by Parker Bilal
This confirmed what he had been told. It also went along with Jehan’s analysis of the boy’s condition from Makana’s description. Was this what Liz Corbis had been hinting about when she talked about sacrifice? She didn’t mean the parents literally sacrificed themselves, but that they benefited from somebody else’s sacrifice. To perform a transplant you needed a donor, and as far as Makana knew, a liver donor didn’t walk away from the operation. The Hesira Institute was saving the lives of rich Westerners by the sacrifice of the less privileged.
‘That’s what they’re doing. That’s what Beatrice was running away from.’ Makana rang off and tried to think of his next move. They had stopped at a roadside shack for something to eat. When he looked up Sindbad was holding out a sandwich.
‘What is this?’
‘Liver. They do it the Alexandrian way with lots of chilli.’
‘Not tonight,’ Makana handed it back.
‘I thought you liked liver. You want kidneys instead?’
‘Just eat your sandwich and then take me up to the mosque.’
It was close to midnight. The maidan in front of the Mustafa Mahmoud mosque was flooded with light from the lamps that illuminated the white walls. In the harsh glow the makeshift camp looked more wretched than ever. The police presence had swollen overnight. There were now thousands of policemen and security officers milling around. A wall of vans and buses had been brought in. It looked as though they were getting ready to clear the camp. The atmosphere was a lot more tense than it had been the last time he was here. Off to one side he glimpsed officers mounted on horses jostling with protesters, pushing them back, as if trying to provoke a reaction.
In all the confusion, it was somehow easier for Makana to push his way through. Within the cordon there was an air of rising panic. Children were crying. Men and women stood holding younger ones, clutching babies in their arms. The tense expressions on their faces reflected the uncertainty. Some rushed about trying to find a safe spot to shelter, but there was nowhere left to go. Everybody seemed to be on the move. Indeed, the whole camp seemed to be trying to lift and transform itself. Everywhere tents were collapsing, shelters trampled and tripped over. They came apart producing a layer of debris that flowed underfoot. Over the heads of the crowd Makana glimpsed the blunt snout of a high-sided armoured vehicle with a water cannon mounted on the roof. He pushed his way through. You had to be aggressive or you would be swept aside. Just to stay upright was a challenge, never mind actually finding someone. By some miracle he caught sight of Aljuka, an image of stillness amidst the mayhem, issuing orders to his men. He saw Makana but ignored him until he was standing in front of him.
‘You chose the wrong time to come back, brother,’ he snarled.
‘They’re going to clear you out. You should comply.’
‘And go where?’ Aljuka was breathing hard. ‘What do you think they will do? Imprison us, take us to the border, dump us in the desert? We know all their tricks.’
‘People are going to get hurt.’
‘They are already hurting,’ Aljuka yelled. ‘We didn’t ask for this battle but they refuse to treat us like human beings. We have no choice.’ He shook his head in incomprehension. ‘You don’t have to be here. Did you come to watch us die?’
‘I found Beatrice and Estrella.’
Aljuka’s face darkened. ‘You found them where?’
‘In the desert. They’re not coming back.’
Aljuka said nothing. He looked down at the ground for a moment before his eyes returned to Makana.
‘She’s dead?’
‘Estrella? Yes, she’s dead.’ Somebody crashed into Makana and he stepped aside, moving closer to Aljuka. The noise around them was increasing. ‘Are you the father of her child? Is that why you were trying to protect her?’
Aljuka snorted. ‘She wasn’t pregnant. That was just a story she told that crazy preacher and his sister. She faked the sample.’
‘You mean Preston and Liz Corbis.’
Aljuka nodded. ‘Beatrice and her brother escaped. Jonah never made it, but Beatrice managed to get here. She wanted to see Estrella. Still, it wasn’t safe. Those two policemen were looking for her. I promised to help them, but Estrella refused to listen. She was headstrong.’ He allowed himself a smile, and for the first time Makana saw a gentleness to him.
‘She had found a way out of her own. Mourad had promised to get them both to Israel.’
Aljuka nodded. ‘She wanted to do things her own way.’
‘You knew what was going on at that clinic, yet you let Corbis and his sister still work among your people?’
‘They provide useful medical services. But don’t worry. When the time comes they will pay.’ He drew a hand across his throat.
‘You cared about her.’
‘Estrella? I would have done anything for her. I’ve known her since she was a kid. We grew up in the same streets.’
‘Tell me about Beatrice. What happened to her?’
‘She showed up one night, scared out of her mind. Nobody knew where she’d come from. She was supposed to be on her way to America.’
‘With her brother Jonah.’
‘Exactly, only there was no America. No happy family waiting for them. It was all a lie.’
‘What did she say?’
‘It was crazy. Unbelievable. Like something out of a film. She said they were drugged. When they woke up they were in this place, underground. There were bodies all around, like in a hospital. All unconscious or dead, she didn’t know. Jonah was there. He helped her up. She could hardly walk. They managed to escape, I don’t know how. Then they were running down the road, she said, just running and running.’
‘Where were they, did she say?’
‘No.’ Aljuka was growing impatient, his attention drawn to the battle building up around him. His men were imploring him to move. There were things to be done, preparations.
‘Wait,’ Makana said. ‘What else? What else did she say?’
‘She said they wanted to cut her open and take her heart. She was hysterical. It didn’t make a lot of sense. I told you, it’s crazy. They were caught and taken to a small room. They were locked up, but Jonah helped her to climb up the wall and get out. She never saw him again.’
The clamour of the clash was growing. Aljuka was in a hurry to get back to the battle.
As he went to turn away, Makana grabbed Aljuka’s arm to stop him. He felt himself seized from behind and lifted into the air, immobilised, his feet off the ground. Aljuka stepped closer.
‘This isn’t your battle. Go back to your Egyptian friends.’
There was a roar from somewhere off to the right. Makana saw batons rising in the air like branches in a storm. The water cannon opened up. A solid jet of water shot out over the heads of the crowd, provoking wails and screams. Aljuka was issuing orders. His men went left and right. Makana was forgotten. He turned and began struggling out of the mayhem. Nobody paid him any attention now. People had other concerns. The riot-police batons were being met by makeshift weapons. The cries and screams multiplied, grew more intense. Over the top of everything the powerful jets of water hissed, sending protesters flying backwards, sprawling to the ground. Already the CSF were breaking through, dragging people away – a woman, a young child – picking off the weaker ones the way a predator attacks a herd.
Makana stumbled on, the crowd thickening about him. It seemed to harden towards the edges as it met resistance. The police were fencing them in from the outside. Rows of men in riot gear were advancing, shields and batons held aloft. He could see people being loaded into buses on one of the sidestreets. Sirens were going off in every direction. A man clutching a bloody rag to his head stumbled into him before careening off into the turmoil. Fighting a rising sense of panic, Makana roughly pushed his way back and in the opposite direction until a gap opened up and he managed to slip through the police lines. He reached the line of lock-up vans and commandeered buses where people were being shepherded into
cowering huddles.
‘Where are they taking them?’
‘Back to where they belong,’ replied one policeman leaning on his baton.
The violence kept pushing him along. Even if he had wanted to get back to the centre he couldn’t have. He had no idea if Fantômas was in there somewhere. Looking back he could see the stream of water playing over the heads of the crowd. It slowed to a trickle, allowing a moment of respite before launching another powerful spurt that knocked people onto their backs. Four CSF men dragged a man backwards up the road past him. They paused to turn and pummel him with their boots and shields. Makana stepped towards them but an officer blocked his path.
‘Don’t get involved,’ he said with a smile. ‘Just go on your way. Just keep walking.’
Flashing symbols on his phone told him that someone had tried to call and left a voice message for him. Makana fiddled with the instrument, trying to figure out how to retrieve it. After several attempts, he finally managed to hit the right combination of buttons and was rewarded with the sound of Jehan’s voice.
‘Where are you?’ she asked immediately. ‘I hate leaving messages, but I have no choice. I wanted to ask you about something. I have a feeling I know what they are up to at the Hesira Institute. I’m going to go over there and talk to Ihsan. After this you’ll have to officially promote me to your assistant.’ The sound of her laughter echoed in his ear long after the message had ended. He tried to call her back but only got the annoyingly tinny voice of a woman telling him that the number was unavailable.
Chapter Thirty-six
The Hesira Institute was dark at that hour. The statue of the clinic’s namesake that stood in the forecourt was lit up by spotlights. He appeared to hover in the dark air like an ethereal presence. Liz Corbis had been asleep when he called. He explained that he needed her help.
‘Now? But it’s almost two in the morning.’
‘I’m afraid things are moving quickly and I’m worried that one of my friends might be in danger.’
‘And you think I can help?’
‘I hope so. I need to get into the Institute.’
‘Tonight?’ She sounded incredulous, but at the same time he thought he detected a tremor of excitement in her voice. She directed him to a side entrance that avoided the main lobby and accessed the grounds through a door set into the high surrounding wall.
‘This is the way we come in usually, so we don’t have to use the front entrance all the time. It’s more discreet.’
She was talking quickly in a low voice and seemed nervous, struggling with the key to lock the door again. Dr Corbis was wearing some kind of tracksuit that she seemed to have pulled on over her nightclothes. The collar of a pyjama top stuck up awkwardly at the back of her neck.
‘I’m not sure I should be doing this.’
‘I appreciate it.’
Liz Corbis looked at him. They stood in the garden, between high rhododendron bushes that stirred gently in the night air. To the right the main building was lost in shadows, except for minimal security lighting here and there in the darkened lobby and by the stairwell.
‘What exactly is it that you think is going on here?’
‘I’m not sure it’s going to make much sense, but before I tell you any more I need to access the files again.’
‘You mean our files?’ He could see her beginning to shy away.
‘Please, bear with me. You may not want to hear this, but I think you need to listen to what I have to say.’
‘I’m listening.’ Her voice had gone slack, her eyes were flat.
‘Tell me, how much contact do you have with your angels, as you call them, once they are placed with a family?’
‘Me personally, almost none. Preston takes care of the follow-up. I don’t really have the time. Why do you ask?’
‘I mean, if you have no contact with them, how do you know if the match has been a success?’
‘Oh, if it wasn’t we would hear about it. And like I said, Preston is in contact with the families. It’s entirely up to them, but their feedback is useful, especially for fund-raising purposes. We want to show that the project is a success.’
‘But it’s your brother who deals with all of that.’
Tight-lipped, Liz Corbis gave a brief nod.
‘Many don’t want to. I understand that. They want to work on building a solid relationship.’
‘So you have no actual proof that they are safely with their adoptive families?’
‘In some cases we do, but often it’s nothing more than a thank-you letter. Sometimes they send pictures, you know, like the ones in the church.’
‘Of course, but it’s quite irregular. Isn’t it odd that there is no administrative check?’ Makana said. ‘I mean, otherwise they could almost disappear off the face of the earth.’
Liz Corbis grew still. ‘I’m not sure I see what you’re getting at.’
‘The girl I was looking for, Beatrice? She and her brother Jonah were on your programme.’
‘Right. We talked about them.’
‘Well, according to your records they should be in America by now. Only they’re not. Both of them are in this country still, and both of them are dead.’
‘That can’t be. There must be some mistake.’
‘What percentage of the candidates would you say have sent firm proof of their new life?’
‘I’d have to check, but off the top of my head I’d say fifteen, twenty per cent.’
‘So, for the other eighty per cent you have nothing.’
‘Like I say, I’d have to check.’
‘Can we do that?’
‘Now?’ Liz Corbis glanced around her as if suddenly unsure of where she was. She swallowed. ‘Okay, let’s do it. I won’t be able to sleep after this anyway.’
‘Thank you,’ he said.
Without another word she led the way towards the main building. Through the glass the lobby was dark and deserted. Makana was trying to think where Jehan might be. He felt sure she was somewhere in the building.
‘Usually there’s a nightwatchman, but he goes off to sleep for a few hours when he knows he won’t be disturbed.’
She struggled with a key, and then the door opened and they slipped inside. In darkness, the cavernous space of the lobby seemed to rise up above them with the weight and depth of a temple. Another key unlocked the door to the stairwell, where emergency lighting illuminated the way. She looked back at him as they descended.
‘Perhaps you should tell me everything you know.’
Makana explained what he knew. The accident on the road. The dead man in the locker. The dismembered body in the palace. Someone was going to a lot of trouble to get rid of the evidence.
‘But evidence of what?’
‘Of what Doctor Qaddus has really been using this place for.’
By now they had reached the lower level. The door opened to reveal the mural that covered the opposite wall. Anubis, the jackal-headed god, leaning over the body of the king. It seemed all the more appropriate now, Anubis removing the pharaoh’s vital organs. Not a mortuary at all, but something much more.
‘I asked myself, why go to the trouble of having a crematorium, of burning bodies in a furnace? Why not just bury them somewhere?’
‘Why do you think that is?’
‘Evidence. Concealing the fact that they’d been tampered with, that vital organs had been harvested from them.’
Liz Corbis stopped dead. ‘You can’t mean that? But how?’
‘Let’s check your records first, and then I need to find Ihsan Qaddus.’
‘You’d better be sure of your case, because he’s not the kind of guy who will take an accusation like that lying down. You’ll find yourself up to your neck in lawsuits. You’re going to need a good lawyer.’
‘A lawyer is going to be the least of my worries,’ said Makana.
‘This woman, the doctor, what is your relationship to her?’
Makana looked at her. It wasn’t a q
uestion he had anticipated. They were by the door to the office now, and Liz Corbis was trying to find the right key. She seemed to be taking her time, waiting for an answer. He thought about answering the question. What was his relationship to Jehan? It seemed hardly fair to even use the word relationship, and yet Makana was aware of something quickening out of the ether of the void in which he had lived for almost fifteen years.
‘We’re colleagues,’ he said quickly. The nod he received in return was as convincing as his answer. Thankfully the door opened and in a moment they were seated at the desk with the computer blinking into life.
‘Now, let’s see.’ She clicked buttons and tapped her fingers impatiently. Makana longed for a cigarette, but it had been a long day and he had none. ‘You do understand the implications of what you are saying? If what you say is true then it would destroy our Homehavens Project. My brother and I would be implicated.’
‘You can prove that you were unaware. Ihsan Qaddus has been exploiting you.’
‘He has powerful friends in this country.’
‘They’re not going to be able to help him. This is going to be an international scandal. His friends will wash their hands of him.’ Makana dragged his eyes from the screen to look sideways at her. ‘It could be bad for you and your brother, though.’
She gave him a brave smile. ‘If what you say is true and I don’t do something about it, how do you suppose I shall live with myself?’
He couldn’t really argue with that. The computer was busy going through its start-up sequence. Impatient, she got to her feet and began pacing the room behind him.
‘I really can’t take in what you are telling me. I mean, I need to see proof.’
‘And you think you can find that in here?’ Makana nodded at the screen. It was now running through some kind of virus scan. He looked at his watch. Wherever she was, Jehan could be in danger, but he couldn’t risk confronting Ihsan Qaddus unless he had proof.
‘I’ve just had a terrible thought. Do you think my brother could be involved in this?’
Makana sighed. ‘I don’t know, but it would be hard to explain this happening without him having some knowledge, don’t you think?’