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love story?
As promised, we found the five-storey, Turkish-style building
without difficulty. I d been instructed to wait in the front court-
yard. By some magic unknown to me, Saffron would recognize
me. Something about that made me slightly uneasy.
Sereena and I stood side by side in front of the building, near
a neem tree, and waited. Before long, a young child appeared in
front of us. He was wrapped in a once-white cotton sheath that
covered most of his body and part of his face.
Quant, the child barked. Dark eyes, older than their owner,
stared up at me through the swaddling. He completely ignored
the presence of Sereena. Something, I m sure, she was altogether
unaccustomed to.
Yes, I am. And who are you?
Saffron. You re here to meet me.
This was certainly becoming the day of the expected. I
thought of what Neil wrote to his then boyfriend: sa is coming up
soon im a little unsure about what will happen there im glad to finally
be going but worried the big one still eludes me and I still haven t found
saffron i need saffron.
Neil needed to contact Saffron. He even told Aashiq to have
his father find Saffron if he got into trouble. Which he certainly
had. And now I find that Saffron is a ten-year-old boy? Good grief.
Who is the man? the child demanded in his disarmingly
rough voice.
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I must have looked confused because he repeated the ques-
tion. I was still busy processing that I was now dealing with a
minor. What man? I asked back.
The man who is watching you from behind that store over
there. He pointed a dirty little finger to a spot across the street.
I followed the finger. Alastair Hallwood was standing behind
a power box, under the partial cover of shade from an overhead
awning belonging to a rather modern-looking store. His eyes
grew to the size of two boiled eggs when he saw that he was
caught. I crooked my own finger at him, indicating that he should
join us.
What are you doing? I asked him as he sheepishly
approached.
Yes, the boy asked rather forcefully. What are you doing?
Why are you watching this other man?
Sereena eyed Alastair carefully but said nothing.
Alastair s reedy frame towered above the boy s. He peered
down at the youngster and said, We re together. We re all
friends. Isn t that right, Russell, old chap? Sereena?
I wasn t sure I d go so far as to call us friends. Or necessarily
together. He was supposed to be watching over Hema. Why was he
here?
Hema sent me away, I m afraid. She said I was slowing her
down. You told me you were coming to Nassif House, so I
thought I d join you. I can t let you two have all the fun. We can
catch up with Hema at the hotel later.
I glanced about. It was getting darker in the souk. People were
scurrying about, completing their tasks before going home or to
prayer. It didn t feel right leaving Hema alone in this environ-
ment.
He must have read my thoughts, because he said: Semir is
still with her. Apparently he doesn t slow her down, he added
petulantly. Now, who s this little fellow?
I am no little fellow! Saffron proclaimed, crossing two arms
across a puffed-out chest.
Now keep your hair on, Alastair quickly apologized. I can
see my error, now that I get a good look at you.
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A n t h o n y B i d u l k a
I pulled out a photograph of Neil Gupta. Do you know this
man, Saffron?
He studied the picture closely. Yes. He s dead now.
How do you know that?
Husain told it to us. He was told by Fahd. Fahd was told by
his brother who lives in Dubai.
Instant communication. Cellphones and Internet. Even here.
Gotta love it. I wouldn t have been surprised if he d told me they
Tweeted each other the news.
Neil was my friend, I said. He told me before he died that
he really needed to find you. Can you tell me why?
Of course. The merchandise. He made a promise. And now
Quant will keep his promise. As I will keep mine.
The Zinko. That darn old carpet. This was still about the
Zinko. Neil was anxious to get his hands on it. Maybe someone
had been just as anxious to ensure he didn t.
I will keep any promise Neil made. A lie. I just wanted to
take this a little further. What promise did you make?
The beady eyes toured my face, then: You understand the
dollars for the merchandise?
Husain in Salalah had told me how this would work. Once I
was satisfied with the merchandise, I d instruct my bank to elec-
tronically transfer the agreed-upon funds to another bank account
I would be told about only when the negotiations were complete.
I had no intention of spending my money or Pranav s on some
mythical carpet. But something was telling me the Zinko carpet
was the key to finding out what happened to Neil Gupta. I d
thought Saffron might be the key. Now, I wasn t so sure.
I do. May I see it now?
No. We will go tonight.
Tonight? Go where? Where is the carpet?
No! You must not speak so loud, Quant! the boy admon-
ished me. I did not like it. He was ten frigging years old for Puff-
the-Magic-Dragon s sake!
Okay, okay, just give me the address.
I will take you and your friend, he said, nodding towards
but never looking at Alastair. Now. We go now.
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And then he disappeared in the dark hurly-burly of the old
town.
I m not quite sure what all that was about, Alastair said
with an impish grin meant for Sereena. But I d say you re not
invited.
Alastair was too late. For Sereena was long gone, chasing after
Saffron, black robes fluttering in the wind of her wake.
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Chapter 14
The four-wheel drive truck spiriting us out of Jeddah was driven
by a man I understood to be ten-year-old Saffron s father. He did
not speak. Saffron sat in the front with him, Alastair and I in the
seat behind them, and Sereena, seemingly invisible to the men, in
the seat behind us.
Where exactly are we going? I asked, feeling increasingly
uncomfortable as the lights of Jeddah faded away at the far end of
the strip of highway.
I have already told you, Saffron proclaimed, unhappy to be
disturbed by me. Unhappier still that we d allowed Sereena to
accompany us. But, too bad, buddy. Without her oddly superb
tracking skills, we d never have kept up with him, as he raced
through the souk like a cat with a burning tail. Maybe it was just
that he hadn t quite come to know and love her yet, as I did. To
see the Bedouin, he said.
But where? Where is the Bedouin?
At the Bedouin camp, of course.
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Stupid me.
This is his home we re going to?
The boy scoffed. Little bugger. Of course not. He lives in a big
house in the city. Just like most of the Bedouin do now. He is a
Jeddan. But for you people, he also keeps this camp. To show how
it once was for the Bedouin.
We were going to a tourist attraction? In the middle of the
night?
Why are we going there?
The boy only shrugged.
I thought I understood. At night there would be no tourists.
Only us. And the Zinko. If Saffron was any indication, everything
about the rug, this mysterious piece of merchandise, had to be
kept on the down low. I suppose, if I were a rogue Bedouin who
had decided to sell off a slice of my cultural heritage for a tidy
profit, I d want to keep it a secret too. I, however, was more inter-
ested in what the Bedouin might know about Neil Gupta and his
death.
I took another glance out the back window of the truck.
Jeddah had disappeared. How far?
Not much further. You will see.
Although the highway was wide and modern, obviously a
major thoroughfare during the day, at night it was nearly aban-
doned. About fifteen minutes out of the city, traffic had dropped
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