That evening, before going to meet Tab for dinner, Tamara phoned her ex-husband Jonathan. He was wise and loving, and he was still her best friend. It was time she told him about Tab.
San Francisco was nine hours behind N’Djamena, so he would probably be having breakfast. He picked up right away. ‘Tamara, sweetheart, how nice to hear your voice! Where are you? Still in Africa?’
‘Still in Chad. How about you? Is this a good time to talk?’
‘I have to go to work in a few minutes, but I have time for you, always. What’s happening? Are you in love?’
His intuition was good. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘Congratulations! Tell me all about him. Or her, but if I know you, it’s a boy.’
‘You know me.’ Tamara described Tab in glowing terms and recounted their trip to Marrakech.
‘You lucky girl,’ was Jonathan’s comment. ‘You’re crazy about him, I can tell.’
‘But it’s been less than a month. And you have to admit that in the past I’ve fallen for men who weren’t right for me.’
‘So have I, darling, so have I, but you have to keep trying.’
‘I’m not sure what to do next.’
‘I know what you should do, if he’s anything like your description,’ said Jonathan. ‘Lock him in the cellar and keep him there as a sex slave. I would.’
She laughed. ‘Seriously, though.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yes.’
‘All right, I’ll tell you, and I’m as serious as a heart attack.’
‘Go on.’
‘Marry him, you fool,’ said Jonathan.
*
An hour later Tab said: ‘How would you like to meet my father?’
‘I’d love to,’ Tamara said immediately.
They were in a quiet Arab restaurant called al-Quds, which meant Jerusalem. The place had become their favourite haunt. They were not worried about being spotted: it did not serve alcohol, so Europeans and Americans did not go there.
‘My father comes to Chad on business occasionally. The Total oil company is Chad’s biggest customer.’
‘When will he be here?’
‘In a couple of weeks.’
She glanced at a reflective window and touched her head. ‘I need to get my hair cut.’
Tab laughed. ‘Papa’s going to love you, don’t worry.’
She wondered whether his parents met all his girlfriends. Before she could stop herself she blurted out: ‘Did your father meet Léonie?’
Tab winced.
‘I’m sorry, what a rude question,’ Tamara said, embarrassed.
‘I don’t really mind. That’s you, you’re direct. No, Papa never met Léonie.’
Tamara moved on hastily. ‘What’s he like?’ She was genuinely curious. Tab’s father was Algerian French, the child of a shopkeeper, now a high-powered executive.
‘I adore him, and I think you will too,’ Tab said. ‘He’s smart and interesting and kind.’
‘Just like you.’
‘Not quite. But you’ll see.’
‘Will he stay in your apartment?’
‘Oh, no. A hotel is more convenient for him. He’ll be at the Lamy.’
‘I hope he likes me.’
‘How could he not? You make a stunning first impression: you’re absolutely gorgeous, plus you have the kind of simple chic style that French people prize.’ He made a gesture towards her outfit: she was wearing a mid-grey shift dress with a red belt, and she knew it looked great. ‘And then he’ll love you for speaking French. Of course he speaks English, but French people hate having to do so all the time.’
‘Politics?’
‘Middle of the road. Socially liberal, financially conservative. He would never vote for the French Parti Socialiste, but if he was American, he’d be a Democrat.’
Tamara understood: in Europe the political centre was somewhat to the left of its American equivalent.
There was nothing about Tab’s father to bother her. All the same, she said: ‘I’m nervous.’
‘Don’t worry. You’ll charm his socks off.’
‘How can you be sure?’
He gave a very French shrug. ‘It’s what you did to me.’
*
The General’s plan was revealed the next afternoon in a press release that went to all embassies as well as the media. He was going to make a major speech at a refugee camp.
There were a dozen such camps in the east of Chad. The refugees came across the border from Sudan. Some were opponents of the government there; others were simply collateral damage, families escaping from violence. These camps enraged the government of Sudan in Khartoum, which angrily accused Chad of sheltering insurgents, and used that as an excuse to send its army over the border in hot pursuit of fugitives.
The Chad government made mirror-image accusations. The Chinese guns supplied to the army of Sudan found their way into the hands of rebel Chadians such as the Union of Forces for Democracy and Development, as well as assorted other North African troublemakers.
With each side accusing the other, the upshot was fraught relations, and the constant danger of trouble at the border.
All the agents crowded into Dexter’s office to discuss the announcement. Dexter said: ‘The ambassador will want to know what this is about, and he’ll expect the CIA to have some ideas. Right now, all we know for sure is the surprise location.’
Leila Morcos spoke first. She was junior, but she never let that hold her back. ‘It’s ninety-nine per cent certain that the speech will be an attack on the government in Khartoum.’
Dexter said: ‘But why now? And why such a big production?’
Tamara said: ‘Yesterday I picked up a rumour that the speech is a response to the shooting at the N’Gueli Bridge.’
‘Your big drama,’ Dexter said patronizingly. ‘But that was nothing to do with Sudan.’
Tamara shrugged. The guns had come from Sudan, as everyone knew, but she did not bother to state the obvious.
A secretary came in and handed Dexter a sheet of paper. ‘Another message from the presidential palace,’ she said.
He read quickly, grunted with surprise, read again more slowly, then said: ‘The General is inviting favoured allies to send one person from each embassy to accompany the media to the refugee camp for his speech.’
Dexter’s deputy, Michael Olson, said: ‘Which camp?’
Dexter shook his head. ‘It doesn’t say.’
Olson was a rangy, laid-back guy with a sharp eye for detail. ‘They’re all about six hundred miles from here,’ he said. ‘How are people going to get there?’
‘It says transport arrangements will be made by the military. There will be a plane to Abéché.’
‘That’s the only airport in that part of the country,’ Olson said. ‘But it’s still a hundred miles from the border.’
Tamara recalled that Abéché was the hottest town in Chad, with temperatures in the thirties Celsius, nineties Fahrenheit, all the year round.
Dexter went on: ‘From Abéché the army will organize road transport. The trip will include a tour of refugee camps and will involve two nights’ stay at a hotel.’ Dexter frowned. ‘Two nights?’
Olson said: ‘That airport only operates in daylight. I guess that makes the logistics difficult.’
These must be the preparations that Karim had said were taking a long time, Tamara realized. A press trip into the desert was a big project to organize. On the other hand, did it really take nearly three weeks?
Dexter said: ‘The party leaves tomorrow.’
Leila said: ‘I suppose Nick will be our representative.’
‘No way.’ Dexter shook his head. ‘He’d have to go unprotected. The rule of one person per embassy will be strictly applied because of transport limitations, which means there’s not enough room for bodyguards.’
‘So who will go?’
‘I guess that has to be me – without my personal protection team.’ He did not look pleased. ‘Thanks, everyone,’ he said. ‘I’ll brief the ambassador.’
It was the end of the afternoon. Tamara went to her apartment, showered, and put on fresh clothes, then got a car to Tab’s apartment.
She had her own key now. She walked in, calling: ‘It’s me.’
‘I’m in the bedroom.’
He was in his underwear. He looked cute, and she giggled. ‘Why are you in your tighty-whities?’
‘I took off my suit and I haven’t got dressed yet.’
She saw that he was packing a small bag, and her heart turned cold. ‘Where . . .?’
‘I’m going to Abéché.’
It was what she had feared. She swallowed. ‘I wish you weren’t. It’s practically a war zone.’
‘Not really.’