The Ghost Runner (41 page)

‘They wouldn’t hesitate to kill you, then or now. You know that.’

‘Well, at least I would have died with some remnant of dignity.’

Doctor Medina peered down at his patient. ‘He has a family, you know. A wife who has stood by him for thirty years and about five children. He’s a local hero, like the warlords of old. He has his own army of helpers, mostly young men who are tired of tilling fields and harvesting dates. They look at the world out there on their television sets and wonder why they don’t have that kind of life instead of this.’

‘And he gives them what?’

‘He gives them more money than they could dream of, and refrigerators and televisions, and expensive toys for their children. All of it comes out of that great sea of sand out there. He’s the grand magician, the sorcerer, the genie in the lamp. He conjures it all up out of nothing.’

‘The killer was surprised by the delivery man.’ Makana lit a cigarette. ‘Did you check his blood for any signs of a sedative?’

‘You think that’s possible?’

‘Supposing he didn’t consume enough of whatever it was put in to. Enough to make him a little groggy but not enough to knock him out. He’s a tough man.’

Doctor Medina nodded. ‘That would explain the cuts. He was still alert enough to try and fight off his attacker, and then the man with the delivery arrived. I’ll take a blood sample.’ As he drew the blood into a syringe, the doctor stopped.

‘What is it?’ Makana asked.

‘Why am I trying to help him?’ Doctor Medina set down the syringe. He gazed down at Wad Nubawi, the gentle rising and falling of his chest. His hand reached out and picked up a pair of sharp scissors lying on the counter. Makana put out a hand to grasp his wrist.

‘Maybe it’s time for a break, Doctor?’

Doctor Medina stared at him and then, very slowly, he released his grip on the scissors. They clattered to the floor as he stepped back from the examination table. Then he began to laugh. It started out as a kind of cough deep down in his throat, but it went on, gathering intensity. Wiping tears from his eyes, he staggered sideways. Makana watched him lean over and pull open the refrigerator to extract the flask containing the clear spirit set among ampoules and tubes, vaccines and syringes. He located a grimy glass that was still intact, filled it to the rim and drank greedily.

‘What would be the point, anyway? I mean, me? When have I not made things worse?’

‘Maybe you should take it easy with the drink. Sadig and his men will be back in a while.’

‘So what?’ Doctor Medina poured another liberal dose into his glass. ‘What would be the point of ending his life? Would that bring her back? No, of course not. And as for guilt, well, I might as well take my own life.’ He raised his glass in salute before draining it.

‘You’re not making much sense, Doctor.’

The doctor’s eyes were bloodshot and weary. ‘I feel so tired. All of this . . .’ He swayed for a moment and looked as though he might fall to the ground.

‘Maybe you should sit down.’

As Doctor Medina sank down onto the stool he shot Makana a wary look.

‘You’re a sly one, you know. You don’t appear that way at first, but you are. Always there, one step ahead.’ He poured himself another drink. ‘Do you never give up and go home? Maybe you don’t have a home to go to. Is that it? You’re like me, lost in this ridiculous mess we try to make sense of. I was a doctor. You understand? I believed in what I did, but look at me now . . .’ He rolled his hand at their surroundings. ‘I’m an actor in a play who no longer believes his own lines.’ He held up his glass to examine the cool, clear liquid in the light. ‘I need to keep a clear head,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘Those animals will be back and they will rip me limb from limb if they think I’m drunk.’

‘He’s back, isn’t he?’ Makana said quietly. ‘Musab.’

Without looking up, Doctor Medina nodded his head. He was staring at his glass. ‘He came to see me today while you were . . .’ He waved a hand absently at the outside world, then he raised his eyes. ‘You knew that already.’

‘I thought he would be busy running for the border.’

‘He doesn’t need to.’ The spirit vanished down Doctor Medina’s throat in one gulp leaving him staring at the empty glass wondering what had happened to it. ‘He’s made a deal.’

‘With State Security?’ The image of Sharqi and his men camped out on Jebel Mawtah resurfaced in Makana’s mind.

‘I suppose so. They agreed to let him have his old life back.’

‘In return for what?’

‘I don’t know.’ The doctor shrugged his shoulders and licked his lips. ‘He’s come back for what belongs to him. He still thinks he should be ruling this part of the country like some emperor of old, like Alexander.’

A tremor went through Wad Nubawi’s body, as though he was shuddering at what the doctor had just said. To explain the presence of Sharqi and his men would have to mean that State Security had allowed Musab to escape. But why? What was the purpose of bringing him back here?

‘If Musab did this, why the Qadi? Why Ayman?’

The doctor didn’t seem to hear. He was busy measuring out another glassful with all the care of a man handling nitroglycerin. ‘He knows all about you,’ he said, never taking his eyes off his task. ‘Everything. Where you come from, what you are doing here. He knows things about your past.’

‘How could he know that?’ Makana was mystified. It had to be connected to Sharqi.

‘He’s older, and heavier than he was, but he’s just the same as always. People like Musab know that the rest of us are weak because we have a conscience to struggle with. We think we can rise above being mere beasts, but we are wrong and he knows we are wrong. We’re all capable of evil,’ growled the doctor, spittle hanging from his lower lip. He seemed to be reaching the point of no return. The little round flask was emptied as he drained the last drop into his glass.

‘I have more upstairs.’ A wave of weariness passed over him and he leaned his head against the high cupboard in front of him. Then he turned and lurched from the room. Makana, with a brief backward glance at the still unconscious Wad Nubawi, followed. When he got up to the apartment the doctor was nowhere to be seen. A sound brought Makana’s attention round to the kitchen doorway, where Doctor Medina was leaning. In his left hand he carried an automatic pistol which he levelled at Makana.

‘Why did you have to come back?’

‘My work here isn’t over yet.’

‘Your work? You think anyone cares about your work?’

‘I care.’

‘Of course you do,’ nodded the doctor. ‘You’re the old-fashioned type they talk about in legends. The last noble warrior.’

‘A girl was killed, burned alive while she slept. Isn’t that supposed to mean something?’

‘And then what? You bring the killer to justice?’ Doctor Medina laughed. ‘You talk as if it’s so easy to separate good from evil. Nobody believes in justice and righteousness any more. It’s all about you. Giving yourself the best you can because nobody deserves it more than you do.’ The doctor had reached the refrigerator and was now hanging onto the handle as if it was a safety bar on a high trapeze. ‘So many damn questions. A man could die of thirst from so many questions.’

‘Maybe you shouldn’t have another drink. The others will be back soon.’

‘It’s all right for you. People like you always find a way. You move on, you settle somewhere new. Well, I don’t have that option.’ The doctor poured himself another drink, reached for half a lime that lay on the table, tried squeezing it and then tossed it aside. ‘This is all I have. I’m too old to start again. Too old, and too tired.’ He emptied the glass and seemed to be about to say something else, but instead he lurched towards the kitchen, dropping his glass in his haste. It shattered on the tiled floor. He almost made it. Instead he threw up mostly over his shoes and the floor. He hung there in the doorway, heaving, his back to Makana. A sour smell filling the air. The automatic pistol still dangled in his hand. After a time he straightened up and wiped a hand across his mouth. The gun lifted to point at Makana once more.

‘I don’t have to kill you. All I have to do is hold you until they get here.’

‘Why do they want me?’

‘Who knows? You’re the bonus. They weren’t expecting to find you here, but you seem to have some value to them. I don’t have to kill you, but if you force me to shoot you, I will.’

Doctor Medina sank down onto the sofa and stared morosely at Makana.
The doctor weighed the gun in his hand and then tightened his grip.

‘Do you have any experience of using firearms?’

‘How difficult can it be? You know how stupid most people in the army are?’ The gun came up until it was pointed squarely at Makana’s chest. To prove his point the doctor pulled back the slide and slipped off the safety catch. ‘Is that better?’

A good lesson in how to keep your mouth shut. You could pick worse opponents than a drunk with little experience of using firearms, but not many that were more unpredictable.

‘How did Musab ever learn about me? I’ve never met him.’

‘Not Musab, the people with him. Very important people. The point is they know all about you. About your daughter, for example.’

Makana stiffened. ‘What about my daughter?’

‘I’m telling you. He knows all about you. It’s all part of the deal he’s made to save his skin. Don’t worry, it’ll all be fine.’

The doctor’s hand was swaying from the weight of the pistol. The barrel waved up and down like a palm frond in a stiff breeze. If the gun went off now it would fire somewhere in the region of Makana’s midriff, which would be as good as a death sentence in this part of the world, with the only available doctor being the inebriated person whose finger was on the trigger.

‘You need to think about yourself.’

‘What?’ Doctor Medina squinted, chest heaving.

‘Think about everything you’ve uncovered these last few days. All that brilliant work.’ Makana’s efforts were rewarded by a fractional wavering in the gun barrel. ‘The killer is motivated by revenge. It’s not Musab. We know that. No matter how mad he is. It makes no sense for him to kill the Qadi and Ayman.’

‘What are you saying?’ slurred the doctor, his eyes batting heavily.

‘I’m saying that if there is one man in this town who needs to be very careful at this time, it is you.’

‘Me? But I . . . I mean, who? Who would go to such lengths?’

‘Somebody from a long time ago. The ghost that Ayman saw.’

‘Musab. We agreed that it had to be Musab, and we were right. I saw him.’

‘Not Musab.’ Makana shook his head. ‘Someone else.’

‘Who?’ Doctor Medina blinked. Already the gun barrel was beginning to sag, as if the weight of conviction were tugging it down. The butt of the gun touched the doctor’s thigh gently, as if sinking through water to land on a sandy bottom.

‘You said it yourself,’ said Makana softly. ‘You never verified her remains.’

‘Safira? No . . .’ Doctor Medina was staring off sightlessly into the distance. Reaching out in a steady, slow movement, Makana clamped his hand gently over the barrel of the gun and pushed his finger through the guard to block the trigger. When he twisted it from the doctor’s grip it was like taking a toy from a child who had forgotten it even existed. He was just straightening up when a voice behind him spoke.

‘Looks like I came back just in time.’

Chapter Thirty-two

Sadig was standing in the open doorway. He was holding not a pistol but an AK47, and it was aimed in their general direction. In that confined space one squeeze of the trigger would have sprayed the room with bullets, killing both Makana and Doctor Medina, without even troubling to aim. He edged forward carefully, never taking his eyes off Makana. The doctor he seemed less concerned about. When he reached the table he lifted the automatic out of Makana’s hand and waved the barrel towards the door.

‘Well, the captain is going to be pleased with this.’

‘You mean his promotion came through?’ asked Makana.

‘That’s right,’ smiled Sadig. ‘That means I get to be sergeant, and everyone’s happy.’

‘
Mabrouk
,’ said Makana.

‘Thank you,’ said Sadig, waving the gun at Doctor Medina. ‘Up.’

‘He says she might be alive,’ the doctor groaned.

‘Shut up, you old fool,’ muttered Sadig, his eyes on Makana.

‘But it is possible. I mean, I never did examine the remains.’

‘Think what you are saying. How could she be, after all these years?’

‘We buried someone else.’

Sadig stepped forward and slapped Doctor Medina hard across the face. ‘Snap out of it. It’s just him playing with your head. Can’t you see that? Now shut up and let me finish your work for you. I’ll have to take him to Musab. Why are you so worried about that woman? She was a slut. Everyone said so.’

‘How can you talk like that?’ Doctor Medina lurched to his feet. ‘You murdered her!’

Sadig had no choice but to bear the brunt of the doctor’s considerable weight. As Sadig turned to fend him off, Makana took his chance and threw himself across the room, heading for the open doorway. There was a second’s delay, but he heard the rip of the gun and bullets slamming into the wall alongside the door as he went through it. He didn’t bother with the steps, hopping instead straight over the railing, counting on the sand below to break his fall. Sadig’s pickup blocked the entrance to the road, but Makana’s first concern was starting the Norton. He swung his leg over the seat and switched on the ignition before kicking down on the starter. He silently thanked Kamal for taking such good care of the machine as he tipped the lever down into first gear. By then he could hear Sadig shouting from the top of the stairs. Without turning around to look, Makana aimed the Norton for the narrow gap between the pick-up and the gatepost, hoping that Sadig would think twice about shooting his own car up. He heard the rattle of shots and felt the sand kicking up to his right. The shots stopped then. Makana’s knee scraped against the gatepost and then he was through.