The Award-winning Omar Yussef Mysteries by Matt Rees

Author:Matt Rees [Rees, Matt]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781782391579
Publisher: Atlantic Books

Chapter 18

As Sami sped through the twilight, Khamis Zeydan turned in the front seat and looked hard at Omar Yussef in the back of the car.

Omar Yussef frowned and lifted his chin. “What?” he said. “What are you looking at?”

His friend stared. “I have to go to the president’s residence now. The Revolutionary Council is meeting.”

“If you decide to start the revolution, let me know. Otherwise, you can all go to hell.”

“I’ll be sure to put that on the agenda. Look, I don’t want to leave you alone. I’m worried about you. Sami will stay with you.”

“Sami’s your bodyguard, not mine.”

Khamis Zeydan raised his eyes and sighed.

Omar Yussef stared out the window, as they slowed in the heavy traffic around Palestine Square. The more crowded the streets became, the lonelier he felt. He had to acknowledge that he didn’t want to be alone, with his head full of the horror of the bodies in the morgue. “Take me to Salwa Masharawi’s house. I’ll spend a couple of hours there, while you’re starting the revolution. It’s a good family. It’ll help me calm down after all this.”

When they reached the sandy lane to the Masharawi house, Khamis Zeydan grabbed one of the two cellphones from Sami’s belt. “Take this,” he said, tossing it into Omar Yussef’s lap. “If I need to find you, I’ll call you on that.”

“I don’t like cellphones,” Omar Yussef said. “They make you sick.” He tapped the unbruised side of his head and tried to push the phone back into Khamis Zeydan’s hand.

“It can’t give you brain cancer unless you actually have some brains,” Khamis Zeydan said. “By Allah, it’s just for keeping in touch while things are dangerous. Put it in your pocket and forget about it.”

“What if I get a call for Sami?”

“Tell them he couldn’t afford a prettier secretary and have them call him on his other phone.”

“His other phone? Is that the number I wrote down earlier?” Omar Yussef remembered the digits scribbled across the back of the Saladin Brigades leaflet in his breast pocket.

“No, that’s the number of the phone you’re holding,” Sami said. “My other number is written on the label stuck to the back of that phone, Abu Ramiz.”

Omar Yussef waved as the Jeep reversed out of the lane. He felt exhausted. It was all he could do to lift his arm. He let it flop to his side and watched the taillights turn out of sight.

The alley was dark. A blue fluorescence glimmered from the house beyond the olive grove. Naji’s doves were silent. The spray-painted Dome of the Rock was indistinct on the whitewashed wall. Omar Yussef rested his forehead against the rough cinderblock. He closed his eyes and saw the burned corpse of James Cree, Odwan’s tortured body, the dusty old skeleton in the morgue. He thought of Magnus’s voice, his inquisitive Scandinavian accent, his laughter. Omar Yussef’s breath was heavy. He heard someone whimper and he realized it was him. He reached a finger behind the bent frames of his glasses and wiped away a tear.

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