felt the imprint of her touch on him all the way home.
Chapter Nine
It was around five when Makana arrived back at the awama , his mind in a state of unfamiliar turmoil, to find the telephone ringing. It was Sami Barakat.
‘When do you think you might decide to join the rest of us in the twenty-first century and get yourself a mobile telephone?’
‘I told you, I’m thinking about it.’
‘By the time you get around to it the world will have moved on. I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon.’ He sounded as though he was calling from the bottom of a well. The screech of brakes and a voice over a tannoy told Makana he had to be in one of the city’s Metro stations.
‘Look, a contact inside the Interior Ministry called me.’ There was a long break and Makana thought he had lost the signal. It returned with the soft tooting of car horns announcing that Sami had emerged onto the street. ‘It seems there is suddenly a lot of interest in your friend Musab Khayr.’
‘What kind of interest?’
‘The war on terror. As President Bush put it, either you are with us or against us.’ Sami paused. Makana could hear him breathing. ‘I’m not sure how wise it is to be having a conversation like this on a mobile.’
‘I warned you about those things.’
‘Too late now, I suppose. The point is this. The CIA are running a program whereby they are picking up possible suspects and shipping them to secret locations for interrogation.’
Makana picked up the telephone and trailed the long cable behind him as he stepped out onto the rear deck and stared across the river.
‘You’re saying he’s in this country.’
‘I hadn’t actually come to that bit,’ said Sami slowly. ‘But yes, it appears Musab was picked up four months ago and somehow he ended up here. How did you know he was here?’
‘He visited his daughter. Can they do that?’
‘Legally, this has no basis whatsoever, but this is war, Makana, there are no rules.’
‘So what is the purpose of this exercise?’
‘It means the gloves are off. It means torture in the name of freedom and democracy. We do the torture and they get the results without getting their hands dirty.’
‘What do they want from Musab?’
‘That I don’t know. But you said he had been involved with jihadist movements. Clearly they suspect him of some kind of terrorist-type activity.’
‘Have you been able to confirm this?’
‘Beyond my source at the ministry? No. Though there is a lot of traffic on the internet. Human Rights Watch and some of the other organisations are reporting that Musab was kidnapped and smuggled out of the country. Although he is actually in Egypt, he won’t appear on any records. Legally he has vanished without trace.’
‘Why did your friend at the ministry tell you all this?’
‘He’s scared, and with good reason. He thinks that eventually, when all this comes to light, someone is going to pay for breaking the law. The Americans will wash their hands of the whole business, but of course our noble leaders are happy to do their bidding no matter what the cost. Human rights groups are already lining up to make cases on this issue.’
Makana thought for a time. He lit a cigarette and looked out at the river, smoking in silence. Someone was having a party in one of the clubs on the Zamalek side. In the thickening dusk neon strips blinked as they struggled to come awake. The music was like a piercing electronic shriek. A tortured cry of pain from an obsolete piece of industrial machinery. The air juddered with the sound of amplifiers grinding out yet another crooner moaning about lost love. The instruments changed, but the sentiments remained the same.
‘Are you still there?’ Sami asked.
‘Even if what you say is true,’ Makana said, ‘how does that explain him being able to visit his daughter?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Sami. ‘Look, as you said, I’m not sure about the wisdom of discussing this on an open line. Maybe I
Chapter Nine
It was around five when Makana arrived back at the awama , his mind in a state of unfamiliar turmoil, to find the telephone ringing. It was Sami Barakat.
‘When do you think you might decide to join the rest of us in the twenty-first century and get yourself a mobile telephone?’
‘I told you, I’m thinking about it.’
‘By the time you get around to it the world will have moved on. I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon.’ He sounded as though he was calling from the bottom of a well. The screech of brakes and a voice over a tannoy told Makana he had to be in one of the city’s Metro stations.
‘Look, a contact inside the Interior Ministry called me.’ There was a long break and Makana thought he had lost the signal. It returned with the soft tooting of car horns announcing that Sami had emerged onto the street. ‘It seems there is suddenly a lot of interest in your friend Musab Khayr.’
‘What kind of interest?’
‘The war on terror. As President Bush put it, either you are with us or against us.’ Sami paused. Makana could hear him breathing. ‘I’m not sure how wise it is to be having a conversation like this on a mobile.’
‘I warned you about those things.’
‘Too late now, I suppose. The point is this. The CIA are running a program whereby they are picking up possible suspects and shipping them to secret locations for interrogation.’
Makana picked up the telephone and trailed the long cable behind him as he stepped out onto the rear deck and stared across the river.
‘You’re saying he’s in this country.’
‘I hadn’t actually come to that bit,’ said Sami slowly. ‘But yes, it appears Musab was picked up four months ago and somehow he ended up here. How did you know he was here?’
‘He visited his daughter. Can they do that?’
‘Legally, this has no basis whatsoever, but this is war, Makana, there are no rules.’
‘So what is the purpose of this exercise?’
‘It means the gloves are off. It means torture in the name of freedom and democracy. We do the torture and they get the results without getting their hands dirty.’
‘What do they want from Musab?’
‘That I don’t know. But you said he had been involved with jihadist movements. Clearly they suspect him of some kind of terrorist-type activity.’
‘Have you been able to confirm this?’
‘Beyond my source at the ministry? No. Though there is a lot of traffic on the internet. Human Rights Watch and some of the other organisations are reporting that Musab was kidnapped and smuggled out of the country. Although he is actually in Egypt, he won’t appear on any records. Legally he has vanished without trace.’
‘Why did your friend at the ministry tell you all this?’
‘He’s scared, and with good reason. He thinks that eventually, when all this comes to light, someone is going to pay for breaking the law. The Americans will wash their hands of the whole business, but of course our noble leaders are happy to do their bidding no matter what the cost. Human rights groups are already lining up to make cases on this issue.’
Makana thought for a time. He lit a cigarette and looked out at the river, smoking in silence. Someone was having a party in one of the clubs on the Zamalek side. In the thickening dusk neon strips blinked as they struggled to come awake. The music was like a piercing electronic shriek. A tortured cry of pain from an obsolete piece of industrial machinery. The air juddered with the sound of amplifiers grinding out yet another crooner moaning about lost love. The instruments changed, but the sentiments remained the same.
‘Are you still there?’ Sami asked.
‘Even if what you say is true,’ Makana said, ‘how does that explain him being able to visit his daughter?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Sami. ‘Look, as you said, I’m not sure about the wisdom of discussing this on an open line. Maybe I
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