The Haj - Leon Uris [202]
‘My air ticket will be paid for by some Catholic charities who will also house me in Zurich,’ Charles Maan said. ‘But I cannot go alone.’
‘We are truly done for,’ Sheik Taji moaned. ‘We are all in debt up to our throats.’
‘Somehow Allah will provide,’ Father said.
‘I think that Allah may not hear us,’ Taji answered.
‘Perhaps I can help Allah help us,’ Father said. ‘I know of some secret funds, so do not despair.’
I was about to leave the projection room when the air was abruptly filled with the sound of whistles, the shouting of military commands, and the clumping of boots running fast over the stone square. I ran to the window! The Arab Legion had converged from all four sides, grabbing, clubbing, and dragging off the Avenging Leopards and other gangs who had conveniently identified themselves with special armbands. I saw my brother Jamil being carried off by four Jordanian soldiers and thrown into one of a dozen army trucks parked before the Church of the Nativity. Father, Sheik Taji, and Charles Maan rushed out of the theater. A half-dozen Legion soldiers leveled their weapons at them and led them away.
11
THE OPERATION HAD GONE smoothly. The sweep of Manger Square had netted Colonel Farid Zyyad fifty-two of the so-called Avenging Leopards and their counterparts from ten separate refugee camps. A clean wedge had been driven between the refugees and their plans to create trouble in Zurich. A soldier entered the office and announced that Haj Ibrahim had arrived at the police fort.
Farid Zyyad buttoned on a tunic replete with the ribbons and decorations of a proper Legion colonel. He inspected himself in the mirror, moistening his white teeth with a brush of his tongue, and retired behind his desk.
‘Send him in.’
As Haj Ibrahim entered, Colonel Zyyad made the unusual gesture of arising, offering his adversary a chair, and ordering coffee. Ibrahim knew at once that it was to be a stick and carrot situation.
‘Where are Sheik Taji and Charles Maan?’ Ibrahim demanded.
‘They have been released, with apologies.’
‘My son, Jamil?’
‘He is in safekeeping for the moment, along with the other boys.’ Farid Zyyad glanced at a paper on his desk. ‘Fifty-two of them.’
‘It is a deliberate provocation. Are you looking for an uprising in the refugee camps?’
‘I doubt that one will take place unless you incite it, and I doubt that you will incite it so long as these boys are in custody.’
‘For safekeeping?’
‘For safekeeping.’
‘You are aware that the foreign press may not be very kind to His Majesty over this incident.’
‘While I applaud the clever way you three have manipulated this meeting and the press, two can play that game. We have given a release explaining the situation.’ He handed Ibrahim a sheet of paper.
‘I do not read English.’
‘I shall read it for you, then. “Today’s roundup is the culmination of months of investigations into a situation that has disturbed King Abdullah and the Jordanian authorities. Gangs of youths have gone on a rampage of terror in the refugee camps, encouraged by older gangster elements. Among the charges against these gangs are black marketeering, grand larceny, blackmail, extortion, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.”
‘Does the foreign press know that any of these charges could be made against almost any Jordanian official on the West Bank and that your splendid Arab Legion has collaborated with and encouraged these activities?’
Zyyad went back to his desk and held up his hand. ‘That is what I wanted to speak about to you, Haj Ibrahim. I recall our first meeting in Nablus in the home of the late Clovis Bakshir, may Allah retrieve his noble spirit. I found you to be an extremely intelligent man. You have tweaked my nose now on three occasions, yet I bear you no grudge. However, you have made your position extremely clear. It is no longer tolerable.’
‘So the boys are being held hostage to curb our tongues and blunt our aspirations.’
‘That is an extreme choice of words. Yes, they will remain in custody. We will continue