A second boy began whistling along with the first. I thought I heard a hint of urgency in their signal. I stopped, suddenly wary, and looked around. From the corner of my eye I caught a blur of movement, and when I looked, I saw Hajjar running toward me, as fast as his legs could carry him.

He raised his hand. There was a static pistol in it. He fired, but he didn't hit me squarely. Still, there was a horrible moment of disorientation, a flush of heat through my body, and then I collapsed on the sidewalk, twitching and quivering spasmodically. I couldn't get my body to respond to my wishes. I couldn't control my muscles.

Beyond me, one of the boys also fell to the ground. He didn't move at all.

16.

A hey took out the suppressor daddies and put me to bed, and I was unaware of anything else for about twenty-four hours. When I began to gather my scat-tered wits the next day, I was still trembling and unable even to grasp a glass of water. Kmuzu tended me con-stantly, sitting in a chair beside my bed and filling me in on what had happened.

"Did you get a good look at whoever shot you, yaa Sidi?" he asked.

"Whoever shot me?" I said in astonishment. "It was Hajjar, that's who. I saw him plain as day. Didn't anyone else?"

Kmuzu's brow furrowed. "No one would come for-ward with an identification. There was apparently only one witness willing to speak, and that was one of the two boys who were trying to warn you. He gave a sketchy description that is completely without value, as far as identifying the killer."

"Killer? Then the other boy-"

"Is dead, yaa Sidi."

I nodded, greatly saddened. I let my head fall back on the pillows, and I closed my eyes. I had a lot to think about.

I wondered if the murdered boy had been Ghazi; I hoped not.

A few minutes later, I had another idea. "Have there been any calls for me, Kmuzu?" I asked. "Especially calls from Shaykh Reda or his peg boy, Kenneth."

Kmuzu shook his head. "There've been calls from Chiriga and Yasmin. Your friends Saied and Jacques even cameto the house, but you were in no condition to re-ceive them. There were no calls from Shaykh Reda."

That was deeply meaningful. I'd fed Hajjar the lie about a second exhumation, and he'd reacted violently, even running after me to stop my investigation with a pop from a static gun. I suppose he thought he could make it look as if I'd just had a heart attack right there on the sidewalk in the Budayeen. The trouble with Hajjar was, he just wasn't as hot as he though he was. He couldn't bring it off.

I'm sure he passed along my plans to his boss, Shaykh Reda; but this time, there was no warning call from Ken-neth. Maybe Abu Adil knew I was only bluffing. Maybe he figured that there couldn't be anymore useful information to be gained by examining Khalid Maxwell's corpse again. Maybe he was just so confident that he didn't care.

This amounted to the third trip around the village, and this time there was only one interested party: Hajjar. I was certain in my heart that he was guilty of both murders. It came as no surprise. He'd killed Khalid Max-well under orders from Abu Adil, and tried to pin the murder on me; he'd assassinated Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq; and he'd wiped out an innocent boy, probably unin-tentionally. The problem was, as well as I knew the truth, I still didn't have anything I could take into court and wave under his nose.

I couldn't even hold a book, so I watched the holoset all afternoon. There was coverage of the slain imam's fu-neral, which had been held the day before, after he lay in state for twenty-four hours. Hajjar had been right; there were riots. The streets around the Shimaal Mosque were choked with" hundreds of thousands of mourners, day and night. Some of them got a little carried away, and stood outside the mosque, chanting and slashing their own arms and scalps with razors. The crowds surged in one direc-tion and then another, and scores of people were killed, either smothered or trampled.

There were constant, shrill outcries for the murderer to be brought to justice. I waited to see if Hajjar had given my name to the newsmen, but the lieutenant was helpless to fulfill his threat. He didn't even have a murder weapon to connect a suspect to the crime. All he had was some extremely thin circumstantial evidence. I was safe from him, at least for a while.

When I iired of watching the coverage, I turned it off and watched a performance of the mid-sixteenth century a.h.

opera, The Execution of Rushdie. It did nothing to cheer me up.

My inspiration came just as Kmuzu brought in a tray of chicken and vegetable couscous and prepared to feed me.

"I think I've got him now," I said. "Kmuzu, would you please ask Info for the medical examiner's office num-ber, and hold the phone up to my ear for me?"

"Certainly, yaa Sidi." He got the number and mur-mured it into the receiver. He held the phone so that I could hear and speak into it. "Marhaba," said a voice on the other end. It was one of the assistants.

"God be with you," I said. "This is Marid Audran. I was the one who ordered the autopsy on Khalid Maxwell a couple of days ago."

"Yes, Mr. Audran. When you didn't come back, we mailed the results to you. Is there anything else we can do?"

"Yes, there is." My heart started to beat faster. "I was slightly affected by a pulse from -a static pistol in the Budayeen-" ""

"Yes, we heard about that. A young boy was killed in the same attack."

"Exactly. That's what I want to talk to you about. Was an autopsy done on the boy?"

"Yes."

"Now, listen. This is very important. Would you ask Dr. Besharati to compare the cell rupture pattern in the boy's heart with that of Khalid Maxwell? I think there might be a match."

"Hmm. That is interesting. But, you know, even if there is, it won't do you any good. Not in any legal sense. You can't-"

"I know all about that. I just want to find out if my suspicion is correct. Could you ask him to check on that soon?

I'm not exaggerating when I say it's a life-and-death matter."

"All right, Mr. Audran. You'll probably be hearing from him later today."

"I am quite unable to express my thanks," I said fer-vently.

"Yeah," said' the assistant. "What you say." He hung up.

Kmuzu put down the telephone. "Excellent reasoning, yaa Sidi," he said. He almost smiled.

"Well, we haven't learned anything yet. We'll have to wait for the doctor's call."

I took a short nap, and was awakened by Kmuzu's hand on my shoulder. "You have a visitor," he told me.

I turned my head, realizing that I was beginning to get some control back over my muscles. There were footsteps in the parlor, and then my young Bedu friend, bin Turki, entered the bedroom. He sat down in the bed beside the chair.

"As-salaam alaykum, yaa Shaykh," he said seri-onsly.

I was overjoyed to see him. "Wa alaykum as-salaam," I said, smiling. "When did you get back?"

"Less than an hour ago. I came here directly from the airfield, What has happened to you? Are you going to get better?"

"Someone took a shot at me, but Allah was on my side this time. My attacker will have to do better than that next time."

"Let's pray there is no next time, O Shaykh," said bin Turki.

I just spread my hands. There would be a next time, almost certainly. If not Hajjar, then someone else. "Now, tell me, how was your journey?"

Bin Turki pursed his lips. "Successful." He took some-thing out of his pocket and set it on the blanket by myhand. I cupped it in my curled fingers and brought.it closer to get a better look at it. It was a plastic name tag that read Sgt. al-Bishah. That was the name of the bastard in Najran who'd beaten both Friedlander Bey and me.

I'd put it out of my mind, but yes, I'd ordered a mur-der. I'd calmly condemned a man to death, and this name tag was all that remained of him. How did I feel? Well, I waited a few seconds, expecting cold horror to seep into my thoughts. It didn't happen. Sometimes other people's deaths are easy. I felt nothing but indifference and an impatience to get on with business.

"Good, my friend," I said. "You'll be well rewarded."

Bin Turki nodded, taking back the name tag. "We spoke about a position that would provide me with a regu-lar income. I'm coming to appreciate the sophisticated ways of the city. I think I will stay here for a while, before I return to the Bani Salim."

"We will be glad to have you among us," I said. "I wish to reward your clan, too, for their boundless hospital-ity and kindness, when we were abandoned in the Sands. I was thinking of building a settlement for them, possibly near that oasis-"

"No, O Shaykh," he said. "Shaykh Hassanein would never accept such a gift. A few people did leave the Bani Salim and build houses of concrete blocks, and we see them once or twice a year as we pass through their vil-lages.

Most of the tribe, however, clings to the old ways. That is Shaykh Hassanein's decision, too. We know about the luxuries of electricity and gas ovens, but we are Bedu. We would not trade our camels for trucks, and we would not trade our goat-hair tents for a house that bound us to one place."

"I never thought the Bani Salim would live the whole year at the settlement," I said. "But maybe the tribe might like to have comfortable quarters at the end of its yearly migration."

Bin Turki smiled. "Your thoughts are well intentioned, but the gift you imagine would be deadly to the Bani Salim."

"As you say, Bin Turki."

He stood up and grasped my hand. "I will let you rest now, O Shaykh."

"Go with safety, my nephew," I said.

"Allah yisallimak," he said, and left the room. About seven o'clock that evening, the phone rang. Kmuzu answered it. "It's Dr. Besharati," he said.

"Let me see if I can hold the phone," I said. I took it from him and was clumsily able to put it to my ear.

"Marhaba," I said.

"Mr. Audran? Your suspicions are correct. The cardiac rupture patterns of Khalid Maxwell and the boy are iden-tical. There is no doubt in my mind that they were mur-dered with the same static pistol."

I stared across the room for a few seconds, lost in thought. "Thank you, Dr. Besharati," I said at last.

"Of course, this doesn't prove that the same individual was using the gun in both cases."

"No, I realize that. But the chances are very good that it was. Now I know exactly what I have to do, and how to'"

do it."

"Well," said the medical examiner, "I don't know what you mean, but again I wish you luck. May peace be with you."

"And upon you be. peace," I said, putting down the phone. While I was punishing my enemies and rewarding my friends, I decided to think about something I could do for Dr. Besharati. He'd certainly earned some land of thanks.

I went to sleep early that night, and the next morning I'd recovered enough to get out of bed and shower. Kmuzu wanted me to avoid any land of exertion, but that wasn't possible. It was Friday, the Sabbath, and I had a parade of the Jaish to go to.

I ate a hearty breakfast and dressed in the dove-gray uniform Shaykh Reda had given me. The trousers were well tailored, with a black stripe down each leg, and cut to fit into high black jackboots. The tunic was high-necked, with lieutenant's insignia already sewn on. There was also a high-peaked cap with a black visor. When I was com-pletely dressed, I looked at myself in a mirror. I guessed that the uniform's resemblance to a Nazi outfit was not coincidental.

"How do I look, Kmuzu?" I asked.

"It's not you, yaa Sidi. It's definitely not your style."

I laughed and removed the cap. "Well," I said, "Abu Adil was land enough to give me this uniform. The least I can do is wear it for him once."

"I don't understand why you're doing this."

I shrugged. "Curiosity, maybe?"

"I hope the master of the house doesn't see you dressed like that, yaa Sidi."

"I hope so, too. Now, bring the car around. The parade is being held on the Boulevard il-Jameel, near the Shimaal Mosque. I imagine we'll have to leave the car somewhere and walk a few blocks. The crowds are still huge near the mosque."

Kmuzu nodded. He went downstairs to get the West-phalian sedan started. I followed behind him after decid-ing not to take either narcotics or moddies with me. I didn't know exactly what I was walking into, and a clear head seemed like a good idea.

When we got to the boulevard, I was startled to see just how great the throng was. Kmuzu began weaving through side streets and alleys, trying to inch his way nearer to the Jaish's gathering place.

After a while, we just had to give up and go the rest of the way on foot. We cut our way through the mass of people; my uniform helped me a little, I think, but pro- , gress was still very slow. I could see a raised platform ahead, with a speaker's stand draped in flags decorated with the emblems of the Jaish. I thought I could see Abu Adil and Kenneth there, both in uniform. Shaykh Reda was standing and chatting with another officer. He wasn't wearing one ofhis Proxy Hell moddies. I was glad of that -I didn't want to deal with an Abu Adil suffering the effects of a make-believe terminal illness.

"Kmuzu," I said, "I'm going to see if I can get up on the platform to talk with Shaykh Reda. I want you to work your way around to the back. Try to stay nearby. I may need you all of a sudden."

"I understand, yaa Sidi," he said with a worried look. "Be careful, and take no unnecessary chances."

"I won't." I knifed slowly through the crowd until I reached the rear-most ranks of the Jaish, which was ar-rayed on the neutral ground of the boulevard in orderly companies. From there it was easier to make my way to the front. All along the way, I received nods and salutes from my fellow militiamen.

I walked around to the side of the platform and mounted three steps. Reda Abu Adil still hadn't seen me, and I walked up to him and saluted. His uniform was much more elegant than mine; for one thing, I think his buttons were gold, where everyone else's were brass. On his collar, instead of brass crescents, he wore golden curved swords.

"Well, what is this?" said Abu Adil, returning my sa-lute. He looked surprised. "I really didn't expect you to come.

"I didn't want to disappoint you, sir," I said, smiling. I turned to his assistant. "And how's it going, Kenny?"

Ken-neth was a colonel, and loving every minute in the jack-boots.

"I warned you about calling me that," he snarled.

"Yeah, you did." I turned my back on him. "Shaykh Reda, surely the Jaish is a Muslim paramilitary force. I remember when it was a group dedicated to ridding the city of foreigners. Now we proudly wear the symbols of the Faith. I was just thinking: Is your Kenneth one of us? I would have bet that he's a Christian. Or maybe even a Jew."

Kenneth grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. "I testify that there is no god but God," he recited, "and Muhammad is the Prophet of God."

I grinned. "Great! You're coming along real well with that. Keep it up!"

Abu Adil's face clouded. "You two stop your infantile bickering. We have more important things to think about today. This is our first large, public demonstration. If all goes well, we'll get hundreds of new recruits, doubling the size of the Jaish. That's what really counts."

"Oh," I said, "I see. What about poor old Abd ar-Razzaq, then? Or is he just a stiff now?"

"Why are you here?" demanded Abu Adil. "If it's to mock us-"

"No, sir, not at all. We have our differences, of course, but I'm all in favor of cleaning up this city. I came to meet the three platoons I'm supposed to be leading."

"Good, good," said Abu Adil slowly. "Splendid."