‘A combat zone, then.’
‘We accepted the possibility of a certain amount of danger when we became intelligence officers, didn’t we?’
‘That was before I fell in love with you.’
He put his arms around her and kissed her, and she knew he had liked her saying that she had fallen in love with him. A minute later he broke the kiss and said: ‘I’ll take care, I promise.’
‘When do you leave?’
‘Tomorrow.’
She could not help thinking that this might be their last evening together, ever.
She told herself not to be melodramatic. He was going with the General. He would be protected by half the National Army.
He said: ‘What would you like for supper? Or shall we go out?’
Suddenly she wanted to hold him in her arms. ‘Let’s go to bed first,’ she said. ‘We can have supper later.’
‘I like your priorities,’ said Tab.
*
The General made the speech the next day. The late-afternoon television news showed him in full military regalia, surrounded by heavily armed troops, haranguing a crowd of reporters, watched from a distance by a dismal cluster of gaunt, dusty-haired refugees.
The speech was inflammatory.
The government press office circulated the text while the General was speaking. It was more provocative than anyone had anticipated, and Tamara wished she had been successful in getting an advance draft. Perhaps she would have if not for Dexter’s interference.
The General began by blaming Sudan for the killing of Corporal Ackerman. This had already been hinted at by the government media, but now for the first time the accusation was explicit.
He went on to say that the incident was part of a pattern of Sudanese sponsoring of terrorism throughout the Sahel. That, too, was no more than a bold statement of something that was believed by many, including the White House.
‘Look at this camp,’ he said, waving his arm to indicate what was all around him; and the camera obediently panned across a settlement that was bigger than Tamara had imagined – not just a few dozen tents but several hundred makeshift dwellings, with a cluster of scrawny trees indicating a pond or well at the centre. ‘This camp,’ the General said, ‘shelters refugees from the viciousness of the regime in Khartoum.’
Tamara wondered how far he would go. The White House did not want anything to destabilize Chad, because it was a useful ally in the war against ISGS. President Green would not like this speech.
‘We in Chad have a humanitarian duty to our neighbours,’ the General said, and Tamara felt he was reaching the main point. ‘We help those fleeing from tyranny and brutality. We must help them, and we do help them, and we will continue to help them. We will not be intimidated!’
Tamara sat back. That was the meat of it. He had issued an open invitation to opponents of the Sudan government to make their headquarters in the refugee camps in Chad. She muttered: ‘This is going to infuriate Khartoum.’
Leila Morcos heard her and said: ‘In spades.’
The speech came to an end. There had been no trouble, no violence. Tab was all right.
As Tamara was leaving, she passed Layan, who said: ‘About seven this evening?’
‘Perfect,’ said Tamara.
*
Layan’s home was north-east of the city centre in the neighbourhood called N’Djari. She lived in a litter-strewn street. On both sides, dwellings hid behind crumbling concrete walls and high metal gates, blank and rusty. Tamara was surprised at how poor the neighbourhood was. Layan always came to work in smart tailored clothes, wearing a little make-up expertly applied, her hair pinned up elegantly. She never looked as if she had come from a slum.
As in most N’Djamena houses, the high gate opened onto a courtyard. When Tamara walked in, Layan was cooking over a fire in the middle of the open space, watched by an elderly woman who resembled her. The adjacent building had cinder-block walls and a tin roof. Layan’s motor scooter was parked in a corner. To Tamara’s surprise there were four small children playing in the dust. Layan had never mentioned them, and there was no photograph on her office desk.
Layan welcomed Tamara, introduced her mother, and then, waving vaguely at the children, reeled off four names that Tamara immediately forgot. ‘All your children?’ Tamara said, and Layan nodded.
There was no sign of a man.
This was not at all how Tamara had imagined Layan’s home.
The mother gave Tamara a glass of a lemony drink that was refreshing. ‘Dinner’s almost ready,’ Layan said.
They sat cross-legged on a rug in the main room of the house, with the bowls of food in front of them. Layan had made a vegetable stew called daraba, flavoured with peanut paste; a dish of red beans in a spicy tomato sauce; and a bowl of lemon-tinged rice. The children sat apart from the grown-ups. Everything was delicious and Tamara ate heartily.
‘I know why Dexter gave Karim back to you,’ Layan said, speaking French so that her mother and the children would not understand.
‘Do you?’ Tamara was intrigued: she had not yet worked this out.
‘Dexter had to tell the ambassador, and Nick told me.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said that Karim didn’t like him and wouldn’t give him any information.’
Tamara smiled. So that was it. She was not surprised. She had worked hard at charming Karim. Dexter probably had not troubled to be nice, but had simply taken Karim’s cooperation for granted. ‘So Karim wouldn’t give Dexter the speech.’
‘Karim said there was no such speech.’
‘Well, well.’
‘Dexter told Nick that Karim would talk only to you because he had a thing for white girls.’
‘Dexter will say anything except that he made an error of judgement.’
‘That’s what I think.’
Layan’s mother brought coffee and took the children away, presumably to their bedroom.
Layan said: ‘I want to thank you for being friendly to me. It means a lot.’
‘We talk,’ Tamara said. ‘It’s not a big thing.’
‘My husband left me four years ago,’ Layan said. ‘He took all the money and the car. I had to leave the house because I couldn’t pay the rent. My youngest was a year old.’
‘That’s terrible.’
‘The worst of it was that I thought it was my fault, but I couldn’t understand what I’d done wrong. I had kept his house spotless and beautiful. I did everything he wanted in bed, and I gave him four beautiful children. How had I failed?’
‘You didn’t fail.’
‘I know that now. But when it happens . . . you cast about for reasons.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I moved in here with my mother. She was a poor widow living alone. She was pleased to have us, but she couldn’t afford to feed and clothe six people. So I had to get a job.’ She looked directly at Tamara and repeated with emphasis: ‘I had to get a job.’
‘I understand.’
‘It was difficult. I’m educated, I can read and write in English and French and Arabic. But Chadian employers don’t like to hire a divorcee. They think she must be a scarlet woman who will cause trouble. I was at my wits’ end. But my husband was American and he gave me one thing he couldn’t take back: my American citizenship. And so I got a job at the embassy. A good job, with American wages, enough even for me to send the children to school.’
‘That’s a heck of a story,’ said Tamara.
Layan smiled. ‘With a happy ending.’
*
Next day, there was a major sandstorm at Abéché. Such storms sometimes lasted only a few minutes, but this one went on longer. The airport was closed and the press tour of refugee camps was postponed.