Page 159 of Never
After a minute he stood up and spoke to the watching workers. ‘Pick him up,’ he said. ‘Take him outside. Bury him.’
CHAPTER 23
Early in the morning Tamara got a message on her phone:
The jeans cost 15 American.
That meant she was to meet Haroun, the disaffected jihadi, today at 1500 hours, 3 p.m. They had previously arranged the place, the National Museum, by the famous seven-million-year-old skull.
She felt an uptick of tension. This could be important. They had met only once before, but on that occasion he had given her valuable information about the notorious al-Farabi. What news did he have today?
It was even possible he might know something about Abdul. If so, it was likely to be bad news: Abdul might have been unmasked, somehow, and taken prisoner, perhaps killed.
Today was a training day for the N’Djamena station of the CIA. The subject was IT security awareness. However, Tamara felt sure she would be able to slip away early for a rendezvous with an informant.
She watched CNN online while she ate a breakfast of yoghurt and melon in her apartment. She was glad that President Green was making a fuss about Chinese-made weapons in the hands of terrorists. Tamara had had a Norinco rifle pointed at her by a terrorist on the N’Gueli Bridge, and she had no sympathy with Chinese excuses. Besides, the Chinese never did anything casually. They had a plan for North Africa and, whatever it was, it would not be good for America.
Today’s big news was that extreme Japanese nationalists were calling for a pre-emptive attack on North Korean bases by the Japan Aerospace Self-Defence Force, which had more than three hundred combat aircraft. Tamara did not think the Japanese would risk a war with China – but anything was possible, now that the equilibrium had been disturbed.
Tab’s parents had gone home, which was a relief. Tamara felt she had broken through Anne’s shell, but it had been a strain. If Tamara moved to Paris and lived with Tab, she would have to work hard to get on with his mother. But she could do that.
Walking across the embassy compound in the mild morning air she ran into Susan Marcus. Susan was in combat dress with boots, instead of the service uniform normally worn in an office. Perhaps there was a reason, or perhaps she just liked it.
Tamara said: ‘Did you find your drone?’
‘No. Have you picked up any whispers?’
‘I told you I suspected the General had it – but I haven’t been able to confirm that.’
‘Nor have I.’
Tamara sighed. ‘I’m afraid Dexter doesn’t take the problem too seriously. According to him, ordnance is always going missing in the military.’
‘There’s some truth in what he says, but that doesn’t make it all right.’
‘However, he’s my boss.’
‘Thanks, anyway.’
They headed off in different directions.
The CIA had borrowed a conference room for the training session. CIA officers were more hip than regular embassy staff, or thought they were, and some of the younger ones had deliberately dressed down today, wearing band T-shirts and distressed denim rather than the more usual hot-weather outfits, chinos and short-sleeved dress shirts. Leila Morcos’s T-shirt said: ‘It’s not personal, I’m a bitch to everyone.’
In the corridor Tamara met Dexter and his boss, Phil Doyle, who was based in Cairo but had responsibility for all of North Africa. They were both in suits. Doyle said to Tamara: ‘Any word from Abdul?’
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘He may be stuck at some oasis in a broken-down bus. Or he could be driving through the outskirts of Tripoli right now, trying to get a phone signal.’
‘Let’s hope so.’
‘I’m looking forward to this course today,’ Tamara lied. Turning to Dexter she said: ‘But I’ll have to leave early.’
‘No, you won’t,’ he said. ‘This is compulsory.’
‘I have a rendezvous with an informant at three o’clock this afternoon. I’ll be here for most of the day.’
‘Change the rendezvous.’
Tamara suppressed her feeling of frustration. ‘It may be important,’ she said, trying not to sound exasperated.
