Siberian Treasure

15

Hamid al-Jubeir normally preferred to keep his investigations civilized. He didn’t stoop to the fright tactics of some of his peers by threatening bodily harm, or worse, to people he believed could assist him in his work as an inducement for their cooperation.

But the assistant to Israt Medivir challenged Hamid’s lofty ideals.

The man was dumb as a roach, ready to slip with his fogged brain into a dark corner at the earliest opportunity. Hamid had had him into his office twice since discovering Medivir’s oil-infested body. And each time, he was certain that the man, Konal, had something to hide.

And perhaps something to share.

Finally, frustrated beyond courtesy, Hamid gave up all pretense of civility and rounded on the slender man.

“I do not care if you took riyals from the dead man’s pocket, or if you stole his business secrets! You must have something more you can tell me about your master’s visitor.”

Konal’s eyes popped in his stolid face. Hamid realized he’d struck the nerve he’d been hoping for, and he lowered his voice into one that hinted of menace. “If you do not recall what it is I know you are hiding, I will set my colleagues of the muhabarith on you to find out where and how you came into a sudden fortune.”

The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed in a long slender throat the color of mahogany. “I have already told you what the man looked like. Your artist drew a picture that looked very like him.”

“Yes … and there is more. Did he ….” Hamid’s voice trailed off as a thought struck him, then lifted. “He did not give his name, nor did he have an appointment. Did he perhaps have any identification on him? Or provide a calling card of some type?”

The wary look disappeared from Konal’s face. “A card. He did have a card.”

“And what happened to that card? What did it say on it?”

“I did not think anything of it, for it had no writing on it. Just a symbol. An odd symbol that I had not ever seen before.”

At last. “What did it look like? Can you draw it? Where is the card?”

“I may still have it.”

Hamid resisted the urge to throttle the man in front of him. The Qu’ran made it clear that violence was not a solution. Still. “Where might it be if you still had it?” He forced his voice to be slow and low and calm, and tried not to think that nearly a week had passed since he’d found Medivir’s body, and that this balid had sat on important information through two other interviews.

Thank Allah that Hamid knew people, and knew when something was missing, and knew when to push.

To his complete astonishment, Konal reached into his thobe and pulled out a flat black billfold, opened it, and thumbed out a card.

A business card.

It was blank on one side and on the other, just as Konal had described, was a black symbol. Nothing else.

Hamid had never seen anything like it before.

But he was certain that somewhere in the world, someone had. Where one murder happened, another followed … and may just as likely have been after a previous one.

He snatched the card from Konal and called for his assistant to take the absurd, thieving man from his office. Before he strangled him.

And then he got on his computer and started emailing every contact he had in every law enforcement precinct around the world.

Someone would know something about that symbol.