Strangers by Carla Banks

in the city police force–not the Mutawa’ah, the notorious protectors of virtue and opponents of vice, but the police who dealt with the more secular law breakers, and who were responsible for imposing one of the harshest and most rigid penal codes on the planet. He lived in the sprawling family compound in the suburbs to the west of the city, a cluster of houses that Majid’s father had bought as his family expanded. Abu Abdulaziz Karim ibn Ahmad al-Amin was a traditional Saudi patriarch. He had two wives, five sons and three daughters. The daughters lived in their father’s house, the brothers, all married, each had a house of their own.
    In all the years Damien had known the family, he had never met the women, had only been aware sometimes of a veiled presence in the car, or waiting in the background. All he knew about Majid’s mother, the second wife, was the name she had started using once she had given birth to a son:
Um Majid
–the mother of Majid.
    The relationship between the brothers was complex and sometimes difficult but they never showed the internal rifts to him, the outsider. Family was all. Majid had once told him of a Saudi saying: ‘Me and my brother against the cousin.’Damien already knew the saying, and he knew what came next:
Me and my cousin against the stranger
.
    Majid’s marriage had caused some ripples in the family. In most ways it was a very suitable marriage; his wife, Yasmin, was the daughter of a wealthy businessman, but she was an only child and though she had been brought up in Riyadh, she had travelled in Europe and had been educated at a Parisian university. And she wasn’t a true Saudi. Her mother was European and her father was the son of a Saudi mother and Armenian father. He was one of the few foreigners who had been allowed to take Saudi citizenship, but the insular Saudi culture still held him an outsider. He had brought his daughter back from Europe to marry Majid, no doubt hoping that his daughter’s marriage into a Saudi family of the reputation and longevity of Majid’s would help to integrate him more closely. Yasmin worked as a teaching assistant at Riyadh’s King Saud University, and she was independent and opinionated by Saudi standards.
    His phone rang as he was preparing to leave. He waited to see who was calling. ‘Damien? It’s Amy. Are you there?’ He moved to answer it, then stopped. He was late, and conversations with Amy tended to lead into deeper water than he felt able to cope with at the moment. He let his hand drop as he heard her impatient sigh. ‘Call me.’
    Amy. The quick instruction was typical.
Call me
.He would, but later. As he negotiated the car through the hazardous traffic, he couldn’t stop himself thinking of her as he’d last seen her, her red hair springing up round her head, her towel slipping casually down as she leaned forward so he could light her cigarette, beautiful in the lamplight. And then they’d had a pointless row about
    —what? He couldn’t remember. It had been one of many that had been not so much reconciled as forgotten in his bed.
    Twenty minutes later, he pulled up outside the gated compound where the family lived, and waited for the gates to swing open. Majid came to greet him and led him through the courtyard into the large room where the men customarily sat. Two of Majid’s brothers were already there, talking to a third man, a man in Western dress who was sitting with his head turned away from the door. He looked round as Majid ushered Damien in.
    Damien recognized him at once. This was Majid’s father-in-law, Arshak Nazarian. Nazarian, an attractive, debonair man, described himself as a ‘businessman’. The nature of his business–bringing cheap migrant labour into the Kingdom–made Damien wary of him. He avoided Nazarian’s company as far as he could.
    Faisal, the oldest of the brothers and head of the family in the father’s absence, greeted Damien with a standard ‘Peace be upon you.’
    Damien