His yearning for his own freedom was only part of what drove him. He also longed to bring about the destruction of this evil place, to see the guards arrested and the weapons confiscated and the buildings flattened until the whole area went back to being barren desert.
Again and again he thought about just walking away, again and again he rejected the idea. He could navigate by the sun and stars, so he could head north and avoid the danger of going around in a circle, but he did not know where the nearest oasis was. Riding in Hakim’s bus had taught him that it was even difficult to see the road at times. He had no map, and probably there was no map in existence that showed the small oasis villages that saved the lives of people travelling on foot or by camel. All that, and he would be carrying a heavy container of water under the desert sun. The chances of survival were just too poor.
He studied the vehicles going in and out of the camp. Observation was not easy, for he worked in the pit twelve hours every day, and the guards would notice anything more than a glance at passing vehicles. But he could recognize the ones that called regularly. Tankers brought water and gasoline, refrigerated trucks supplied food to the kitchens, pickup trucks left with gold – always accompanied by two guards with rifles – and came back with sundry supplies: blankets, soap and gas for the kitchen fires.
In the late afternoon, he sometimes had the chance to watch the vehicles being searched as they left. The guards did not skimp, he noted. They looked inside empty tanks and underneath tarpaulins. They checked below seats. The looked beneath the vehicles in case someone was clinging to the underbody. A man they caught hiding in a refrigerated food truck was beaten so badly that he died the next day. They knew that one escapee might bring about the destruction of the entire camp – which was exactly what Abdul wanted to do.
As his escape vehicle Abdul picked the candy truck. An enterprising vendor called Yakub had a small business driving from oasis to oasis selling items the villagers could not make for themselves or buy anywhere within a hundred miles. He had the favourite Arab sweets, foot-shaped lollipops and soft chocolate in a tube like toothpaste. He offered comic books featuring Muslim superheroes: Man of Fate, Silver Scorpion, and Buraaq. There were Cleopatra cigarettes, Bic ballpoint pens, batteries and aspirins. His goods were kept in the back of his ancient pickup in locked steel boxes except when he was selling. He sold mainly to the guards, for most of the workers had little or no money. His prices were low and his profits must have been measured in pennies.
The candy truck was examined as carefully as all the rest when leaving, but Abdul had thought of a way to avoid the search.
Yakub always came on Saturday afternoon and left early on Sunday morning. Today was Sunday.
Abdul left the camp at first light, before breakfast was served, not speaking to Kiah. She would be shocked when she realized he had gone, but he could not risk warning her. He took nothing with him but a large plastic bottle of water. It would be an hour or so before the men began work in the pit, and soon after that someone would realize that he was missing.
He hoped Yakub did not decide to leave later than normal today.
Before he had gone more than a few yards he heard a voice say: ‘Hey, you! Come here.’
He noticed the slight lisp, and realized the speaker was Mohammed, who had no front teeth. He groaned inwardly and slouched back. ‘What?’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To take a shit.’
‘Why do you need a bottle of water?’
‘To wash my hands.’
Mohammed grunted and turned away.
Abdul headed towards the men’s latrine area, but as soon as he was out of sight of the camp he changed direction. He followed the road until he came to a junction, marked by a pile of stones but otherwise hardly visible. On close inspection it was possible to see one track heading straight on, back the way Hakim’s bus had come; it went all the way to the border and Chad. Abdul could discern a second track, to the left, heading north, across Libya. He knew from studying maps that it should lead to a paved highway that went all the way to Tripoli. There were few villages to the east, and Abdul was fairly sure Yakub would take the northbound track.
Abdul headed that way, looking for rising ground. Yakub’s pickup would be even slower going uphill. Abdul’s plan was to run after the truck while it was at its lowest speed and leap into the back. Then he would cover his head with his scarf and settle down for a long and uncomfortable ride.
If Jakub happened to look in his mirror at the wrong time, stop the truck and confront Abdul, then Abdul would offer him a choice: a hundred dollars to drive on to the next oasis, or death. But there was never much reason to look in the rear-view mirror while driving in the desert.
Abdul reached the first hill a couple of miles from the camp. Near the top of the rise he found a place where he could hide. The sun was still low in the east and he was able to find shade behind a rock. He drank some water and settled down to wait.
He did not know where Yakub might be going, so he could not plan exactly what he would do when he got there, but he considered possibilities while he waited. He would try to jump out of the truck as soon as the destination appeared in the distance, so that he could walk into the village as if he had no connection with Yakub. He would need to tell a story to explain himself. He could say he had been with a group that had been attacked by jihadis, and he was the only person to escape; or that he had been travelling alone on a camel that had died; or that he was a prospector who had been robbed of his motorcycle and his tools. His Lebanese accent would not be noticed: the desert dwellers spoke their own tribal languages, and those who had Arabic as a second language would not recognize different accents. He would then approach Yakub and beg a lift. He had never bought anything or even spoken to the man, so he was confident that he would not be recognized.
By midday today the jihadis would send out search parties, one to go east towards Chad and another to go north. He would have a good start on them, but to stay ahead he needed a car. He would buy one as soon as he got the chance. And then he would be vulnerable to punctures and other mechanical failures.
There was a lot that could go wrong.
He heard a vehicle and looked up, but it was a newish Toyota with a healthy-sounding engine, definitely not Yakub’s jalopy. Abdul sank back into the sand and pulled his grey-brown robes tighter around him. As the Toyota went by he saw two guards sitting in the open back, both holding rifles. They must be escorting gold, he reasoned.
He wondered speculatively where the gold went. There must be a middleman, he thought, perhaps in Tripoli; one who turned the gold into money in numbered bank accounts the ISGS could use to pay for weapons and cars and anything else they needed for their mad schemes to conquer the world. I’d like to find out the name and address of that guy, Abdul thought. I’d tell him about the place his money comes from. Then I’d tear his fucking head off.
*
As Kiah washed Naji, a task she performed automatically, she was having an argument in her head with the ghost of her mother, whom she called Umi.
‘Where’s that handsome foreigner gone?’ said Umi.
‘He’s not a foreigner, he’s Arabic,’ Kiah said with irritation.
‘What kind of Arab?’
‘Lebanese.’
‘Well, at least he’s a Christian.’
‘And I have no idea where he is.’
‘Perhaps he’s escaped and left you behind.’
‘You’re probably right, Umi.’
‘Are you in love with him?’
‘No. And he certainly isn’t in love with me.’
Umi put her hands on her hips in a characteristic combative gesture. In Kiah’s imagination Umi had been baking, and now she made floury fingerprints on her black dress, just as she used to before she became a ghost. In a challenging tone she said: ‘Then tell me, why is he so nice to you?’
‘He’s quite cold and unfriendly some of the time.’
‘Really? Is he being cold-hearted when he protects you from bullies and tells stories to your child?’
‘He’s kind. And strong.’