in need of painting.
Zaid, who had been keeping track of their progress, said, “We’re in Hamdani Street now.”
“Let me park and we’ll look for the house,” said Tariq. “I see an empty spot to our right.”
They got out of the car, watching warily as a lean, mangy dog sniffed at a pile of garbage a few feet away. Finding nothing to eat, it gave a whimper and moved on to sniff at another pile. In one of the courtyards, a cat sat in the sun washing itself. It was a wizened, skeletal creature that looked as if it had not eaten a meal in ages. Layla’s heart was filled with pity to see such malnourished animals.
“I wish,” she said, “that all people and animals in the world had enough food to eat and never have to go hungry.” Pointing to the dog and cat, she said, “Look at how starved those animals look. Are the people around here that poor, Tariq?”
Tariq sighed. “Yes, they are. Gypsies live in this neighborhood and people give them a hard time when it comes to jobs. Grandfather has hired some of them to work in the stables and orchard but not everyone is willing to let go of their fears and do the same. He also donates regularly to the organizations in Khaldun that help the gypsies. He’s very generous with his money. Once, I heard Uncle Miftah say there might be nothing left for them if Grandfather gives away so much. When I told Grandfather about it, he said, ‘They haven’t learned yet, the more you give the more you get.’”
“Your grandfather is a wise man,” said Zaid.
Number Eleven was a shabby white villa which had become discolored with age. Through a creaking iron gate, they entered a courtyard that had more cracks than they could count. They stood under the shade of the single, straggly date palm. It leaned oddly to the side, as if bent with old age. As the minutes ticked by, Layla wondered if the gypsy woman had played a cunning trick on them. The next moment, the gate creaked open and she came hurrying into the courtyard, her red shawl slung over her head and shoulders.
Opening the front door, she took a quick, nervous look into the street before beckoning them in. They found themselves in a small sitting room with faded yellow curtains and a threadbare rug. Two worn sofas, a small coffee table, and a rocking chair were the only furniture. Against the wall was a small television set on a stand. The gypsy woman pointed them towards the sofas before seating herself in the rocking chair.
“My name is Aini,” she said, looking at them with eyes that told a tale of suffering and struggle. “What do you want to know about Al-Aqrab?” She flinched as she said the name.
“Who is he?” asked Tariq.
Aini’s face became grim. “He’s the kingpin of a network that preys upon people. They steal valuable jewelry, paintings and antiquities, and they kidnap wealthy people for huge ransoms. They also kill anyone who gets in their way.”
The teenagers exchanged alarmed looks at this piece of information.
“How do you know this?” said Layla.
The gypsy woman gave a twisted smile. “I’ve made it my business to learn about him after he murdered my husband.”
“He murdered your husband?” Zahra looked aghast.
“Yes. It all started two and a half years ago when my husband, Naji, found a job as a taxi driver with the help of a friend. It was a well-paying job and Naji was happy to be working after long months of unemployment. In return for finding him the job, the friend would ask him from time to time to deliver sealed messages or pick up and drop off passengers. One day, the friend asked him to take a passenger to a villa outside the city. Naji picked up the man, who carried several shopping bags with him. When they arrived at the villa, the passenger got out with his bags and told Naji to wait for him, that he would be back in fifteen minutes. Naji said the man seemed ill at ease but he didn’t think
anything of it at the time. After the man left, Naji felt thirsty, so he went to the trunk to get a bottle of water. That’s when he noticed a small shopping bag lying at the foot of the back seat. He thought the man must have left it behind by mistake. He decided he would take it to the villa. He opened the door and picked up the bag. When he heard glass striking against glass, he was curious to know what was inside, so he opened the bag. What he saw shocked him so much he dropped the bag down in fright and shut the door. Feeling flustered, he went back to his seat.”
“What did he see?” asked Zahra.
“He saw two glass jars with holes on the lids. Each one held a black scorpion.”
Layla grimaced. “Ugh”
“What happened next?” asked Adam.
“The passenger came running back to the car and said he had forgotten a bag. Naji said nothing. He didn’t want the man to think he had been poking his nose where it didn’t belong. He wondered what the man planned to do with the scorpions but didn’t want to ask. The man returned twenty minutes later, looking even more nervous. Naji brought him back to the city. That night, we saw on the news that a mother and her three-year-old daughter had been stung to death by scorpions. They showed a shot of the house where it had happened. Naji got his second shock of the day. It was the villa where he had taken the passenger. He was disturbed as you can imagine, so he called his friend.”
“What did the friend say?” asked Tariq.
“The so-called friend told Naji to keep his mouth shut or he would feel Al-Aqrab’s sting just like the mother and daughter had done. When Naji asked who Al-Aqrab was, he told Naji that Al-Aqrab was their employer and he didn’t like traitors. Naji said he didn’t care who Al-Aqrab was, that he would go to the police the next day and report what he had seen. The next morning, I left to go to the souk. When I came back, I found Naji in the courtyard with a knife in his heart and a dead scorpion in his hand. It was the sign of Al-Aqrab. When I confronted the so-called friend, he told me Al-Aqrab had given the order for Naji’s murder. And if I go to the police or speak to anyone about Al-Aqrab, I will be next. Fearing for my life, I kept quiet. Then you showed me the drawing of the one with the mole on his cheek. The so-called friend. I haven’t seen or heard from him since Naji’s murder. But now he has come back to punish me. He’s Al-Aqrab’s loyal henchman.”
