Tracks

by Niv Kaplan

  No more talk evolved around the real purpose of their visit. The rest of the time was spent in small talk about the weather and politics. Food appeared on the table: goat’s cheese in olive oil, a delicacy called Labaneh with warm pita bread and fresh vegetable salads followed by skewers with chicken and beef accompanied by fried potatoes. Strong tea with nana leaves concluded the feast, all through which Christine had not been asked an opinion or said a word. The only acknowledgment from Abdullah was to offer a cigarette, each time he lit one for himself.

  “It’s a man’s world over here,” Black Jack explained as they headed back to the car, the entourage of kids back at their heels. “Women do not voice opinions in the presence of men, regardless of where you come from.”

  “That jerk is better off not knowing what I think of him,” Christine murmured, trying to keep up with Jack’s fast pace. “What kind of an attorney is he anyway?”

  “Probably the only one in Dahab and definitely the only one willing to work with us.”

  They reached the car and went looking for accommodation. Black Jack could barely touch the steering wheel it got so hot. They checked into the Dahab Katarina Inn, a resort resembling the Nueba Hilton, in close proximity to the beach with pools and jacuzzis, bars and restaurants and even a gym with saunas.

  With plenty of daylight left, Christine bought snorkeling equipment and a one-piece Speedo bathing suit. She and Jack spent the rest of the afternoon among Dahab’s coral reefs enjoying the magnificent views and colors of the corals and fish. Jack even claimed to have spotted a shark.

  Over dinner they discussed what measly progress they had made.

  “When do you start negotiating with them?” Christine asked, picking at her salad.

  “The judge will instruct the attorney. We’ll know their opening bid tomorrow.”

  “What leverage do we have?”

  “None. But we’ll fake it. These people are too greedy to let this opportunity pass.”

  “Do you want me there, Jack?”

  “Yeah, but only as a witness. You cannot voice an opinion, not in front of the judge. But they cannot disregard your presence. Once agreed, your word will be as good as mine.”

  They met Abdullah at the café the following morning. He did not seem to be in any hurry. He challenged Jack to a game of backgammon, which evolved to a series. Two hours passed before they got up to leave. Abdullah led them through the bustling market to an old, three-storey building full of mortar and shell holes from the numerous conflicts the region had suffered.

  Clair waited for them in a small windowless cell - the visitation room, as Abdullah described it. They embraced. Clair held on to Christine, sobbing silently. Tears welled in Christine’s eyes.

  “He’s here, I know it!” Clair said once they all settled down. Abdullah had left them alone.

  She was a small, energetic woman, in her mid-thirties. Attractive in Jack’s eyes with short, silky blonde hair and stubborn gray eyes. She had a small upturned nose and sensuous red lips in stark contrast to her pale white skin. She wore a stained white gown similar to the Galabia worn by Abdullah and though clearly distraught and troubled, she looked extremely determined.

  “How are they treating you here?” Black Jack asked, concerned.

  “They let me use my makeup for the first time this morning,” Clair said. “I’m in a room with four other women who are very suspicious of me and I haven’t seen a ray of sunlight since they threw me in here.”

  “Those freakin assholes,” Black Jack cursed. “I’ll get the French ambassador to see this before we’re through.”

  “There’s a guard who speaks French,” Clair said. “I gave him some baksheesh, money I managed to hide, and he’s been keeping me informed.”

  Black jack perked up. “What has he been telling you?”

  “This here is just a detention center for those awaiting trial. The real prison is in Alexandria where they will send me once I’m convicted.”

  “Did they tell you when you’ll be up for trial?” Christine asked.

  “Soon is a common word around here which could mean anywhere between a few minutes to a few years.”

  “What have you been charged with?” Black Jack asked.

  “Attempted kidnapping, I guess. No one really told me. I went to the house where Ibrahim was staying hoping to see him. Hussni had the police waiting there for me.”

  “How did you manage to find them?” Christine asked.

  “It was all quite bizarre,” Clair recalled. “Hussni’s brother, Yusuf, called me in Paris. The two had not been on speaking terms since Hussni married me. He told me that if I want to see my son I should meet him here in Dahab. He told me to come alone and I was on the next plane to Egypt. Actually I flew to Israel and crossed the border. Yusuf warned me I might be on an unwanted list in Cairo and instructed me to go through Israel which is much closer anyway.”

  “We took the same route,” Black Jack commented.

  “He met me at Taba and drove me here, showed me the house and left me. No explanations why he was doing this. I surveyed the house for a couple of days, which may have been my mistake, then decided to risk it. The rest you can see. Two months in this hell hole.”

  “Did you actually see Ibrahim?” Christine persisted.

  “I did. I’m sure of it. On the third day after I arrived I saw a figure in the window. That’s why I decided to risk it. It had to be him. A teenage boy, same age, same built. He was walking around. I didn’t see his face but I know it was him.”

  Jack and Christine exchanged glances.

  “Did you see your ex-husband?” Black Jack asked.

  Clair bowed her head, shaking it. “No. I didn’t even get to see him,” she admitted.

  Abdullah appeared. He motioned to Black Jack to join him. Christine looked up, uncertain. Black Jack gestured for her to stay put. He quietly followed the attorney through dim corridors to the judge’s quarters.

  The judge wore a suit that seemed quite out of place, brown with a pink tie. He seemed quite uncomfortable in it, but he kept up the façade. He had gray hair, moustache and a full beard, and looked worn out.

  Introductions complete, the judge spoke in Arabic expecting Abdullah to translate. “The woman is in much trouble,” he said.

  “What are the charges?” Black Jack asked.

  “Attempted kidnap.”

  “Who was she trying to kidnap?” Jack persisted.

  “A young boy.”

  “Any idea why she would be interested in that boy?” Jack retorted.

  “She claims it is her son.”

  “Is he?” Jack asked.

  After a moment of silence, Abdullah spoke: “The child’s father thinks she is crazy.”

  “Why would she be interested in that boy?” Jack insisted.

  “She is crazy,” Abdullah repeated.

  “Crazy enough to come all the way from France to this place to kidnap a boy she don’t even know?”

  “She may know him,” Abdullah said.

  Black Jack addressed the judge. “If she’s that crazy, she can’t stand trial.”

  Abdullah and the judge conferred in Arabic, a conversation Jack was able to partially understand.

  “She could be sentenced to twenty-five years,” Abdullah finally said.

  “The French won’t like it,” Jack threatened, addressing the judge again. It brought another flurry of conference.

  Jack added: “I want her out today.”

  The conference continued as if he had not spoken.

  Finally Abdullah said: “She will stand trial but the sentence will be reduced to a fine.”

  “How much?” Jack pressed.

  “Twenty thousand US dollars.”

  “One thousand and we settle it now,” Jack said.

  Abdullah translated to the judge who seemed to become quite annoyed. He turned his back on the American and lit a cigarette. Abdullah signaled for them to go.

  Jack spoke evenly, addressing the judge:
“She better have a fair trial and you better improve her conditions here or you’ll have the entire United Nations on your case.”

  The judge did not flinch and Abdullah did not translate but Black Jack knew they understood. Opening blows had been exchanged. Now it was about patience and poise. They walked back to the visitation cell to pick up Christine.

  Abdullah said: “You angered the judge, Mr. Jack.”

  “Whose side are you on?” Jack replied angrily. “They don’t have a case to hold her here.”

  Abdullah walked silently for a while then stopped Jack just before they reached the visitation cell.

  “They’ll invent a case Mr. Jack. If you don’t compromise, they’ll not let her go.”

  “You tell the judge I’ll pay a thousand bucks, no more, and if he dares mistreat the lady, I’ll bring in the media.”

  Abdullah retreated. They walked into the cell. The two women looked up, expectantly.

  Black Jack smiled. “You’ll be out in no time Clair. The judge gave me his word. We’ll just need to address some formalities. Meanwhile they’ve promised to improve your conditions. Tell me if it has not occurred. We’ll be back tomorrow.” He motioned to Christine who embraced Clair one last time and stepped to the door.

  A guard appeared to escort Clair away. She bravely waved to them and disappeared amongst the darkened corridors.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Police Chief Halil came to see them next with Abdullah and an entourage of men in uniform. They met the following morning at the breakfast hall at the Katarina Inn. The chief was obviously happy to exchange whatever inadequate office space he was occupying with the fine luxuries of a tourist resort.

  His men scattered outside, the chief filled his plates with an enormous breakfast and joined Jack and Christine. Abdullah, apparently not impressed with what the resort had to offer, stuck with coffee and chain smoking. Small talk progressed until the chief demolished his breakfast and could finally breathe.

  He paid much more attention to Christine than any of the other males they had met up to that point. He asked her opinion on various matters and was especially interested in hearing about Paris, a place he had once visited. She politely answered his inquiries but was visibly irritated. Her friend Clair was wasting in a filthy prison and here he was shooting the breeze. She finally could not resist any longer.

  “I need to get my friend back to Paris,” she said, hoping she had won his sympathy.

  The chief shot her a regretful look.

  “In due time,” he said and turned to Black Jack.

  “Mr. Jack, we seem to have a problem,” he said ceremoniously.

  Black Jack did not reply. He sat back and folded his arms over his chest. The chief went on.

  “Your client is charged with attempted kidnapping. I personally apprehended her near the boy’s house.”

  “Who tipped you off?” Black Jack shot back.

  “No one in particular Mr. Jack. It’s our business to keep our neighborhoods safe.”

  “My client’s son was kidnapped by her divorced husband from Paris and brought here. The courts in France clearly ruled in her favor. She has every right to want her son back. If anyone should be thrown in prison, it’s Mr. El Shara, not Clair.”

  “Can you provide proof of that?”

  “I sure can and I sure will if we go to trial.”

  “I mean, can you provide proof she is here for her son and not some other boy.”

  Jack knew he was treading on thin ice.

  “She claims she saw him in that house,” he said. Pure instinct kept him from mentioning the brother.

  “Then I suggest we go there and verify her claim Mr. Jack,” the chief said.

  “Let’s do it,” Black Jack challenged. “Of course a lot can happen in two months. Isn’t that right, Chief?”

  A mischievous grin spread across the chief’s face as he got up to leave. Jack and Christine followed. They assembled in the parking lot - three police cars, Jack and Christine with Abdullah in the rental.

  Black Jack stopped in front of the chief’s leading car and rolled down his window. “We take Clair, chief, otherwise it’s no bid.”

  The chief stared at him from the passenger side of his police vehicle and gave instructions to his driver who stepped on the gas pedal and sped out of the resort, everyone in pursuit.

  They stopped in front of the prison and waited ten minutes before Clair appeared, her hands cuffed behind her back, two policemen in escort. Christine almost jumped out to give a hand but Jack stopped her.

  The convoy sped along to a residential area, south of the main part of town, on a bluff above a beautiful coral reef. They stopped in front of a single-storey white painted house with large glass windows facing the street. They all piled out of their vehicles and stepped onto an open porch shaded by bamboo sticks, Christine supporting Clair who was blinded by the bright sun she had not seen in two months.

  "Is this the house?" Christine whispered in French.

  Clair nodded weakly looking as if she was going to collapse.

  The door was unlocked and everyone piled in. The house was furnished but seemed unused. It had a foul smell to it and was boiling hot.

  “Who lives here?” Jack asked, addressing the chief.

  “I do,” said a voice and then a man stepped out one of the rooms. He was tall and fashionably dressed quite unlike the local lot. His straight black hair was combed to one side, his dark handsome features, almost haunting.

  Clair took a step back and was again supported by Christine.

  “Yusuf,” she murmured. “I should have known.”

  “Name is Yusuf El Shara,” he introduced himself in fluent English. “This is my home.”

  “He’s Hussni’s brother,” Clair said weakly.

  Yusuf paid her no mind. He addressed the chief. “What seems to be the problem, Major Halil? I see the crazy lady is back.”

  “She says she saw her boy in this house. These people represent her. Could you give us your statement again?”

  “Her boy lives with his father in Cairo. She was after my boy for some reason.”

  Words spoken, Yusuf went back in the room and reappeared accompanying a young boy who looked quite startled at the entourage of people eyeing him.

  “This is my son, Ahmed. He’s eleven.”

  Everyone stared. There was no striking similarity between the boy and the man, but no one could dismiss a possible relation.

  The chief addressed Black Jack. “Does this satisfy you, Mr. Jack?”

  “Not one bit, Chief,” Black Jack declared then took hold of Christine and Clair and stormed out the door. In the few moments they were alone together on the outer porch, he spoke quietly to them. “We’ve walked into a trap. Chris, go back in and get a good look at that boy.”

  Christine did as she was told. Black Jack kept talking to Clair. “Has your situation improved any in there?”

  “They let me wash today, after almost three weeks. Though they made me use the officers showers with two guards present.”

  Jack hissed between his teeth. “Bastards.”

  “Slightly better breakfast too,” Clair added, “but I still share the room with those four witches.”

  “Mr. Jack,” a voice called in back. It was the chief. Jack turned. The chief gestured for them to step aside.

  “Are you willing to settle or do we go to court?” the chief questioned in a low voice.

  “How much?” Jack asked, expecting the chief to be synchronized with Abdullah and the judge.

  “Fifteen thousand US dollars,” the chief said without a blink of an eye.

  “Fifteen hundred is all you’ll get out of me chief. And consider this a generous offer.”

  The police chief looked nonplused for a moment but then he graciously smiled. “As you wish,” he said and barked a few orders to his men. One of them grabbed Clair and flung her in back of the Jeep. The rest boarded their vehicles.

  Black Jack stepped in front of the
chief, his six-foot frame towering over the smaller man.

  “You better make sure they treat her right chief. The Red Cross station is not far away and I can have the French Ambassador and half the UN climbing all over your back.”

  “I can throw you in with her, if you like,” the chief retorted. “Interference with our legal proceedings, Mr. Jack, like offering money to a police officer, is a major offense in this country.”

  Black Jack stepped back to let the chief through. It was Clair’s treatment, not the threat on himself, which worried him. He had dealt with similar police forces in similar places at similar situations and it was always the weak, and in most cases the innocent, who ended up getting hurt. Here was Clair, a vulnerable woman in an extremely vulnerable position, at the mercy of merciless corrupt men who interpret the law strictly for their own benefit. She was their trump card, their ticket to money they could never normally hope to see and they would use every dirty trick they knew to make him pay for her.

  Fifteen thousand dollars was steep, but, when push came to shove, he knew he could spring it. He hated negotiating at the expense of Clair’s wellbeing but he was well aware of the unwritten laws of this harsh land. If he was to concede too quickly, without a fight, he would proclaim a weakness they would further exploit. He hoped Clair would survive it just a few more days.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “We may have all be conned into this trap,” Black Jack observed as he and Christine were settling for dinner. They had chosen a quiet seafood restaurant at the north end of the Dahab boardwalk, away from the busy resort area, away from any unwelcome ears.

  Christine had managed to shower and change after attempting to tail Yusuf El Shara’s so called “son”. She wore a loose, short sleeved white cotton shirt with a colorful sarong and sandals she had purchased at the market after losing the boy to the traditional, Middle Eastern chaos.

  It was sweaty and hot outside, but she looked fresh and radiant, her face and arms already tanned from being out in the blistering sun.

  Black Jack was wearing a colorful short sleeved silk shirt, short pants and sandals he had purchased at the duty free shops at the resort. He had had time to put some of the events in perspective.