Free The Genesis Plague (2010) by Michael Byrnes Page B

Suly?’
    ‘Maybe forty minutes,’ Hazo yelled.
    ‘We’ll wait here.’ A thumbs-up and the copilot trotted back to the Blackhawk.
    Hazo jumped into the Humvee with his two chaperones and provided them with the name of a restaurant located in the city centre, off Sulaymaniyah Circle. Hazo was not surprised that the marines knew its precise location. The restaurant was a hotspot for tourists and US military, thanks in part to its central location and fine Middle Eastern cuisine, but more so for its immaculate bathrooms and chic Arabian decor, which appealed to finicky Americans and Europeans. The marines got chummy when Hazo told them that the jovial proprietor and restaurant’s namesake, Karsaz, was his cousin.
    The Humvee zoomed through the busy streets, its massive tyres humming along the potholed pavement. The marines gave Hazo some moist towelettes so he could scrub his grungy face and hands, and blot the blood spatter off his sleeve. He did his best to pat the sand and dirt from his pants.
    Hazo was delivered to the restaurant’s doorstep in less than ten minutes. He hopped out and made his way into the foyer, where he was immediately overtaken by the heavenly redolence of cumin, mint, frankincense and rich tobacco. From behind a podium, a pretty hostess in a shiny taffeta dress glanced out the door to the idling Humvee then gave his attire a disapproving once-over. She offered a cautious greeting.
    Hazo told her he’d come to speak with his cousin. She perked up and rounded the podium. Threading her arm through his, she proceeded to take him through a pointed archway leading off the main dining room and into the sumptuous hookah lounge.
    Arabian-style arches set atop honey marble columns separated a dozen cosy seating areas adorned with Persian rugs, silk ceiling swags, and ornate Moroccan lamps set to a warm glow. Patrons lounged on plush floor cushions, puffing dreamily from hookah pipes. This was their safe zone, he thought - the womb where war and economic chaos had no place. Towards the rear of the lounge, they found Karsaz among a group of young Americans in business suits, talking in his animated, mayoral style.
    The hostess led him to the service bar at the room’s centre. ‘Just a moment. I will tell him you are here.’
    She walked over to Karsaz and waited patiently with hands folded behind her back until the rotund, moustached owner addressed her. She pointed in Hazo’s direction. When Karsaz made eye contact with Hazo, his face brightened. After telling the waitress to bring his guests a complimentary dessert, he hurried over to Hazo with hands spread wide.
    ‘ Choni !’ Karsaz greeted him with delight. He came up and wrapped his thick arms around Hazo, gave a big squeeze.
    ‘ Bash’m supas, ey to ?’ Hazo replied.
    ‘Things are good, thank God,’ he boasted. ‘My cousin, why do you wait so long to come and see me! Are we not family?’
    Hazo gave a boyish shrug.
    ‘You look like hell,’ Karsaz teased.
    ‘And you still need to lose weight,’ Hazo jabbed back.
    Karsaz burst out laughing. ‘This is true! So true! My wife, she tells me this every day.’ He hooked a heavy arm over Hazo’s shoulder and held him tight. He swept his hand over the lounge. ‘How do you like this, eh? Finally we finished the renovations.’
    ‘It’s beautiful,’ Hazo replied truthfully. ‘You are a blessed man.’
    ‘Yes. I’m very happy with this.’ He gave another affectionate squeeze with his arm. ‘Come, let us sit and talk.’
    Karsaz kept the arm around Hazo’s shoulder and towed him into the bustling dining room, stopping twice to introduce his cousin to some of the regulars. Finally, they settled into a booth set off in a quiet corner, and Karsaz asked the waitress to bring some coffee.
    Under the bright light, Karsaz contemplated Hazo’s languid appearance. ‘Really, Hazo … you’re not looking so good. Makes me think you’re still patrolling the mountains with those American