The Sign of the Scorpion

by Farah Zaman

  Chapter Eight:

  At the Grand Ghassan

  “Ghassan City?” Adam echoed. A slow smile of delight spread across his face. “That would be awesome.”

  “Cool,” Layla crowed, her eyes alight with delight.

  “That’s nice.” Zahra’s face was wreathed in a smile.

  “How come we’re going?” Zaid looked curious.

  “Miftah and his family are going tomorrow and coming back on Monday. I had learned from Tariq that Adam and Layla were desirous of going there. I thought it would be a good idea if you all travel together. I’ve spoken to Miftah and Suha. They’re agreeable.”

  Layla’s elation faded a little. She was not looking forward to being in Hala’s company for the long drive.

  “What time are we leaving tomorrow?” she asked.

  “You’ll be leaving after lunch, insha Allah. I’ve arranged for the Al-Khalili Corporation’s private jet to fly you there. Instead of four hours by car, you’ll get there in an hour.”

  A private jet? Wow!

  “Once you arrive at the hotel,” the Shaykh went on, “you’ll be on your own and free to do whatever you wish.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Zaid. “Zahra and I will make sure Adam and Layla see some of the places we’ve been to.”

  “Excellent,” said the Shaykh. “The hotel has a car service which will be at your disposal. Just call the front desk and they will arrange your ride. Is there anything else you wish to know?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Layla. “Thank you so much. We’re absolutely thrilled.”

  “I’m happy to do this for you,” said the Shaykh. “You were of immense help to me last year when you found the Moon of Masarrah. This is just a small token of my gratitude.”

  Tariq did not seem surprised the next morning when the teenagers told him their news.

  “Grandfather told me last night,” he said. “You’ll be zipping in and zipping out in no time with the jet. No long, tiring car ride.”

  “It would be nice if you could come with us too,” said Adam.

  “Yes, but I’m still trying to get set for my move to England. I have a lot of stuff to do, so I’ll have to take a pass.”

  “Is the airport far from here?” said Layla.

  Tariq’s eyes twinkled. “There’s no airport. We have an airstrip behind the limestone hills.”

  At lunch, Ghazala said, “Mrs. Haddad apologized to me this morning. She promised not to cause offense again. In the spirit of forgiveness, I’ve decided not to tell Sulaiman of her behavior. She’ll be gone soon, anyway.”

  And good riddance too, her expression said.

  “Did I miss something?” said Faisal.

  “Yes, you did,” Hala crowed, her mouth split into a wide grin. “Aunt Ghazzy and Mrs. Haddad had a catfight at dinner. It was like being at a boxing match.” Swinging her fists in the air, she said, “Pow, pow.”

  “Catfight? What a vulgar expression,” Ghazala said with distaste.

  Faisal grinned. “I’m sorry I missed it. I should have been here.”

  “You keep disappearing without a word to anyone,” said Miftah. “Why don’t you have the decency to tell us where you’re going?”

  Faisal’s grin turned into a scowl. “It’s my business where I go. I don’t have to answer to anyone.”

  “I’m sure Sulaiman will have something to say about that,” said Miftah, his large nose in the air.

  Faisal glared at his cousin. “I suppose you plan to go blabbing to him. You’re nothing but a sneaky, backstabbing blabbermouth.”

  “Khalas,” said Ghazala. “That’s enough. Settle your differences in private. And Faisal, please refrain from name calling in front of the children.”

  Tariq came to the domed hall to see the teenagers off.

  “Enjoy your trip,” he said. “We’ll continue the riding lessons when you return, insha Allah.”

  They followed Miftah and his family to the forecourt and boarded a brown van. The castle’s chauffeur loaded their luggage while the passengers seated themselves in the ten-seater vehicle. They drove out of the gate and into the roadway, passing several limestone hills along the way. The van came to a stop at the edge of an asphalt runway. Sitting there like a graceful swan was a sleek white jet with red stripes.

  As they got out of the van, they heard the powerful growling of the jet’s engine. A man wearing a white uniform with white safety helmet climbed out of the cockpit and came towards them. He greeted Miftah in a familiar manner.

  “This is our pilot, Fudail,” Miftah yelled above the sound of the engine.

  Fudail nodded to them. He was a wiry man of medium height, with a thin, sunburned face and deep lines at the corners of his eyes. He helped the chauffeur load their luggage into the jet’s hold while the passengers climbed inside. There were eight luxurious leather seats, four on each side of the plush aisle. At the back was a small lavatory. After the pilot filed their flight plan with air traffic control, the jet taxied down the runway. Moments later, it rose into the air with an effortless lift of the wings.

  “This is great.” Adam stared out of the window. “We’ve never flown in such a small aircraft before.”

  Miftah shrugged a shoulder. “It’s not much different from a regular plane.”

  The older man did not seem happy. His bushy brows sat close together and there was a thinness to his lips. Suha had buried her head in a magazine and as for Hala, there was a scowl on her face.

  They’re probably not too thrilled to have us tagging along with them.

  The jet climbed steadily upward. Everything below became little blobs before disappearing altogether as the plane entered the canopy of clouds. During the flight, Miftah and Suha made a few polite remarks to the teenagers but Hala remained standoffish. The expression on her face said they were interlopers who were not welcome. When she spoke, it was only to her father. And all she talked about was her upcoming meeting with Uncle Saad and the places they would go shopping together.

  An hour later, they touched down at a private airstrip in Ghassan City. Mustapha was there to pick them up in a black ten-seater van. He was dressed in jeans and another tightfitting T-shirt that showed his impressive muscles. With a smile on his Sumo wrestler’s face, he professed himself delighted to see them all so soon.

  Minutes later, they were traveling down the highway to the hotel. The skyline of Ghassan City shimmered in the early afternoon haze, a blurry sprawl of towering skyscrapers and majestic minarets. They zoomed through avenues that were wide and tree-lined and crawled through bystreets that were narrow and congested.

  Mustapha drew up into the courtyard of a stately hotel that had a single dome with a golden finial atop.

  “Here we are,” he said. “The Grand Ghassan Hotel.”

  The hotel lay alongside the Ghassan Creek and was landscaped with lush green lawns and eye-catching beds of flowers. Layla knew it was just one of the many hotels owned by the Al-Khalili chain. Two bellhops took charge of their luggage and they entered the lobby, an impressive space with several sitting areas and gleaming chandeliers overhead.

  Once they obtained the keys to their suites, Miftah said, “You’ll be on your own now. If you need to contact me, just leave a message at the front desk. Enjoy yourselves. We’ll see you around.”

  As the teenagers headed to the elevator, Hala said loud enough for them to hear,“I’m glad they won’t be hanging around our necks anymore. I wish Uncle Sulaiman hadn’t insisted they come with us.”

  Layla clenched her teeth. Little witch. I’m glad we won’t be seeing her mean face for the next twenty-four hours.

  Layla found their suite charming, with its scarlet and gold décor. It had two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small sitting room-cum-kitchenette. Sliding glass doors fringed by heavy blinds led to a shaded balcony, with a breathtaking view of the
creek and its waterfront attractions. Zaid and Zahra’s suite were right next door. After settling in, Adam and Layla went over to their friends’ suite to make plans for that afternoon. An hour later, they were ready for their first foray into the city.

  They spent the afternoon at the newest mall and returned to the hotel to have dinner at the rooftop restaurant. The sultry day had given way to a balmy evening. The rooftop restaurant was crowded, with uniform-clad waiters moving back and forth among the tables. Layla was pleased they were given a table with an unfettered view of the creek. She gazed out at the water, which reflected the dense spread of lights from around the city.

  They all ordered samak baladi – country style fish served with thick pieces of bread. The bread was warm and crisp and the fish, fresh and succulent. As they lingered over a dessert of rice pudding topped with pistachios, conversation came around to their plans for tomorrow.

  “You have to visit the Ghassan City Souk and the Lighthouse Mosque,” said Zahra.

  “And the Ibn Muqlah Gallery of Calligraphy,” said Zaid.

  “Sounds good to me,” said Adam.

  “I can’t wait,” said Layla.

  The teenagers breakfasted in the hotel’s dining room the next morning before setting off on foot for the first place on their list – the Ghassan City Souk. Since it was only a short distance away, they had decided to walk there and arrange for the car service to pick them up in two hours. As they headed out the revolving doors of the hotel and crossed into the busy thoroughfare, Layla looked around eagerly. The streets were already bustling with life and the creek packed with sailboats. Horns blared as motorists navigated the heavy traffic.

  A ten-minute walk brought them to the souk. It stretched before them in a never-ending sea of stalls and alleyways. The sights, the sounds and the smells were a wondrous mix of the usual and unusual. The scent of oils and food wafted through the air and the stalls were packed with a wide assortment of sparkling jewelry, clothing, toys, souvenirs and home decor. Around them, the air buzzed with the voices of vendors hawking their wares and customers haggling over prices. They listened in amusement as two vendors got into a slanging match.

  “You’re a clumsy camel,” said the first one. “Tramp, tramp, you walk, knocking my suitcases down.” He gave a comical wiggle in imitation of a camel’s walk.

  “It wasn’t me, you bow-legged donkey,” bleated the second vendor.

  “If it wasn’t you, then it must have been your monkey of a brother,” the first vendor shot back.

  The teenagers chuckled as they walked away from the two adversaries.

  It was while they had stopped at a souvenir stall that Layla noticed a man watching them. He was standing at a rug display across the aisle and there was such a shifty expression on his face that she wondered if he was a pickpocket. Dressed in a gray robe, he was lean and swarthy, with a smooth-shaven face and glittering black eyes. On his left cheekbone was a thick, brown mole. His eyes bored into Layla’s for a few moments before he turned on his heels and disappeared into the crowd. Layla let out a breath of relief. If he was a pickpocket, she was glad he was gone.

  Laden with shopping bags containing gifts, souvenirs and other interesting mementoes, they were happy to get into the waiting car and return to the hotel. After depositing their burdens in their suites, they returned to the car. As they were boarding it, they saw a taxi pull up in front of the hotel. Hala disembarked with a multitude of shopping bags clutched in her hands. She was followed by a tall, strapping man in his mid-thirties, also carrying shopping bags.

  That must be Uncle Saad who had promised to take her shopping.

  Their next stop was the Ibn Muqlah Gallery of Calligraphy. Traffic heading in that direction was heavy. The car moved in fits and starts through the streets. Their excitable Asian driver took offense at the tourists darting in front of them.

  “See how ze mock at me,” he said in accented English. “Ze think ze are birds to fly across. When I run zem over, see how sorry ze will be.”

  His words made the girls burst into low giggles.

  The Ibn Muqlah Gallery boasted one of the largest collections of calligraphic art in the world. The teenagers took one of the guided tours and listened with interest as the guide began his presentation. “Calligraphers have to be trained from a young age. Besides Ibn Muqlah, two other great calligraphers were Ibn Al-Bawwab and Yaqut al-Musta’simi.” As they moved from display to display, he explained the different scripts used in traditional calligraphy and their origins.

  As the crowd dispersed after the tour, Layla’s eyes fell on a man viewing a display across the aisle. It was the swarthy man with the mole she had seen in the souk, the one she had thought might be a pickpocket. Maybe I was wrong about him. He must be a tourist just like us. But still, it’s a strange coincidence to see him here.

  Their next stop was the famed Sharih Lubabah - the Street of Innermost Essence, known for its many restaurants and bakeries. After lunching at a restaurant where the food was delicious and the service impeccable, they strolled down the sidewalk, drooling at the sweet concoctions displayed in the bakery windows. Layla’s attention was caught by a man walking across the street. It was that same swarthy man with the mole again, and he seemed to be keeping pace with them. Could it be a coincidence I’m seeing him three times now? I think not.

  “Guys, look at that man in the gray robe across the street,” she said. “I saw him in the souk and gallery. I think he’s following us.”

  They looked across at the Mole Man. He turned towards them at the same moment and they had a clear view of his face.

  “Are you sure it’s the same man?” asked Adam.

  “Absolutely. Can you forget a face like that?”

  “I suppose not, but it could just be a coincidence.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Maybe he’s a pickpocket waiting for a chance to snatch our purses,” said Zahra, clutching her pocketbook closer.

  “I thought so too. But why follow us here when he could have done it in the souk?”

  “Some pickpockets are patient,” said Zaid, “but I don’t think they would follow people from place to place. Let’s see if he shows up somewhere else. If he does, we’ll know he’s definitely following us.”

  They took a taxi to the Lighthouse Mosque next. The mosque was built on a scenic spot next to the sea. At the top of one of the minarets hung a great lamp that provided a guiding light to ships in the night. The teenagers strolled along the sunny promenade, admiring the view. The sea was a choppy green expanse under unblemished blue skies. Gulls and pelicans circled overhead, alighting now and then on half-submerged rocks that rose like sharp teeth.

  It was Adam who spotted the Mole Man next.

  They were having dessert at a Cakes & Shakes that evening and he had gone to wash off the fruit shake he had spilled on his shirt. He returned in a state of agitation.

  “I just saw the Mole Man,” he said. “He was sitting in a corner, drinking a shake. I was going over to speak to him, but he bolted when he saw me. He’s definitely following us.”

  “I knew it,” said Layla in triumph. “He’s up to something.”

  “I’d like to know what,” said Zaid. “It’s the weirdest thing.”

  Zahra wrinkled her nose. “He doesn’t seem like a nice man.”

  “I think we’ve seen the last of him now,” said Adam. “We’re not going anywhere else after this. It’s back to the oasis tomorrow.”

  The sun had long disappeared behind the skyscrapers as the teenagers headed to the spot where their car was waiting. At a busy intersection, they stood with a crowd of people waiting to cross the street. Several hawkers came up, peddling their wares in loud voices. Amid the noise, Zahra cried out as she stumbled and fell into the street. Everyone watched in horror as a car sped towards her, swerving to the side at the last moment and missing her by a sc
ant two feet.

  It all happened in a mere matter of seconds. Layla was still reeling from the shock as she stooped down with the boys besides their fallen companion.

  “Zahra,” cried Zaid. “Are you alright?”

  “Yes, I think so.” Zahra’s voice shook as she sat up and straightened her beige scarf. “Thank Allah that car missed me.”

  “What happened?” asked Layla. “Did you trip or something?”

  “No,” said Zahra as Zaid helped her to her feet. “Someone pushed me.”

  Chapter Nine:

  Sandstorm

  “What?” Zaid exclaimed. “Did you see who it

  was?”

  “No, I just felt a hand shoving me in the back. The next thing I knew, I was falling down.”

  Layla looked around the sidewalk, but the crowd had moved on. There was no one there now.

  “Are you sure someone shoved you and not jostled you by accident?” asked Adam.

  “Yes.” Zahra’s voice was firm. “That hand pushed me very hard.”

  “Oh my God, you could have been killed,” said Layla.

  In a daze, they walked to where the car was waiting. When they reached the hotel, Zahra was still numb with shock. She did not snap out of it until she had downed two mugs of mint tea. They spent a long time discussing the harrowing incident. Who had pushed Zahra? Could it have been the sinister Mole Man who had been following them? If it was, what had been his motive? Should they report it to the police or not? In the end, they had decided against it. It would be hard to prove Zahra had been pushed. Besides, they would be leaving for Dukhan Oasis the next day and would never set eyes on the Mole Man again.

  The next morning, Ghassan City woke up to a surprise sandstorm. In their suite, Layla heard the wind tearing around the hotel like a wild creature, slinging sand against the glass door. When Adam opened the blinds, the creek was totally obscured by a thick, beige fog. Never having been up close and personal with a sandstorm before, the brother and sister stared outside in awe. Oceans of silt and clay hung suspended, engulfing everything around in a smoky void.