July 1988

Jahni turned on the tap and cold water poured into the wooden bucket. While he waited for it to fill, he held his cupped hands under the stream, then poured water over his head, to drip from his sweat damp hair, onto his shoulders, chest and back. It ran down his face, cooling his hot skin.

The bucket started to overflow, so he turned off the tap and took it back into the sauna cabinet. Madari lay flat on his back on the highest bench. He moved his arm from across his eyes and gave Jahni a lazy smile. Jahni nodded to him, then found the ladle on a bench and tossed water over the coals on the burner in the corner. Steam rose with a furious hiss and Madari sighed.

Jahni moved to put the bucket on the floor beside the burner, but Madari sat up, arranging the towels swathing him.

"Wait a moment." He held out a hand and Jahni held the bucket so he could dip into it and scoop out cold water to splash over his face. "Thank you."

He lay down again, letting the towel he'd kept around his shoulders slip off, leaving his torso bare. When he sighed again, Jahni smiled to hear it. A sound of pure pleasure, of sensual enjoyment of the heat and steam. He so rarely saw Madari relax and unwind.

Lying down himself, on a lower bench, he breathed deep, the hot air hurting his nose for a moment. How Madari could stand it up on the hottest, highest bench, he didn't know. And the time Madari could stay in the hottest part of the Turkish bath amazed Jahni, who had nearly fainted their first visit here, when he'd tried to stay in there as long as Madari.

"This is not meant to be an endurance test," Madari had told him, in a stern voice as he lay recovering in the lounge. Of course Jahni had blamed it on the fact he was still convalescing.

Madari shifted a little and moved, so his right hand hung down over the bench. Water drops ran down his hand, hesitated on the finger tips, grew, fell.

Jahni watched the relaxed hand, the pads of the finger tips wrinkled from water and steam. His hands were like his whole body, Jahni thought. Rangy. Long fingered, strong hands, but not meaty; just as he was tall and broad-shouldered, but slender.

He watched another water drop run down the wrist, through sparse hairs, crossing over where the darker skin on the back of his hand and arm faded to the lighter colour of his palms and underarms. The water drop ran down the index finger and gathered on the water-wrinkled finger tip. It grew larger. At any moment it would fall. Jahni lifted his own hand and, careful not to actually touch Madari's finger, he touched the water drop. At once it broke away and ran down over Jahni's hand, quickly vanishing into the sweat that glistened on his skin.

Madari didn't react at all, gave no sign he'd noticed and Jahni sighed and lowered his hand onto his chest. His fingers, perhaps unconsciously, found the scar there, but moved away from that to run along his collar bones. The touch felt comforting, even if it was just his own hand. Even if he imagined another's hand... He stopped that train of thought quickly.

Sometimes this place was too much pleasure. He'd found it a few weeks ago, in one of the big international hotels in the middle of the city. Terribly modern, rather bland, Madari claimed, but he seemed to enjoy his first visit and they'd made a regular twice a week habit of it after that. Jahni breathed deep again and winced at the pain in his nose.

"Right," he said, sitting up, grabbing at the towel around his waist to keep it secure. "I'm going for a dip in the plunge pool before I shrivel up like a date. Are you coming?"

"I'll have a little longer I think," Madari said, leaning up on one elbow, smiling. "I've barely worked up a sweat yet."

Jahni rolled his eyes. "This is not meant to be an endurance test."

Madari laughed. "I'll join you in a few minutes. Throw some water on the coals before you go, please."

~~~~

Madari turned onto his front as Jahni threw a ladleful of water on the coals and then opened the door. The rush of cool air caressed Madari's naked back, then, as the door closed, the heat flowed back, like a wave in a warm sea.

He folded his arms and rested his head on them, face in the small space enclosed by them. With his nose only inches from the fluffy white towels this place provided, he could smell the floral scent they carried. Soft music drifted from speakers somewhere in the walls.

How very different this place was from the old-fashioned steam baths he'd gone to as a young man, with his grandfather. Ahmed would not have approved of fluffy, flower-smelling towels and piped music. Of course this was a hotel spa, designed to cater to foreigners as much as the locals.

Old fashioned steam baths of the type he remembered still existed in the city, but Jahni liked this one better. So did Madari if he was honest, however many war stories he told Jahni about scratchy towels, stone benches and huge sweating men who gave massages that left you feeling as if you'd been drubbed with a rubber hose.

This place offered massages too, but Madari never had one, because of his scars. A soldier was entitled to have scars; they were nothing to be ashamed of. But the ones on his back were a different matter. Though given to him by his torturers, and again, nothing to be ashamed of, they looked identical to those carried by men who'd been punished in the old ways, before the laws changed. He would find it difficult to relax if he thought the masseur was wondering what crime Madari had received lashes for.

The whoosh of cool air as the door opened again made him glance up to see if Jahni had come back, but a stranger entered. The man nodded at Madari and sat on a bench. Madari put his head down on his arms again, but that consciousness of those marks on his back made him decide to cover up. He rolled on his side, to free a towel he'd ended up lying on --

And gasped, recoiling, as a shape, the man who'd just come in, lunged at him, his arm raised and plunging down, even as he met Madari's eyes, startled at the sudden movement. By instinct, Madari blocked the blow, but yelled out in pain. Not a blow, worse. A knife tore into the skin of his arm, not deep, mostly deflected, but still blood rained onto the white towels.

Yelling. Good idea. He grabbed the man's right wrist with both hands, clung on and yelled. The man, bigger, younger, stronger than Madari, tried to shake him off. With his left he pounded his fist into the side of Madari's head, leaving him dazed and stopping his yelling for a moment. His grip loosened, the hand came free. At once, the blade stabbed down again. Madari rolled off the high bench and the knife missed him, banging down onto the wood instead.

Madari moaned at the impact, when he hit the next bench down, but couldn't hesitate, no time to wait and recover. He lunged away from the bench, and grabbed the assassin around the waist, driving him back. Bare feet squeaked on the wet tiled floor and they both fell into a desperate grapple for the knife. Their hands slipped on each other's sweat-soaked flesh, blood from the wound in Madari's arm still flying and spattering on walls and floor. The water bucket fell over, sending a flood of now lukewarm water around Madari's shoulders as he lay on his back, holding the man off.

Bucket. Must move fast. Madari reached over his head and groped for it. His hand found the rim, and he brought it around in an arc to smash into the side of his attacker's head.

The man roared, but didn't fall. Blood poured from his temple and his eyes glazed for a moment, but he swept the bucket from Madari's hand, and pounded his fist down. Reactions slowing, losing blood still, Madari tried to dodge the fist, but caught at least a glancing blow on the side of his head, on his ear. For an insane moment the explosion of horrible pain made him think the knife had plunged into his ear, into his brain. But he saw the knife in the man's other hand, saw it coming at him again. He couldn't block, or dodge, the pain in his head so bad he could hardly breathe, let alone move.

It felt like no more than a punch in the side. He didn't even feel the blade sink through his flesh. Felt it come out though and screamed this time. It came up again, dripping with blood now, ready to plunge into his chest this time.

Something banged into Madari's foot, and he felt the rush of cold air. The attacker turned, glanced over his shoulder and that moment of distraction gave Madari his last chance. Before the knife could fall again, he made a fist and rammed a hand upwards, into the attacker's throat. He heard nothing, but felt bone and cartilage crush under the blow. The man fell down on top of Madari, pinning him even more effectively now. But the weight vanished almost at once, the man pulled away and then Jahni was kneeling beside him.

"Faris!" Jahni's voice sounded panicked and Madari wanted to reprimand him and say 'keep your head, Lieutenant.' Wanted to say so many other things before he bled to death, naked on the floor of a sauna. Other voices were shouting too. He couldn't make them out, all so muffled. Warmth then, arms around him, someone, who knows who, can't see, getting so dark, covered him with towels. Someone pressed on the wound in his side, making him cry out again. Perhaps only in his mind though, too weak to voice the pain any more.

Darkness.

~~~~

Faraj ran though the hospital corridors, his driver trying to keep up and having a tough time of it. Enough damn hospitals. Just enough! He'd been working late when the switchboard put the police through on the phone, looking for one of Major Madari's colleagues. Moments later he'd been on his way to the hospital. He skidded into a waiting room to find Jahni there, pacing.

"What happened?"

"They tried to kill him again! Tried to kill him at the fucking steam bath!"

"Watch your language, Lieutenant." The reprimand came automatically, because he couldn't think of what else to say in that moment. Not again, not again. Jahni stared at him.

"Faris has been stabbed and you're telling me to watch my fucking language?"

"That's enough!" Faraj needed to think straight and getting into a row with Jahni would not help him do that. He pressed a hand to his pounding head. "Where is he now?"

"In surgery." Jahni spoke more calmly, Faraj saw him take some deep breaths.

"Have they given you any indication of how bad it is?"

Jahni nodded. "They... They said the belly wound is superficial, though he lost a lot of blood from that and from his arm. He's got some kind of head injury too, they think." A terrified expression crossed his face. "He was bleeding from his ear." Abruptly Jahni sank down onto a chair, face going pale.

"What about the man who attacked him?" Faraj asked. "Where's he?"

"The morgue."

Faraj stared at the grim satisfaction on Jahni's face. Had there been some swift retribution there? No, Jahni might be impulsive, but he wasn't a murderer. And even he would see that the assassin would be better alive, for questioning.

"How?"

"Faris killed him. Crushed his windpipe. After he'd been stabbed. Incredible."

Faraj nodded. Self defence, the last desperate strength a man about to die can find to keep himself alive. A pity they couldn't question the assassin, but like Jahni, he felt some satisfaction in what he could only see as just desserts for the would-be killer.

Looking down at Jahni again, Faraj noticed for the first time that he wore doctor's scrubs, pyjama like baggy shirt and trousers. Bare toes peeked out from the cuffs of the trousers.

"Where are your clothes?"

Jahni looked up. "I told you, we were at the steam bath."

"You mean you came here naked? You didn't bring your clothes?"

"Well, pardon me, I didn't think of that when I was trying to keep Faris from bleeding to death!" The anger rose again, as Jahni got to his feet.

"All right, calm down." They'd headed there straight from the barracks he recalled now. Their new Monday and Thursday routine made Faraj rather nervous. "My driver can take you over there to fetch your uniform."

"Are you mad?" Jahni demanded. "You expect me to leave?"

Why must he be so over dramatic? He can't do anything here. He might as well make use of the time.

"Lieutenant, the police are here, reporters likely will follow. You are an officer of the Royal Guard and I expect you to appear and act like one. The major would expect the same."

Jahni glared at him, arms folded, still making no move for the door.

"Go and get your uniform, Lieutenant. I'm making it an order."

Jahni stiffened and stood at attention.

"An order. Well, I can't disobey your order, sir." He spat the 'sir' harder than he'd spat the obscenities a moment ago. Without another word he marched out of the room.

He shouldn't have needed the order, Faraj thought, sitting down. To rush here without his clothes was one thing, but the moment Madari was safely in the hands of the doctors, he should have been ready to go and fetch the uniform. A real Guardsman would think that way. A man who had genuine loyalty to the regiment and not only to one officer.

Faraj realised he had rushed off rather dramatically himself from the barracks, though at least he'd been fully clothed. He should call Colonel Rahama, in case nobody else had yet.

Only when he found a telephone and tried to dial did he notice how badly his hands were shaking.

~~~~

Warm, washed out sky over him when his eyes opened. Strange shadows draped him though. A shadow moved. A hand touched his face and a bright light stabbed into his eyes. When he tried to bat the hand away his arm barely moved, too heavy.

"Relax, Major." A stranger's voice. "You're in hospital. But you're going to be fine."

The bright light vanished and he heard more voices, very muffled, then the stranger's voice again.

"All right, you may see him for a few moments, but he's still heavily sedated."

And then the faces came into his view. Kahil, Idris, wearing nervous smiles. So handsome both of them in their uniforms. They made him so proud.

"Hello, sir," Idris said. It sounded a long way off. So formal, so trained. But Faraj looked nervous and scared and relieved too.

"Faris." Jahni took his hand and Madari thought if he must die, it should be like this. But the man with the bright light had said he'd be fine, hadn't he?

"Stabbed me..."

"Yes," Jahni said. "But not too badly. They operated on you, you'll be fine."

"Stabbed... My ear?"

"No." Jahni shook his head. The relief increased on his face. "You have a burst eardrum, he hit you there."

Now Madari managed to raise a hand, to the side of his head, where he felt a thick wad of cloth. Bandages. No wonder his hearing sounded so muffled and lop sided.

"You should just try to relax now, sir," Faraj said. "We'll take care of everything."

"Relax? I tried to relax and had a naked assassin trying... Kill me in the steam room. Not fair."

"No, it's not." Jahni's hand stroked swiftly across his forehead, sweeping his hair to one side. He leaned over, spoke quietly. "You're safe here, just rest now."

He smelled good, Jahni, newly showered. But coffee on his breath and pale and tired looking.

"You rest too. Both of you."

Who knows how many hours they had been here? How many hours they'd be up dealing with this? What time was it anyway? Where was his watch? Still at the hotel spa.

"The police want to talk to you again," Faraj said to Jahni.

"I know. I'll sit here until he goes back to sleep."

The sound of a chair scraping on the floor, then Jahni sat down and took Madari's hand again. Never let go.

He was tired, but felt no pain. He wondered what they had given him. Something strong. Pain would come later for sure. He shivered as he recalled the pain in his head when the attacker hit him on the ear, the certainty that he'd been about to die.

"Are you cold?" Jahni asked.

If he was, he hadn't the strength to answer. His eyes closed and his mind wandered into dreams.

~~~~

Lieutenant Ishaq was a happy man. He'd make captain soon, according to his CO, who said his methods were unorthodox, but effective. Well he knew who he had to thank for that.

Despite the darkness, he knew his way. He strolled by the side of the road, on his way back to barracks, after visiting friends in a nearby town. The night had grown chilly after the warm summer day and he looked forward to getting home.

Perhaps tomorrow he'd give the Major a call and ask after his health. The news of the attack had been a shock, so soon after Jahni's brush with death. But both of them had survived. Charmed men perhaps.

Ishaq felt charmed too. Not only in his career, but he had met a young woman recently, the sister of a friend, who looked at him with some favour, he thought. Perhaps within a year, if God willed it, he'd be a captain and a husband?

After a glance at his watch, he picked up his pace and strode on. A car flashed past now and again. They drove far too fast on this isolated road. But he kept well back from the road itself, on the well worn path that ran between the town and the barracks.

It wasn't uncommon even at this time of night to meet other men on the path, so he barely glanced up as a couple of dark figures appeared in the starlight, coming towards him. In fact he was about to give them a friendly greeting and walk past, until they rushed at him suddenly, grabbed him. He yelled in protest, fought and would likely have beaten them off and escaped, but movement and noise from behind told him they weren't alone.

Ambush! How many of them? He couldn't tell. Too many. Blows rained on him, several to the back of his head, leaving him dazed and limp in their arms. Still just conscious, he heard someone speak.

"The bottle."

A second later, he felt something splash on his clothes and face and smelled alcohol. Then they forced the bottle into his mouth and he gagged on undiluted spirit, choking, tears pouring from his eyes in reaction.

"Enough." The bottle moved away. More blows struck him, while he hung helpless in their grip, coughing and gagging still on the liquor, then someone called out, "One coming."

"Do it."

They shoved him, dropped him onto the road surface and he heard the sound of footsteps hurrying away. Ishaq moaned and tried to get his hands under him to push himself up to his feet, or his knees at least.

And then the lights, two lights, merging into one dazzling glare as they came close, at the last second, the sound of a horn and the last thing he knew was the impact of the car.

~~~~

Trimming fuses. Darak could do that without conscious thought, and he needed that right now. He couldn't get Ishaq's death out of his mind. The military police had closed the case as an accident, despite protests from Ishaq's family, the friends he'd spent the evening with, his commanding officer and Major Madari himself. It did not ring true. Ishaq never drank, so how could he have got drunk and fallen in front of a car? Rubbish. The MPs were idiots.

Fuming, Darak went back to the explosive devices he was working on. Damn, he'd rather be outside, perhaps running laps or on the assault course. He'd relieve his feelings much better out there, not stuck in here, fiddling with explosives. All so dull too, with none of the interesting experiments he'd tried while at the camp. Lack of the usual equipment to call on made him so much more creative. Now he could just requisition what he needed. Well, it wasn't quite so much fun.

Necessity is the mother of invention. They'd taught him that at school and he'd certainly learnt the truth of that under Major Madari's command. The lessons he'd learnt there would be with him the rest of his life.

A moment later he discovered how short a period of time that would be.

He looked at the timer under his hands and at the explosive attached to it. The timer was running. The fuse was in.

Wait, that's not... Oh shit.

People said later that that they heard the noise of the workshop exploding at least ten miles away. Everyone agreed it had been a miracle that only one man died.

~~~~

Accidents. Right! A man who didn't drink has an accident while drunk. An explosives expert blows himself to bits despite an excellent safety record.

And he, Javid Noor, was a monkey's uncle, a Dutchman and the Queen of Sheba.

As he took the new men through weapons drill, they were wary of his unusually stern demeanour, and the short temper he so rarely displayed. His impatience almost frightened them.

He stamped up and down the line of men, who were learning to strip and reassemble their rifles. Come on, come on. This should not take so long. The damn students at the camp learned faster than this. Some of them could already do it blindfold in the amount of time these idiots had been practicing.

The quality of recruits to the army lately did not impress him. They'd had to compromise to make up the numbers of those who'd died in the fighting.

Don't worry, his CO had said, once we've got them, we'll whip them into shape. Well this lot were taking some whipping. Ah, here though, perhaps this one is a little more promising. He stopped in front of a young man who actually had all the pieces of his rifle assembled again.

"Good. Let me see."

"Wait a moment, Captain," the recruit said. "I think it's stuck."

"Don't point it at --"

The next word would have been "me". But he never had the chance to finish the sentence. The word was drowned by the roar of the "stuck" rifle.

~~~~

Madari did not go straight home after the funeral of Javid Noor, but instead drove to the home of Colonel Rahama. The prayers were fresh in his mind, along with the grief and pain in the eyes of his friends, and in the eyes of Kiana, a widow so young. He could not stop hearing the sound of the choked sob torn from Faraj when they lowered the wrapped body into the ground. Could not stop seeing Jahni hold him, talk softly too him to help him stay strong. Madari hadn't been able to hear the words, his punctured eardrum still healing, but he could guess the soothing tone of them. Later he saw the two of them standing well away from the rest of the mourners, arm in arm and talking.

It made Madari want to weep that it took this horrible loss to bring those two close as friends again. And he had wept, as he drove back to the city alone. Jahni had gone with Faraj, who needed more support than Madari did. But his eyes were dry now, when he arrived at the large house to the east of Az-Ma'ir, Rahama's home.

The Colonel was still in uniform when Madari arrived, at a little after six thirty. He must have arrived back from the barracks only a short time ago.

"Faris, my dear friend." He took Madari's hand, sympathy in his eyes. "Please, come and sit down." He led Madari to a sitting room, ordering tea from a servant on the way.

Madari didn't sit. He walked to the windows and looked out into the courtyard. Some women sat out there, the colonel's wife he recognised, and others he didn't, talking in the dusk, in the still warm evening. Turning back he waited for a moment while the servant brought in tea.

"I will pour, thank you," Rahama said, dismissing the man with a wave. He poured and held out a teacup to Madari. "I hope the funeral was not too distressing."

"It was as one would expect," Madari said, walking over and taking the cup. "Colonel, I did not come here only for your support, welcome as it is, my friend." He bowed his head.

"Then what is it I can do for you, Faris?"

"Three of my officers from the camp are dead within a month. Jahni almost died. Two attempts have been made on my own life. The word 'campaign' is becoming difficult to dismiss from my mind."

"The recent deaths have so far been ruled accidental." Rahama pointed out. Not arguing that they were, Madari saw, just saying what others had decided.

"I do not agree," Madari said. "I knew Ishaq, he was a good Muslim, and he did not drink. That was not an accident. Darak, well, after one early incident involving carelessness he became very safety conscious around explosives. He respected them and there was never another problem. Believe me, he understood the consequences of being careless with explosives."

"And Captain Noor? I understand the military police have questioned the young man involved and concluded it was no more than an accident. Sadly not an unknown one in weapons training. He is reportedly very distressed about it."

Madari frowned, down at him. "I know, that is more difficult. And yet, on top of the others, I feel certain something is going on. And I want to investigate it myself. I don't want to lose any more friends."

Who might be next? He had already almost lost Kahil, an unthinkable horror. But Faraj too, any of them. Faraj, as if I have not caused him and his family enough pain.

"Sir, I formally request the resources to investigate this matter. These men were not Royal Guard, but they were Army. The Army should make a proper investigation and I don't think this has been done so far."

"The military police have been busy since the restoration," Rahama said, nodding. He sighed. "The Army is still in a state of upheaval."

So they were happy to go with an obvious interpretation of events, close the case quickly, and move on. Madari knew this from a long tense telephone call he'd had with the MP leading the investigation into Ishaq's death.

"However, Faris, you are not a detective. I can give you resources, but what you need is expertise, and someone who can get you fast access to whatever information you need. I am going to request that an officer be seconded from military intelligence to assist you."

Madari nodded, smiling. Rahama had given him even more than he expected, had dared hope for. Such a good friend. Now he could do his duty, find the murderer of his friends.

~~~~

In the morning, Madari found Jahni and Faraj already in the office when he arrived. Both looked tired, he doubted they'd slept any better than he had. But they both looked happier when he made his announcement.

"Gentlemen, put away what you're working on currently. Colonel Rahama has given me permission to investigate the deaths of Lieutenants Ishaq and Darak and Captain Noor."

"Well it's time someone did a proper investigation." Jahni dropped the paperwork he'd been frowning over straight into a drawer and slammed it closed. "Where do we start?"

Madari had to smile at his enthusiasm for something more exciting than the paperwork he'd been stuck with for weeks now. The medical officer had still not signed him off fully fit.

"An officer from military intelligence is coming to help out. He should be here this morning. In the meantime, let's get everything else delegated and clear the decks, as they say, to prepare."

"Sir... Faris." Faraj's voice stopped Madari as he turned to go into his office. Hoarse and tired, but full of emotion. "Thank you."

Madari just bowed his head in reply and walked into the office.

They set to work to delegate and reassign their current work and began pulling together the resources for the investigation. The primary resource, the seconded officer from Military Intelligence arrived at just after ten thirty. A call from the gatehouse told Madari the man was on his way up.

"He's a captain," Madari said. "So, Kahil, I'm afraid, you'll have to give up your desk to him while he's here." Jahni frowned, not liking that, but he started rummaging in the drawers. He kept all kinds of junk in there, Madari had seen before, wouldn't want a stranger rifling through it.

It turned out not to be a stranger.

The officer walked into the room, wearing the slate grey uniform of military intelligence, a briefcase in one hand and several file folders under his other arm. Faraj and Jahni stared, as he walked up to Madari, who stood at his office door. He put down the briefcase and saluted.

"Reporting for duty, Major."

Madari returned the salute and spoke, his voice feeling weaker than normal.

"Welcome to Royal Guard barracks, Captain Raslan."