‘First thing in the morning!’
Abdul went out.
Hakim reminded him of the Mafia back in New Jersey: touchy, bullying and stupid. Just like an American gangster, Hakim would use bluster and the threat of violence in place of the brains he did not have. Some of Abdul’s dumbest school friends had drifted into that world. Abdul knew how to deal with the type. However, he must not appear too sure of himself. He was playing a part.
And while Hakim might be a fool, his guards looked serious.
Abdul returned to his car, opened the trunk and put in the cigarettes he had not sold. His work for the day was done. He would drive to another village or town, sell some more cigarettes to maintain his cover, and find a place to spend the night. There were no hotels, but he could usually find a family willing to take in a stranger at a price.
As he shut the lid he saw a face he knew. He had seen this woman before, in the village where he had met Tamara and Tab; in fact, Tamara had gone into her house. He remembered her mainly because she looked so striking, with an arched nose that enhanced her beauty. Now the sculpted planes of her face were touched with weariness. Her shapely feet in their plastic flip-flop shoes were dusty, and he guessed she must have walked here from her home village, a distance of about ten miles. He wondered what her errand was.
He looked away, not wishing to meet her gaze. It was a reflex: an undercover operator did not want to make friends. Anything more than a distant acquaintanceship would lead to dangerous questions: Where do you come from? Who are your family? What are you doing here in Chad? Such innocent enquiries forced the operator to tell lies, and lies could be found out. The only safe policy was to make no friends.
But she had recognized him. ‘Marhaba,’ she said. Hello. Evidently she was happy to see him.
He did not want to draw attention to himself by being rude, so he said formally: ‘Salaam alaikum,’ peace be with you.
She stopped to talk to him, and he noticed a faint aroma of cinnamon and turmeric. She gave him a wide, alluring smile that made his heart skip a beat. Her curved nose was noble. An American woman would be embarrassed by such a nose, and would have it altered surgically, if she had the money, he thought; but on this woman it looked distinguished.
She said: ‘You’re the vendor of cigarettes. You came to my village. My name is Kiah.’
He resisted the impulse to stare. ‘I’m just leaving,’ he said coldly, and he moved to the car door.
She was not so readily discouraged. ‘Do you know a man named Hakim?’
He stopped with his hand on the door handle and looked back at her. The tiredness was only superficial, he saw. There seemed to be iron purpose in the dark eyes that looked at him from under the shade of her headscarf. ‘Why do you want him?’
‘I’ve been told he can help people get to Europe.’
Why was a young woman making this enquiry? Did she even have the money? Abdul adopted the condescending tone of a man advising a foolish woman. ‘You should leave that to your husband.’
‘My husband is dead. So is my father. And my brothers are in Sudan.’
That explained it. She was a widow alone. She had a child, he recalled. In normal times she might have married again, especially as she looked so lovely, but on the shrinking shores of Lake Chad no man wanted to take on the burden of a woman with another man’s child.
He admired her courage but, unfortunately, she might be even worse off in the hands of Hakim. She was too vulnerable. Hakim could take all her money and then cheat her somehow. Abdul’s heart went out to her.
But this was none of his business. Don’t be a fool, he told himself. He could not befriend and help an unfortunate widow, even if she was young and beautiful – especially if she was young and beautiful. So Abdul simply pointed to the garage and said: ‘In there.’ He turned his back on the widow and opened his car door.
‘Thank you, and may I ask you another question?’ she said. She was hard to shake off. Without waiting for consent she went on: ‘Do you know how much he charges?’
Abdul did not want to answer, did not want to get involved, but he could not be indifferent to her plight. He sighed and yielded to the impulse to help her just so far as to give her a little useful information. He turned back to her and said: ‘Two thousand American dollars.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, but he got the impression he had merely confirmed something she already knew. She did not look dismayed by the amount, he saw with surprise. So she did have the money.
He added: ‘Half on departure and half in Libya.’
‘Oh.’ She looked thoughtful: she had not known about the instalments.
‘He says that includes food and water and overnight accommodation, but not luxuries. That’s all I know.’
She said: ‘I’m grateful for your kindness.’ She gave that smile again, only this time there was a hint of triumph in the curve of her lips. He realized that despite his efforts she had controlled the entire conversation. Furthermore, she had smoothly extracted the information she needed. She got the better of me, he thought ruefully as she turned away. Well, well.
He got in the car and shut the door.
He started the engine, then watched her walk past the tables under the palm trees, across the filling station, and up to the repair shop.
He wondered whether she would board the bus ten days from today.
He put the car in gear and pulled away.
*
The cigarette seller had clearly not wanted to engage with Kiah, for some reason, and he had acted cold and indifferent, but underneath that she suspected he had a good heart, and in the end he had answered her questions. He had told her where to find Hakim, he had confirmed the price, and he had told her the money was payable in two instalments. She felt more confident now, not being completely ignorant.
She was puzzled by the man. Back at the village he had seemed a typical street vendor, ready to say anything, flatter and flirt and tell lies, just to separate people from their money. But today there had been none of that bonhomie. Obviously it was an act.
She walked to the garage behind the gas station. Three cars were parked outside, presumably being worked on, though one of them seemed beyond repair. There was a pyramid of old bald tyres. A side door of the building stood open. Kiah looked in and saw a small bus with no glass in its windows.
Was this the vehicle that would take people across the desert? Kiah was seized by fear. The journey was long, and people could die. A puncture could be fatal. I must be mad even to think of this, she told herself.
A plump young man in grubby Western clothes slouched into view. She noticed his grigri necklace, made of beads and stones, some of them probably engraved with religious or magical words. It was supposed to protect him from evil and bring suffering to his enemies.
He looked her up and down with a greedy expression. ‘What can I do for this angelic vision?’ he said with a grin.
She knew immediately that she would have to be careful how she dealt with him. Clearly he thought he was irresistible to women, despite his unprepossessing appearance. She spoke politely, hiding the contempt she felt. ‘I’m looking for a gentleman called Hakim. Would that be you, sir?’
‘I am Hakim, yes,’ he said proudly. ‘And all this is mine – the filling station, the repair shop and the bus.’
She pointed at the vehicle. ‘May I ask if this is your desert transport?’
‘It’s a fine vehicle, just serviced and in perfect working order.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Why do you ask about the desert?’
‘I’m a widow with no way of making a living and I want to go to Europe.’
Hakim became expansive. ‘I will look after you, my dear.’ He put an arm around her shoulders. An unpleasant smell arose from his armpit. ‘You can trust me.’
She moved away, dislodging his arm. ‘My cousin Yusuf will be with me.’
‘Excellent,’ he said, though he looked disappointed.
‘How much?’