Omar Yussef watched through the glass wall of the lounge as Nadia blew him a kiss from the lobby and entered the elevator.
Zuheir sat forward and spoke quietly in Arabic. “Don’t you think it’s a waste for Nadia to spend so much time reading these American detective stories?”
Omar Yussef smiled awkwardly at Jamie King and reached out to grasp his son’s knee. “Whatever excites us when we are young eventually turns to ice, Zuheir,” he said. “Later we look back with contempt on our early enthusiasms.”
Zuheir pulled his knee away.
“Many of us in Palestine pour that youthful idealism into an uncompromising hatred.” Omar Yussef looked intently at Zuheir, but the young man averted his eyes toward the television. “So let Nadia enjoy this harmless pleasure of hers. Perhaps it will stay with her and not freeze inside her, as politics does.”
“And religion, too?”
“I’m not talking about you, my son. Only about Nadia.”
Zuheir scowled and was silent.
Omar Yussef turned to the American. “Miss King, you know that Ishaq the Samaritan was murdered.”
King nodded slowly.
“I examined the murder scene with a friend from the local police force. His wife told me Ishaq had been scheduled to meet you, but he was killed first. What was the meeting supposed to be about?”
King sucked on her lip and cast her eyes down.
“I think Miss King is attempting to say, ‘It’s none of your business,’” Zuheir said.
“Well, I’m dealing with some very significant issues that have a major influence on international policy,” King said. “I’m not at liberty to discuss details.”
“I think my translation was accurate.” Zuheir smiled, bitterly.
Omar Yussef linked his fingers. “Miss King, if you don’t discuss it with me, I’m sorry to say that you will be forced to endure a very lonely silence.”
King frowned. “Our friend Magnus told me that you’re something of an amateur detective, but really I think I’d better share information only with the official police investigators. You said you were at Ishaq’s house with the police. Aren’t they investigating?”
Zuheir snorted contemptuously.
“This time my son’s translation is only partially accurate,” Omar Yussef said. “There is an investigation underway, but the police will not exactly be devoting their full resources to resolving Ishaq’s murder.”
“But why not? A man was killed.”
“That man is dead and he’ll stay dead. The police are concerned that, if they probe any further, they might end up in the same condition.” Omar Yussef looked around to be sure he wouldn’t be overheard. The waiter was engrossed in his newspaper, his forefinger rooting in his ear. “Already someone-we don’t know who-has attacked the investigating officer and given him a nasty beating. The fact that Ishaq was responsible for the old president’s secret finances also disturbs the police. When there’s big money involved, the case is sure to involve powerful, ruthless people.”
“So the police are going to ignore the murder?” King’s features sagged. “That’s a disaster.”
“Many people are killed in Palestine all the time.” Omar Yussef’s voice sounded frail and he was ashamed of what he said. He realized that the men in the alley had scared him badly.
“Of course, but in this case it’s a bigger issue than a single murder, and it’s quite urgent,” King said. “My job is to trace the funds cached around the world by the late president. My team has tracked down about eight hundred million dollars, so far. Each time we find something, it’s incorporated into the official Palestinian Authority budget, so that the international donors know their money is being utilized as they intended.”
“I see. For education, or services. Not for funding the gunmen.”
“That’s right. Under the former president, the money was all handled off the books. Politicians in Washington and Brussels felt they were dumping aid into a black hole. After all, when you look around Nablus, you wonder what all that money bought. Where are the modern hospitals? The schools and infrastructure?”
Zuheir jerked forward. “Where do you think our leaders learned such corruption? In exile, in the West.”
Omar Yussef coughed and raised his eyebrows. His son sat back in indignant silence, his arms folded.
“I won’t argue with you,” Jamie said, extending her palm toward Zuheir. “But that’s not an explanation that will appease the international donors.”
“You haven’t finished locating all the money?” Omar Yussef said. “That’s why you’re here?”
King pointed a finger at him. “Right. We think there’s another three hundred million dollars out there.”
“And Ishaq knew where it was?”
“He told me he could lay his hands on the documents within an hour of meeting me.”
“Did he want anything in return?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the usual sort of stuff I’ve come across in my investigations. Some folks want green cards or American passports. Some want cash. I had only one brief phone conversation with Ishaq. I couldn’t say which category he fell into.” King stroked the amber hairs that grew lightly down her cheeks beside her ears. “To tell the truth, I was surprised to learn that such a people as the Samaritans even existed. I know the biblical parable about the Good Samaritan, but I didn’t know they were still around.”
“Only a bit more than six hundred of them.”
“On the phone, Ishaq told me they’re descended from some of the original tribes of Israel.”
“That’s their claim. Other research suggests they’re the descendants of captives brought to repopulate the area after the Babylonians exiled all the Israelites.” Omar Yussef shrugged. “As you Americans might say, the bottom line is that they’ve been here a long time, and they’re isolated and few in number.”
“Since you mention the bottom line,” King set her hands flat on her thighs and sat very straight, “I have to send a report to the World Bank board in Washington on Friday. If I can’t find that three hundred million dollars by then, the board will block financing to international organizations working here, cut off all funding to the Palestinians.”
“Why?”
“Before they send any more money, they want to recover some of the cash the president salted away and see that it’s spent correctly. The Bank gave the new president some time to track that money, but we’re about out of patience.”
“That’s why you needed Ishaq.”
King nodded. “If he had given me the details of that last three hundred million dollars, I could’ve prevented this boycott.”
“These Western governments train our leaders in corruption and deceit,” Zuheir said, “then they punish the people.”
“Unless we find that money by Friday, all our aid will be cut off. It’ll be an economic disaster.” Omar Yussef slapped his fist into his palm.
“We?” Zuheir scoffed.
“You can stay here on this couch, if you wish, but I’m going to help Miss King track down this money.” Omar Yussef shifted in his seat, angry and excited.
Zuheir sat upright and opened his eyes wide in outrage. I’ve seen that same face when I look in the mirror, Omar Yussef thought, despite the thick beard and the cropped hair.
“Don’t imagine you’ll be the only one on the trail of that money,” Zuheir said. “Whoever else is after it won’t hesitate to kill, Dad.”
Omar Yussef recalled the splintering sound when Sami’s arm broke. He shivered and glanced at Jamie King. Zuheir had switched to Arabic, but King, staring into her teacup, hadn’t seemed to notice. She’s preoccupied with her investigation, Omar Yussef thought.
He spoke to his son in his native language. “I don’t say I’m not nervous about the dangers of tracking such a large amount of money. But even so I’m surprised at you. Are you content to accept the terrible way things are in our society?”
“Content?” Zuheir lifted his arms and slapped them onto his chair. “O Allah, do I seem content to you? Did I turn to Islam because I’m content with the state of Palestine? The Prophet, blessings be upon him, said that Islam and government are brothers-‘Islam is the foundation and government the guardian.’ I’ve accepted Islam because I want to help meet half of that requirement, but there’s no government here to make the society complete.”