Vicious Circle (20 page)

Then he thought about Aazim Muktar Tippoo Tip, and weighed the chance of his innocence against that of his guilt; could he believe and trust him? When he had listened to him speak in the mosque he had almost been convinced. But conversely, now that he had been set free Hector was certain that it had to be trickery. He knew that there had to be another shock in store for him.

There was a telephone in the rear armrest of the Mercedes and he picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. There was a dialling tone. He opened the envelope that Aazim Muktar had given him and found the phone number of Emirates checkin desk at Jeddah airport. He dialled it and a woman answered on the third ring. He gave her his ticket details.

‘Can you confirm that my booking is correct, please?’

‘Hold on please, sir.’ There was a short delay and then she came back. ‘Yes, sir. We are expecting you. You have already been checked in online. Your flight is running to schedule. Departure is at twenty-two hundred hours.’

He replaced the receiver in its cradle. It all added up neatly, perhaps too neatly. What finally decided him was the thought of Hazel. He owed it to her memory to confront Aazim Muktar and see it through to the end, no matter what risk that involved. He could almost hear her voice.
You have to do it, my darling. You have to do it or you and I will never be able to rest again.

So he sat in the back seat and let the chauffeur drive him down to Jeddah.

*

At the first-class entrance to the UAE Airlines terminal at Jeddah airport a doorman in traditional robes opened the door of the Mercedes for him and with elaborate respect escorted him to the private room that had been reserved in his name. As soon as he was alone Hector tried the door and found it unlocked. He opened it an inch and glanced out through the crack. There was no guard outside. By now he was more intrigued than fearful. He closed the door and looked around the luxuriously furnished waiting room. His mouth was parched by the rancid taste of danger.

I would give my virginity for a decent Scotch,
he decided, but of course there was no hard liquor on display in this Islamic stronghold. He drank a glass of Perrier water, poured another and carried it to one of the leather easy chairs. As he settled into it there was a knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ he called and Aazim Muktar entered. He must have followed Hector’s Mercedes closely on the journey down from Mecca. However, Hector was astonished when the mullah was followed by a heavily veiled woman. She was weeping softly behind the veil. She led by the hand a brown-skinned lad aged six or seven years. He was a lovely little fellow, with curling black locks and huge dark eyes. He was sucking his thumb, looking unhappy and perplexed. Aazim Muktar gestured at the woman and she scurried to a corner of the room and squatted on the floor, hugging the child to her breast. Hector saw the glint of her eyes behind the burqa as she studied him, and then she began to sob again. Aazim Muktar cautioned her to silence with a sharp word, then he seated himself in the easy chair facing Hector.

‘They will be calling your flight for boarding in forty-five minutes,’ he said to Hector. ‘That is all the time I have to convince you that I was not responsible in any way for the assassination of your wife. But first let me say that I know almost every detail of the tragic involvement of your family and mine. There were many deaths on both sides. I accept that you were a serving army officer and on occasion you were justified in killing in the line of your duty. But that was not always the case. There were times when you took the law into your own hands.’ He paused and looked keenly into Hector’s eyes.

‘Go on!’ Hector invited him expressionlessly.

‘I accept the fact that my father and most of my brothers were pirates, acting in direct contravention of international law. They seized merchant ships on the high seas and held the crews to ransom. As a very young man I disassociated myself from these crimes committed by my family and I went to England to be as far as was possible from them. I have never considered that I had any right of retaliation against you or your family. I have told you that I met your wife and admired her. I was utterly devastated when I heard of her murder. It was against all the laws of man and God. However, I knew that after her death you would hunt me down to appease the sins of my clan.’

‘You have my full attention.’

‘I have dreaded this day of our meeting, but I have planned for it.’

‘I am sure you have,’ Hector retorted, and now his expression was grim.

‘Not in your way, for you are a hard warrior, Mr Cross, and yours is the way of the sword.’

‘Tell me then, Mullah Tippoo Tip. What is your way?’

‘My way is the way of Allah. My way is mutual forgiveness. My way is Al-Qisas. I offer you a life for a life.’ He stood up and went to the little huddle of abject humanity that cowered in the corner of the room. He took the child’s hand and led him to stand in front of Hector.

‘This is my son. He is six years old. His name is Kurrum, which means happiness.’ The little boy thrust his thumb back into his mouth and stared at Hector.

‘He is a beautiful boy,’ Hector conceded.

‘He is yours,’ Aazim Muktar said in Arabic, and he pushed the child gently forward.

Hector jumped up from his chair in consternation. ‘In God’s name, what must I do with him?’

‘In Allah’s name, you must take him and hold him as a hostage against my good faith. If you find irrefutable proof that I killed your wife you must kill him as is your right in terms of the law of Al-Qisas, and I shall forgive you.’

The woman screamed and threw herself across the floor.

‘He is my son. He is my only son. Kill me if you must, effendi. But do not kill my son.’ She tore off her veil and clawed at her own face, raking both her cheeks with her long nails. The blood welled from the long wounds and dripped from her chin. She crawled to Hector’s feet. ‘Kill me, but let my son live, I implore you.’

‘Be silent, wife.’ Her husband used a kindly tone. He placed a hand on her shoulder and drew her away. Then he came back to face Hector. From the folds of his white robe he drew out a leather wallet, and proffered it.

‘This is all the documentation you need in order to take Kurrum with you: his air ticket on today’s flight, his certificate of birth, his passport and the papers that name you as his legal guardian. What is your decision, Mr Cross?’

Still Hector stood dumbstruck. This was the very last thing he had expected. He looked down at the child. He shook his head, as if to deny what was happening. He reached out and touched the boy’s head. His curls were crisp and springing under his fingers. Kurrum made no attempt to pull away. He lifted his head and looked at Hector. His eyes were dark and wise far beyond his years. He spoke softly. ‘My father says I must go with you, effendi. My father says I am now a man and I must behave like a man. It is the will of Allah.’

Still Hector could not speak. His throat was dry and the pulse beating in his temples echoed through his skull like a drum. He stooped and picked up the child and held him on his hip. Kurrum did not struggle. Hector touched his cheek. Hector turned his head and looked back at the boy’s father.

At last he was able to see through to his very core, and what he saw there was good. He knew at last with certainty that this man was not the Beast he was hunting.

Hector turned back to the child on his hip. ‘You are my hostage, Kurrum.’ His mother heard him. She moaned. Hector ignored her and went on addressing the child. ‘Do you know what that means, Kurrum?’

The boy shook his head, and Hector went on. ‘It means you are brave and good, as your father is brave and good.’ He replaced Kurrum on his feet, turned him towards his mother and gave him a gentle push. ‘Go back to your mother, Kurrum, and take good care of her, for now you are a man as your father was a man before you.’

The woman held out both arms to him, and Kurrum ran into them. She swept him up and turned for the door. She paused when she reached it and looked back at Hector with tears and blood from the scratches streaming down her face.

‘Master…’ she started and then her voice failed.

‘Go!’ Hector ordered her. ‘Take your son, and go with Allah.’ She went and closed the door softly behind her. She left Hector and Aazim Muktar facing each other across the room.

‘Are you sure?’ Aazim asked.

‘I am as sure as I have ever been of anything in my life.’

‘There are no words that can express the extent of my gratitude.’ Aazim bowed. ‘You have given me a gift beyond any other I can imagine. I can never repay you.’

‘I am paid in full. Simply knowing a man of your sanctity has enriched my own life.’

‘I am still in your debt. My son’s life outweighs all else,’ Aazim told him sincerely. ‘I understand that you actually saw the man who murdered your wife, and that he wore a gang tattoo.’

‘Tariq Hakam told you that!’ Hector’s fury flared again. ‘That man is a traitor. He betrayed my friendship. One day I will kill him.’

‘No, Mr Cross. He is not your enemy.’ Hector shook his head adamantly, but Aazim held up a hand to restrain him. ‘One day you will realize that. Tariq Hakam asked me to give you a message. I promised to do so. May I tell you what he said?’

‘If you wish.’

‘He says that there was no other way to persuade you that you were looking in the wrong direction for your enemy. He said that you and I had to meet to understand each other.’

‘I will never take him back, no matter what he says. I can never trust him again.’

‘Tariq knows that.’

‘What will he do now?’

‘He is determined to turn aside from the warrior way. From now onwards he will follow the road that leads to the feet of Allah.’

‘So, he has discovered God and become one of your disciples, has he? Good for him, the old rogue.’

‘Old rogue. He told me that you would say that.’ Aazim smiled. ‘However—’

He broke off as he was interrupted by a woman’s voice echoing over the airport’s public address system.
This is a final call for all passengers travelling on Emirates Flight EK 805 to Abu Zara. This flight is closing at Gate A26. Passengers must proceed at once to Gate A26 for immediate boarding.

‘Our time together has come to an end, Mr Cross. When I lived in London I worked with a man there who devotes his life to helping rehabilitate young Muslim boys who had been caught up in the criminal street gangs of the UK’s major cities. I will send a message to him to contact you. Perhaps he will be able to help you trace this killer with the Maalik tattoo. Perhaps that way you might be able to identify with certainty your hidden enemy.’

‘How will you send this man of yours to me, Aazim Tippoo Tip? You do not know where I live.’

‘Since Brandon Hall was burnt to the ground you have made your principal London home at Number Eleven, Conrad Road in Belgravia. Your primary email address is [email protected], but you have many others. Is that not correct, Mr Cross?’

Hector inclined his head in wry acquiescence. ‘Tariq has told you so much about me. It would not surprise me if you even know my shoe size.’

‘US size eleven and a half,’ Aazim replied without smiling, but Hector laughed out loud.

‘Goodbye, Aazim Tippoo Tip. I shall never forget you.’

‘Nor I you, Mr Hector Cross. May I shake your hand?’

Hector took his hand and they looked into each other’s eyes.

‘Go with Allah, Mr Hector Cross.’

‘Pray for me, Sheikh Tippoo Tip.’ Hector turned and without looking back strode out through the door, headed towards Gate A26.

*

Although it was after midnight when Hector arrived back at the penthouse of Seascape Mansions in Abu Zara, he called a council of war in the private cinema.

As the team assembled they greeted Hector enthusiastically but then looked around for Tariq Hakam. Hector made no effort to allay their curiosity until they were all seated on the tiers of seats facing him on the podium.

‘So where is Tariq, then?’ Nastiya asked the question for all of them.

‘It’s a long story,’ Hector hedged.

‘Okay. Then make it a short one,’ Nastiya suggested.

‘He is still in Mecca.’ Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Hector was forced to continue. He made it short and he stripped away all detail and commentary. The tension in the room rose steadily as he spoke. He told them everything except the final parting at Jeddah airport and Aazim’s offer of a hostage. When he finished they all stared at him in grim silence. Nastiya broke the spell of their collective horror. She was the only one in the room who was not afraid of Hector Cross.

‘So Tariq Hakam was the traitor all along. He betrayed you and he betrayed all of us. Why did you not kill him, Hector?’

Hector had prepared for this interrogation on the flight back from Mecca. They hammered at him with their questions and their doubts for almost another thirty minutes. He described in detail Aazim Muktar’s sermon in the mosque, repeating it almost word for word.

‘And you believed him, did you, Hector?’

‘He was very convincing. But I did not truly, deeply, believe him. Not then. Not until he offered me his six-year-old son as a hostage. Then I believed him. He bared his soul to me and gave me his son. Then I knew he was on the side of the angels. I knew that he had not masterminded Hazel’s murder.’

‘If he gave you this hostage, Hector, then where is the boy now?’

‘I accepted him, and then I returned him to his mother.’

‘Are you crazy mad in the head, Hector Cross?’ Nastiya demanded.

‘Some may say so.’ Hector smiled and went on. ‘But then Aazim Muktar Tippoo Tip gave me the final proof of his innocence.’

‘What was that, you silly man?’

‘Although I was completely in his power, he allowed me to walk away and climb on the aircraft and return here to Abu Zara unscathed.’

Paddy O’Quinn let out a roar of laughter and slapped his wife’s knee. ‘Hector is right, my darling. There is no stronger proof than that. Now even I believe in Aazim Tippoo Tip.’

The tension in the room broke and they exchanged sheepish nods and grins. Only Nastiya removed Paddy’s hand from her knee and challenged Hector one last time. ‘And I am sure that, like the true blue Englishman you are, you even shook this murdering mullah’s hand and I am sure that you are not even going to kill Tariq Hakam?’