The Ghost Runner by Parker Bilal Read Free Book Online Page A

while Musab was in prison,’ Makana asked as he spooned sugar into his cup. He left Ragab to help himself.
    ‘That is correct. Nineteen eighty-four, during his first year inside.’
    ‘She was still a small child when he came out.’
    ‘That’s right. She was barely five years old.’
    ‘What happened when Musab came out of prison?’
    ‘It appears that Musab underwent something of a transformation while in prison. It happens all too often. Faced with brutality they begin to question their motives. In those dark places of the soul a lot of men find comfort in turning to religion.’
    It was a familiar story. Aside from the pressures on inmates to conform, there were plenty of advantages to joining one of the Islamist groups. The prisons were crowded with jihadists of every shape and shade, and many of the guards sympathised. With the right connections many of the hardships could be alleviated.
    ‘By the time he was released in nineteen eighty-nine he had become a member of the Islamic Jihad group.’ Ragab returned to his seat and reached for the tin sugar bowl. Perhaps he didn’t quite have the qualms his wife did about mixing with the common people. ‘Those were difficult times.’
    Makana needed no reminding of 1989. It was the year everything changed for him. A new regime came to power and suddenly his position as a police inspector in Khartoum was thrown into doubt. And it wasn’t only in Sudan. In Germany, the wall came down between east and west. In China, revolting students had seized Tiananmen Square. In Afghanistan, the final Soviet troops were being withdrawn.
    ‘The world was in turmoil. You know this from your own country. It was a time of great victory for Islam, and many went from here to join the Mujahideen.’
    ‘So Musab joined the holy struggle,’ said Makana.
    ‘He joined at the wrong time. The war in Afghanistan had been won. The Egyptians who had fought with the Mujahideen were returning home. Their victory there had led to some euphoria, the sense that the jihad was a global mission to revive Islam. Musab went abroad. Where he went I cannot say. I heard that he had been in your home country, Sudan, but also visited parts of the Soviet Union that were trying to break away: Azerbaijan, Georgia, Kazakhstan. They were trying to ignite a jihad there, to carry on the fight after Afghanistan. He spent nearly five years away. When he returned he associated with the same group of Islamist radicals as before. They had declared war on the Egyptian state. To cut a long story short, his name emerged in a plot to assassinate the Minister of Justice. Musab claimed it was a set-up. His militant days were over, he said. I managed to pull a few strings. I knew the Danish ambassador personally. We played bridge with him and his wife. I convinced him that Musab was a worthy case for political asylum. It was the only solution.’
    ‘Why go to all that trouble for him? Surely he was no longer your problem?’
    ‘You are right, but I had become close to his wife and daughter. I suppose I was trying to protect them.’
    ‘By sending him away?’
    ‘Nagat had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him. She had started her own business by then and was doing all right without him.’ Ragab set down his coffee cup slowly. ‘My first impression of the man has proved to be the most enduring. Dishonest and cowardly, a delinquent and petty thief. When he came out of prison he had taken on a . . . let us say, a more spiritual aspect. He grew a beard, wore traditional clothes, and spoke of piety and conviction, but underneath he was the same.’
    ‘Let me ask you a question.’ Makana paced across the room. ‘Am I right in thinking that you suspect Musab of having caused the death of his daughter?’
    ‘You are a perceptive man, Mr Makana.’ Ragab paused to gather his thoughts. ‘I have no proof. I have nothing, just my own instincts, but I am convinced that Musab was behind this.’
    ‘Correct me if I am