Chapter 19

Kmuzu," I said as he drove the sedan back to the house, "would you invite Umm Saad to have dinner iwith us?"

He looked across at me. He probably thought I was a complete fool, but he was great at keeping his opinions to himself. "Of course, yaa Sidi," he said. "In the small dining room?"

"Uh huh." I watched the streets of the Christian Quarter go by, wondering if I knew what I was doing.

"I hope you're not underestimating the woman," said Kmuzu.

"I don't think so. I think I've got a healthy regard for what she's capable of. I also think she's basically sane. When I tell her I know about the Phoenix File, and about her reasons for insinuating herself in our house, she'll realize the game is over."

Kmuzu tapped the steering wheel with his index fingers. "If you need help, yaa Sidi, I'll be there. You won't have to face her alone, as you faced Shaykh Reda."

I smiled. "Thanks, Kmuzu, but I don't think Umm Saad is as loony or as powerful as Abu Adil. She and I will just be sitting down to a meal. I intend to stay in control, inshallah."

Kmuzu gave me one more thoughtful glance, then turned his attention back to driving.

When we arrived at Friedlander Bey's mansion, I went upstairs and changed my clothes. I put on a white robe and a white caftan, into which I transferred my static pistol. I also popped the pain-blocking daddy. I didn't really need it all the time anymore, and I was carrying plenty of sunnies just in case. I felt a flood of annoying aches and pains, all of which had been blocked by the daddy. The worst of all was the throbbing discomfort in my shoulder. I decided there was no point in suffering bravely, and I went right for my pillcase.

While I waited for Umm Saad's response to my invitation, I heard the sunset call to prayer from Papa's muezzin. Since my talk with the elder of the mosque in Souk el-Khemis Street, I'd been worshiping more or less regularly. Maybe I didn't manage to hit all five daily prayers, but I was doing decidedly better than ever before. Now I went downstairs to Papa's office. He kept his prayer rug there, and he had a special mihrab built into one wall. The mihrab is the shallow semicircular alcove you find in every mosque, indicating the precise direction of Mecca. After I washed my face, hands, and feet, I unrolled the prayer mat, cleared my mind of uncertainty, and addressed myself to Allah.

When I'd finished praying, Kmuzu murmured, "Umm Saad waits for you in the small dining room."

"Thank you." I rolled up Papa's prayer rug and put it away. I felt determined and strong. I used to believe that this was a temporary illusion caused by worship, but now I thought that doubt was the illusion. The assurance was real.

"It is good that you've regained your faith, yaa Sidi," said Kmuzu. "Sometime you must let me tell you of the miracle of Jesus Christ."

"Jesus is no stranger to Muslims," I replied, "and his miracles are no secret to the faith."

We went into the dining room, and I saw Umm Saad and her young son sitting in their places. The boy hadn't been invited, but his presence wouldn't stop me from what I planned to say. "Welcome," I said, "and may Allah make this meal wholesome to you."

"Thank you, O Shaykh," said Umm Saad. "How is your health?"

"Fine, all praise be to Allah." I sat down, and Kmuzu stood behind my chair. I noticed that Habib had come into the room as well—-or maybe it was Labib, whichever of the Stones wasn't guarding Papa in the hospital. Umm Saad and I exchanged more pleasantries until a serving woman brought in a platter of tahini and salt fish.

"Your cook is excellent," said Umm Saad. "I have relished each meal here."

"I am pleased," I said. More appetizers were brought out: cold stuffed grape leaves, stewed artichoke hearts, and eggplant slices stuffed with cream cheese. I indicated that my guests should serve themselves.

Umm Saad piled generous portions of each dish on her son's plate. She looked back at me. "May I pour coffee for you, O Shaykh?" she asked.

"In a moment," I said. "I'm sorry that Saad ben Salah is here to hear what I've got to say. It's time to confront you with what I've learned, I know all about your work for Shaykh Reda, and how you've attempted to murder Friedlander Bey. I know that you ordered your son to set the fire, and I know about the poisoned stuffed dates."

Umm Saad's face went pale with horror. She had just taken a bite of a stuffed grape leaf, and she spat it out and dropped the remainder on her plate. "What have you done?" she said hoarsely.

I picked up another stuffed grape leaf and put it in my mouth. When I finished chewing, I said, "I've done nothing as terrible as you're thinking."

Saad ben Salah stood up and moved toward me. His young face was twisted in an expression of rage and hate. "By the beard of the Prophet," he said, "I won't allow you to speak that way to my mother!"

"I only speak the truth," I said. "Isn't that so, Umm Saad?"

The boy glared at me. "My mother had nothing to do with the fire. That was my own idea. I hate you, and I hate Friedlander Bey. He's my grandfather, yet he denies me. He leaves his own daughter to suffer in poverty and misery. He deserves to die."

I sipped some coffee calmly. "I don't believe it," I said. "It's commendable of you to shoulder the blame, Saad, but it's your mother who's guilty, not you."

"You're a liar!" cried the woman.

The boy leaped toward me, but Kmuzu put himself between us. He was more than strong enough to restrain Saad.

I turned again to Umm Saad. "What I don't understand," I said, "is why you've tried to kill Papa. I don't see that his death would benefit you at all."

"Then you don't know as much as you think," she said. She seemed to relax a little. Her eyes flicked from me

to Kmuzu, who still held her son in an unbreakable grip. "Shaykh Reda promised me that if I discovered Fried-lander Bey's plans, or eliminated him so that Shaykh Reda would have no further obstacle, he would back my claim to be mistress of this house. I would take over Friedlander Bey's estate and his business ventures, and I would then turn over all matters of political influence to Shaykh Reda."

"Sure," I said, "and all you'd have to do is trust Abu Adil. How long do you think you'd last before he eliminated you the way you eliminated Papa? Then he could unite the two most powerful houses in the city."

"You're just inventing stories!" She got to her feet, turning to look at Kmuzu again. "Let my son go."

Kmuzu looked at me. I shook my head.

Umm Saad took a small needle gun from her bag. "I said, let my son go!"

"My lady," I said, holding up both hands to show that she had nothing to fear from me, "you've failed. Put down the gun. If you go on, not even the resources of Shaykh Reda will protect you from the vengeance of Friedlander Bey. I'm sure Abu Adil's interest in your affairs has come to an end. At this point, you're only deluding yourself."

She fired two or three fleehettes into the ceiling to let me know she was willing to use the weapon. "Release my boy," she said hoarsely. "Let us go."

"I don't know if I can do that," I said. "I'm sure Fried-lander Bey would want to—"

I heard a sound like thitt! thitt! and realized that Umm Saad had fired at me. I sucked in a deep breath, waiting to feel the bite of pain that would tell me where I'd been wounded, but it didn't happen. Her agitation had spoiled her aim even at this close range.

She swung the needle gun toward Kmuzu, who remained motionless, still shielded by Saad's body. Then she turned back toward me. In the meantime, however, the Stone That Speaks had crossed the few feet between us. He raised one hand and chopped down on Umm Saad's wrist, and she dropped the needle gun. Then the Stone raised his other hand, clenched into a huge fist.

"No," I shouted, but it was too late to stop him. With a

Sowerful backhand clout, he knocked Umm Saad to the oor. I saw a bright trail of blood on her face below her split lip. She lay on her back with her head twisted at a grotesque angle. I knew the Stone had killed her with one Wow. "That's two," I whispered. Now I could give my complete attention to Abu Adil. And Umar, the old man's deluded plaything.

"Son of a dog!" screamed the boy. He struggled a moment, and then Kmuzu permitted him to go to her. He bent and cradled his mother's corpse. "O Mother, Mother," he murmured, weeping.

Kmuzu and I let him mourn her for a short while. "Saad, get up," I said finally.

He looked up at me. I don't think I've ever seen so much malignity in a person's face. "I'll kill you," he said. "I promise you that. All of you."

"Get up, Saad," I said. I wished this hadn't happened, but it was too late for regrets.

Kmuzu put his hand on Saad's shoulder, but the boy shrugged it off. "You must listen to my master," said Kmuzu.

"No," said Saad. Then his hand flashed out quickly for his mother's needle gun. The Stone stamped down on the boy's forearm. Saad collapsed beside his mother, holding his arm and whimpering.

Kmuzu knelt and took the needle gun. He stood up again and gave the weapon to me. "What do you wish to do, yaa Sidi?" he asked.

"About the boy?" I looked at Saad thoughtfully. I knew that he bore me nothing but malice, but I only pitied him. He had been only a pawn in his mother's bargain with Abu Adil, a dupe in her vicious scheme to usurp Friedlander Bey's power. I didn't expect that Saad could understand that, of course. To him, Umm Saad would always be a martyr and a victim of cruel injustice.

"What is to be done?" Kmuzu said, breaking in on my thoughts.

"Oh, just let him go. He's certainly suffered enough." Kmuzu stood aside, and Saad got to his feet, holding his bruised forearm close to his chest. "I'll make all the proper preparations for your mother's funeral," I said.

Once again, his expression twisted in loathing. "You will not touch her!" he cried. "I will bury my mother." He backed away from me and stumbled toward the door. When he reached the exit, he turned to face me. "If there

 are such things as curses in this world," he uttered in a feverish voice, "I call them all down on you and your house. I will make you pay a hundred times for what you've done. I swear this three times, on the life of the Prophet Muhammad!" Then he fled the dining room.

"You have made a bitter enemy, yaa Sidi," said Kmuzu.

"I know," I said, "but I can't worry about it." I just shook my head sadly.

A telephone on the sideboard warbled, and the Stone answered it. "Yes?" he said. He listened for a moment, then held it out to me.

I took it from him. "Hello?" I said.

There was just one word from the caller, "Come." It had been the other Stone.

I felt chilled. "We've got to get to the hospital," I said. I glanced down at Umm Saad's body, undecided what to do.

Kmuzu understood my problem. "Youssef can make the arrangements, yaa Sidi, if that's what you wish."

"Yes," I said. "I may need both of you."

Kmuzu nodded, and we left the dining room with Labib or Habib right behind me. We went outside, and Kmuzu drove the sedan around to the front of the house. I got in the back. I thought the Stone would have an easier time cramming himself into the passenger seat.

Kmuzu raced through the streets almost as wildly as Bill the taxi driver. We arrived at Suite One just as a male nurse was leaving Papa's room.

"How is Friedlander Bey?" I asked fearfully.

"He's still alive," said the nurse. "He's conscious, but you can't stay long. He's going into surgery shortly. The doctor is with him now."

"Thank you," I said. I turned to Kmuzu and the Stone. "Wait outside."

"Yes, yaa Sidi," said Kmuzu. The Stone didn't even grunt. He just cast a quick, hostile glance at Kmuzu.

I went into the suite. I saw another male nurse shaving Papa's skull, evidently prepping it for surgery. Tariq, his valet, stood by looking very worried. Dr. Yeniknani and another doctor sat at the card table, discussing something in low voices. "Praise God you're here," said the valet. "Our master has been asking for you."

"What is it, Tariq?" I asked.

He frowned. He looked almost on the point of tears. "I don't understand. The doctors can explain. But now you must let our master know that you're here."

I went to Papa's bedside and looked down at him. He seemed to be dozing, his breath light and fluttery. His skin was an unhealthy gray color, and his lips and eyelids were unnaturally dark. The nurse finished shaving his head, and that just accentuated Papa's bizarre, deathlike appearance.

He opened his eyes as I stood there. "You have made us lonely, my nephew," he said. His voice was faint, like words carried on the wind.

"May God never make you lonely, O Shaykh," I said. I bent and kissed him on the cheek.

"You must tell me," he began. His breath wheezed and he couldn't finish his sentence.

"All goes well, praise Allah," I said. "Umm Saad is no more. I have yet to instruct Abu Adil on the folly of plotting against you."

The corners of his mouth quirked. "You will be rewarded. How did you defeat the woman?"

I wished he would stop thinking in terms of debts and rewards. "I have a personality module of Shaykh Reda," I said. "When I chipped it in, I learned many things that have been useful."

He caught his breath and looked unhappy. "Then you know—"

"I know of the Phoenix File, O Shaykh. I know that you protect that evil thing in cooperation with Abu Adil."

"Yes. And you know also that I am your mother's grandfather. That you are my great-grandson. But do you understand why we kept that knowledge a secret?"

Well, no, I hadn't known that until just that moment, although if I'd been wearing Abu Adil's moddy and stopped to think about myself or my mother, the information might have popped into my consciousness.

So all that stuff about Papa possibly being my father was just Mom being cute and clever. I guess she'd known the truth all along. And that's why Papa'd been so upset when I'd kicked her out of the house when she first came  to the city. That's why Umm Saad had caused him so much grief: Because everybody but me understood that she was trying to squeeze out the natural heirs, with Abu Adil's assistance. And Umm Saad was using the Phoenix File to blackmail Papa. Now I saw why he allowed her to remain in the house so long, and why he preferred that I dispose of her.

And ever since Friedlander Bey's divine finger first descended from the clouds to tap me so long ago, I'd been aimed toward lofty ends. Had I been cut out to be merely Papa's indispensable, reluctant assistant? Or had I been groomed all along to inherit the power and the wealth, every bit of it, along with the terrible life-and-death decisions Papa made every day?

How naive I'd been, to think that I might find a way to escape! I was more than just under Friedlander Bey's thumb; he owned me, and his indelible mark was written in my genetic material. My shoulders sagged as I realized that I would never be free, and that any hope of liberty had always been empty illusion.

"Why did you and my mother keep this secret from me?" I asked.

"You are not alone, my . . . son. As a young man, I fathered many children. When my own eldest son died, he was older than you are now, and he has been dead more than a century. I have dozens of grandchildren, one of whom is your mother. In your generation, I do not know how many descendants I can claim. It would not have been appropriate for you to feel unique, to use your relationship with me to further selfish ends. I needed to be sure that you were worthy, before I acknowledged you as my chosen one."

I wasn't as thrilled by that speech as he probably thought I should be. He sounded like a lunatic pretending to be God, passing on his blessing like a birthday present. Papa didn't want me to use my connection for selfish ends! Jeez, if that wasn't the height of irony!

"Yes, O Shaykh," I said. It didn't cost me anything to sound docile. Hell, he was going to have his skull carved in a few minutes. Still, I made no promises.

"Remember," he said softly, "there are many others who would take away your privileged position. You have scores of cousins who may someday do you harm."

Great. Something else to look forward to. "Then the computer records I searched—"

"Have been changed and changed again many times over the years." He smiled faintly. "You must learn not to put your faith in truth that has only electronic existence. Is it not our business, after all, to supply versions of that truth to the nations of the world? Have you not learned how supple truth can be?"

More questions occurred to me every second. "Then my father was truly Bernard Audran?"

"The Provengal sailor, yes."

I was relieved that I knew one thing for certain.

"Forgive my, my darling," murmured Papa. "I did not wish to reveal the Phoenix File to you, and that made it more difficult for you to deal with Umm Saad and Abu Adil."

I held his hand; it trembled in my grasp. "Don't worry, O Shaykh. It's almost over."

"Mr. Audran." I felt Dr. Yeniknani's large-knuckled hand on my shoulder. "We'll be taking your patron down to surgery now."

"What's wrong? What are you going to do?"

It was obvious that there wasn't time to go into a long explanation. "You were right about the tainted dates. Someone had been feeding him the poison for some time. It has severely impaired his medulla, the part of the brain that controls respiration, heartbeat, and wakefulness. It's been damaged to such an extent that, unless something is done very soon, he will fall into an irreversible coma."

My mouth was dry, and my heart was racing. "What are you going to do?" I asked.

Dr. Yeniknani looked down at his hands. "Dr. Lisan believes the only hope is a partial medullar transplant. We have been waiting for healthy tissue from a compatible donor."

"And today you've found it?" I wondered who on that goddamn Phoenix File had been sacrificed for this.

"I can't promise success, Mr. Audran. The operation has only been tried three or four times before, and never in this part of the world. But you must know that if any surgeon can offer you hope, it's Dr. Lisan. And of course, I will be attending. Your patron will have all the skill at our disposal, and all the prayers of his faithful friends."

I nodded dumbly. I looked up to see two male nurses lifting Friedlander Bey from his hospital bed onto a wheeled cart. I went to grasp his hand once more.

"Two things," he said in a husky whisper. "You have moved the policeman's widow into our home. When the four months of proper mourning are over, you must marry her."

"Marry her!" I was so startled, I forgot to be properly respectful.

"And when I recover from this illness—" He yawned, almost unable to keep his eyes open against the medication the nurses had given him. I lowered my head to catch his words. "When I am again well, we will go to Mecca."

That wasn't what I expected, either. I guess I groaned. "Mecca," I said.

"The pilgrimage." He opened his eyes. He looked frightened, not of the surgery but of his unfulfilled obligation to Allah. "It is past time," he said, and then they wheeled him away.