Hellblazer 1 - War Lord Read Online Free

half-shadowed courtyard, and back to Sabbah.
    Zainab’s Jaddah, herself in a widow’s traditional black hajib, was looking at Ali’s clothing, frowning, her black eyes hooded with worry.
    Sabbah was a man in his midthirties now, and today he wore a secondhand, ill-fitting gray suit. Only his beard was traditional. “Should you not dress more traditionally?” Grandmother asked. “Perhaps a dishdasha? Someone might take you for an American, or British. You could be shot.”
    “No, Jaddah! Please!” He got into the driver’s seat of the dusty old blue Ford sedan, gesturing to Zainab and her brother. Zainab got in front, Ali behind Sabbah. Only Ali’s’ place had a seat belt. Ali caught his tongue between his front teeth as he worked on the seat belt.
    “Maybe wait till the children’s father is home,” Grandmother said. “He comes home soon for lunch.”
    “No time, the zoo is only open a few hours a day now! It’s the boy’s birthday present from his uncle! I must go!”
    She sighed and made a hand-washing gesture, and a flutter of dismissal. “Ma-assalama!”
    “Fi aman Allah!” Ali piped up dutifully, in reply, waving.
    Her sad eyes softened as she looked at Ali. Sabbah started the borrowed car—two tries and it was rumbling—and they drove slowly out of the courtyard.
    “Eid Milad Sa-eed, Ali!” Grandmother called after them.
    “Yes, happy birthday, Ali . . .” Sabbah said, parroting her distractedly, as he nudged the car between impatient pedestrians.
    “Wait!” Grandmother called, as they swung, bouncing on creaking shocks, into the street. “Wait! A moment!”
    “She’s calling to us!” Zainab said, looking at Sabbah. She hadn’t missed the note of urgency in Grandmother’s voice.
    “Too late, too late,” Sabbah muttered, squinting into the street. “Too much traffic, can’t go back, we’ll be late.”
    Zainab looked back at her grandmother, a dark figure in the shadows of the courtyard’s driveway. Soon she was hidden behind a bus, then a U.S. Marines Humvee.
    They drove through what had been Saddam City, toward the Tigris and the zoo, between high rises, some of them pocked with mortar damage, past hotels barricaded with concrete vehicle barriers and barbed wire; the terrain around the tall, sunwashed, balcony-stacked buildings was patrolled by armed men, sometimes in paramilitary outfits, sometimes in plainclothes, sometimes in Iraqi army uniforms, all of them looking both tense and bored.
    She turned to Sabbah to ask a question, but he was chewing his lip, both hands clamped to the steering wheel, eyes darting about the traffic, and somehow she felt he would start shouting if she spoke.
    “Are there tigers at the zoo?” Ali asked suddenly.
    Zainab considered. “I have heard that most of the animals are gone, stolen or sold or died. But now there are about eighty, or ninety animals—only one tiger alive, I think.”
    Ali leaned forward to peer up the street, as if to help the car on its way. “Will we get there soon, Uncle?”
    “Very soon,” Sabbah muttered.
    A jingling song, a song she had never heard before, emanated from Uncle Sabbah’s coat. He fumbled in the pocket, pulled out a cellphone and flipped it open, driving with his other hand. He murmured a greeting in Arabic. She couldn’t hear much of what he was saying. She saw him glance at her and say, “Yes, I have them with me.” After a moment he glanced at his watch and added. “I am watching the time. Yes. Yes . . . I will be there.” He broke the connection and glanced at her again. There was sweat running down his temples, though a breeze came in the open window. “Why do you stare?” he asked.
    “You are too hot. Doesn’t the air-conditioning work?” As she spoke, Zainab reached for the air-conditioning knob.
    “No!” He slapped her hand down. The slap stung, and Zainab felt her eyes moisten.
    “Why did you hit me?” she demanded, rubbing her wrist.
    “I am sorry. But this is not my car,