Tracks by Niv Kaplan Page A

unwanted
list in Cairo and instructed me to go through Israel which is much closer
anyway.”
    “We took the same route,”
Black Jack commented.
    “He met me at Taba and drove
me here, showed me the house and left me.  No explanations why he was
doing this.  I surveyed the house for a couple of days, which may have
been my mistake, then decided to risk it.  The rest you can see.  Two
months in this hell hole.”
    “Did you actually see
Ibrahim?”  Christine persisted.
    “I did. I’m sure of it. 
On the third day after I arrived I saw a figure in the window.  That’s why
I decided to risk it. It had to be him.  A teenage boy, same age, same
built.  He was walking around.  I didn’t see his face but I know it
was him.”
    Jack and Christine exchanged
glances. 
    “Did you see your
ex-husband?”  Black Jack asked.
    Clair bowed her head, shaking
it.  “No.  I didn’t even get to see him,” she admitted.
    Abdullah appeared.  He
motioned to Black Jack to join him.  Christine looked up, uncertain. 
Black Jack gestured for her to stay put. He quietly followed the attorney
through dim corridors to the judge’s quarters.
    The judge wore a suit that
seemed quite out of place, brown with a pink tie.  He seemed quite
uncomfortable in it, but he kept up the façade. He had gray hair,
moustache and a full beard, and looked worn out.
    Introductions complete, the
judge spoke in Arabic expecting Abdullah to translate.  “The woman is in
much trouble,” he said.
    “What are the charges?” 
Black Jack asked.
    “Attempted
kidnap.”  
    “Who was she trying to
kidnap?”  Jack persisted.
    “A
young boy.”
    “Any
idea why she would be interested in that boy?”  
Jack retorted.
    “She claims it is her son.”
    “Is he?”  Jack asked.
    After a moment of silence,
Abdullah spoke: “The child’s father thinks she is crazy.”
    “Why would she be interested
in that boy?”  Jack insisted.
    “She is crazy,” Abdullah
repeated.
    “Crazy enough to come all the
way from France to this place to kidnap a boy she don’t even know?”
    “She may know him,” Abdullah
said.
    Black Jack addressed the
judge.  “If she’s that crazy, she can’t stand trial.”
    Abdullah and the judge
conferred in Arabic, a conversation Jack was able to partially understand.
    “She could be sentenced to
twenty-five years,” Abdullah finally said.
    “The French won’t like it,”
Jack threatened, addressing the judge again.  It brought another flurry of
conference.
    Jack added:  “I want her
out today.”
    The conference continued as if
he had not spoken. 
    Finally Abdullah said: “She
will stand trial but the sentence will be reduced to a fine.”
    “How
much?”   Jack pressed.
    “Twenty
thousand US dollars.”
    “One thousand and we settle it
now,” Jack said.
    Abdullah translated to the
judge who seemed to become quite annoyed.  He turned his back on the
American and lit a cigarette.  Abdullah signaled for them to go.
    Jack spoke evenly, addressing
the judge:  “She better have a fair trial and you better improve her
conditions here or you’ll have the entire United Nations on your case.”
    The judge did not flinch and
Abdullah did not translate but Black Jack knew they understood.  Opening
blows had been exchanged.  Now it was about patience and poise.  They
walked back to the visitation cell to pick up Christine.
    Abdullah said: “You angered
the judge, Mr. Jack.”
    “Whose side are you on?” 
Jack replied angrily. “They don’t have a case to hold her here.”
    Abdullah walked silently for a
while then stopped Jack just before they reached the visitation cell.
    “They’ll invent a case Mr.
Jack.  If you don’t compromise, they’ll not let her go.”
    “You tell the judge I’ll pay a
thousand bucks, no more, and if he dares mistreat the lady, I’ll bring in the
media.”
    Abdullah retreated. They
walked into the cell. The two women looked up, expectantly. 
    Black Jack smiled.