The Saladin Murders by Matt Rees

Author:Matt Rees [REES, MATT]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller
ISBN: 9781848877818
Publisher: Atlantic Books
Published: 2010-01-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

The Saladin Road carried them back to Gaza City. Hunched in the passenger seat, Omar Yussef contemplated the events of the last twenty-four hours. He swung out of his reverie only when Cree swerved to avoid a pedestrian drifting heedlessly into the traffic. Cree cursed, and Omar Yussef smiled, patted the Scot’s long forearm and went back to his thoughts.

Saladin came along this road to liberate Palestine from the Crusaders. No liberators rode it now. Just brutal gunmen and corrupt policemen and government functionaries who cared only for their status as VIPs. No liberators, unless you counted Omar Yussef and James Cree.

A donkey cart laden with watermelons pulled out of a dirt road and Cree swerved once more. “For Christ’s sake,” he said, rubbing his forehead.

Omar Yussef traveled the same road as the great warrior Saladin. He would free Magnus Wallender and Eyad Masharawi. He closed his eyes and tried to visualize the moment when he would shake their hands to celebrate their release.

He felt a sudden panic. The men’s hands were mutilated by the Husseini Manicure and their blood poured over him. He forced open his eyes. Both of them could be under torture at this very moment and he was sitting in a car, helpless. He groaned.

“You all right?” Cree asked.

Omar Yussef hadn’t realized that his groan was audible. “Just my head.”

“Still a bit of a bump, isn’t there?”

“I feel like I’ve been kicked by a donkey.” Omar Yussef thought about the British cemetery and the way Cree had talked to him there about his past. “James, your link to all these things happening in Gaza is your greatgrandfather,” he said. “I, too, have a reason for taking this more personally than you might expect.”

Cree kept his eyes on the road, but lifted his chin. “Yeah?”

“Like Eyad Masharawi, I was once jailed for political reasons.”

Cree grinned. “You bad old boy. When was that?”

“It was when I was very young, during the 1960s.”

“The Israelis?”

“No, the Jordanians.” It was years since he had talked about that time and Omar Yussef was surprised that it brought a feeling of relief. “I used to be involved in Bethlehem politics, quite a radical in fact. Some of my opponents framed me.”

“Framed you for what?”

Omar Yussef hesitated. “Murder.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Very few people who’re still alive know this. I’ve never told anyone about it, except my wife. And now, you. After it happened, I went to Damascus University and took a leading part in student politics. But when I came back to Bethlehem, I admit I was scared. So I laid low. I taught at my school and lived quietly. Jail was so awful, I knew I couldn’t let them send me there again.” Omar Yussef dropped his voice. He seemed to be speaking to himself. “Just recently, though, my anger at the way our people are governed began to outweigh my fear. That’s why I won’t rest until Masharawi and Magnus are free.”

“I know you won’t.” Cree put his big hand on Omar Yussef’s shoulder and smiled.

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