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estate.“
    Prosser reached out and took Husayn’s small, almost delicate hand and was surprised at the strength of his grip.
    “Con works in the political section at the embassy,” Landers continued. “If you want to complain about guys like Zuhayri, he’s the one to talk to. He’s always interested in hearing what the thugs are up to in this town.”
    In fact, Maarouf Zuhayri was one such thug with whom Prosser was already quite familiar. He had heard some months before that the Jaffa-born businessman made a fortune buying used construction machinery and off-quality building materials in Western Europe and was reselling them at an exorbitant profit in Saudi Arabia and Iraq. By most accounts an ostentatious and vainglorious sort, Zuhayri could be found most nights entertaining friends and clients at West Beirut’s most expensive nightspots.
    According to his file at Headquarters, the Agency’s interest in him began in the late 1970s when he made the first of many large cash contributions to the Fatah organization, most of which were paid directly to individual Fatah officials for special projects. In practice this meant that whatever portion of the money the officials neglected to pocket for their personal use would be earmarked for special operations and terrorism.
    When war broke out between Iraq and Iran in 1980, bribes to Iraqi procurement officials landed Zuhayri one lucrative contract after another to procure machinery, foodstuffs, and chemicals for the Iraqi war effort against Iran. In early 1981, however, the merchant’s bubble burst. A shipment of spoiled meat triggered a series of commercial disputes with the Iraqi war ministry that ended in his being permanently blacklisted from trade with Iraq. At the same time, the Iraqis issued an arrest warrant against him on charges of fraud and bribery should he ever be so foolish as to set foot again in that country.
    Perhaps not entirely by coincidence, soon after the blacklisting Zuhayri’s business in Saudi Arabia also fell on hard times, and, one by one, his former business partners in Jordan and the Gulf began to avoid him. Although he was rumored to have millions stashed in numbered bank accounts in Beirut and Zurich, his deal-making days seemed to be over.
    Prosser considered the poetic justice of Zuhayri’s situation and flashed Husayn an amiable grin. “For the most part, we’re only interested in the political class of thugs,” he said. “But I’d be happy to hear more about Zuhayri. What has he been up to lately? Loan sharking? Drugs? White slavery?”
    Husayn shook his head. “His usual practice is promise to arrange loans from Saudi Arabian merchants to Lebanese companies, collect a finder’s fee in advance, and later refuse to refund his fee when the loans fail to materialize. More recently he has been borrowing money and ordering goods on credit and threatening his creditors with violence if they press him for repayment. My father lent money to Zuhayri two years ago. In March my father died and Zuhayri refused to repay the debt. I came back here two months ago to settle my father’s estate, but because of Zuhayri and several others like him, I have remained much longer than I expected.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that. How long have you been away?”
    “I went to Germany in 1976 to study engineering. This is the first time I have returned.”
    “You were wise to leave when you did.”
    Husayn did not reply, and for a moment his eyes took on a distant look.
    “Husayn didn’t exactly skip the civil war, Con,” Landers interjected. “He spent nearly a year in a combat unit with the Lebanese National Movement and was on hand for the siege of the Holiday Inn.”
    “Were you there when it was recaptured from the Phalange?”
    Husayn nodded, his hooded eyes briefly taking on a cold and distant aspect.
    “They say it was one of the hardest-fought battles of the war,” Prosser continued.
    “I cannot judge. I can only say that for me it was