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  ‘Can you help me?’ the man in the suit called.

  Abu picked his way over and together they eased the man in the thoub to the floor, resting his back against the central parapet.

  ‘What’s your name?’ the man in the suit asked, pulling his arm free.

  ‘I’m Abu,’ the boy said. ‘Abu Al-Rashid.’

  ‘My name is Mohammed bin Faizook. This man is Saeed Khalid. I’m not a doctor but I think he’s badly hurt. The third man in my party is dead.’ He nodded towards the café where only a few minutes earlier they had been sitting, discussing business.

  Mohammed straightened, pulled off his jacket and ripped the remaining sleeve away. Then he stepped over to the pond beyond the parapet, shoved the cloth into the water, rung it out and crouched down beside Saeed. He lifted the injured man’s head and pressed the cold wet cloth against his face. It did the trick and brought him round.

  Opening his eyes, Saeed tried to focus. It seemed to take him a few seconds before he shifted back to reality and the memory of the disaster hit him. ‘What? What happened?’ He turned to Mohammed, then noticed Abu.

  ‘I don’t know what has happened,’ Mohammed replied calmly. He straightened and walked around to Saeed’s right side to inspect the wound.

  Saeed pulled his arm away as Mohammed touched him. ‘Ya Allah!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘You are injured, my friend,’ Mohammed persisted. ‘Let me see.’

  Saeed gingerly moved his arm down and allowed the Bedouin to remove some of the torn fabric. A nasty gash was pumping blood.

  Mohammed rifled through the back pocket of his own trousers. ‘Abu,’ he said as he pulled out a penknife. ‘Rip up the jacket. We need a tourniquet.’

  Abu took the knife, unsheathed the blade and tore off a strip about half a metre in length. Mohammed then wrapped it around Saeed’s upper arm, pulling it tight, making the man scream. He then took the cloth he had used on Saeed’s face and returned to the pond.

  ‘This is going to hurt,’ Mohammed said as he settled back beside his companion. ‘But I have to clean the wound.’

  Saeed merely nodded and without warning, Mohammed ran the wet fabric along the wound. Halfway along, as Saeed was hissing and squirming in agony, Mohammed found a large piece of glass. Stopping, he inspected the wound, checking to see if it would be best to remove the shard. It looked like it had missed all the major blood vessels.

  He turned to Abu beside him. ‘When I nod, call “Saeed”, loudly. Okay?’

  The boy was confused for a second, then got it.

  Mohammed placed the soaked cloth between Saeed’s arm and his side and pressed down to open the cut. Saeed yelled in pain. Mohammed got a grip on the glass shard, looked at Abu and nodded.

  ‘Saeed!’ the boy yelled.

  The man looked up and Mohammed pulled on the glass, removing it in one swift movement. Saeed screamed and tried to yank his arm away but Mohammed was ready and had it in a tight grip. He pushed the wet cloth down onto the wound to staunch the bleeding and lifted the arm above Saeed’s head.

  ‘Worst is over, my friend,’ he said.

  Saeed glared at the Bedouin, then closed his eyes, the pain ripping through him. Without a word of thanks, he tried to pull himself to his feet, gripping Abu’s forearm, making the kid gasp.

  ‘I have to get out of here,’ Saeed said, staring around wildly at the wreckage. He seemed to be lost in a world of his own.

  ‘This exit is our best hope,’ Abu declared, rubbing his arm and looking sourly at the robed figure. ‘The other one, back there,’ and he nodded to the southeast exit, ‘is blocked.’

  ‘Okay,’ Saeed said, brushing his long curly hair from his grimy face with a filthy palm. ‘Lead the way, boy.’

  25

  Over the door it said ‘Emergency Stairs’. The sides of the light box had been smashed but the light inside was still working and the front panel remained in place. Saeed reached the door first and yanked on the handle. It swung inwards and they were in a broad stairwell. Mohammed went in last and let the door shut behind them.

  Inside, it was cool and the terrible medley of smells from outside was less pungent. For a fleeting moment, they could almost imagine everything was normal and that if they opened the door again they might step out into a spark- ling clean, sanitised shopping mall where early shoppers wandered around without a care in the world.

  Saeed started off down the first flight of stairs.

  ‘Wait,’ Abu said. ‘Let’s think about this.’

  ‘What’s there to think about, kid?’ Saeed snapped. ‘We’ve got to get down.’

  ‘But it’s 200 storeys down. And we don’t know what’s happened.’

  The man stopped for a second, clutched his arm and grimaced with pain. ‘You’re not injured,’ he hissed and flicked a glance at Mohammed. ‘Nor you. I need a doctor!’

  ‘But the boy is right, Saeed,’ Mohammed began. He and Abu had come down the steps to join the young Arab man.

  Saeed took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. Turning, he fixed Mohammed with an unpleasant sneer. ‘First, my friend,’ he began, ‘don’t call me Saeed. I’m Mr Khalid. As you know, my father is one of the richest men in the Emirates. In fact, he owns half of this building. Second, what option do we have? We have to go down. What could we possibly gain by going up?’ He paused and sighed. When Mohammed didn’t answer, Saeed turned on his heel. ‘I’m going down.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’ Mohammed asked Abu gently.

  The boy shrugged. ‘We can’t leave him. He’s going to kill himself.’

  Mohammed gave Abu a brief smile and gripped the boy’s shoulder. ‘I like you,’ he said and turned to follow the robed figure.

  They came to a door marked ‘198’ and kept going, around the next turn in the stairs and onto the next flight down to Floor 197. As they followed the curve of the stairwell, they were brought up short by a huge pile of rubble covering the door out to the shopping mall. Looking past the debris, it was clear the stairs down to the next level had simply fallen to pieces. Leaning over the railing, they could see down half a dozen floors and beyond that to hellish red and orange flames.

  ‘Ya Allah!’ Saeed exclaimed and fell to his knees, clutching the metal of the railing. ‘We’re doomed!’

  Abu and Mohammed stared into the abyss, speechless. Finally, Mohammed turned away and crouched beside Saeed Khalid. ‘We should go,’ he said.

  ‘Where, you idiot? Where?’

  ‘Up to 198. We might find another escape route from there.’

  The young Arab shoved Mohammed away.

  ‘Hey!’ Abu shouted and took a step over to the crouching figure. Saeed pulled himself upright.

  ‘Who do you think you are?’ the boy exclaimed. ‘We’ve tried to help you and all you do is insult us.’

  Saeed glared down at the boy, exhaled and raised his good arm to strike him. Mohammed moved with lightning reflexes and yanked Saeed’s arm around at the wrist, making him scream in agony.

  ‘How dare you!’ the Bedouin said, his voice filled with menace. ‘That is your final insult.’

  Saeed spat on the ground at Mohammed’s feet and the Bedouin pulled the man’s arm 2 centimetres higher, making him yelp again.

  ‘I will break your wrist like a twig,’ Mohammed said calmly. ‘I care nothing for your contempt. But this boy has helped you. You will treat him well.’

  ‘Okay! OKAY! Let me go!’

  Mohammed released him and Saeed straightened, lines of pain clear in his face.

  ‘Would it not be better if we worked together?’ the Bedouin said, looking directly into Saeed’s eyes.

  26

  They turned to climb back up just as a small group of survivors rounded the bend in the staircase above them. The party consisted of three men and two women. Each of them was injured in some way and filthy.

  ‘There’s no way down using these stairs,’ Mohammed announced in English. He wasn’t comfortable with the language but had be
en taught it by his late Uncle Bahir, who had once lived in America. The leader of the group, a woman in a ripped dress, approached.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she said, her voice weary.

  ‘I think whatever has happened, happened down there.’ Abu nodded towards the floor below. ‘The way onto 197 is blocked. Beyond that, it . . .’

  ‘It what?’

  ‘The stairs are completely destroyed. Looks like everything is destroyed,’ Mohammed said. ‘Which floor were you on?’

  ‘One-ninety-nine.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ It was one of the other survivors from the group, a man in a stained white linen suit.

  ‘These people say the way is blocked from the next floor down.’

  ‘We’ll have to see for ourselves,’ the man said and turned to the others. ‘Come on.’ He strode onto the stairs that Mohammed, Abu and Saeed had just ascended.

  ‘Good luck,’ the woman in the business suit said quietly as she eased past Mohammed.

  The door onto the 198th storey of the tower opened easily. Abu stepped through first, followed by Saeed and then Mohammed. Each floor of the eight levels of the shopping mall was set out in a similar pattern: trian- gular, with long lines of stores each side, an expanse of marble flooring and, in the centre, a raised area. Every pane of glass had been smashed in, the store contents blown out onto the open area. The marble floor was shattered; tiles, bits of ceiling, pipes and papers, furniture and electronic goods lay in chaotic piles. From where they stood they could see at least six dead bodies, legs and arms akimbo, some charred, each twisted form covered in a patina of white powder.

  A small fire burned in the central raised area where a cluster of tall plants stood. The flames were coming from an upended food cart. The stench of burned meat and spices hung in the air.

  Abu walked gingerly away from the emergency door, looking around warily. They could all hear an ominous grinding. Then, cutting over it came the sound of a woman yelling for help. Mohammed was first to respond and he picked his way carefully towards the noise coming from the southeast corner of the tower.

  The woman was leaning over a heavy metal beam. She was just about to call out again when she saw Mohammed, an expression of relief spreading over her face. Beside her was an older woman. Her face was a mass of small cuts and her cheeks were streaked with tears. Abu came up behind Mohammed and crouched beside the beam. They could see a pair of legs protruding from underneath. Mohammed came around the west side.

  A man lay on his back. He was conscious, a look of terror in his eyes.

  ‘It’s my husband, Frank,’ the older of the two women screamed, rushing over.

  ‘I think I’m okay, mate,’ Frank said, his voice heavily accented. ‘Just can’t get this bloody beam off.’

  ‘Can you move your feet, sir?’ Mohammed asked. Saeed stood a metre away, watching.

  Frank moved his toes and then swung his feet from side to side.

  ‘That is good . . . very good,’ Mohammed said and squatted down beside the man. ‘Your spine is uninjured.’

  Mohammed walked around to the far end of the steel beam. He and Abu crouched and tried to move it but it was far too heavy.

  ‘Abu,’ Mohammed called to the boy. ‘Look around over there. We need something to lever up this beam.’

  The boy stepped away over the rubble.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ the elder woman said.

  ‘We don’t have your husband free yet,’ Mohammed replied gravely. He glanced at Saeed and saw a faint sneer playing across his lips. He was about to walk over to him when Abu returned, trailing a long steel pole.

  ‘That is excellent, Abu,’ Mohammed said. Then he turned to the two women. ‘I’m sorry, what are your names?’

  The elder woman wiped her face with the back of her hand. ‘I’m Carmen,’ she said.

  ‘Jessica,’ the younger woman replied.

  ‘This is what we shall do,’ Mohammed said. ‘Carmen and Jessica, you must try to get your hands under Frank’s shoulders.’

  The two women stepped over the debris and took up positions either side of the trapped man.

  ‘Saeed,’ Mohammed called. ‘You must help Abu and me.’

  Saeed looked back at the Bedouin. ‘How? With this?’ He raised his injured arm a few inches.

  ‘You just need to bear down on the pole.’

  Saeed sighed and stayed put.

  ‘Abu? Help me get some purchase,’ Mohammed said turning to the boy.

  Between them they managed to slot the end of the pole into a gap between tangled lumps of concrete and twisted metal, forcing half a metre of steel under the beam.

  ‘Now ladies, on three I want you to pull on Frank’s shoulders. You understand?’

  They both nodded. Carmen stroked her husband’s hair with her free hand. ‘You’re going to be all right, darlin’,’ she said, withdrawing her hand and wiping the wet from her face again.

  ‘Sir, you must try to slide out as best you can,’ Mohammed added.

  Frank nodded.

  ‘Help us here, please, Saeed,’ the Bedouin said, turning again to his companion.

  The young Arab picked up the hem of his thoub with his good hand and found a path through the detritus. Abu gripped the pole nearest the obstruction. Saeed leaned onto it in the middle and Mohammed took the far end.

  ‘One . . . two . . . three,’ Mohammed called.

  Abu and the two men bore down on the steel pole. Mohammed put all his weight behind it, raising his feet off the ground. The steel beam began to shift. There was a snap as the metal freed itself from a tangle of debris. A slab of concrete rolled away, crashing a metre to the marble and shattering.

  ‘More!’ Carmen yelled as she and Jessica tugged hopelessly at Frank.

  ‘Saeed, Abu, give it everything you’ve got. Just a couple of seconds . . .’

  ‘I am doing that already, you fool!’ Saeed cried.

  ‘COME ON!’ Abu yelled, giving him a contemptuous look. ‘Everything . . . agh.’

  The beam rose another centimetre, groaning.

  ‘Allah!’ Saeed gasped.

  Jessica and Carmen pulled.

  ‘That’s it,’ Jessica shouted. ‘That’s it. Frank, push!’

  ‘COME ON, FRANK, DARLIN’!’ Carmen shrieked.

  And he was free, twisting 90 degrees to escape the beam and heaving himself along the ground. The two women stumbled and fell backwards as the force that had kept Frank pinned down was suddenly released. Carmen landed heavily and screamed as Jessica came down on top of her. The beam fell half a metre, tonnes of steel crushing the pile of concrete beneath it.

  Carmen was quick to recover. She scrambled over to her husband, dragging him further away from the beam. ‘Frank, baby . . .’ She threw herself on him.

  He hugged her and began to get to his feet, helping Carmen to hers. ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Cut and bruised but in one piece, darl’.’ He pulled her into his chest and she sobbed with relief.

  Jessica walked over to Abu and the two men, shaking her head, her face a picture of relief. Carmen and Frank followed her.

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ Frank said.

  ‘No need,’ Mohammed replied.

  Frank shook hands with them. ‘What’s your name, young fella?’ he said, crouching a little to look into Abu’s eyes.

  ‘Abu Al-Rashid.’

  ‘Well, Abu, you’re officially a hero.’

  The boy gave him a broad smile.

  Frank turned back to Saeed and Mohammed. ‘Now, either of you two happen to know a way outta here?’

  27

  ‘We tried the southwest emergency stairs,’ Mohammed explained, his face expressionless. ‘It’s hopeless.’

  ‘Why?’ Jessica asked.

  ‘The bomb went off down there. Don’t know where exactly.’

  ‘Oh hell!’ Frank exclaimed.

  ‘We came back up from 197. You can’t get onto that level. We’re hoping the other staircase over there will give u
s another route down.’ Mohammed nodded towards the southeast emergency exit.

  He led the way over and without hesitating turned the handle and leaned on the door. It opened onto a stairwell identical to the one they had been in a few minutes earlier. He stared inside. The lights on the levels above had gone but on this floor they were still working, casting an eerie dull haze. Mohammed looked up and saw immediately that they couldn’t go up even if they wanted to. The stairs to 200 were completely blocked with rubble.

  Abu was at his elbow and pushed his way into the stairwell. The others came in after him. The first thing that hit them was the stink of burning rubber. Two steps inside the stairwell and the stench was almost unbearable. Leaning over the railings they could all see down half a dozen floors, where flames lapped around piles of rubble and concrete, dull reddish lumps in the gloom.

  ‘The same,’ Mohammed said, deflated.

  The group turned together and streamed back out onto the main floor, gasping for fresher air. Carmen was coughing, her face contorted in pain.

  ‘My wife’s asthmatic,’ Frank explained.

  ‘Do you have a ventilator?’ Abu asked.

  ‘I did, son,’ Carmen said between gasps. ‘In my bag . . . which I guess is now under at least a foot of rubble.’

  ‘Okay, so what now?’ Saeed asked, staring at each of them in turn, arms folded across his chest.

  Frank helped Carmen find somewhere to sit on top of a pile of concrete and settled down next to her, an arm about her shoulder. Jessica was standing close by, gazing around, trying to find some clue to help them but all she could see was abject destruction, everything in pieces, everything shattered. She felt sick.

  ‘Hey, look at this!’ It was Abu who had wandered a few yards to study something on a metal pillar in what had been the middle of the walkway in front of the shops.

  ‘What is it?’ Frank asked and started to pull himself up.

  Mohammed walked over to where Abu was pointing at a diagram attached to the pillar.

  ‘It’s a layout of each of the mall floors,’ the boy said, pointing at a plan of the top storeys of the building. The sign was dented and discoloured in places but still readable.