City of Jackals Read online

  ‘That’s what I was afraid you would say.’

  There was something wrong about the tone of her voice. And something else. Something he should have noticed earlier. A detail, nothing more, but it had slipped by because he had been distracted.

  ‘I never said that the person I was concerned about was a woman. How did you know?’

  He caught a glimpse of something, a flicker of movement in the glass of the computer screen as it darkened briefly before turning bright again. Nothing more than a shadow, but it was enough. Even as he began to turn, he knew it was too late. He felt the needle go in as he threw himself backwards. The chair skittered back to hit the wall. She had stepped neatly out of the way. He tried to stand, tried to reach round to grasp the syringe, but couldn’t do it. Liz Corbis was pressed into the corner, as far away from him as possible. He felt the blackness surging through his veins, felt his legs go numb, then his spine. The room spun away and the floor came up to meet him. Then he was lying there staring up at the cold white lights.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Although he could not move, Makana was aware of things going on around him. He had the sense that he was moving, sliding smoothly over the tiled floor. He seemed to be floating. Lights above him flickered by in quick succession. Then darkness again. A long corridor, followed by a door opening and more space filled with bright light and the hum of air conditioning, machinery. A highly modern room, or series of anterooms. The sound of voices. The smell. Antiseptic. Cleaning fluids. Plastic. Steel. He was left alone at intervals, in a dimmed alcove where the light was low. More voices nearby. Faces floated in, peering down at him. Some wore masks. A needle was slipped into his arm. He could not move anything, not even turn his head. He wasn’t even blinking. He couldn’t seem to close his eyes. Voices grew muffled. There was more movement nearby. The sound of another stretcher rolling by. A woman came into his field of vision. She leaned over and began stripping off his jacket and shirt, cutting the clothes off him with a pair of scissors. This struck him as a terrible shame. He liked that jacket. Scissors snipped. Compressed air hissed through a tube just behind him and the electronic beep of machinery came from somewhere. His hearing seemed to be enhanced. He was inside a large steel machine that hummed around him. Red and green eyes flashed off to his left. More movement. More voices. How long had passed? Then he was rolling again, being transferred to another room. The single eye of a powerful white light glared down at him from above. Ra, the Sun God, flying majestically across the heavens. He was on his way down, down into the Underworld. In this room he felt cold. The harsh reek of antiseptic cleaning fluids filled his nostrils, a nauseating smell that he associated with mortuaries and death. Oddly, he felt no panic. Where was Jehan? She was in danger, but he couldn’t see how to help her. Failure, yet again, to protect those he cared about.

  Although his eyes were open he felt strangely helpless, as if pinned down by a huge hand. When he tried to move he found that he had difficulty even feeling his limbs. He couldn’t sense any restraints on him, only a tingling sensation all over his body. With some effort he managed to turn his head slightly, and then his eyes could pick out something lying under a green sheet on a table alongside him. At the top end of this emerged the head of a woman. Strands of dyed blonde hair, grey at the roots, protruded from underneath the cap pulled down over her skull. A woman he had seen before. The old lady he had seen being helped around the swimming pool.

  There were muffled voices coming from somewhere close at hand. Beyond the woman, through an open doorway he saw people moving in some kind of adjacent space. They were visible through a couple of glass panels on a pair of doors. They looked as though they were preparing for something. At last it occurred to him where he was. This was an operating theatre. They were doctors and nurses. How long had he been out. An hour? More? Less? More important, how much time did he have?

  Out of the blur a face appeared above him. Upside down. A man wearing a green cloth-cap and green clothes. He pulled down the mask to reveal his face.

  ‘Can you hear me, Mr Makana?’ Ihsan Qaddus asked. It was a rhetorical question. He nodded gently before going on. ‘Well, clearly it’s a shame to meet again under these circumstances, but there you have it. Actually, more of a shame for you than for me, and as for Mrs Hollister here, she is delighted you could make it, also that you could spare a couple of kidneys for her failing one. Her body is basically shutting down, one organ at a time, but Mr Hollister left her enough money to replace them as they go. So, a very important client. And that is what this is all about, keeping the clients satisfied.’ A muffled voice said something and Qaddus broke off to issue orders to an assistant, also wearing a surgical mask.

  ‘You are persistent, I give you that. But if you had not forced her hand, Liz would perhaps not have felt compelled to act. She doesn’t like violence as a rule, prefers to see herself as somewhat removed from the sacrifices that must be made.

  ‘Speaking for myself, I find it hard to understand what motivates a man like yourself. If it’s money then clearly you have not been very successful. A matter of principle, then? Perhaps, but who really cares about such things in this day and age? People have a hard enough time getting from day to day. And our patients have a right to a better quality of life, don’t they? Think of it as something like an extension of natural selection. I’m a man of science, as you can imagine. Darwin, surely, would understand that wealth is now a factor in our survival.’

  Makana became aware of the other person moving around behind Qaddus. A woman dressed in green surgical scrubs and a mask, preparing instruments. Qaddus was still talking.

  ‘In a world of diminishing resources we live on because we can afford to do so. Even more telling is the question of how the rich became rich and the poor remained poor, don’t you think? Do you really believe that nameless, forgotten refugees, people without a home, or a family, at the bottom of the food chain, as it were, that they really deserve a better fate? Their sacrifice goes to the greater good of the human race. Can you not follow the argument that I am simply an instrument of Darwinism?’

  Ihsan Qaddus smiled to himself. Again, the handsome face and the perfect teeth. Makana was reminded of Jehan. And where was she? He had made a mistake and once more it seemed somebody else was going to pay for that. The anger fizzed inside him like a tonic, striving against the despair. He would have liked to hit Ihsan Qaddus hard enough to rearrange those perfect teeth, but something told him it wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

  ‘Doctor,’ Qaddus addressed his assistant. ‘Perhaps you’d care to observe.’ He leaned forward over Makana. ‘I have one last surprise for you, an acquaintance of yours. I think you will be amused, and don’t worry, this isn’t going to hurt. If it makes you feel any better, think of it as your sacrifice for the greater good.’

  Makana felt his heart lurch as the assistant pulled down her mask to reveal herself as Jehan.

  ‘I thought you’d like that. How poor we are at judging even people we feel we know well.’

  A mixture of anger and disbelief coursed through Makana’s veins. Whatever might have happened next was interrupted by the sound of an alarm somewhere. Ihsan Qaddus yelled out:

  ‘Somebody see to that please!’

  ‘It’s the fire alarm,’ one of the nurses said.

  ‘Well, switch it off before it brings the fire brigade. That’s all we need.’ With a tut of annoyance Qaddus pulled off his gloves and headed for the door. ‘Why do I have to take care of everything myself?’

  There was a long silence. The alarm was still ringing. It was loud and insistent and helped to arouse Makana. He thought about trying to make a move. If he could tip himself off the stretcher, that might jolt him awake. It might also kill him, but that was a chance he had to take. The masked face of the assistant floated into view. Makana tried to wriggle away, without much success. He had never felt so helpless. Jehan leaned over him.

  He watched as she held a syringe up, squirting fluid i
nto the air before bending over to insert it into his arm. Now he could smell her cologne. She straightened up.

  ‘It’ll take a few moments. You should try to sit up. The more you move the faster it will start to work.’ She leaned over and put her arms around him. It struck Makana that this was a strange sort of embrace upon which to embark on a relationship. She managed somehow to bring him upright.

  ‘Stay there.’ Jehan smiled at him. ‘You’ve looked better, but let’s deal with that later. Can you stand?’

  Could he? His bones seemed to have dissolved. He slipped and crashed into the next stretcher, knocking Mrs Hollister sideways. She sighed, as if in the midst of a pleasant dream, but otherwise did not stir. Jehan draped an arm around his shoulders and together they started to walk, taking tiny steps. There was an emergency staircase to the left of the operating theatre. They managed to get through that. Then the alarm cut out and there was silence. It wouldn’t be long before they were caught. Makana tried to will his feet to move. He was shuffling like a geriatric and had trouble controlling his movements. One foot crashed into the railing and he felt a jolt, which had to be good news. Feeling was coming back.

  ‘I thought . . .’

  ‘Don’t talk. Try to conserve your energy.’

  ‘How?’ he managed to say. ‘Fire alarm?’

  ‘I lit one of your precious Cleopatras and attached it to a smoke alarm. Now, save your energy for walking.’ She looked at him and then relented as they started to climb the stairs.

  ‘I thought about everything you’d told me and I figured out that something was very wrong and that it was centred here. So I went to see Ihsan. I told him that I had worked out what he was up to and that I was interested in working for him. He was flattered. He’s so vain he probably thought I was still chasing after him, though God knows we’re not twenty-five any longer.’ She stopped talking as Makana lost his grip and started to swing backwards. He felt like an old man trying to climb a mountain. Ridiculous. Helped by a woman, not even wearing a shirt. He had no pride left to be wounded. They resumed their upward movement. By now the sounds of shouts could be heard from below. How long before somebody thought to look at the emergency stairs? By some miracle they reached the floor above and pushed open the bar. Jehan looked out cautiously, Makana swaying, one hand flat against the wall. He was capable of moving, but overestimated the speed of his recovery. When Jehan beckoned he moved, took two steps and sprawled at her feet. She bent over him and was struggling with his full weight, trying to turn him over, when the sound of laughter came from behind them. Jehan stopped struggling. Ihsan Qaddus appeared from the stairwell behind them. He wasn’t even breathing hard. He was, however, carrying a gun. A neat silver automatic that looked modern and highly efficient.

  ‘This is really not something I would have imagined of you, Jehan.’

  ‘I’m sorry to be such a disappointment.’

  ‘Not at all, it shows that my instincts were right, all those years ago.’ The smile on his face was that of a man who is in no doubt of his superiority. ‘You were not destined for great things. You lack courage and vision, far too conventional. Your mind is stuck in the past. That’s why your husband killed himself, isn’t it? He couldn’t stand living with you.’ Ihsan Qaddus shook his head. ‘Who can blame him? I might have had the same crisis of faith if I had stayed with you.’

  ‘That’s generous of you to say,’ Jehan muttered. Makana managed to roll himself into an upright position. With a look of derision Qaddus wagged the gun.

  ‘Still, I thought we might have some fun before that high and mighty moral code of yours began to assert itself.’

  ‘You were always too in love with yourself to ever care about anyone else.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry you feel that way.’

  ‘What happens now?’ Makana said, the words coming slowly. He sounded drunk.

  ‘Ah, look, it speaks. What am I going to do, did you say? I’m going to finish what I started. Mrs Hollister gets her kidneys and then we will see. You’ll be glad to hear that our incinerator has been repaired, so now the cremation process can continue as before. I think it’s safe to say that nobody will miss you.’

  ‘What are you going to do with them?’ A voice spoke in English.

  The three of them turned to see Liz Corbis. She stood in the middle of the darkened lobby. She was dressed to travel it seemed. A little way behind her the large figure of the priest stood oddly bowed, fidgeting, a suitcase in each hand weighing him down. Ihsan Qaddus smiled.

  ‘Don’t worry yourself about that, my dear, just run along and catch your plane. By the time you are enjoying your glass of champagne the whole matter will be behind us.’

  ‘Listen to what he says, Liz,’ Makana gasped. ‘He won’t hesitate to kill you if he has to.’

  ‘I don’t believe it. You wouldn’t hurt me, would you?’ She faced Qaddus, shaking her head as if trying to convince herself of her words. ‘There’s always been a complicity between us, Ihsan. You understand why I can’t let you kill them. Helping people to a better life is one thing. I can see the logic of it, but this . . . killing them for no reason. That’s wrong.’

  ‘Listen to yourself.’ Ihsan smiled slowly. ‘How naïve you sound. What do you think you’ve been involved with all this time? Some kind of mission of mercy?’

  ‘I’m not leaving until you let them go.’

  ‘Come on, Elizabeth, for God’s sake!’ Preston Corbis urged.

  ‘Listen to your brother, Liz. He’s urging you to walk away from this. There’s too much at stake, for all of us.’

  ‘I didn’t sign up for this.’ She stood upright and steady but a flutter in her voice betrayed her.

  ‘Perhaps not, but you are part of it. You can’t just change your mind now, you’re in too deep. Think of all that money you have tucked away. A life of luxury in any part of the world you care to choose.’

  ‘I’m not running away. I won’t let you hurt him.’

  ‘Him, really, is this about him?’ Ihsan Qaddus wagged his head in wonder. ‘There must be something about you, Makana, to have all these women fighting over you.’

  ‘I mean it, Ihsan. There’s a line, and this is it.’

  Qaddus tilted his head to one side. ‘And what are you going to do, if I refuse?’

  ‘Lizzy, come on. We have to go. Now.’

  Liz Corbis didn’t even look back at her brother. Instead she took a step towards Qaddus. ‘I’m not proud of what I’ve done, but we did it for a reason. We were saving lives, remember? It was about quality of life.’

  ‘And you saw some noble purpose to your life. I understand. The idea of profit disgusts you. Fine. Then go, leave, walk away.’ Ihsan Qaddus lowered the gun slightly and wagged it at the priest. ‘Take your sister away, Preston, before it’s too late. Get her in the car and get her out of the country. I never want to see her here again.’

  Preston Corbis finally managed to stir himself. He set down the suitcases and moved towards his sister.

  ‘Come along, Lizzy. There’s nothing more for us here. It’s over.’

  ‘Yes, run along, Lizzy,’ Ihsan Qaddus sneered. ‘See if you can make a life for yourself.’

  Preston Corbis went to grab his sister’s arm, but she tore free. She continued to advance on Ihsan Qaddus. Makana rolled his feet underneath him. He couldn’t get his legs to obey him. Qaddus wasn’t paying him any attention. His eyes were on Liz Corbis. He took a step backwards. His voice hardened.

  ‘I’m warning you, Liz. Don’t make me hurt you.’

  ‘You could never hurt me,’ she said, throwing herself forward. She went for his gun hand, which was probably a mistake. Makana got his feet under him as they struggled. He didn’t exactly sprint but rather shuffled towards them. He was halfway there when the gun went off. He heard Preston Corbis give a cry of disbelief as his sister slid to the floor.

  ‘Lizzy!’ Preston Corbis knelt beside his sister. Her eyes fluttered towards the ceiling and then she was still. Blood
pooled underneath her across the smooth marble.

  ‘Stupid woman!’ shouted Ihsan Qaddus. ‘Why couldn’t you just listen to me?’

  He was still shouting when Makana hit him with all his weight. It wasn’t much of a blow, but it knocked him off balance and the gun skittered away across the floor. Preston Corbis rose up and started to back away. The look on his face was that of a man whose faith had deserted him. He ran for the door. Makana, catching sight of the battered Datsun and the large figure climbing out of the driver’s seat, signalled to Sindbad to stop the fleeing priest. For his part, Reverend Corbis did try to throw a punch, but Sindbad caught it easily in one hand and twisted the American over the car bonnet. There were already sirens in the distance.

  Ihsan Qaddus was scrabbling towards the door. Jehan picked up the gun and followed him.

  ‘There’s nowhere left for you to run,’ she said. ‘Don’t tempt me.’

  Qaddus slid round on the floor and lifted his hands in a gesture of despair.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Sami was waiting for him in the El Horreya. He sat in the back, close to the wall. Makana was encouraged to see that he was drinking tea rather than beer, since this was one of his old haunts. At the table next to them two old men were arguing over a chessboard. One of them, white-haired and wearing an eyepatch, appeared to be trying to teach his opponent how to play. Every time he made a move he would tell him it was a mistake. The other man frowned at the board in confusion. Makana knew the feeling well.

  ‘Where did you stay last night?’

  ‘A friend lent me his apartment. He’s gone to Amman for a holiday. Who has time for holidays anyway, and why Amman?’

  The boy who was serving passed by. He paused, tray on one shoulder, rapping his knuckles on the table. Makana ordered coffee, strong and no sugar.

  ‘You heard about last night?’ Sami asked, folding his newspaper. ‘They’re trying to keep the number of casualties down, but it’s not going to work.’