The Exile Kiss (28 page)

"Well, we haven't learned anything yet. We'll have to wait for the doctor's call."
I took a short nap, and was awakened by Kmuzu's hand on my shoulder. "You have a visitor," he told me. I turned my head, realizing that I was beginning to get some control back over my muscles. There were footsteps

in the parlor, and then my young Bedu friend, bin Turki, entered the bedroom. He sat down in the bed beside the chair.
"As-salaam alaykum, yaa Shaykh,"
he said seri- onsly.
I was overjoyed to see him.
"Wa alaykum as-salaam,"
I said, smiling. "When did you get back?" "Less than an hour ago. I came here directly from the airfield, What has happened to you? Are you going to get

better?"
"Someone took a shot at me, but Allah was on my side this time. My attacker will have to do better than that next
time."
"Let's pray there is no next time, O Shaykh," said bin Turki.
I just spread my hands. There would be a next time, almost certainly. If not Hajjar, then someone else. "Now, tell
me, how was your journey?"
Bin Turki pursed his lips. "Successful." He took some-thing out of his pocket and set it on the blanket by my hand. I cupped it in my curled fingers and brought.it closer to get a better look at it. It was a plastic name tag that read
Sgt. al-Bishah.
That was the name of the bastard in Najran who'd beaten both Friedlander Bey and me. I'd put it out of my mind, but yes, I'd ordered a mur-der. I'd calmly condemned a man to death, and this name tag
was all that remained of him. How did I feel? Well, I waited a few seconds, expecting cold horror to seep into my
thoughts. It didn't happen. Sometimes other people's deaths are easy. I felt nothing but indifference and an impatience
to get on with business.
"Good, my friend," I said. "You'll be well rewarded."
Bin Turki nodded, taking back the name tag. "We spoke about a position that would provide me with a regu-lar
income. I'm coming to appreciate the sophisticated ways of the city. I think I will stay here for a while, before I return to
the Bani Salim."
"We will be glad to have you among us," I said. "I wish to reward your clan, too, for their boundless hospital-ity
and kindness, when we were abandoned in the Sands. I was thinking of building a settlement for them, possibly near
that oasis—"
"No, O Shaykh," he said. "Shaykh Hassanein would never accept such a gift. A few people did leave the Bani
Salim and build houses of concrete blocks, and we see them once or twice a year as we pass through their vil-lages.
Most of the tribe, however, clings to the old ways. That is Shaykh Hassanein's decision, too. We know about the
luxuries of electricity and gas ovens, but we are Bedu. We would not trade our camels for trucks, and we would not
trade our goat-hair tents for a house that bound us to one place."
"I never thought the Bani Salim would live the whole year at the settlement," I said. "But maybe the tribe might like
to have comfortable quarters at the end of its yearly migration."
Bin Turki smiled. "Your thoughts are well intentioned, but the gift you imagine would be deadly to the Bani Salim." "As you say, Bin Turki."
He stood up and grasped my hand. "I will let you rest now, O Shaykh."
"Go with safety, my nephew," I said.
"Allah yisallimak,"
he said, and left the room. About seven o'clock that evening, the phone rang. Kmuzu answered it. "It's Dr. Besharati," he said.
"Let me see if I can hold the phone," I said. I took it from him and was clumsily able to put it to my ear.
"Marhaba,"
I said.
"Mr. Audran? Your suspicions are correct. The cardiac rupture patterns of Khalid Maxwell and the boy are
iden-tical. There is no doubt in my mind that they were mur-dered with the same static pistol."
I stared across the room for a few seconds, lost in thought. "Thank you, Dr. Besharati," I said at last. "Of course, this doesn't prove that the same individual was using the gun in both cases."
"No, I realize that. But the chances are very good that it was. Now I know exactly what I have to do, and how to'"
do it."
"Well," said the medical examiner, "I don't know what you mean, but again I wish you luck. May peace be with
you."
"And upon you be. peace," I said, putting down the phone. While I was punishing my enemies and rewarding my
friends, I decided to think about something I could do for Dr. Besharati. He'd certainly earned some land of thanks. I went to sleep early that night, and the next morning I'd recovered enough to get out of bed and shower. Kmuzu
wanted me to avoid any land of exertion, but that wasn't possible. It was Friday, the Sabbath, and I had a parade of
the
Jaish
to go to.
I ate a hearty breakfast and dressed in the dove-gray uniform Shaykh Reda had given me. The trousers were well
tailored, with a black stripe down each leg, and cut to fit into high black jackboots. The tunic was high-necked, with
lieutenant's insignia already sewn on. There was also a high-peaked cap with a black visor. When I was com-pletely
dressed, I looked at myself in a mirror. I guessed that the uniform's resemblance to a Nazi outfit was not coincidental. "How do I look, Kmuzu?" I asked.
"It's not you,
yaa Sidi.
It's definitely not your style."
I laughed and removed the cap. "Well," I said, "Abu Adil was land enough to give me this uniform. The least I
can do is wear it for him once."
"I don't understand why you're doing this."
I shrugged. "Curiosity, maybe?"
"I hope the master of the house doesn't see you dressed like that,
yaa Sidi."
"I
hope so, too. Now, bring the car around. The parade is being held on the Boulevard il-Jameel, near the Shimaal
Mosque. I imagine we'll have to leave the car somewhere and walk a few blocks. The crowds are still huge near the
mosque."
Kmuzu nodded. He went downstairs to get the West-phalian sedan started. I followed behind him after decid-ing
not to take either narcotics or moddies with me. I didn't know exactly what I was walking into, and a clear head
seemed like a good idea.
When we got to the boulevard, I was startled to see just how great the throng was. Kmuzu began weaving
through side streets and alleys, trying to inch his way nearer to the
Jaish's
gathering place.
After a while, we just had to give up and go the rest of the way on foot. We cut our way through the mass of
people; my uniform helped me a little, I think, but pro- , gress was still very slow. I could see a raised platform ahead,
with a speaker's stand draped in flags decorated with the emblems of the
Jaish. I
thought I could see Abu Adil and
Kenneth there, both in uniform. Shaykh Reda was standing and chatting with another officer. He wasn't wearing one of his Proxy Hell moddies. I was glad of that —I didn't want to deal with an Abu Adil suffering the effects of a
make-believe terminal illness.
"Kmuzu," I said, "I'm going to see if I can get up on the platform to talk with Shaykh Reda. I want you to work
your way around to the back. Try to stay nearby. I may need you all of a sudden."
"I understand,
yaa Sidi,"
he said with a worried look. "Be careful, and take no unnecessary chances." "I won't." I knifed slowly through the crowd until I reached the rear-most ranks of the
Jaish,
which was ar-rayed
on the neutral ground of the boulevard in orderly companies. From there it was easier to make my way to the front. All
along the way, I received nods and salutes from my fellow militiamen.
I walked around to the side of the platform and mounted three steps. Reda Abu Adil still hadn't seen me, and I
walked up to him and saluted. His uniform was much more elegant than mine; for one thing, I think his buttons were
gold, where everyone else's were brass. On his collar, instead of brass crescents, he wore golden curved swords. "Well, what is this?" said Abu Adil, returning my sa-lute. He looked surprised. "I really didn't expect you to
come.
"I didn't want to disappoint you, sir," I said, smiling. I turned to his assistant. "And how's it going, Kenny?"
Ken-neth was a colonel, and loving every minute in the jack-boots.
"I warned you about calling me that," he snarled.
"Yeah, you did." I turned my back on him. "Shaykh Reda, surely the
Jaish
is a Muslim paramilitary force. I remember when it was a group dedicated to ridding the city of foreigners. Now we proudly wear the symbols of theFaith. I was just thinking: Is your Kenneth one of us? I would have bet that he's a Christian. Or maybe even a Jew." Kenneth grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. "I testify that there is no god but God," he recited, "and Muhammad is the Prophet of God."
I grinned. "Great! You're coming along real well with that. Keep it up!"
Abu Adil's face clouded. "You two stop your infantile bickering. We have more important things to think about today. This is our first large, public demonstration. If all goes well, we'll get hundreds of new recruits, doubling the size of the
Jaish.
That's what really counts."
"Oh," I said, "I see. What about poor old Abd ar-Razzaq, then? Or is he just a stiff now?"
"Why are you here?" demanded Abu Adil. "If it's to mock us—"
"No, sir, not at all. We have our differences, of course, but I'm all in favor of cleaning up this city. I came to meet
the three platoons I'm supposed to be leading."
"Good, good," said Abu Adil slowly. "Splendid."
"I don't trust him," said Kenneth.
Abu Adil turned to him. "I don't either, my friend, but that doesn't mean we can't behave in a civilized manner.
We're being watched by a lot of people today."
"Try to hold your animosity in for a little while, Ken-neth," I said. "I'm willing to forgive and forget. For now,
anyway." He only glared at me and turned away.
Abu Adil put a hand on my shoulder and pointed down to a unit of men assembled at the foot of the plat-form, on
the right side. "Those are your platoons, Lieu-tenant Audran," he said. "They make up the Al-Hashemi Detachment.
They're some of our finest men. Why don't you go down there and meet your noncommissioned of-ficers? We'll be
getting ready to start the drills sootf."
"All right," I said. I climbed down from the platform and walked up and down before my unit. I stopped and said
hello to the three platoon sergeants, then went through the ranks as if I were inspecting them. Most of the men
seemed out of shape to me. I didn't think the
Jaish
would make much of a showing against a real mili-tary force; but
then, the
Jaish
was never intended to go into battle against an army. It was created to bully shop-keepers and infidel
intellectuals.
'
Maybe a quarter of an hour later, Abu Adil spoke into a microphone, commanding the parade to begin. My unit had no part in it, other than to keep the civilians from interfering. Some of the specially trained companies showed off their stuff, marching and turning and juggling rifle-shaped pieces of wood. This went on for an hour under the hot sun, and I began to think I'd made a serious mistake. I was starting to feel weak and wobbly, and I really just wanted to sit down. Finally, the last showcase company snapped back to attention, and Abu Adil stepped forward to the speaker's podium. He harangued the
Jaish
for another half an hour, going on about the horror of Dr. Abd ar-Razzaq's murder, and how we all had to swear allegiance to Allah and the
Jaish,
and never rest until the brutal assassin had been captured and executed according to the dictates of Islamic law. I could tell that Shaykh Reda had roused every man in uniform to a barely contained frenzy. Then, surprisingly, he called on me to speak. I stared at him for just a second or two, and then I hurried back up to the platform. I stood at the microphone, and Abu Adil backed away. An anxious hush fell over the uniformed men assembled before me, but beyond them I could see the hordes of tens of thousands of men and women whose pent-up fury was still seeking an outlet. I wondered what I was going to say. "My fellow Soldiers of Allah," I began, raising my arms to include not only the
Jaish,
but also the mob beyond.
"It is too late for anything but vengeance." A loud cry went up from the onlookers. "As Shaykh Reda said, we have a
sacred duty, authorized in many places in the noble Qur'&n. We must find the person who struck down our holy imam,
and then we must make him taste our keen-edged justice." Another cry, this one a strange, hun-gry, ululating sound
that made me shiver.
I went on. "That is our task. But honor and faith and respect for the law demand that we control our anger, for fear
that we revenge ourselves upon the wrong man. How, then, shall we know the truth? My friends, my brothers and
sisters in Islam, I
have
the truth!"
This drew a loud shout from the mob, and a surprised sound from behind me, where Abu Adil and Kenneth were
standing. I opened a few buttons of my tunic and brought out the needle gun, holding it high for everyone to see.
"This
is the murder weapon!
This
is the horrible instrument of our imam's death!" Now the reaction was long and
frightening. The hysterical crowds surged for-ward, and the foot soldiers of the
Jaish
struggled to keep the people
from rushing the platform.
"I know whose needle gun this is!" I shouted. "Do
you
want to know? Do
you
want to know who murdered Dr.
Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq, shamefully in cold blood?" I waited a few seconds, knowing the uproar would not subside, but
pausing only for effect. I saw Kenneth start toward me, but Abu Adil grabbed his arm and stopped him. That
surprised me.
"It belongs to Police Lieutenant Hajjar, a Jordanian immigrant to our city, a man with many past crimes that have
long gone unpunished. I do not know his motives. I do not know why he stole our imam from us. I only know that he
did that evil deed, and he sits this very moment, not far from here, in the police precinct on Walid al-Akbar Street,
content in his sinful pride, certain that he is safe from the just retribution of the people."
I'd thought of a few more things to say, but it was impossible. From that point on, the mob became a terri-fying
thing. It seemed to shift and sway and shake itself, and voices were raised in cries that no one could under-stand, and
chants and curses went up all around us. Then, in only a few minutes, I could see that a bewildering orga-nization had
taken place, as if leaders had been chosen and decisions made. Slowly, the mob animal turned away from the platform
and the
Jaish.
It began to move south-ward along the lovely Boulevard il-Jameel. Toward the police station. It was
going to claim Lieutenant Hajjar.
Hajjar had foreseen the behavior of the outraged mob. He had foreseen the terror of its mindless rage. He had only
failed to foresee the true identity of its victim.
I watched, fascinated. After a while, I stepped back, away from the microphone. The afternoon parade of the