My Brother

“Ha-past-ery. Sa-weatcakes? Yes.” The forehead wrinkled in perplexity and he scurried away through a door in the back. What would come back was anybody’s guess.

I would have guessed wrong. What came back was a small, barrel-shaped woman with a cheerful, wrinkled face and a generous Jewish nose. She took two steps into the room, put her hands on her hips and glared at me.

“Sweet cakes, eh? I ought to ’ave known it. Leo, you are very bad man. When you die you go to ’ell for sure. Why you playin’ games with me an’ poor old Fazil?”

**Narjes** The name came as another random impulse in my mind, accompanied by a feeling of warmth and affection.

She came close, wrapped her arms about me, and hugged hard enough to make my tender ribs creak. Over her shoulder she shouted a brusque order to the waiter, who hurried in and placed sweetened coffee in front of me, together with a big plate of powdered sugar biscuits. Then she scowled at me as I took a life-restoring gulp of hot coffee and crammed two of the biscuits into my mouth.

“You come ’ere an’ eat like pig, eh? An’ you think Rabiyah still like you, mebbe? What you think she bin doin’ while you gone, sit ’ere an’ wait? She ’as other men want ’er, all time. You think she want to stay an’ ’ang aroun’ upstairs for you?”

My left eye suddenly winked at her as I was cramming two more biscuits into my mouth. She reached out a tobacco-stained finger and thumb and pinched a fold of my cheek affectionately.

“Leo, you are bad bastard. I tell ’er, don’ think about ’im, he cocking leg over woman someplace else, like ’orny bastard. I warn Rabiyah, but she stupid. Me, I know what you are like.”

When I sat and stared at her, my mouth still full, she shook her head. “Where you been this time? You look ’orrible. An’ why you sit there like an old goat? Why you not talkin’ to me?”

**Rabiyah. Pale skin, untouched by the sun; luscious body, the breasts and hips too heavy for western tastes. Notice how the lecherous eyes follow her at Embassy parties. Watch her laugh, a pink, meaty tongue quivering between even white teeth.**

I cleared my throat and spoke in a hoarse voice. “I’m feeling horrible, Narjes — even worse than I look. But I need to see Rabiyah quickly. Where is she?”

“Where you think she is? It still afternoon, right? She sleepin’, like other girls. Don’ you try an’ see ’er — she need rest. She’s working woman. She got work to do tonight.” Narjes shook a finger at me. “You ’orrible man, Leo, I tol’ Rabiyah that whole lots of time. You want to see ’er now? O.K. You pay like rest of men pay.”

**The package. She has it. Rabiyah has the package.**

I reached into my jacket, pulled out my wallet, and dropped a fat bundle of riyals next to the tray of sweets. Narjes looked at them and her brown face twisted with rage.

“What the ’ell that? Leo, you try to make me real angry, eh? You doin’ it. You better learn now, you never try offer money again. Or I call an’ we get Tughril come in ’ere an’ throw you out on your ski

She led the way through the back door of the shop and turned left up a broad staircase. On the upper landing the building changed character completely. The old, fly-specked look of the lower floor was replaced by wall-hung carpets, brass lanterns hung from the pink and gold ceiling, and thick curtains that cut off all outside light from the windows. We walked over the thick pile of a gorgeous Baluchi rug, quietly past a row of closed doors. Narjes stopped at the fourth one along.

“In here. If she got brain at all she tell you bugger off an’ don’ come back. An’ whatever you do, don’ make no noise. We got people try to sleep — me too ’til you give Fazil hard time down there.”

She opened the door without knocking and pushed me inside. The room was completely dark. I had a sudden moment of terror and total disorientation.

**Arriving in the middle of the night. Afraid. Mansouri and Scouse on my trail, afraid to wait until dawn to go across to the Embassy. Sanctuary, the safety of this room, this house…**

“Who is that?” The voice from in front of me was a sleep-edged murmur.

I moved forward until I was at the end of the bed.

“Narjes?” There was a sound of creaking bedsprings, then a thick curtain on my left opened a crack. Evening sunlight streamed in. The girl on the broad bed gave a little mutter of complaint and shielded her eyes with one hand. Her skin had the pale fineness that goes only with true burnished-copper hair, and her figure defeated the modest intention of the green nightdress.

She yawned, squinted up at me through half-open blue eyes. A sudden gasp, and she lifted herself from the pile of thick pillows.

“Leo! When did you get here? Narjes didn’t tell me you were in Riyadh .”

“She didn’t know until a few minutes ago.” A true enough statement. I had already made the decision that this was not the time to explain that I was Lionel, not Leo. If somebody realized that for themselves, fair enough. I knew of only one infallible way to prove I was not Leo, and that worked only with someone like Ameera, who knew him inside out, in intimate detail. But as I learned more of my brother’s past, the number of people with access to that mode of identification seemed to be growing rapidly.

“I’m just passing through Riyadh ,” I went on. “But I had to see you. Rabiyah, do you remember I had a package with me last time I was here?”

“Package?” The big blue eyes were still sleepy, but at least they were wide open and looking at me with a puzzled expression.

My spirits sank to a new low. This was my last hope. If Rabiyah didn’t have the Belur Package, I had run out of all ideas on where to look for it. I might as well give up, go back to the hotel and let Zan carve me up into little pieces.

“Some kind of package,” I said desperately. “Don’t you remember? I came here late at night.”

“I remember that.” She stretched and gave me a smile and a long-lashed look. “You’ll come back tonight, and see me when I feel awake? — I’m tired out.”

Instead of waiting for a reply, she stretched backward to the little bedside table and opened the drawer.

“You come in the middle of the night, and ask me to save things, and run away without even a goodbye,” she grumbled. “Why don’t you bring me nice presents? This is all you left last time. But no package.”

It was flat, less than a quarter of an inch thick and smaller than a matchbox. The surface was a dull grey, like slate, and one end was marked with a ribbed pattern. I put my thumbnail in the indentation and pressed. The thin plastic moved stiffly away. Inside were a score of paper-thin wafers, each one resting snugly in its own holder. Tiny beads of silver glinted along the upper edges. Each introsomatic chip weighed only a fraction of an ounce.

**Still safe. Have to get them to Washington . Don’t wait.**

Silver beads flashed and winked as I turned the little box. I could not take my eyes away. All at once I knew what the wafers did, knew why they could not go to Scouse or to Mansouri, knew what forces had driven Leo and me this far. This had to be put into the hands of responsible people. Would the American Embassy open its doors tonight, even though it was officially closed?

I knew the answer to that. They would not open when Leo arrived here late at night and needed a safe place. Rabiyah had been the only refuge before he had to make his run for Zurich and London .

Thoughts buzzed through my head like drunken bees, staggering and turning in wild collision. The tiny silver beads in my hand went out of focus, then appeared again as a double line. Memory came in surges.