"Because the women would be witnesses," said Ari.
"And because they're all good Muslims who know their manners," Nohra scowled. "Teraq agreed to it at first. Then the mansion began to fill up. Badawi Bahrani knows the score. He gets a call from Nabihah and lets me and my people in after hours, when most of the dockworkers and the women are gone. We store everything downstairs until they're called for."
"Did you meet with Yilmaz the other night, after this latest shipment arrive?"
Nohra looked discomfited.
"On the street corner outside Mrs. Sadiq's house? Was there a mix-up in the schedule?"
"I've grown paranoid, you see. I began to think our phone calls were being monitored. Call it one of those invisible senses they go on about."
"Yilmaz?" Ari pressed.
"I'd gone out to the depot but the truck hadn't arrived. I sent her a text message. All it said was 'The usual place'. We had arranged that for emergencies. As it happened, the shipment had pulled in soon after I left O'Connor's. Anyway, I was late getting to her. I thought I was being followed and took a roundabout way to get to Windsor Farms."
"Any later and those women in the back of the truck would have been gassed to death."
"I know! Yilmaz came out the next day and acted like she wanted to break my neck."
"Which she is fully capable of doing," Ari nodded.
"But she understood. She also feels we are being watched. And now that you tell me my store is under observation…" He thumped the desk. "Where is that Fahd?"
Yes, where was the young weightlifter? Ari wondered uneasily.
"This brings us to the Namus," Ari said. "You do not think he is a spin of imagination?"
"I…" Without thinking, Nohra's hands went down to the drawer. Then he remembered Ari was watching and pulled back, rubbing his sore hand. "The Namus is real, all right. And I think he is following me."
"Why is that?"
"Because I'm sure he is following the Sadiqs, and that's led him to me."
"He is following them because Mrs. Sadiq encourages disobedience to Allah?" Ari asked.
"That's the story, isn't it? There's a ghost wandering around the country killing wayward women. And I thought it was true, for a while. But why would it concern me? My house is in order. My wife is a good woman. Most Muslim wives are. It's the daughters who grow up in this accursed country who are the real problem."
"You are accursed with daughters?"
"Oh!" And again Nohra thrust his face in his hands.
"You have my sympathy," Ari said sincerely. "A girl infested by Americanisms is almost beyond patience."
"But for some reason," Nohra continued, lifting his head, "the Namus does not bother himself with them. He attacks wives. Good women. I have heard this to be true. Loyal, godly, obedient…"
"Undeserving of death," Ari added.
"Most certainly. It was Bahrani who brought it up to me…"
"Brought what up?"
"He showed me the O'Connor freight schedule. He said all of the women rumored to have been killed by the Namus were wives of customers."
"I don't understand."
"Some of the immigrants coming to America arrive broke. They sell their paintings to Nabihah's agents after coming here. And once the painting is sold…"
"The wife dies…" Ari murmured, amazed.
"Not always, but often enough to make you wonder. If you follow the itinerary of the trucks hauling smuggled paintings…"
"People are being killed over art?" Ari asked incredulously.
"I've made inquiries. As I said, it didn't happen every time. Perhaps the Namus was unaware of the sale or had no immediate opportunity to attack the wife. But it happened often enough to show a pattern. Nabihah was aware of it, but she thought it had something to do with the women running away from home. That's why she calls the killer the Namus. She has spread the story everywhere. She thinks these so-called fatal accidents are really honor killings. Yilmaz believes it, too."
So much so, Ari thought, that she reinforced the story with a lie. By telling Ari she had been delayed by a semi blocking the road, she had swelled the myth of the Namus and his gang of killers. She had, at least, inferred a conspiracy. The potency of an enemy was all-important to the enemy's victims.
"And you don't believe Nabihah's version?" Ari asked.
"I told you, these women who died did not deserve it. Nabihah says women are slain for announcing their intention to abandon their families. She is like you…she does not believe a husband can be punished through his wife."
"I didn't say that. I said people are not killed over a painting."
"I love my wife," Nohra continued. "That is why I have guards at my house. If the Namus found out that I was the one—"
There was a sound like cushioned wood thumping against metal. It did not come from downstairs. Ari held up his finger to silence Nohra. Leaning sideways, he looked down the hallway to the back door, which had been propped open. He could see the flank of the moving van. He was about to tell Nohra to take out his gun when the chime at the front door announced a visitor.
On seeing Sanad Raimouny, Nohra wailed and threw up his hands in dismay. "What are you doing here?"
Sanad paused as the door closed behind him.
"I am under surveillance! You have been seen and photographed! We're finished!"
"Surveillance?" Sanad said, his esthetic features rising into a perfect mimicry of puzzlement.
Ari slid his hand under the hem of his sports jacket.
"Have you been careless, Rami?" said Sanad, resuming his course across the showroom floor. As he took the second chair in front of the desk, Ari caught a whiff of Oudh Al Misk Eau de Parfum. Quite a dandy, Sanad was, Ari thought. There was the slightest sharp ruffle at Sanad's midriff before his own sports jacket settled in place. Ari was pleased by the thought that he had the edge. There was no way Sanad could reach his gun before he did.
"Now we're both finished," Nohra moaned.
"Such unpleasant news, when I thought we would be discussing your latest acquisitions."
"I believe you said your field was 'reclamations'," said Ari.
"That's right, you two met at Teraq's party." Nohra skidded his fingertips across the blotter. "You already know Mr. Ciminon and vice versa. No need for introductions."
"No?" Sanad said calmly.
"All right…let's get it over with. Mr. Ciminon is working for Teraq's…Nabihah's…insurance company. You know, those hijackings. But…he already knows about the paintings…"
"Yes?" Sanad smiled.
"You know, those paintings in Nabihah's mansion…they're insured, too."
"I would be greatly surprised if they were," said Sanad with a shake of his head. "Such things require a paper trail, proof of provenance."
"I see your point…" Nohra formed a businesslike scowl. "Yes…you're right…."
"Mrs. Sadiq has assured my company that the provenance of her paintings has been confirmed."
"By whom!" Sanad laughed, and Ari knew he was speaking of himself.
"But the hijackings—" Nohra began.
"Pot luck," said Ari, turning to Sanad. "What has happened to Fahd?"
"Excuse me for my ignorance," said Sanad, shifting in his chair. "I am here to discuss art."
"Pot luck?" Nohra inquired.
"Perhaps I am using the wrong conjecture," said Ari, rather too delighted with himself. Knowing the perils of self-satisfaction, he contained his glee. This was a useful attitude, since he might die at any moment. "The hijackers were seeking the paintings. The hijackers depended upon their agents at O'Connor's to give them the information they desired. Sadly for them, Bahrani, a very dependable employee, fed disinformation to and fro to confuse any possible…absconders. Frustrated in their plans, the hijackers decided to take the risk of invading the O'Connor's depot directly. That, or there were some particularly valuable artworks in this shipment." Ari looked at Nohra. "You have many strong young bucks among your helpers.
Was there something very heavy in your cargo?"
Nohra looked at Ari and Sanad, then down at his blotter, which was far more interesting.
"You piqued my interest with your last message to me," said Sanad. "You said you had a 500-pound fragment of pink limestone containing a very interesting depiction."
Nohra moaned.
"Among the items missing from the Baghdad Museum is a portion of the Victory Stele of Naram-Sin. It was stolen by the Iraqis from the Iranians in 1981, during the Iran-Iraq War. It was displayed both as an historical artifact and as a war trophy, which annoyed the Ayatollah no end. I believe he tried to include it in the U.N. brokered ceasefire, to no avail. I don't know why a pagan artifact would have interested him, anyway…except, of course, that it's priceless."
"I am not familiar with it," Ari lied. Of course he had seen it in the museum, but to have admitted so might raise questions about his origins. He was hoping Nohra would see his mentioning of the Mukhabarat merely as a scare tactic.
"It portrays the Akkadian king Naram-Sin guiding his army to victory over the Lullubi, who inhabited the Zagros Mountains."
"In Iraq, I believe," said Ari.
"Which only partly explains Saddam Hussein's eagerness to hold on to it," said Sanad.
"He was a great worshipper of Iraq's antique past," said Ari.
"He also knew a valuable piece of property when he saw it. Witness Kuwait." Sanad turned his aesthetic smile on Nohra. "Is that what we're talking about, Rami? We are speaking of a true national treasure—claimed by two countries. It was stolen once again during the American invasion. One can only imagine the tortuous route it took to end up in your basement."
"There's no way Nabihah can move it." Nohra cleared his throat. "She has no contacts with museums and the average American can't afford something like this. Do you….you can find a buyer among your contacts…"
"I'm afraid that, in this case, 'priceless' means what it says." There was a strange mixture of world-weariness and menace in Sanad's sigh as he turned to Ari. "You say the hijackers went to the depot? Obviously they did not get what they wanted, or Rami would not be sitting here moaning."
"They were interrupted before they could kill the women passengers and take the cargo."
"Women passengers?" Sanad frowned unconvincingly. "In a tractor trailer? Who would want to kill them?"
"The Namus," Nohra muttered.
"The 'Namus'?" Sanad said, now looking genuinely puzzled.
"Some guy…I don't know who or from where…we think he's killing the wives of men who sell their art."
"And why would he do that? Why do they call him 'Namus'?"
"Most of these deaths are made to look like accidents," said Nohra, rubbing his elbows on the desk, setting the blotter in motion. "Personally…I think it's being done as punishment, and as a warning to other would-be sellers. The word is that someone has been hired to perform honor killings."
"And you don't believe that?" asked Sanad.
"Like I was just telling Mr. Ciminon…I think someone is crazy-mad because these items are coming onto the black market. Don't act innocent, Sanad. You buy up anything Nabihah's girls can't sell. You have the eye for historical merit. These Americans don't know that some of those dusty canvases are worth more than a dishwasher. But you—"
"Has it occurred to you, Rami, that Mr. Ciminon might be wired?"
"No!" Nohra looked flabbergasted. He began to sputter. "If that was true, he would not have told me I was under observation!"
"Perhaps, but I think I would like him prove no one else is listening in." Sanad turned to Ari. "Would you be so kind…?"
Ari smiled and pulled his sports jacket to either side. Sanad betrayed a snippet of a frown.
"You have a gun."
"That is good to know. I thought I might have forgotten my holster when I dressed this morning. Don't be alarmed. I use it in the course of my job."
"As a fraud investigator?" Nohra said with distaste.
"That is so." Ari lowered his jacket. Catching sight of movement in the hallway, he sighed inwardly. He had not planned on being rushed. "Perfectly normal. And considering that I have come face to face with the Namus, my choice in apparel is most reasonable."
Reading the look Ari gave Sanad, Nohra burst out laughing. "Sanad? The Namus?"
"There are art thieves now languishing in al-Himaya al-Quswaat in Baghdad whose death sentences have been ratified by the Presidential Council. It is known…or at least, assumed…that they were stealing in order to fund terrorist organizations. Mr. Nohra, are you certain none of the money you or the Sadiqs make is going to al-Qaeda?"
"I sell to Americans!"
"Then you are guilty of no more than a foolish, misplaced belief in your chief customer." He nodded at Sanad.
"No, no, you are dreadfully wrong. He is no more the Namus than you are."
"Your trust in me is comforting," said Ari. "But you are dealing with someone whose job it is to reclaim national treasures, as well as to mete out punishment to those who have shamed their homelands. Some sort of consortium, Sanad? Or are you the one working for al-Qaeda?"
Sanad had a better view of the hallway leading to the back door. He vaguely nodded, then turned again to Ari. "Stealing art from its homeland is like ripping out someone's heart."
"I'll give you the address to the British Museum," said Ari. "In the meantime, I suppose reclaiming a few odds and ends from small operators and returning them to the freedom fighters will have to do."
"You call the members of al-Qaeda 'freedom fighters'?" said Sanad, genuinely surprised.
"They and many groups like them are striving to free their countries from Western domination," Ari reasoned. "They also free far too many of their own people from this world of tears. It's the sort of freedom we can do without."
"Read your history, my friend," said Sanad, speaking fast. "What you appear to disapprove of has been a path to freedom for centuries. Many countries have had their origins in what they now call 'terrorism'. Even here, in America, the crimes committed by the Patriots against the Loyalists make one wince. But ask anyone here, and they will express ignorance. Perhaps you have heard the joke: 'God created war so that Americans can learn geography'."
"You two are flying way over my head," Nohra chuckled uneasily. "I suppose it helps when you have to price statues and paintings."
Sanad released a heartfelt moan of sorrow. "Rami, don't you appreciate the merit of what passes through your hands?"
"I know that some of what passes through my hands is damn heavy."
"But…has no work of art lifted your soul? Summoned thoughts of past greatness? Or at least made you look at your fellow man with a little more…interest?"
"I guess the sweat gets in my eyes," Nohra shrugged.
"And how about you, Mr. Ciminon?" Sanad swiveled sideways in his chair. "Do you only chase down dollar signs when you hunt for stolen art?"
Ari, taking note of the way Sanad's hand drifted downwards, applied hard thought to his answer. "I understand there is more to art than mere…weight. I know that some paintings should draw tears, others draw smiles, and yet others bring forth awe. Mostly, though, I think they bring forth an…unfamiliar effort. Something that atones for our ignorance."
"But you don't make the effort?" Sanad scowled.
"When the day comes, I think I will be enlightened."
"You might say the same of God," Sanad scoffed.
"Oh, no, I do not think that day will come, just as it will never come for you." Ari slightly adjusted his position. "In that one thing, we are in agreement. That is why I find you so congenial. Otherwise, what do you believe in?"
"Art!" Nohra exclaimed.
"Yes," said Sanad. "I am a stranger wherever I go, but art will always be there to comfort me."
"You are a lucky man, then," Ari responded. "I, personally, believe in the God of Time. A very fickle chap who always scurries out of sight when you most need Him."
"Yes…time is run
ning out…" Sanad met Ari's eyes. "Mukhabarat?"
Ari shrugged.
"Like you, I have been trained to observe," Sanad continued. "Studying a masterwork…let's say a Michelangelo…can teach you much about human mechanics. Such as the way you have arranged yourself for quick access to your gun. I doubt I would have much luck trying to outdraw you."
"Nor will you have any luck with a hostage."
Nohra, seeing only the theoretical, pressed his head between his palms. "You two…!"
Ari drew the instant a shadow emerged from hallway. But it was Nohra's secretary, looking confused and scared.
"Get down!" someone shouted behind her.
"But—"
A man came up behind her and took her by the shoulders. For a moment Ari thought he was going to use her as a shield, but he pushed her to the floor, out of the line of fire. It was an act of chivalry that could not go unpunished. As the man raised his gun, Ari fired. The bullet caught him on the bridge of the nose. The hydrostatic impact ejected one of his eyes, which went skittering across the carpets. Ari had his gun pointed at Sanad before the body had finished falling to the hallway floor. Sanad stared at him, not calmly, but without fear.
"Nohra!" Ari shouted.
There was no response.
"Nohra!" Ari said in a more reasoned voice.
"Yes…?"
"Take your gun out of your desk. Now! Pick Cindy off the floor. She seems to be unable to get to her feet. Are you listening? Are you comprehending?"
"I have to use the toilet."
"Trousers have more than one use. That man I just shot? The one you'll have to step over? I recognize him. He was one of the guards hired by Mrs. Sadiq at the mansion. There were many of them, and they are all Sanad's men. They will be coming in here in a twice…a trice…hell, they're coming! You understand?"
"Yes…now I do."
"This is most excellent. Take Cindy into the basement with you and lock the door. Listen! Do not stand behind the door. Go down the steps and take up a position to shoot anyone coming down the stairs after they shoot out the lock. Oh…don't aim that gun at me. I am only the man who will send you to jail. Sanad is the one who will send you to hell. Think! Why else would I tell you to take out your gun?"
The Shelter for Buttered Women Page 32