Ahead was mainly desert.
Most of Chad’s population lived in the south, around Lake Chad and N’Djamena. At the far end of the journey, most of the towns of Libya were concentrated to the north, on the Mediterranean coast. In between these two population centres were a thousand miles of desert. There were a few made-up roads, including the Trans-Sahara Highway, but this bus with its contraband cargo and illegal migrants would not be taking the main routes. It would follow little-used tracks in the sand, doing twenty miles per hour, from one small oasis to the next, often seeing no other vehicle from dawn to dusk.
Kiah’s child was fascinated by Abdul. He stared until Abdul looked at him, when he quickly hid his face. Gradually, he decided that Abdul was harmless, and the looking and hiding became a game.
Abdul sighed. He could not be sulkily silent for a thousand miles. He gave in and said: ‘Hello, Naji.’
Kiah said: ‘You remembered his name!’ And she smiled.
Her smile reminded him of someone else.
*
He was working at Langley, the CIA headquarters on the outskirts of Washington DC. He was using his middle name, John, for he had found that when he called himself Abdul, he had to tell his life story to every white person he met.
He had been with the Agency for a year, and all he had done, apart from training, was to read Arabic newspapers and write summaries in English of any reports that touched on foreign policy, defence or espionage. At first he had written too much, but he had soon developed a sense of what his bosses wanted, and now he was getting bored.
He had met Annabelle Sorrentino at a party in a Washington apartment. She was tall, though not as tall as Abdul, and athletic: she worked out and ran marathons. She was also strikingly beautiful. She worked at the State Department, and they had talked about the Arab world, which interested them both. Abdul had quickly realized that she was very smart. But what he liked best was her smile.
As she was leaving he had asked for her phone number and she had given it to him.
They dated, then they slept together, and he discovered that she was wild in bed. Within a few weeks he knew that he wanted to marry her.
After six months of spending most nights together, either in his studio or her apartment, they decided to move together to a larger home. They found a beautiful place, but they could not afford the deposit. However, Annabelle said she would borrow from her parents. It turned out that her father was the millionaire owner of Sorrentino’s, a small chain of upmarket retail stores selling expensive wine, prestige brands of spirits and specialty olive oils.
Tony and Lena Sorrentino wanted to meet ‘John’.
They lived in a high apartment building on a gated site at Miami Beach. Annabelle and Abdul flew there on a Saturday and arrived in time for dinner. They were given separate rooms. Annabelle said: ‘We can sleep together – this is just for the benefit of the staff.’
Lena Sorrentino looked shocked when she saw Abdul, and he realized at that moment that Annabelle had not told her parents that he was dark skinned.
‘So, John,’ said Tony over the clams, ‘tell us about your background.’
‘I was born in Beirut—’
‘So, an immigrant.’
‘Yes – like the original Mr Sorrentino, I imagine. He must have come from Sorrento, I suppose.’
Tony forced a smile. He was undoubtedly thinking, Yeah, but we’re white. He said: ‘In this country we’re all immigrants, I guess. Why did your family leave Beirut?’
‘If you’d been born in Beirut, you’d want to leave, too.’
They laughed dutifully.
Tony said: ‘And how about religion?’
He meant: Are you a Muslim?
Abdul said: ‘My family are Catholics, which is not unusual in Lebanon.’
Lena said: ‘Is Beirut in Lebanon?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, who knew?’
Tony, who was more knowledgeable than his wife, said: ‘But I believe they have a different type of Catholicism over there.’
‘True. We’re called Maronite Catholics. We’re in full communion with the Roman Church, but we use Arabic in our services.’
‘A knowledge of Arabic must be useful in your work.’
‘It is. I’m also fluent in French, which is Lebanon’s second language. But tell me about the Sorrentino family. Did you start the business?’
‘My father had a liquor store in the Bronx,’ said Tony. ‘I saw him braving the bums and the junkies for a dollar profit on a bottle of beer, and I knew that wasn’t for me. So I opened my own store in Greenwich Village and sold expensive wine for a profit of twenty-five dollars on a bottle.’
Lena said: ‘His first ad showed a well-dressed guy with a glass in his hand saying: “My, this tastes like a hundred-dollar bottle of wine!” And his buddy says: “It does, doesn’t it? But I got it at Sorrentino’s and paid half that.” We ran that ad once a week for a year.’
Tony said: ‘Those were the days when you could get a good wine for a hundred bucks,’ and they all laughed.
Abdul said: ‘Does your father still have the original store?’
‘My father passed away,’ Tony said. ‘He was shot in his store by a guy who tried to rob him.’ Tony paused, then added: ‘An African American guy.’
‘I’m very sorry to hear that,’ Abdul said automatically, but he was thinking about Tony’s afterthought: An African American guy. You had to say that, didn’t you, Tony? he thought. It means: My father was murdered by a black man. As if no murders were committed by white people. As if Tony had never heard of the Mafia.
Annabelle took the pressure off by talking about her work, and for the rest of the evening Abdul mostly listened. That night Annabelle came to his room in her pyjamas, and they spent the night in each other’s arms, but they did not make love.
They never moved into an apartment together. Tony refused to lend them the deposit, but that was only the beginning of a family campaign to prevent her marrying Abdul. Her grandmother stopped speaking to her. Her brother threatened to have Abdul beaten up by some people he was ‘connected’ with – though he dropped the threat when he found out who Abdul worked for. Annabelle swore she would never give in to them, but the conflict poisoned their love. Instead of a romance they were living through a war. When she could stand it no longer she ended the relationship.
And Abdul told the Agency he was ready for undercover work overseas.
CHAPTER 11
Tao Ting came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body and another around her head. Chang Kai, sitting in bed, looked up from reading the newspapers on his tablet. He watched her open the doors of all three closets and stand gazing at her clothes. After a few moments, she dropped both towels onto the carpet.
He drank in the sight of his naked wife and thought how lucky he was. There was a reason why millions of television viewers were in love with her. She was absolutely perfect. Her body was slim and shapely, her skin was the creamy colour of ivory, and her hair was luxuriant and dark.
And she was fun.
Without turning around she said: ‘I know what you’re looking at.’
He chuckled. ‘I’m reading the People’s Daily online,’ he said, pretending to protest.
‘Liar.’
‘How do you know I’m lying?’
‘I can read your mind.’
‘That’s a miraculous power.’
‘I always know what men are thinking.’
‘But how?’
‘They’re always thinking the same thing.’
She put on her panties and bra, then stood a little longer contemplating the racks of clothes. Kai felt guilty staying in bed watching her. There was so much he had to do, for himself and for his country. But it was hard to tear his gaze away.