Of course, sometimes it didn’t work.
“Very well then,” St. Cloud said with a sigh. “This court orders that a public defender be appointed by the city.”
“No.” It was the first word Hamzah Effendi had uttered since being led into the room, the first word from the man in two days. “No attorney, no public defender.”
St. Cloud shrugged. “If that’s what you want . . . Do you wish to apply for bail?” He looked at the silent man but it was Zara who answered.
“Yes,” she said defiantly. “We do . . . I do. And I ask that my father be released on his own recognizance.”
“Completely impossible.” Senator Liz spoke without bothering to defer to the chair. On the other side of St. Cloud, the young Graf nodded frantic agreement.
“Bail, even with a bond, would be unusual in a case like this,” St. Cloud said softly. “But it might be possible, if the bond is set high enough and you, personally, give your word not to attempt to help your father leave the city.”
Her word.
The Marquis smiled at the outrage on the face of the ushers and court stenographer; even Hamzah looked momentarily shocked.
“You have my word,” said Zara. “Now how much do you want?”
“For myself,” said the Marquis, “I want nothing.” She had the grace to blush, though her chin came up and she refused to look away. “The sum is a matter for the court,” he added, “though I suggest not less than . . .”
“No bail,” announced Raf from his seat to one side of the judges. He stood up slowly and stepped into the empty area between the judges and the dock, feeling very alone. Turning to Zara, he spread his hands in apology.
“I cannot allow bail,” he said flatly. “And that decision is taken in my capacity as governor of this city.” He stared at St. Cloud. “You know as well as I do that if bail is granted, I cannot guarantee his safety . . .”
“In that case . . . Request for bail dismissed. All that remains,” said St. Cloud, “is for the court to set a date for trial. Since it seems the case will, after all, be tried in Iskandryia.” He smiled sweetly at the Senator. “And since the defendant has refused counsel I would suggest to the other judges that we begin first thing tomorrow . . .”
“Too soon,” said Raf. “Make it Saturday . . . Iskandryian airspace will need to be opened to fly in Jean René, the photographer who took the shots already seen by the Grand Jury.”
“Saturday it is.”
“No.” This time it was Zara who objected. “That doesn’t give my father time to find a character witness.”
“For a murder charge?” St. Cloud scanned his handwritten notes. There was nothing about a character witness in there.
“One only,” Zara said. “We’re also in the process of trying to organize travel arrangements.”
“You have until Sunday,” St. Cloud said firmly. “After that, the trial takes place, whether you have your witness or not.” He glanced at Raf and frowned. “And that decision is taken in my capacity as senior judge.”
CHAPTER 46
27th October
“Hani al-Mansur . . .” The child answered her mobile at the first ring, voice extra polite. “Can I ask who’s calling . . . ?”
Her Nokia was one of only a dozen let into El Iskandryia on special licence from the governor, who turned out to be the person on the other end of the call. She had to ask who it was because these cell phones were analogue, very stupid ones without the option of vision.
For some reason, Ashraf had been most insistent about the analogue bit.
Their conversation was short. “Yes,” said Hani, “Ifritah’s fine. She’s here with me and I’m really pleased to see her.”
She listened to Uncle Ashraf’s next question and sucked her teeth, but not that crossly. “Yes . . . I’ve had supper and I’m ready for bed. No, you don’t need to collect me in the morning. Donna’s going to the market. I’ll walk in with her . . .”
At the next question, Hani groaned theatrically. “Yes,” she said. “You are fussing. That’s your job.” She listened to Uncle Ashraf’s good-nights, added her own and went back to the keyboard of the bibliotheka ’s only working Web connection.
“I’m back,” she announced quietly.
“About time,” said Avatar.
He owed Raf a life. Hani hadn’t needed to remind him of that but she did anyway . . . Then apologized. Only to decide that she didn’t need to apologize because it was true. After that, she asked him some weird questions about whether Zara now wanted to marry Raf.
The rest of it Avatar didn’t understand and Hani had given up trying to explain. He got the bit about him forwarding on the spider fax to Zara. Things imploded at the point when Hani added the spider fax to an angel and a wounded man and came up with the fact that hell was cold, purgatory was water-bound and he knew heaven better as the SS Jannah.
It was only the fact that Hani swore she’d been told this by the General that made Avatar believe any of it was true. So now, at Hani’s insistence, he was looking for the ninth level of hell, otherwise known as Cocytus.
Needless to say, it wasn’t on any of the numerous wall maps dotted around the corridors and stairways of the SS Jannah. . .
The rucksack slung on Avatar’s shoulder was heavy and awkward. What was worse, it clanked every time he brushed against a wall, which was often. Those were its bad points. On the plus side, it contained rope, pepper spray and several cans of Coke.
“Guard.” Hani’s voice in his earbead was matter-of-fact, unhurried.
“Yeah, seen him.” Avatar stepped backward into a recess, out of the guard’s line of sight and out of his line of fire as well. There were two men, one in a suit, the other dressed in bell bottoms and white top, a black silk folded neatly around his muscular neck. Avatar knew this was a guard, not a crewman, by the gun he carried.
Dminus4 was off-limits to civilians; guests in the parlance of the SS Jannah. The official reason was that Dminus4 housed the vaults of Hong Kong Suisse, the liner’s official bank. Welcome Aboard, the induction film for the SS Jannah, described the vault as made from weapons-grade steel with a single time-coded, iris-specific door and reassuringly thick walls. From what Hani had said, it was a perfectly ordinary floor-to-ceiling blockhouse with a boringly ordinary lock.
But then why not? Everything except gambling chips for the casino was included in the overall and frighteningly extortionate price; the only real valuables brought on board by guests, their papers and jewellery, were kept secure in individual safes that came with each cabin. The heistproof vault was a sop to tradition, only there by repute.
“Clear now.”
“Yeah.”
Avatar stepped out of his hiding place and checked both ways along the corridor. He was in plain sight of at least three CCTV cameras but those didn’t worry him, everywhere on board was in sight of cameras. Nothing obvious, mind you. At least not on the guest levels. No little robot lenses to twist their heads as one walked from room to room. Most of the guest-level cameras used little pin lenses embedded into the walls and linked to some gizmo running visual-recognition software.
Quite how Hani had spliced herself in to them Avatar had no idea. Something to do with a handshake, according to the kid. And it was a clean connection, although there was a tiny time lag between them, defined not by the miles between SS Jannah and El Iskandryia but by how long it took to bounce data packets off a comsat slung somewhere over Sao Tomé.