you
want.”
“Enough!
Do you know where New Nawab Guest House is?” Al-Jahiz snapped, realizing he’d
say anything to stop the boy’s unceasing jabber.
“Yes.
I told you I can get you anywhere.”
“Then
take us there.”
“OK,
mister! Atal take you to New Nawab Guest House.”
The
youngster guided them through a bewildering maze of alleyways, courtyards, and
market streets. As they moved deeper into the slum, they saw more foreigners:
Pakistanis, Arabs, even Chinese.
Atal
waved his hand down a street. “You pay now. I take you the rest of the way.” He
stood waiting with his hand extended.
Al-Jahiz
flicked him a copper coin.
“What’s
this?”
“Take
what you get.” He searched the street ahead for a landmark.
“You
are cheap, mister.” With his hand extended, his fingers motioning for more,
Atal followed the Pakistanis down the street. “Come on, mister, you pay more.”
“Go
away,” Al-Jahiz snarled.
“I
go. But you give me more. I can follow all day.”
“I’ll
give you something more.” He hit Atal with a right hook and snickered as the
kid collapsed into the gutter.
With
a savage kick to the ribs, Al-Jahiz pivoted and continued with his team down a
side street. A hundred yards along the road, he threw up his arms in
frustration. He took out a phone and dialed a number. “It’s me. I can’t find
the house. Send someone out to meet us.”
A
moment later, a scruffy looking Indian appeared on the street. Al-Jahiz
struggled to hide his disgust. The man was filthy; his knotted beard speckled
with scraps of food. He was either destitute, a desperate criminal, out of his
mind, or perhaps all three.
The
man waved them to where an orange wooden door blocked an alley. A hand painted
sign above it proclaimed ‘Nawab Guest House’. “Are you Jahiz?”
“Yes.
Karim has been expecting us.”
“He’s
in here.” The man pushed open the door and waved them down the walkway between
two buildings into a small courtyard.
Al-Jahiz
checked the street behind them and spotted the kid glaring at him as he closed
the door. In the courtyard, he eyeballed two men playing cards. They stared
back with cold lifeless eyes. More of the same, destitute criminals wearing
filthy clothes.
He
and his team followed trash-beard through a metal door and entered a two-story
grey building. As they passed a room, he caught a glimpse of plastic bins and
shelves of jars. Sniffing, he sneezed. It reeked of heavy, burning
disinfectant.
“This
way.” The man led them up a flight of stairs.
Karim
stood at the top, his arms held wide. “Welcome, my brothers.”
Al-Jahiz
grasped the plump Saudi by the shoulders and hugged him. “Nice place you got
us.”
“It
smells foul, but it’s secure. We’ve prepared your team’s room.” He led them
down a hallway into a prayer room. It was clean with freshly painted walls and
woven mats laid over the concrete floor. In the corner, four vests lay on a
table. Each was blue, with magazine pouches on the front and the word ‘POLICE’
stenciled on the back.
“The
detonators and weapons are in another area,” Karim said. “I don’t trust the
criminals not to sell them.”
“But
they can be trusted not to sell us out?”
“Their
loyalty has been bought.”
Al-Jahiz
nodded and turned to his team. “This is where you’ll stay until we are ready to
strike.”
“How
long will we have to wait?” asked Jawid. The Afghan’s beard had been neatly
trimmed. He almost looked respectable.
Al-Jahiz
clasped his shoulders. “It will not be long, brothers. Glory will be yours.
Rest and I will have food and water brought to you.” Leaving the team in their
makeshift mosque, he and Karim headed down the corridor to the dining area.
“Where are your men?”
Karim
placed a jug of water and some naan bread on a tray. “Surveillance on the
kidnap target.”
“The
woman.”
“Yes,
the lawyer .”
“She
deserves to die.” Al-Jahiz settled on one of the four battered
want.”
“Enough!
Do you know where New Nawab Guest House is?” Al-Jahiz snapped, realizing he’d
say anything to stop the boy’s unceasing jabber.
“Yes.
I told you I can get you anywhere.”
“Then
take us there.”
“OK,
mister! Atal take you to New Nawab Guest House.”
The
youngster guided them through a bewildering maze of alleyways, courtyards, and
market streets. As they moved deeper into the slum, they saw more foreigners:
Pakistanis, Arabs, even Chinese.
Atal
waved his hand down a street. “You pay now. I take you the rest of the way.” He
stood waiting with his hand extended.
Al-Jahiz
flicked him a copper coin.
“What’s
this?”
“Take
what you get.” He searched the street ahead for a landmark.
“You
are cheap, mister.” With his hand extended, his fingers motioning for more,
Atal followed the Pakistanis down the street. “Come on, mister, you pay more.”
“Go
away,” Al-Jahiz snarled.
“I
go. But you give me more. I can follow all day.”
“I’ll
give you something more.” He hit Atal with a right hook and snickered as the
kid collapsed into the gutter.
With
a savage kick to the ribs, Al-Jahiz pivoted and continued with his team down a
side street. A hundred yards along the road, he threw up his arms in
frustration. He took out a phone and dialed a number. “It’s me. I can’t find
the house. Send someone out to meet us.”
A
moment later, a scruffy looking Indian appeared on the street. Al-Jahiz
struggled to hide his disgust. The man was filthy; his knotted beard speckled
with scraps of food. He was either destitute, a desperate criminal, out of his
mind, or perhaps all three.
The
man waved them to where an orange wooden door blocked an alley. A hand painted
sign above it proclaimed ‘Nawab Guest House’. “Are you Jahiz?”
“Yes.
Karim has been expecting us.”
“He’s
in here.” The man pushed open the door and waved them down the walkway between
two buildings into a small courtyard.
Al-Jahiz
checked the street behind them and spotted the kid glaring at him as he closed
the door. In the courtyard, he eyeballed two men playing cards. They stared
back with cold lifeless eyes. More of the same, destitute criminals wearing
filthy clothes.
He
and his team followed trash-beard through a metal door and entered a two-story
grey building. As they passed a room, he caught a glimpse of plastic bins and
shelves of jars. Sniffing, he sneezed. It reeked of heavy, burning
disinfectant.
“This
way.” The man led them up a flight of stairs.
Karim
stood at the top, his arms held wide. “Welcome, my brothers.”
Al-Jahiz
grasped the plump Saudi by the shoulders and hugged him. “Nice place you got
us.”
“It
smells foul, but it’s secure. We’ve prepared your team’s room.” He led them
down a hallway into a prayer room. It was clean with freshly painted walls and
woven mats laid over the concrete floor. In the corner, four vests lay on a
table. Each was blue, with magazine pouches on the front and the word ‘POLICE’
stenciled on the back.
“The
detonators and weapons are in another area,” Karim said. “I don’t trust the
criminals not to sell them.”
“But
they can be trusted not to sell us out?”
“Their
loyalty has been bought.”
Al-Jahiz
nodded and turned to his team. “This is where you’ll stay until we are ready to
strike.”
“How
long will we have to wait?” asked Jawid. The Afghan’s beard had been neatly
trimmed. He almost looked respectable.
Al-Jahiz
clasped his shoulders. “It will not be long, brothers. Glory will be yours.
Rest and I will have food and water brought to you.” Leaving the team in their
makeshift mosque, he and Karim headed down the corridor to the dining area.
“Where are your men?”
Karim
placed a jug of water and some naan bread on a tray. “Surveillance on the
kidnap target.”
“The
woman.”
“Yes,
the lawyer .”
“She
deserves to die.” Al-Jahiz settled on one of the four battered
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