lot of influence.’
‘The Zafrani brothers have that kind of influence?’
‘Oh, they certainly do. Some say they are building an empire within. There is even talk they might go into politics.’
‘Why would they be interested in false passports?’
‘Perhaps it is not the passports they are interested in, but in controlling who gets them.’
‘Still, it’s a risky business. A cautious tourist might notice something.’
‘They take only new passports. The owners are barely familiar with them. They might collect them days before they travel and throw them into a drawer as soon as they get home.’ Yunis had a contemplative expression on his gnarled face as he puffed away. ‘You’d be surprised how many holes there are in the system. Most of them due to human error. In time that factor will be removed.’
‘I have something to show you,’ said Makana, producing the letters from his pocket.
Yunis glanced swiftly through them. ‘They come from a printing press. The old-fashioned kind. There are a few of them dotted around. I can make you a list.’
‘What can you tell me about this star?’
‘Kawkab al-Shiara – the leading star.’
‘Have you ever heard of a group identifying with it?’
Yunis shook his head. ‘In the Jahiliyya, before the coming of Islam, the Arabs used to worship stones and stars. In the days of the pharaohs it was associated with Isis. Its disappearance from the sky was believed to coincide with the passage of Isis and Osiris through the Underworld. It reappears after seventy days and marks the start of the annual floods.’
‘So why would a religious zealot choose this reference?’
‘Most of them are barely literate. They pick what is close to hand.’
The old man winced with pain as he stretched his stiffened legs and got to his feet. Age had begun to tighten its grip on his body like an invisible spider’s web.
‘You don’t need an excuse, you know. To visit, I mean.’ With that, Yunis gave a little bow and turned away. Makana watched the figure disappear between the dangling cages. He looked out of the window. Down below, the boy was spraying the plants along the wall with a hosepipe, the water a silvery peacock fan.
Chapter Fifteen
When he closed his eyes he felt his body jerk in response to the snap of automatic rounds. He heard glass shattering around him and Meera’s body falling, falling. Over and over again. A bell was ringing. He was trying to reach her, and knew he would never get there in time. When he opened his eyes in the dark he realised the phone was ringing.
‘Hello?’
He was about to put the receiver down, thinking there was nobody there, when he heard breathing. The long silence ended when a voice said, ‘Is this Mr Makana?’
‘Who is this?’
‘I . . . I’m sorry,’ said the caller abruptly. ‘This is a mistake.’ The line went dead. Makana stared at the receiver. A man. Not young. In his sixties perhaps. Educated. He replaced the receiver and sat there staring at it for a time, willing it to ring again. To his surprise it did. He let it ring a couple of times before lifting it.
‘Look, this would be a lot easier if you tell me what it’s about.’
‘All I am asking for is a chance to do just that,’ chuckled Mohammed Damazeen, as if summoned from the dark recesses of his mind. ‘Do you always answer your telephone in such a strange manner?’
‘How did you get this number?’
‘Talal wants us to be friends and I am willing to forgive your behaviour the other night.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I said I could help you and I meant it.’
Makana laughed. ‘What on earth could you offer me that I would be interested in?’
‘Something that is more valuable to you than life itself. Think about it.’
There was a click, and Makana was left holding the receiver. Music played a hysterical electro-beat off in the distance where the coloured lights on the little pleasure boats flew back and forth across the river like exotic fireflies. He rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch. Leaning down he undid the catch on the locker that was hidden under the big desk. Reaching in he removed the Beretta and weighed it in his hand, trying to decide whether to take it with him. In the end he put it back and closed the locker. Carrying a gun around was usually more trouble than it was worth.
The Seraph Sporting Club was crowded that evening. Light spilled out through the open doors into