Legacies

11.

"Kemel groaned as he hung up the phone. Surely Allah had deserted him. First he had learned of Baker and Thomas Clayton's crazy stunt tonight. The sister would certainly file felony charges against her brother, setting back the whole operation months, perhaps years, perhaps permanently."

He had been so furious, he'd even told the swollen-nosed Baker that Nazer should have fired him last week when Kemel had told him to. Baker had not taken that well, but that was too bad. The man was jeopardizing everything.

But then Kemel's brother, Jamal, called from home, and his fury evaporated like water spilled on summer sands of the Rub al-Khali, replaced by dread for his eldest son.

"It's Ghali," Jamal said. "He's been arrested."

Kemel felt the heart dropping out of his body. Ghali? His eighteen-year-old son, the pride of his life… arrested? No, this could not be.

"For what? What happened?"

"He has been accused of stealing a camera from the wife of a visiting American businessman."

"Impossible! Ridiculous!"

"That is what I said," Jamal told him. "But there are witnesses. And he had the camera with him when they caught him."

"Oh, no." Kemel moaned. He closed his eyes to squeeze out the light. "Oh, no, this can't be true. Why would he do something like this?"

"I don't know, brother. Perhaps if you were home…"

Yes! Home! He had to go home immediately!

But he could not. Not yet.

"I will come as soon as I can. But I cannot leave right now."

"What business could be more important than this?" Jamal said with what sounded like scorn. Never in all his years had he spoken to Kemel like that. He would not use that tone if he knew the nature of Kemel's business here.

Kemel ached to tell his younger brother why he was in America but did not dare. Jamal and his whole family would be in jeopardy if it was discovered that Kemel had breathed so much as a word of it to him.

"Where is Ghali now?"

"It took me all night, but I managed to secure his release. I am keeping him at my house—I have taken responsibility for him."

Kemel calculated that the eight-hour time difference made it six a.m. in Riyadh. "Thank you, Jamal. I can never thank you enough."

"This is far from over, Kemel. I will do whatever I can, but Ghali may have to stand trial."

Kemel nodded, though there was no one to see. Yes, yes, he knew. Especially since a foreigner was involved. The Saudi authorities seldom passed up a chance to demonstrate the superiority of Islamic Law to westerners. Even if this American woman asked that no charges be brought, they might still proceed with trial and punishment.

And punishment would mean the loss of Ghali's right hand.

How could this happen? Ghali had always been wild and headstrong, yes, but never a thief. What could have possessed him? He wanted for nothing, yet he stole a camera! A camera! There were almost a dozen fine cameras lying about the house!

This made no sense.

He had to turn to a higher power for help. Tomorrow was Friday, the holy day. He was bound to say his noontime prayers in the mosque. Tomorrow Kemel would pray all day in the mosque for his errant son.