The Ghost Runner

by Parker Bilal

  ‘Your work? You think anyone cares about your work?’

  ‘I care.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ nodded the doctor. ‘You’re the old-fashioned type they talk about in legends. The last noble warrior.’

  ‘A girl was killed, burned alive while she slept. Isn’t that supposed to mean something?’

  ‘And then what? You bring the killer to justice?’ Doctor Medina laughed. ‘You talk as if it’s so easy to separate good from evil. Nobody believes in justice and righteousness any more. It’s all about you. Giving yourself the best you can because nobody deserves it more than you do.’ The doctor had reached the refrigerator and was now hanging onto the handle as if it was a safety bar on a high trapeze. ‘So many damn questions. A man could die of thirst from so many questions.’

  ‘Maybe you shouldn’t have another drink. The others will be back soon.’

  ‘It’s all right for you. People like you always find a way. You move on, you settle somewhere new. Well, I don’t have that option.’ The doctor poured himself another drink, reached for half a lime that lay on the table, tried squeezing it and then tossed it aside. ‘This is all I have. I’m too old to start again. Too old, and too tired.’ He emptied the glass and seemed to be about to say something else, but instead he lurched towards the kitchen, dropping his glass in his haste. It shattered on the tiled floor. He almost made it. Instead he threw up mostly over his shoes and the floor. He hung there in the doorway, heaving, his back to Makana. A sour smell filling the air. The automatic pistol still dangled in his hand. After a time he straightened up and wiped a hand across his mouth. The gun lifted to point at Makana once more.

  ‘I don’t have to kill you. All I have to do is hold you until they get here.’

  ‘Why do they want me?’

  ‘Who knows? You’re the bonus. They weren’t expecting to find you here, but you seem to have some value to them. I don’t have to kill you, but if you force me to shoot you, I will.’

  Doctor Medina sank down onto the sofa and stared morosely at Makana. The doctor weighed the gun in his hand and then tightened his grip.

  ‘Do you have any experience of using firearms?’

  ‘How difficult can it be? You know how stupid most people in the army are?’ The gun came up until it was pointed squarely at Makana’s chest. To prove his point the doctor pulled back the slide and slipped off the safety catch. ‘Is that better?’

  A good lesson in how to keep your mouth shut. You could pick worse opponents than a drunk with little experience of using firearms, but not many that were more unpredictable.

  ‘How did Musab ever learn about me? I’ve never met him.’

  ‘Not Musab, the people with him. Very important people. The point is they know all about you. About your daughter, for example.’

  Makana stiffened. ‘What about my daughter?’

  ‘I’m telling you. He knows all about you. It’s all part of the deal he’s made to save his skin. Don’t worry, it’ll all be fine.’

  The doctor’s hand was swaying from the weight of the pistol. The barrel waved up and down like a palm frond in a stiff breeze. If the gun went off now it would fire somewhere in the region of Makana’s midriff, which would be as good as a death sentence in this part of the world, with the only available doctor being the inebriated person whose finger was on the trigger.

  ‘You need to think about yourself.’

  ‘What?’ Doctor Medina squinted, chest heaving.

  ‘Think about everything you’ve uncovered these last few days. All that brilliant work.’ Makana’s efforts were rewarded by a fractional wavering in the gun barrel. ‘The killer is motivated by revenge. It’s not Musab. We know that. No matter how mad he is. It makes no sense for him to kill the Qadi and Ayman.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ slurred the doctor, his eyes batting heavily.

  ‘I’m saying that if there is one man in this town who needs to be very careful at this time, it is you.’

  ‘Me? But I . . . I mean, who? Who would go to such lengths?’

  ‘Somebody from a long time ago. The ghost that Ayman saw.’

  ‘Musab. We agreed that it had to be Musab, and we were right. I saw him.’

  ‘Not Musab.’ Makana shook his head. ‘Someone else.’

  ‘Who?’ Doctor Medina blinked. Already the gun barrel was beginning to sag, as if the weight of conviction were tugging it down. The butt of the gun touched the doctor’s thigh gently, as if sinking through water to land on a sandy bottom.

  ‘You said it yourself,’ said Makana softly. ‘You never verified her remains.’

  ‘Safira? No . . .’ Doctor Medina was staring off sightlessly into the distance. Reaching out in a steady, slow movement, Makana clamped his hand gently over the barrel of the gun and pushed his finger through the guard to block the trigger. When he twisted it from the doctor’s grip it was like taking a toy from a child who had forgotten it even existed. He was just straightening up when a voice behind him spoke.

  ‘Looks like I came back just in time.’

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Sadig was standing in the open doorway. He was holding not a pistol but an AK47, and it was aimed in their general direction. In that confined space one squeeze of the trigger would have sprayed the room with bullets, killing both Makana and Doctor Medina, without even troubling to aim. He edged forward carefully, never taking his eyes off Makana. The doctor he seemed less concerned about. When he reached the table he lifted the automatic out of Makana’s hand and waved the barrel towards the door.

  ‘Well, the captain is going to be pleased with this.’

  ‘You mean his promotion came through?’ asked Makana.

  ‘That’s right,’ smiled Sadig. ‘That means I get to be sergeant, and everyone’s happy.’

  ‘Mabrouk,’ said Makana.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Sadig, waving the gun at Doctor Medina. ‘Up.’

  ‘He says she might be alive,’ the doctor groaned.

  ‘Shut up, you old fool,’ muttered Sadig, his eyes on Makana.

  ‘But it is possible. I mean, I never did examine the remains.’

  ‘Think what you are saying. How could she be, after all these years?’

  ‘We buried someone else.’

  Sadig stepped forward and slapped Doctor Medina hard across the face. ‘Snap out of it. It’s just him playing with your head. Can’t you see that? Now shut up and let me finish your work for you. I’ll have to take him to Musab. Why are you so worried about that woman? She was a slut. Everyone said so.’

  ‘How can you talk like that?’ Doctor Medina lurched to his feet. ‘You murdered her!’

  Sadig had no choice but to bear the brunt of the doctor’s considerable weight. As Sadig turned to fend him off, Makana took his chance and threw himself across the room, heading for the open doorway. There was a second’s delay, but he heard the rip of the gun and bullets slamming into the wall alongside the door as he went through it. He didn’t bother with the steps, hopping instead straight over the railing, counting on the sand below to break his fall. Sadig’s pickup blocked the entrance to the road, but Makana’s first concern was starting the Norton. He swung his leg over the seat and switched on the ignition before kicking down on the starter. He silently thanked Kamal for taking such good care of the machine as he tipped the lever down into first gear. By then he could hear Sadig shouting from the top of the stairs. Without turning around to look, Makana aimed the Norton for the narrow gap between the pick-up and the gatepost, hoping that Sadig would think twice about shooting his own car up. He heard the rattle of shots and felt the sand kicking up to his right. The shots stopped then. Makana’s knee scraped against the gatepost and then he was through.

  There wasn’t much choice about which way to go, right would take him back to town where he knew he would be trapped like a rat in a maze. Left led out into the open desert. He had no idea where exactly, but it seemed like the best option. Perhaps it was some kind of primitive instinct tha
t guided him. In either case, he drove faster than he ever had. The motorcycle was rattling so hard he had to use all his strength just to hold on to the handlebars and not be thrown off.

  The road ahead was as dark as pitch. He turned again, onto a narrow track that cut through a grove of palm trees. The fronds overhead blotted out any light that might have filtered down from the heavens. He rode with barely an idea of which way the track led. It wasn’t long before flashes of light began to bounce off tree trunks around him and he knew that Sadig wasn’t far behind in the pickup. He could hear the grind of the engine punctuated by the occasional thump as the car scraped past tree trunks along the way. Then the trees were gone and Makana was out into the open. With only the stars ahead of him, he screwed the throttle over as far as it would go. The Norton was an old bike and unlike modern machines it weighed a lot. Makana was struggling to keep it upright on the uneven surface. He knew that it was only a matter of time before he either fell off or Sadig caught up with him. The high-pitched whine of the strained engine told him the lightweight pickup was drawing closer. The headlights were on full beam and seemed to light up the world. Makana saw his shadow stretching ahead of him in the hot blaze. Beyond that he could see nothing but the long straight road.

  The engine was at full throttle and Makana knew it wouldn’t be able to maintain that pace for much longer. Sadig would catch up and when he did he would not hesitate in running him down. Makana slowed slightly and leaned over to send the Norton rearing out over the low ridge of sand that lined the track and cast himself into the unknown. Luckily it felt firm underneath. He heard the screech of the Chevrolet’s brakes and knew that the pickup had in fact been closer than he had realised. There was a grinding of gears and then the big engine was careering after him again. What was the point of trying to run, Makana wondered? If he couldn’t outrun the car on the road, what chance did he have out here? At any moment, he knew he might hit a trough of soft ground and be sent flying over the handlebars. He was riding without his headlights on. In other words blind, save for the light from the stars. Was it possible Sadig might grow tired of the chase? It seemed unlikely, but Makana was having trouble imagining safe ways out of his predicament. At the present time anything sounded reasonable so long as it did not involve him being maimed or killed.

  From the sound of the engine he knew the pickup was gaining again. The full beams came on and suddenly he was trapped in the funnel of bright light. Makana swung left in a looping arc and then back right again in a tactic he hoped would gain him time. It wasn’t helping though. The Norton careered unsteadily left and right, weaving an insane pattern in the sand and Makana could feel that with every sweep Sadig was closing the gap. It was as if Sadig was anticipating his actions before he moved. Despite himself, he began to feel a grudging respect for his pursuer. Perhaps he had misjudged him? Makana had to keep raising the level of risk he was taking with each manoeuvre. He waited until the last second before twisting the handlebars and hearing the rush of the Chevrolet go by so close he could feel the heat of its engine. He varied his turns like a musician learning to improvise, left, left, then right, then left again. Never the same manoeuvre twice in a row, and then three times. He was running out of ideas. It was only a matter of time before he made a mistake and wound up under the pickup’s wheels. And then the obvious happened. He hit a rock. The front wheel vibrated out of his hands and then slid from under him. The fall must have saved him because the pickup shot by so close to his face he could have touched it. Makana tumbled over and came to rest on his back. He picked himself up slowly. The Norton was lying on its side. He limped over to it, his ankle in pain. As he leaned his weight down to try and right the motorcycle he felt a searing pain in his left shoulder. In the distance he watched the police pickup skid round as Sadig stepped on the brakes. Through the cracked, grimy windscreen Makana could see his face. The dashboard glow revealed Sadig with the intense stare of a predatory hunter who senses that the kill is close. He paused, as if to savour the moment, and then he put the car in gear and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The engine roared, the rear wheels spun and the pickup fishtailed from side to side. Then something else happened. There was a flash followed by a light popping sound. It didn’t even seem that loud. Black smoke and sand erupted in a thick plume as the car lifted off the ground to hover in the air for a second before dropping again into its tracks. Flame billowed out from underneath the chassis, soon enveloping the cab and Sadig. Thick black smoke tried to engulf the flame. Makana could hear Sadig screaming in anguish and pain. He got to his feet and took a step forward. He could feel the heat against his upraised hand even from where he stood. The car was an incandescent beacon against the dark horizon beyond. The screams grew fainter and died away. It didn’t take long. Flakes of burning paint lifted off the bodywork and sailed towards the sky like fireflies. After a time a smell like roasting meat reached Makana’s nostrils. He recalled Doctor Medina’s warning. About not leaving the roads because of the danger from millions of unexploded mines that were still scattered out there. Meticulously buried by the Germans to halt the British advance. A war that people could barely remember and yet it was still capable of killing. Surely there was a message in that?

  As he watched the fire burn down, Makana wondered if anyone would bother coming out here to investigate. By now the pickup was blazing out of control. Inside the cab Makana could make out the charred remains of what had been Sadig a few minutes ago. The body garishly still grinning, although twisted now and shrunken through the windscreen that had popped out of place. The fire still raged. The acrid smell of burnt rubber came from the black smoke that still poured from the vehicle.

  Makana looked back in the direction of the town. It was impossible that the fire had not been seen. He lifted the Norton to a standing position and checked that it was all right. He thought he might have broken a bone in his foot. He leaned his weight on his leg carefully and it held. He could move, slowly. His shoulder was sore, but apart from scrapes and tears he seemed all right. With some effort he managed to get the bike started. He puttered cautiously forward, headlight angled downwards, tracing his own tracks back in the direction of the road. It was absorbing work. He found himself so acutely aware of the danger he was in that he had to stop twice to calm his nerves before carrying on again. Most of the old landmines must surely have decayed to the point where they were unlikely to detonate if triggered, but he had just seen the evidence against this argument, so he watched the sand ahead of the front wheel for anything out of the ordinary. A needle sticking up, an odd, unnatural shape protruding. The task was hypnotic, which he found comforting, though he knew he could easily be lulled into missing a vital clue. When he finally eased the bike over the ridge of sand and back onto the road he heaved a sigh of relief.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  At the top of the stairs the door to Doctor Medina’s apart-ment stood open. The lights were on. The fan turned slowly overhead. Papers fluttered gently on the cluttered dining table. The place was a wreck. Pictures hung shattered and askew on the wall joined by an uneven ribbon of pockmarks that traced a line of bullet holes. Glass from broken windowpanes crunched underfoot as Makana moved into the centre of the room. He crossed the room to shut the refrigerator door which hung open, the machine whirring madly to fight the evening heat. The doctor lay slumped on the floor, jammed between refrigerator and wall. It looked as though he had just sat down for a rest. His glasses were missing and he was out cold, the empty flask beside his outstretched hand. Makana bent down to feel for a pulse and found one. There was no sign of the gun he had been waving about which suggested that Sadig must have taken it with him. As he stood up Makana heard a sound from down below. He descended the stairs as quietly as he could. The door to the clinic stood open. A low desk lamp on the front counter was his only guide. He was almost through the outer waiting room when a shadow crossed his line of sight. Someone was inside the clinic, moving about in the dark. Makana remained motionless, listenin
g to his heartbeat. Whoever was inside was in a hurry, they seemed to be looking for something. The only light within came from the glow coming from the freezer container in the next room. Wad Nubawi lay stretched out on the examination table, still under the influence of the sedatives the doctor had given him earlier. The figure in black had her back to him. She held something up to the faint light and Makana caught the glint of what he took to be liquid in a syringe, before bending to her work.

  ‘Hello Zahra,’ said Makana.

  The figure started, turning and thumping into the examination table as she did so. The syringe tumbled from her hand to the floor where it winked in the poor light. She backed away towards the wall. A veil covered the lower half of her face. Only her eyes showed, darting left and right in desperation. With a moan of despair she turned away and buried her face in her arm. A shudder seemed to go through her body and she went very still.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

  Very slowly, the figure turned to face him. Then she reached up and pulled away the scarf covering her head and removed the black veil. Zahra’s face was damp with sweat. Hair was plastered across her forehead. She slumped back against the wall and stared at him for a long time before she spoke.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I didn’t, not for certain. But I’ve had a feeling for some time. It’s funny how you can identify someone just by a certain way in which they move.’

  ‘You saw me?’

  ‘A couple of times, in the street behind the hotel.’

  Her head bowed. ‘You are very attentive to detail.’

  ‘It doesn’t work with everybody.’ Makana was aware of trying to fight off the weight of sadness that was rolling over him in a wave. The truth was he had not been certain. Right up to that final moment he had clung to the slim hope that he might be wrong. He could always be wrong. He had never wanted more to be wrong.