Sonallah Ibrahim - Beirut, Beirut

“Absolutely not,” he burst out.

He went quiet, and then added, “I don’t think so. Maybe.”

I continued: “Or your apartment has been bugged by the Deuxième Bureau.”

He turned to look around everywhere in the living room, and then looked down, saying, “Maybe.”

I sipped from a glass of beer. “I don’t think so,” I said.

His eyes widened.

“If you’re saying —”

I held up my hand to stop him.

“Let’s not talk about that now. What I want to understand is: why did they kidnap me, and why did they let me go?”

He cut a slice of chicken and said, “Your kidnapping may have been by chance. A strange face that appeared in their area. And especially if the stranger seemed to be curious.”

He put a morsel in his mouth and continued: “There’s no basis for it as far as kidnapping operations are concerned. Sometimes the kidnap victims are executed immediately. That’s often done in revenge for a similar operation done by the other side. And sometimes it happens for no apparent reason, like what happened recently when the Phalangists killed around forty Egyptian workers. A lot of times, the kidnappers keep their victims so they can be traded for others, or for fixed sums of money. That’s why the Phoenician was being patient with you — it was so he could assess your situation, and whether he could profit from you in some kind of exchange. If it became apparent to him, for example, that you were a Christian, he would try to persuade you to come around to his view, and gain from your support. I think you’ve heard that there are links between them and some Egyptian Copts.”

“What about the Deuxième Bureau?”

He focused on wiping up what remained in the bowl of hummus with a morsel of food and explained: “The Deuxième Bureau is a strange institution. It is subject to the influence of the ruling families, Maronite and Muslim. But those who are in charge of it are also subject to other loyalties, foreign and mutually opposed to each other. And on top of all that, sometimes they operate independently in the game of the struggle for power between the different blocs, domestic and foreign.”

He lit a cigarette and continued talking: “And now we come to the Palestinian resistance. Circumstances have forced them to maintain lines of communication with the different blocs. They are channels that are not affected by events. For example, while there may be bloody fighting between Fatah and the Phalangists, the line of communication between them works normally.”

He looked at his watch, then went up to the television set and turned it on, putting it on mute while waiting for the news report. He continued what he was saying, as he returned to his seat: “So your kidnapping was by chance. Antoinette succeeded in prodding PLO officials into action. Naturally, they took an interest in the matter for two reasons: the first is that they are keen to support their relationship with all the progressive Lebanese groups, such as Antoinette’s, to safeguard their presence in Lebanon. The second reason is connected to the first: Antoinette’s use of the facilities at the media institute affiliated with them makes her a client of theirs in some way. In that light, your kidnapping infringes on their standing, even if indirectly. First, they began with the different organizations in West Beirut until they were sure you weren’t with them. At that point they opened up their line of communication with the Deuxième Bureau, and then with the Phalangists, the Tigers and the Guardians of the Cedars, and the rest of the Maronite factions. They all denied they had anything to do with the matter. But the Deuxième Bureau — either to pay off a debt to the PLO, or to do them a favor that they can call on later, or to win a point in the struggle for power with the Maronite parties, or to follow up on an entirely side issue like Carlos — the important thing is that the Deuxième Bureau didn’t stop there, and it took an interest in your story. Within a few hours, it learned where you were being held via its agents spread out among the various factions. The matter was settled with a phone conversation. The kidnappers found that by letting you go they would have a point in their favor with the Deuxième Bureau, or they could pay back a favor to them. Apologies were exchanged and future favors made note of, and you get your freedom back. And you become indebted to the Deuxième Bureau in some way.”

I nodded, adding, “Very likely. Even if it’s a frightening scenario. And laughable, too. But it explains the rest.”

He gave me an inquisitive look.

“Your role in it,” I explained.

A look of astonishment appeared on his face, and he forced out a laugh.

“My role was that I set this chain of events in motion when I looked for you and called Antoinette.”

“Of course, of course. No argument about that. But I mean something else.”

“What?”

“Carlos.”

His face grew pale. “What about him?” he asked.

“Maybe we are being bugged here. But I am confident that the Deuxième Bureau heard about Carlos from you personally.”

“Meaning that I’m a Deuxième Bureau agent?”

“Not necessarily. I don’t think so. There is a modern, civilized way for these things. You pick up the phone and call a friend of yours, someone you know has some connection to the Deuxième Bureau. Someone like the owner of the café where we saw Lamia. You chat with him. And during the course of the conversation you throw out some information that you know very well the Deuxième Bureau will be interested in. Practically speaking, you didn’t do anything that professional agents do. All you did was have a chat in the form of a response to the traditional question: ‘Any news?’”

“And what would I gain from this chatter?”

“A little security, perhaps,” I replied. “Some support in a moment of crisis. Life is hard here. Beirut is a den of tangled and contradictory loyalties. And then, isn’t it likely that you are obligated to them for what happened with me today?”

“I never imagined that you thought so poorly of me.”

“I wish it was like that: that it was just about thinking poorly of you.”

His fingers were shaking. Without looking at them, I knew that my fingers were shaking too.

“Would you like me to give you another example of thinking poorly?” I asked. “There’s the subject of the notebook. I am confident that I left it on the bedside table. So how did it end up in my bag?’’

“If I took it, then logically, I would put it back in the same place.”

“On the contrary. You know I looked all over for it on the bedside table, around it and under it. If it turned up in the same place, then it would be obvious. The smarter thing to do is to have it turn up somewhere else to convince me I had forgotten where I put it.”

“So I took your notebook and gave it to the Deuxième Bureau?”

“Maybe you only flipped through it. You were afraid I had contacts that could expose you to danger.”

“And what else?”

I laughed. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I want to hear this.”

“As you wish. Maybe we’ll begin from prison, which you left after one week. Or from 1968, when they appointed you to Beirut, while all your friends were either in prison or just coming out.”

“And how do you explain that?”

“Weren’t you one of those responsible for organizing the Socialist Union? You used to write reports about trends in public opinion; that is, the opinions of your colleagues in the newspaper?”

“You’re amusing me quite a bit with your detective-novel revelations. I always considered you my closest friend. And here you are, proving me wrong in my estimation of you.”

“Life is a series of letdowns. The strange thing about it is that I — in my heart — don’t blame you for anything.”