Chapter 23
The taxi made its way in the dark of night through deserted streets and dusty fence-walls, and groups of gunmen affiliated with different groups. Some of them stopped us and then let us pass. We finally reached Hamra, and then pulled up to the house.
I looked for Abu Shakir, but couldn’t find him. I went up the stairs at a run, hoping Wadia would be there. I knocked on the door, and he opened it for me. As soon as he saw it was me, his jaw dropped in astonishment, and he gave me an affectionate hug.
I asked him to pay the taxi fare, and hurried to the kitchen. I took a can of beer out of the fridge, and drank it in one gulp. I brought another one out with me to the living room.
I lit one of Wadia’s English cigarettes, and walked up to the telephone. I dialed Lamia’s number, and a child’s voice answered. Then her voice came on the line: “You?”
“Is someone with you?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, whispering. “Where have you been?”
“I’ll tell you everything when we meet. Maybe in half an hour?”
“That’s impossible,” she said. “I can’t go out.”
“Then I’ll come to you,” I suggested.
“That’s more impossible.”
“At your office?”
“I’ll be waiting for you at the office in the morning,” she said in a normal-sounding voice.
“I’ll come on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“That you wear your hair in a ponytail.”
She laughed. “No problem,” she said.
“And another thing. Don’t wear a bra.”
“What?”
“Your breasts don’t need a bra.”
“In the past, I didn’t wear one, but now I’m older.”
“Not at all. Promise me?”
She laughed again. “I’ll see,” she said. “Bye-bye.”
I heard Wadia’s voice behind me as I put the receiver down, and I turned to him. He was looking at me nervously as he lit a cigarette.
“A real miracle. A kidnap victim comes back — and so quickly. Everyone will be eager to buy the interview I’ll be doing with you.”
I scrutinized his face carefully, as though I were seeing him for the first time.
“How did you know I was kidnapped?” I asked as I opened the second can of beer.
“When I noticed you weren’t sleeping at the house, I called Antoinette, Lamia and Safwan, and everyone who knows you. But none of them had seen you. There was no other explanation. Antoinette promised me she would prod the apparatus of the Palestinian resistance into action. Listen: you must be hungry.”
“Like a dog,” I said. “I want meat and whiskey. And first of all, a bath.”
“Go take a bath. I’ll get everything ready for you.”
“Did Safwan mention anything about the book?” I asked as I headed to my room.
“He said he can’t publish it in the current circumstances,” he answered.
I brought clean clothes from my room, and carried the can of beer to the bathroom. I took off my clothes and put them in a pile in a far corner. I brushed my teeth, then ran hot water in the bathtub. I shaved as I drank the beer. And finally, I sat down in the tub and leaned my head against the wall. I raised the beer to my lips.
But it wasn’t long before my happiness disappeared. My bowels moved for the first time in two days. The reason wasn’t that they would imminently be returning to normal regularity. Rather it was the idea that began to nag at me.
I finished my bath, put on my clean clothes, and went out to the living room. I found that Wadia had brought from outside two chickens grilled over charcoal, with familiar plates of salad. I recounted to him, while we ate, how I was kidnapped, and the conversation that took place between me and the fanatical Phoenician, and then the conversation between me and the man from the Deuxième Bureau.
Puzzlement came over him when he heard about the question that the man from the Deuxième Bureau had asked me about Carlos, and he muttered: “Strange. What did you tell them?”
“The truth.”
He looked bewildered. So I added, “I mean that I don’t know anything about him.”
His face went pale. “Is that true?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“But you told me…”
I laughed. “You’re the one who misunderstood.”
“Strange,” he repeated, astonished.
I dipped a mouthful of food into a plate of yogurt and crushed garlic. “Really strange,” I said. “I only mentioned Carlos’s name once. In this living room, during a conversation with you. So that means only one thing.”
He stopped eating and looked at me expectantly.
“What’s that?”
“Either you had a chat with someone about the conversation we had…”
“Absolutely not,” he burst out.
He went quiet, and then added, “I don’t think so. Maybe.”
I continued: “Or your apartment has been bugged by the Deuxième Bureau.”
He turned to look around everywhere in the living room, and then looked down, saying, “Maybe.”
I sipped from a glass of beer. “I don’t think so,” I said.
His eyes widened.
“If you’re saying —”
I held up my hand to stop him.
“Let’s not talk about that now. What I want to understand is: why did they kidnap me, and why did they let me go?”
He cut a slice of chicken and said, “Your kidnapping may have been by chance. A strange face that appeared in their area. And especially if the stranger seemed to be curious.”
He put a morsel in his mouth and continued: “There’s no basis for it as far as kidnapping operations are concerned. Sometimes the kidnap victims are executed immediately. That’s often done in revenge for a similar operation done by the other side. And sometimes it happens for no apparent reason, like what happened recently when the Phalangists killed around forty Egyptian workers. A lot of times, the kidnappers keep their victims so they can be traded for others, or for fixed sums of money. That’s why the Phoenician was being patient with you — it was so he could assess your situation, and whether he could profit from you in some kind of exchange. If it became apparent to him, for example, that you were a Christian, he would try to persuade you to come around to his view, and gain from your support. I think you’ve heard that there are links between them and some Egyptian Copts.”
“What about the Deuxième Bureau?”
He focused on wiping up what remained in the bowl of hummus with a morsel of food and explained: “The Deuxième Bureau is a strange institution. It is subject to the influence of the ruling families, Maronite and Muslim. But those who are in charge of it are also subject to other loyalties, foreign and mutually opposed to each other. And on top of all that, sometimes they operate independently in the game of the struggle for power between the different blocs, domestic and foreign.”
He lit a cigarette and continued talking: “And now we come to the Palestinian resistance. Circumstances have forced them to maintain lines of communication with the different blocs. They are channels that are not affected by events. For example, while there may be bloody fighting between Fatah and the Phalangists, the line of communication between them works normally.”
He looked at his watch, then went up to the television set and turned it on, putting it on mute while waiting for the news report. He continued what he was saying, as he returned to his seat: “So your kidnapping was by chance. Antoinette succeeded in prodding PLO officials into action. Naturally, they took an interest in the matter for two reasons: the first is that they are keen to support their relationship with all the progressive Lebanese groups, such as Antoinette’s, to safeguard their presence in Lebanon. The second reason is connected to the first: Antoinette’s use of the facilities at the media institute affiliated with them makes her a client of theirs in some way. In that light, your kidnapping infringes on their standing, even if indirectly. First, they began with the different organizations in West Beirut until they were sure you weren’t with them. At that point they opened up their line of communication with the Deuxième Bureau, and then with the Phalangists, the Tigers and the Guardians of the Cedars, and the rest of the Maronite factions. They all denied they had anything to do with the matter. But the Deuxième Bureau — either to pay off a debt to the PLO, or to do them a favor that they can call on later, or to win a point in the struggle for power with the Maronite parties, or to follow up on an entirely side issue like Carlos — the important thing is that the Deuxième Bureau didn’t stop there, and it took an interest in your story. Within a few hours, it learned where you were being held via its agents spread out among the various factions. The matter was settled with a phone conversation. The kidnappers found that by letting you go they would have a point in their favor with the Deuxième Bureau, or they could pay back a favor to them. Apologies were exchanged and future favors made note of, and you get your freedom back. And you become indebted to the Deuxième Bureau in some way.”