SAECULUM ( A Novel: Part 30) – DILUCULUM I

SOL OCCAXUS (Sunset) Monday, 19 September, 2011

CREPUSCULUM (Evening Twilight)

I. Friday, 23 September, 2011
II. Thursday, 29 September, 2011
III. Thursday, 29 September, 2011
IV. Sunday, 16 October, 2011

VESPER (Evening Dusk)

I. Sunday, 23 October, 2011
II. Sunday, 30 October, 2011
III. Wednesday, 9 November, 2011
IV. Monday, 14 November, 2011
V. Monday, 14 November, 2011

CONCUBIUM (First Sleep – Coitus – Rest)

I. Thursday, 17 November 2011
II. Sunday, 20 November, 2011
III. Friday, 25 November, 2011
IV. Thursday, 1 December, 2011
V. Thursday, 1 December, 2011
VI. Thursday, 8 December, 2011
VII. Sunday, 11 December, 2011

INTEMPESTIUM (Midnight)

I. Sunday, 1 January, 2012
II. Thursday, 5 January, 2012
III. Saturday, 7 January, 2012
IV. Monday, 16 January, 2012
V. Sunday, 29 January, 2012
VI. Sunday, 29 January, 2012
VII. Friday, 3 February, 2012
VIII. Friday, 3 February, 2012

GALLICINIUM (Cock Crow)

I. Sunday, 12 February, 2012
II. Saturday, 18 February, 2012
III. Wednesday, 22 February, 2012

MATUTINUM (Dawn Goddess)

I. Monday, 27 February, 2012
II. Sunday, 4 March, 2012
III. Sunday, 4 March, 2012
IV. Friday, 9 March, 2012
V. Friday, 16 March, 2012
VI. Friday, 16 March, 2012
VII. Friday, 16 March, 2012
VIII. Friday, 16 March, 2012
IX. Wednesday, 21 March, 2012
X. Wednesday, 21 March, 2012
XI. Wednesday, 21 March, 2012
XII. Friday, 23 March, 2012
XIII. Friday, 23 March, 2012
XIV. Friday, 23 March, 2012

DILUCULUM (Dawn Twilight)

I. Monday, 16 April, 2012
II.
III.
IV.

SOLI ORTUS (Sunrise)

DILUCULUM

Dawn Twilight

I

To the east, the first glow of a rising sun was just about visible on the horizon and a warm wind swirled in the charcoal-laden morning twilight. Michael Mara sat in sullen silence on the observation deck and watched the frantic activity across the valley. Multiple butts of half-smoked and discarded cigarettes lay scattered at his feet and he constantly used his shirtsleeve to wipe moist soot particles from his face as he tried to distinguish between the numerous gendarme and fire fighters, from the National Parks service, that swarmed over the charred wreckage of Alexander’s villa. From where he sat he could still hear the roof tiles crackle as they split and every now and then see tongues of spitting, hissing flames erupt. He did not look up as Arnold joined him.

“How are you doing, Michael? You didn’t come back downstairs,” the General asked in a concerned way.

“Ok, Bob . . . I think.” Michael kept staring at the smouldering villa. A facial twitch caused blackened and bloodstained crease lines to distort his otherwise impassive features. “What’s happening over there? Did you find Isabella?”

“No. No sign of a woman’s body with her description yet. There is however, a part of the building where the walls collapsed inwards and it will be a while before they can move the rubble. She might be there.”

“I see. I just need to know, Bob. You understand that don’t you? Caroline, Alonzo, Rod, and now Isabella. All of them are fucking dead. Is all this my fault?” Michael asked despairingly.

“No. Of course not!” Arnold pulled up a chair. He said nothing for a while as he watched what Michael watched. Suddenly there was a crashing noise as something solid hit the decking wood. They both looked down. It was a large rabbit whose life quickly ebbed as they watched. “What the hell. Where did that come from?” Arnold asked.

“Look up there.” Michael pointed upwards. “I wonder if it’s a lammergeyer.” A huge eagle-like bird patrolled the sky above the valley. There was too little light to make out its colouring. Michael thought he could hear a shrill whistle of annoyance. “It’s very weird. There was a lammergeyer in Alonzo’s story of the Voices.”

“What are these voices are you keep talking about, Michael?”

“Oh. Nothing, Bob … just a story Alonzo told me. Like something from the Arabian nights.”

Arnold stood up and kicked the lifeless corpse of the rabbit into the ravine below them. A trail of blood smeared across the decking. He looked back at Michael whose attention was still captured by the majesty of the soaring bird. “Michael there is something else I need to . . . ” he hesitated.

“Go on Bob. You were going to tell me earlier before being called away. What is it?” Michael said without diverting his eyes from the sky above him.

“It’s about Caroline’s death and your partner Rod Mallory.”

“Dead partner!” Michael rasped. “What about them, Bob?”

Arnold’s face was a picture of concern and nervousness as he retook his seat. “We . . . we feel reasonably certain that Mallory might have killed Caroline.”

“What . . . Why? I don’t fucking believe you. They were friends, tennis partners for God’s sake.” Michael stood up and glared down at him.

Arnold shifted uncomfortably in his chair and kicked out at the butts on the decking. “It appears that Mallory might be . . . might have been, a major figure in the Mexican drug trade and that Caroline was caught in the crossfire of an internal dispute. He couldn’t afford to have her knowing about his connections. He killed her.”

“How do you know that?” Michael said coldly.

Arnold said nothing for a considerable time. He didn’t look at Michael but instead pretended to be distracted by the activity across the valley. He fingered the collar of his shirt nervously.

“How do you know that, Bob? Answer me!” Michael demanded.

“One of our agents was tailing him.” The army general’s voice was almost inaudible as he spoke.

“What? Why?” Michael shook his head as he began to pace across the balcony.

“Once the results of the field trials on the cocaine virus started coming through so positively, everyone who had anything to do with its development, and that included your colleagues in Hoxygene, were placed under surveillance. These orders came from the very top. We had great concerns over security and safety.”

“Well you certainly made a great fucking job of that, didn’t you, Bob! In case you’ve forgotten, you prize prick, Hertzog, Alexander, Mallory and . . . Caroline are all dead. Some fucking protection! Why did you not protect Caroline? Why the fuck could you not save Caroline, if you were watching her. She knew nothing about my work for the Army on the virus.” Michael’s tone was venomous.

“Listen, Michael. This was all breaking very fast. The order to throw a security blanket over you and the virus work was only issued last Monday, when the first results of the field trials started coming through. We were just getting our surveillance schedules up to speed and could not have suspected that Mallory was such a loose cannon. He was your partner and financial controller in Hoxygene for God’s sake!” Arnold paused then continued, “We knew he had very little access to the scientific work you were doing for us and his initial security screen gave no cause for concern. We considered him low risk and the tail put on him was of minimal intensity. Caroline was already with secret service agents and we were satisfied that we had that ground covered.”

“Were they alerted?” Michael stopped pacing.

Arnold hesitated again and appeared to blush. “No! Not in any specific way. When Mallory flew to Mexico, we thought that they, your wife and Mallory, had arranged to meet there. You know! We wanted to be discreet.”

“You thought that they might be lovers.” Michael said quietly as he remembered that he had thrown the same accusation at Caroline. “Is that why?”

“Yes. It’s not unusual and from what we had heard they were very close. No one could have expected something like that to happen.”

“Why didn’t you pick up the bastard, if you are convinced he might have killed her?”

“Very soon after arriving, Mallory left Mexico again, in a private jet. The agent assigned to tail him only arrived in La Paz as his aircraft took off. He didn’t realize what had gone down in the hotel and was busy trying to determine Mallory’s next movements. The jet’s pilot had filed a flight plan to Miami so another of our agents was quickly assigned to pick him up on arrival there. It was then, and only then, that we first became aware of the drug people he was dealing with. It was also about that time that the agent in Mexico found Caroline. By the time the news was relayed to Miami and we could react, Mallory had disappeared again.”

“How can you be so sure it was Rod Mallory?”

“Somebody saw him stupidly dump a package in an airport hanger garbage can shortly after landing. It was recovered and a gun found. The ballistics matched the crime scene in Mexico!”

“Luckily! That’s a loose fucking description of what’s happened. I thought Caroline’s post-mortem was not done yet.”

“Michael. Please sit down. This is very hard for me.” Beads of sweat began to appear on Arnold’s forehead.

Michael stopped pacing and retook his seat. “I’m sure it is, Bob, but it’s not your wife that’s dead.”

Arnold was visibly stung by the rebuke. “My own wife has ovarian cancer. She’s likely to die in the next two years. Knowing it will happen makes the pain worse.” He was about to get up when Michael put his hand on his arm to stop him.

“I’m very sorry, Bob. I didn’t know. Explain how you know about the ballistics.”

“They come from the body of Diego Rios . . . The man found with Caroline. There is no reason to expect otherwise. It was a clinical kill. Similar modus.”

Michael said nothing. He had all but forgotten about the Mexican, Rios and he suddenly felt his chest tighten. He couldn’t breath and wanted to gag. He needed to scream out. He needed the air. Michael began to cry with an uncontrollable sobbing that jerked his body into spasms of pain. It was all Arnold could do to stop him falling to the ground as he knelt beside Michael’s chair holding him as hard as he could. The spasms continued for what seemed an age until just as suddenly they stopped again and Michael’s muscles relaxed. “Let me go, Bob!” Michael’s voice was hard and clear.

Arnold recoiled at the intensity of it. “Are you OK, Michael?”

“Yes.” Michael stood up and leant against the balcony railing. Across the valley the burning timbers and roof-tiles of Alexander’s villa hissed and jumped as the water cannons sprayed into their flaming embers. He could hear more sirens winding their way up the narrow valley road from Corte. The scorched wind was scented with the aroma of mountain pine. At that instant, Michael Mara’s head suddenly arched back and as he looked up at the sky with wild staring eyes he began to laugh. It was an intense laughter of such visible violence that tears were forced from his eyes and began streaming down his cheeks. Its loudness echoed off the walls and across the valley floor. He turned to Arnold and began wildly shaking the older man’s shoulders. “Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! This is all just a fucking game. Isn’t it, Bob?” he shouted.

The general looked puzzled.

Suddenly, Michael’s grip on Arnold’s jacket eased as quickly as it had begun. The frenzied peels of ghoulish laughter shuddered abruptly to a halt as he glared at the Army man with red raw eyes and streaming cheeks. “Well you can stop it right now, Bob. Enough is enough. Tell Rod Mallory that he’s won!”

“What are you talking about, Michael?” Bob Arnold was suddenly very confused.

“The Game! The Silicone Valley game. Rod Mallory set me up for this. I’ll kill him when I see him.”

“What game Michael? Mallory is dead.”

“You’re very convincing, Bob but you can stop it now. You can stop messing with my mind. I give in. The game is over.”

“You’re making no sense, Michael.” Arnold stood up and moved slowly backwards towards the doorway where the telescopes were set up. He picked up a walkie-talkie from where it hung on the side of one of the tripods and after depressing the transmit button whispered urgently into the microphone. Michael was looking at him and began to laugh again.

“Ha. Ha. You were all really bloody good, Bob. Even down to Alonzo calling me the last Magus. Isn’t that the plan? Manipulate the victim. Obscure his tenuous reality with tangible fantasy. I can see it all so clearly now. The happenchance meeting with Isabella and then Alonzo! The story of the Voices and the apparent sex in Isabella’s apartment to suck me in! Alexander’s villa, Caroline’s reported death. I never saw the clues.”

“Michael! Get a hold of yourself. What are you talking about?” Arnold started walking slowly towards where Michael was standing.

“The game, Bob! This shit! All this playacting shit is just part of Bellfiore’s and Allen’s game for bored millionaire nerds. And I’m fucken’ Michael Douglas. It must have cost a fortune! You tell Mallory to stick the obelisk up his arse.”

“What’s going on out here?” Dave shouted as he brushed past the telescopes. He saw Michael laughing hysterically near the balcony with Arnold standing close by.

Suddenly, the general lunged and pinned Michael’s arms behind his back. Mara began to struggle. “He’s flipped, Dave.” Arnold looked very frightened as he shouted. “He’s ranting on about some friggen’ game. I’m afraid he might hurt himself. Get over here!”

“Fuck off, Dave. You and your Zoroastrian shit. Jesus I should have guessed,” Michael spat out at agent.

“Com’on, Mike. Calm down.” The agent walked with his hands extended and palms outstretched towards where the two men struggled. As he got closer, Michael suddenly lifted up his feet and lashed out at him. The sudden movement caught the agent in the chest and he recoiled backwards. “Jesus, Mara!”

“Take him out, Dave! I can’t hold him much longer.” Bob Arnold was losing his lock on Michael’s arms.

“Are you sure?”

“Certain. Do it now!”

“It’s over, Dave. The game is over. I give in. Let me go, you bastards,” Michael screamed, as he lashed out again.

This time the agent was ready and ducking first to one side then surged forward. His fist came up in a fast uppercut that caught Michael full on the chin. Michael’s head flew back to crunch into the bridge of Arnold’s nose before rebounding forward again to follow his collapsing legs to the ground. Arnold and Michael fell together in a heap at Dave’s feet. Bob Arnold slowly disentangled himself and gingerly stood up holding his nose. Blood poured from behind his hand and down onto his shirt. “Jesus H Christ! I think it’s fucking broken.”

“I’m sorry General. Go down stairs, Sir and get it seen to. I’ll look after things here.” Dave stooped down and turned Michael into a recovery position on the decking.

Arnold stared at the prostrate body. “He really lost it, Dave. Didn’t he?”

“Yes, Sir. You never know how someone will react to bad news.”

Rihla (Journey 27): Konya, Turkey: Sufi Spiders, Sawdust and the disappearing Shams.

Rihla (The Journey) – was the short title of a 14th Century (1355 CE) book written in Fez by the Islamic legal scholar Ibn Jazayy al-Kalbi of Granada who recorded and then transcribed the dictated travelogue of the Tangerian, Ibn Battuta. The book’s full title was A Gift to Those who Contemplate the Wonders of Cities and the Marvels of Travelling and somehow the title of Ibn Jazayy's book captures the ethos of many of the city and country journeys I have been lucky to take in past years.

This Rihla is about Konya, Turkey.

The Mevlana Museum, Konya from East Courtyard

Come, come, whoever you are,

Wanderer, idolater, worshiper of fire,

Come even though you have broken your vows a thousand times,

Come, and come yet again.

Ours is not a caravan of despair.

Rumi

On the evening of the 5th December 1248, as a cold-bitter wind swept down on Konya from the north west funnelled by the crescent corridor created by the Sultan and Kiziloren range of mountains, Shams-e Tabrizi was called to the backdoor of the house he shared with Jalal ad-Din Muhammed Balkhi better known as Rumi (after the Seljuk Empire of Rum of which Konya was the capital) or Mevlana. A wandering sufi deverish Shams had been Rumi’s spiritual master for just four years but in that time had transformed his 34 year-old pupil from being an accomplished jurist and teacher of the Hanafi tradition into a profound ascetic philosopher whose tomb in Konya is a major Islamic pilgrimage destination. Shams never returned that night and is rumoured to have been murdered by being throw down a well by members of Rumi’s family, jealous of Shams emotional influence (and perhaps even physical although this is not proven) over the famous teacher. Others said Shams, as was his way, simply disappeared only to turn up and subsequently die in Khoy in north-western Iran or in Mutlan in Pakistan where there are tombs attesting to (in addition to the one in Konya) his final resting place, a wanderer to the end!

On the 7th April of this year I visited Konya to see Mevlana’s tomb. The mountain ranges to the north-west and west were still covered in late-season snow yet the temperature on arrival on the early-morning flight from Istanbul was a pleasant 140C.

Village of Gökyurt (ancient Kilistra) near Konya

I had planned a two-day visit to Konya and spent the morning of the first day at the Neolithic site of Çatal Höyük (Fork Mound) to the south-east of the city and the afternoon at the village of Gökyurt (ancient Kilistra and nearby Lystra where St. Paul is rumoured to have fled from persecution in Konya and according to the apocryphal Coptic Acts of Paul ‘Thecla’ narrative the stalking attentions of a Konya native called Thecla who attached herself to him after hearing his preaching on ‘virginity’.)

Mother Goddess from Çatal Höyük, Konya c.8500BCE

Late in the evening I reached my hotel, the Hotel Rumi (of course!) close to the turquoise-tiled Mevlana Museum.

View of Mevlana Museum from Hotel Rumi bedroom

The second day of my trip I spent entirely in the city. Beginning with the Mevlana I loved the structure and design of the building. You enter through a small antechamber where devotees used read the Koran and through burnished silver doors into the mausoleum. There are the tombs of 6 Khorsan bodyguards on the left and Mevlana is buried in a large stone sarcophagus to the south east of the room. Beside him are the tombs of his son and his father. All of the tombs have distinctive headgear headstones indicating the status of the occupant and there is wonderful calligraphy on the walls. The second space of the main complex is entered at the northern end of the mausoleum. This is the semahane where the whirling devotional dances of the Mevlevi sufi lodge were held. There is a balcony for observers, a stage for the musicians and a small niche where the pir or sufi master would greet the entering dancers coming through a doorway from the small mosque to the west where there is now a wonderful collection of the earliest editions of Mevlana’s works and some unique Korans on display.

There were three decorative aspects to my visit that really caught my eye. Throughout the mausoleum hanging on chains were what appeared to be ostrich egg-sized ovoids. Some were decorated others not. I asked a local guide what the significance of these were and he said that they were to prevent spiders from nesting and forming webs as they could not attach their webs to the highly polished and convex surface of the eggs. A larger one present in the fountain to the left of the entrance porch is pictured below.

'Spiders Egg' in Fountain of west courtyard, Mevlana Museum, Konya

The second decoration he pointed out was a unique 14th Century kaleidoscope from the archway that linked the mausoleum to the semahane. If a dancer ever arrived in the semahane and he was alone all he had to do was stand under the kaleidoscope and look up. The multiple polished reflecting mirrors would then give the impression that he was surrounded by other dancers as in the normal ceremony, in other words he need never be alone in his devotion.

Finally in the small mosque section on the northern wall there is a large but simple sample of calligraphy denoting the Al-Afuw attripution to Allah in the Koran. Al Afuw is known as the Pardoner or Forgiver from the root ‘a-f-a, to obliterate or erase all trace of. What is most interesting is that the calligraphic interpretation is almost an exact representation of the way that the sema dancers would hold their arms in a cross-chest position while they are being greeted by the pir on entry to the semahane.

Composite picture of the cross-chest supplicant embrace of the sema dancer

and the pir with the calligraphy of the Al-Afuw (Pardoner) name of Allah depicted

on the north wall of the Mevlana Museum mosque section.

Later in the morning I went to the Alaaddin Mosque at the centre of Konya on a hill where the mausoleum containing eight Seljuk Sultan’s is in a front courtyard. Within the mosque is a minibar or pulpit of ebony which is thought to be the finest example of Seljuk wood-craft.

Detail of Ebony carving on minibar of Alaaddin Mosque, Konya

Speaking of wood-craft while waiting on arrival at the airport for the carousel to spew out my bag I got talking to a captain from Turkish Airlines. He was from a small village outside of Konya but said that in addition to the Mevlana and the Alaaddin there was one thing I must do in Konya before leaving and that was to have a meal in Sofu’s Restaurant, in the Carpenters Souk. The duty manager in the hotel had never heard of this restaurant and thought I was crazy to be asking directions to a souk that was some way out of town. I managed to convince a taxi driver to bring me there and after a serpentine journey through a large industrial souk dedicated to the manufacture of windows and doors the haze of sawdust suddenly evaporated to reveal Sofu’s restaurant, full of diners from near and afar. In this unlikely place I had the best meal (as did my taxi driver who would not leave me stuck out in the ‘sticks’) of my stay in Turkey. The owner, a 75 year-old man with an adolescent glint in his eye and looking exactly like a former Kerry footballer called Paidi O’Shea, treated me royally.

As I left the restaurant and the smell of sawdust in the carpenter’s souk assailed yet again I remembered a quote of Rumi that referred to his own family travels to escape the wrath of the Mongols. He wrote,

If the tree was able to move from place to place;

It would not suffer from the saw and the harshly inflicted wounds.

The same could be said for the missing Shams and I decided that my final trip of the day would be to see the small mosque where Shams final resting place is. It is said of the mosque that it is built on the site of the well where Shams was thrown in and drowned. In contrast to the thousands visiting his famous pupil’s tomb there was a single devotee praying at Shams tomb when I visited.

Description Plaque Outside Shams-e Tabrizi's Tomb in Konya

Shams-e Tabrizi's Tomb in Konya

It was a long afternoon but one well spent. I have only touched on some of the sights and sounds of Konya but the city was a surprise and the kindness and politeness of everyone I encountered will long be remembered.

SAECULUM ( A Novel: Part 29) – MATUTINUM XII, XII & XIV

SOL OCCAXUS (Sunset) Monday, 19 September, 2011

CREPUSCULUM (Evening Twilight)

I. Friday, 23 September, 2011
II. Thursday, 29 September, 2011
III. Thursday, 29 September, 2011
IV. Sunday, 16 October, 2011

VESPER (Evening Dusk)

I. Sunday, 23 October, 2011
II. Sunday, 30 October, 2011
III. Wednesday, 9 November, 2011
IV. Monday, 14 November, 2011
V. Monday, 14 November, 2011

CONCUBIUM (First Sleep – Coitus – Rest)

I. Thursday, 17 November 2011
II. Sunday, 20 November, 2011
III. Friday, 25 November, 2011
IV. Thursday, 1 December, 2011
V. Thursday, 1 December, 2011
VI. Thursday, 8 December, 2011
VII. Sunday, 11 December, 2011

INTEMPESTIUM (Midnight)

I. Sunday, 1 January, 2012
II. Thursday, 5 January, 2012
III. Saturday, 7 January, 2012
IV. Monday, 16 January, 2012
V. Sunday, 29 January, 2012
VI. Sunday, 29 January, 2012
VII. Friday, 3 February, 2012
VIII. Friday, 3 February, 2012

GALLICINIUM (Cock Crow)

I. Sunday, 12 February, 2012
II. Saturday, 18 February, 2012
III. Wednesday, 22 February, 2012

MATUTINUM (Dawn Goddess)

I. Monday, 27 February, 2012
II. Sunday, 4 March, 2012
III. Sunday, 4 March, 2012
IV. Friday, 9 March, 2012
V. Friday, 16 March, 2012
VI. Friday, 16 March, 2012
VII. Friday, 16 March, 2012
VIII. Friday, 16 March, 2012
IX. Wednesday, 21 March, 2012
X. Wednesday, 21 March, 2012
XI. Wednesday, 21 March, 2012
XII. Friday, 23 March, 2012
XIII. Friday, 23 March, 2012
XIV. Friday, 23 March, 2012

DILUCULUM (Dawn Twilight)
I.
II.
III.
IV.

SOLI ORTUS (Sunrise)

MATUTINUM

DAWN GODDESS

XII

Michael Mara drifted quietly away from the downstairs room where General Bob Arnold and the other agents were huddled around the console. He felt that he was in the way and so climbed back up the stairs to the balcony bedroom. The telescopes and audio-mikes remained on automatic and whirred and focused in response to commands from below. He stepped out onto the observation deck, having found a pair of binoculars. Across the narrow valley Alexander’s villa was lit up like a baseball game. Occasionally, in the dark shadows, bursts of orange flame could be seen and the noise from the alarms and the shots intermingled. It felt very real and very immediate and he knelt down, afraid of attracting a stray bullet. Through the binoculars he saw that there were figures on the balcony surrounding the villa. He recognised them as Alexander and Rod Mallory.

As he watched Michael had the sensation that the whole scene was being played out for him in cinematic slow motion. He saw Rod Mallory reaching over the balcony for the gun that he had hidden and then pointing it at Alexander’s back. He watched Alexander half-turn and then fall backwards out of view. He saw Rod then turn and point his gun at somebody else. He saw the figure crouch and recognised immediately that it was Isabella. He heard the shots and then watched as another figure ran onto the balcony. He soon realised it was another woman, Isabella’s athletic cousin, Zoë, with her wild eyes and wild red hair. There were more shots as she discharged a gun as she ran. She then stopped suddenly and slumped against the wall. He could not make out where Rod was and thought that he must be on the ground behind the balcony wall.

Isabella . . . he saw Isabella crawl forward toward Zoe. Thank God! He thought. “Look over here, Isabella. I’m here,” he whispered. There were more shots. She should get away from the villa as fast as possible, he realised. “Isabella. Get away. Run Isabella. Isabellllla . . .” he screamed out across the valley as loud as he could. Michael saw her suddenly look up and around somewhat confused. “She must have heard me,” he said aloud as he watched her disappear back into the shadows. Suddenly there was a noise there was a noise behind me and turning in fright, lifted the binoculars to swing them in his defense. It was Bob Arnold.

“Steady on Michael! It’s me! What’s happening up here?” the General grunted. “I heard shouting. I thought something had happened to you.”

“No. Nothing physical anyway,” Michael replied tersely as he turned back to look at the villa.

“Our teams nearly have control. Both al-Sa’igh and the man Sancho are down,” Arnold explained.

“Dead?” he asked.

“Unsure.”

“And the others?”

“Withdrawn to . . . Oh fuck! What’s that?”

Arnold rushed past Michael to the balcony. Ahead of them a bright blinding flash burst through the windows of the villa followed by a thunderclap that rolled across the valley. He thought he felt something pass close to his ear as he was thrown to the ground by the force of air. Arnold fell on top of him. “What’s happened?” Michael asked as he stared up into Arnold’s frightened face.

“Alexander’s place has blown. Stay down, Michael.”

Over the next ten minutes Michael heard the crackling death rattle of glass and masonry and occasionally another thunderclap sounded and debris bounced off the observation deck. He pulled out from under Arnold and lifted his head to the level of the rail. He needed to see what had happened. “Isabella! Oh no! Not you too, Isabella,” he cried out loud. Turning slowly away, he began to crawl back towards the bedroom across the glass-strewn deck.

“Where are you going, Michael? Come back!”

“I’ve got to go over there. Don’t stop me, Bob.” He stood up and began to race towards the door. He heard Arnold behind him barking orders into his radio-mike. Dave met him at the foot of the stairs. Michael pretended to stop and as the agent relaxed he ducked under his arm and out the main door.

Skirting the villa perimeter Michael opted for a direct route and a headlong run down the steep valley towards the villa on the other slope. He soon fell and tumbled out of control down through the groves of chestnut and oak. Down and down he tumbled. He could feel the low-level juniper bushes tear at his legs but did not care. Hitting a dry riverbed he got unsteadily to his feet. He heard somebody behind him but began to climb again. A piece of burning wood landed close to his head and sparks and smoke filled the air as they cascaded down on him from above. Suddenly his legs were held and he lashed out.

“Stop it, Michael, or I will shoot you to prevent you going any further.”

Michael stopped struggling. The tone and intent of Dave’s voice told him he meant it. “Dave! Please let me go. I must . . . I must . . .” He started to cry and searing uncontrollable tears coursed down his face. “Isabella’s in there. I must try to help her.”

“I know, but it’s not possible, Michael. It’s too fucken dangerous this way.”

XIII

Sa’id Alkahiri’s apartment on the New Jersey shoreline gave him an uninterrupted view across the Hudson River of the Manhattan skyline and the Statue of Liberty. It was a clear day with late summer sunshine glistening off the windows of the skyscrapers. The cell phone in his pocket began to vibrate and he took note of the caller identification number as he opened its flap.

“As-salamu aahalaykum, my brother!” a voice said.

“And peace, God’s mercy and His blessings be upon you too, my brother!”

“How does it go with you?”

“I leave tomorrow to perform my duty. The demon Massoud will take his leave of us soon.”

“You will be remembered as a true martyr of the Bayt Kathir. How will it be achieved?”

“I am posing as a journalist. Musallam al Bahr travels with me.”

“It is good to have friends at this time. God’s blessings be upon you both!”

“What of you, my brother.”

“It is very near, Hasan. We are prepared and the fatwa of our glorious leader will soon be achieved. We will punish the unbelievers for their defilement of the Holy Places.”

“Are Radiyyah and the children with you?”

“Yes, but they leave tomorrow for Doha. Tonight we will feast on the habshah and chew the tambul. Even now there the hawjiri frankincense is making the foul air of this putrid place smell of the mountains of the Jabal Samhan.”

“That is good, Sa’id. I will pray for them on their journey.”

“Thank you, Hasan.”

“I must go now, my brother. Goodbye.”

“We will meet each other on the ezirit road into paradise, my brother. May God wrap you in a bisht cloak of golden thread to help you on that journey. Farewell!”

XIV

As Michael Mara and the agent Dave re-entered the house after a climb back up the hill the echoes from explosions in Alexander’s villa still reverberated around the room.

“Michael,” a voice called from the living-room.

“Yes, Bob,” Michael said defeated and weary as he entered the room.

“Come with me, Michael, I need to talk to you.” Arnold’s said. “You can wash up later.”

Arnold’s tone was tautly serious and Michael saw so was the General’s facial expression. “What is it, Bob?” he asked.

“Let’s go in here.” Arnold directed as he pushed open the door of one of the other bedrooms and after a quick inspection invited him in. His features were ashen as he spoke, “I’ve some very bad news, Michael.”

“What is it Bob? Have they found Isabella?”

“No. It’s not about Isabella Sanjil, It concerns . . .” He began to shake his head. “. . . I don’t know how to say this.”

At that exact moment Michael knew what Arnold was going to tell him. Something had happened to Caroline. “Caroline?” him whispered.

“Caroline . . .” He looked away. “Has been found dead.”

“Jesus!” Michael felt the air around him evaporate.

“I’m so sorry.”

Michael hardly heard him. There had often been times in the past where, in lonely moments, he had played out this scenario in his head, particularly when his wife’s increasing Agency fieldwork appeared to become more and more dangerous. Sometimes he had wondered whether it was his concern for her or a concern for his work in Hoxygene that drove the abstract game of irrational anticipation. In his waking state the concerns were dismissed as responses of reasonable paranoia but sometimes in his sleep the nightmares of guilt were much more vivid. He had dreamt a coffin, draped with a confused top-spread of Union Jack crosses and Stars and Stripes, being lowered into a snow-blanket-covered ground of an English West Country church’s chestnut-pocked graveyard. He had dreamy seeing her face smile up at the sombre and grey-faced mourners as their handfuls of frozen earth hailed down to bounce off the varnished oak of the casket lid. Michael’s legs weakened, and he staggered to the edge of the room’s small bed and sat down. He stared wide-eyed at Arnold, wanting to disbelieve him. “What . . . What happened? When? Where?” he stuttered."Are you certain?"

“Mexico. Caroline was found. . .” Arnold stopped unable to look directly at Michael.

“Tell me, Bob. Fuck you! Don’t mess with me. Not with Caroline.” Michael stood up and pulled at Arnold’s jacket.

The soldier jerked away. “She was found with somebody else, Michael. A Mexican drugs enforcement officer. It looks like they were the victims of a cartel assassination.”

“Found where, Bob?”

“I . . . I don’t have all the details yet, Michael.”

Michael realised an evasion. “The fuck you don’t. Tell me, Bob!”

“I’m so sorry, Michael. It’s . . . it’s just that Caroline was found . . . They were found in his bedroom, in his bed, naked. Both killed with single shots to the head. She didn’t suffer, Michael.”

“I don’t believe you,” he shouted.

“Keep your voice down, Michael. We do not want to draw attention.”

“Fuck the attention, Bob. Who was the Mexican?”

“A man called Diego Rios. He is . . . he was a commander in the Federal Preventive Police and apparently part of the combined task-force she was briefing.”

Somehow, knowing his name made it worse for Michael. This man Rios suddenly had an identity, a life, and a past… a reality. He breathed, he lived, and he made love. Had he made love to Caroline? What was she doing with him? Why did she do it? She must have been drugged or threatened? He then thought of his own recent behaviour and the tone of their last conversation. Both of them were at risk, both of them had succumbed to that wanting. Caroline was dead, he was alive. He felt the guilt, she could feel nothing, he realised as he slid off the edge of the bed and slumped to the floor. He stared at the space between his feet, and began to open and close the gap between them like shutters. He needed to contact Caroline’s brother. He needed to make arrangements. He finally looked up at Arnold, who hovered, embarrassed and silent, above him. “Bob, ask Dave to drive me back to Ajaccio. I need to get back home.”

“Michael, nothing can happen tonight. Our plane will bring you to London in the morning. There is a flight to Mexico at mid-day. I have you booked.”

“Mexico?”

“Yes. Caroline’s body is in the morgue in La Paz. You have to go there to give a formal identification before an autopsy can occur.”

“An autopsy. No way.”

“Michael I’m really sorry but this goes all the way to the top. Both the American and Mexican Presidents have been informed. Caroline was part of a high priority joint federal task force.”

“I know.”

“A forensic autopsy will be automatic.”

“Shit. Not to Caroline it won’t!” Michael’s medical training had convinced him of the necessity of autopsies but this was personal and difficult to rationalize. He wanted to know everything and nothing about the circumstances of Caroline’s death.

“The coroner’s court will be in camera and all reports secret.”

It was as if Arnold had read Michael’s thoughts. “Will I have access, Bob?”

“Yes. You have top-level security clearance.”

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” he whispered. “Who would do this to Caroline, to us?”

The room was suddenly quiet but Bob Arnold continued to hover like a waiting vulture of sympathy. He moved closer and hunkered down onto his knees beside Michael. “Michael, there is something else I need to tell you about.”

“What else could there be Bob?” Michael said wearily, not listening and not caring. “What the fuck else could there be?”

“We think we know who might have been responsible for the kill . . . for shooting, Caroline.”

Michael’s head shot up. “What? Who?”

“How well did you know –”

At that moment the bedroom door swung open with a loud bang. Karl, clearly agitated, burst into the room. “General. Come back to base. Stat!”

“What is it, Karl?” Bob Arnold stood up.

“The French Security Minister and our Ambassador in Paris are on the lines. They are demanding your instant attention and are not happy campers.”

“Shit! Just what I need,” the senior officer groaned.

Karl and Arnold hurried out of the room. Michael shouted after them, “Bob, what were you going to tell me? Bob! Don’t leave me alone, please. ”

Arnold stopped and looked back down at him. “Michael, I really am very sorry. I wish there was more I could do to make it easier. Throw some water on your face and come after us. I’ll continue what I was saying there. I must go.”

Arnold was gone, and Michael Mara couldn’t move. As he rocked back and forward against the bed, he began to cry again: for Caroline, for them; for what they had had …once.

And he wished for hope and thought of Isabella.