Fair Game by Stephen Leather Page B

Boy shrugged. ‘I do business with a lot of people.’
    ‘But you buy arms from only a few. And Sameer is one of the most amenable and trusted of arms dealers in the Yemen. He is a friend of mine, and I mention it only so you know that I too can be trusted.’
    Crazy Boy’s eyes narrowed. ‘When I do business I assume that the business I do remains confidential.’
    ‘It is a small world, and secrets are difficult to keep at the best of times. But rest assured, Sameer did not go into specifics.’
    ‘And what is your business, may I ask?’
    Al-Zahrani smiled and shrugged. ‘I have fingers in many pies,’ he said. ‘I move money around for people who are too busy to do it themselves, I take care of problems, I facilitate deals.’
    ‘You are a middleman?’
    ‘You could say that, Simeon. Or you could say that I have friends in high places.’
    ‘And where would these friends be? Yemen?’
    ‘I have friends in Yemen, yes. I have friends all across the Middle East. That is why I am so successful at what I do.’
    ‘If you’re here to ask me to stop what I’m doing in Somalia, you are wasting your time,’ snapped Crazy Boy. ‘The West has depleted our fishing stocks, used our sea as a dumping ground for its waste, treated our country as if we are less than nothing. The West owes us for what it has taken from us, and the only way to get what is owed is to take it. We take only a small fraction of what sails by our coast and it is our right.’
    Al-Zahrani waited until Crazy Boy had finished speaking, then he slowly smiled and steepled his fingers under his chin. ‘You Somalis have a saying, do you not? “Dogs understand each other by their barking, and men by their words.” You and I are men. More than that, we are Muslim men. We can talk like men, can we not?’
    Crazy Boy nodded, accepting the point. ‘I apologise, brother. I should have allowed you to have spoken first.’
    Al-Zahrani’s smile widened. ‘I appreciate that, brother,’ he said. ‘But let me ask you something before I tell you what is on my mind. My question to you is, are you a good Muslim?’
    ‘Of course,’ said Crazy Boy.
    Two Knives returned with a silver tray on which there were two glasses of tea, a plate filled with orange segments and another plate with slices of lemon cake. He held the tray out to al-Zahrani, who took a glass of tea but waved away the cake and fruit. Two Knives put the tray down on the coffee table and then went to sit on one of the wing chairs by the window, where he stared at al-Zahrani’s bodyguard.
    Al-Zahrani smiled at Crazy Boy. ‘And as a good Muslim you follow the five pillars of our faith?’
    ‘Without a shadow of a doubt,’ said Crazy Boy. ‘ Shahada , salat , zakat , sawm and haj .’
    There were five things that every Muslim had to do to proclaim his faith. Shahada was to declare one’s faith to the world, salat was prayer, which every true Muslim did five times a day, zakat was the giving of alms, whereby Muslims gave at least a fortieth of their income to the poor and needy, sawm was fasting, which every Muslim did during the month of Ramadan, and haj was pilgrimage to Mecca, which every Muslim had to do at least once in his lifetime.
    ‘That is what all good Muslims do, and praise to you for that, but a true Muslim has to do more, does he not? A true Muslim has to fight to defend his faith. As a Somali you more than anyone must be aware of that.’
    ‘The Americans,’ said Crazy Boy.
    ‘Not just the Americans. The infidels, the infidels that think they have the right to impose their beliefs and values on our countries, on our people. These days it is not good enough just to follow the five pillars. A good Muslim, a true Muslim, has to do more.’
    Crazy Boy nodded slowly. ‘What you say is true,’ he said. ‘But if you know anything about me, you would know that I have already done more than most.’
    ‘You are referring to Ahmed Abdi Godane, are you not?’
    Crazy Boy’s breath