When it was dark he sneaked a look at the tracking device hidden in the sole of his boot. He checked it at least once a day to make sure the cocaine had not been removed from the bus and taken elsewhere. Tonight as usual the device reassured him.
When they all wrapped themselves in their blankets for sleep, Abdul sat up, eyes open, watching. He let his mind wander, and for hours he thought about his childhood in Beirut, his teenage years in New Jersey, his college career as a mixed-martial-arts fighter, and his failed romance with Annabelle. Most of all he thought about the death of Nura, his baby sister. In the end, he thought, she was the reason he was here, in the Sahara Desert, staying awake all night to avoid being murdered.
Men like this had killed Nura. The armies of the civilized world were trying to wipe these men out. And he was a crucial part of that effort. If he survived, he would enable the armies of the US and its allies to inflict a terrible defeat on the forces of evil.
In the small hours he saw one of the Toubou men go outside to piss. On coming back the man stood and looked contemplatively at the sleeping Kiah. Abdul stared until the tribesman felt his gaze and met his eye. They glared at one another for a long hostile moment. Abdul could imagine the calculations going on in that cruel brain. The man knew he would be able to overpower Kiah, and with luck she might not scream, for women were always blamed, and she would know that people were sure to think – or pretend to think – that she had lured him. But the man could see that Abdul was not going to look away. He could fight Abdul, but he was not sure of winning. He could fetch his rifle and shoot Abdul, but that would wake everyone.
In the end the man turned away and went back to his blanket.
Not long afterwards, Abdul saw shadowy movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look. There was no sound, and it took a moment to locate what he had glimpsed. There was no moon, but the starlight was bright, as usual in the desert. He saw a creature with silvery fur moving so smoothly that it seemed to glide, and he suffered a moment of superstitious dread. Then he realized that something like a dog had entered the compound, a dog with a light-coloured coat and black legs and tail. It crept silently past oblivious sleepers in their blankets. It was cautious but confident, as if it had been here before, a regular night visitor haunting this crude encampment in the wilderness. It had to be some kind of fox, and he saw that it had a pup at its heels. Mother and child, he thought, and he knew he was seeing something rare and special. When one of the bus passengers suddenly snored loudly, the vixen was alerted. Turning her head in the direction of the sound, she pricked up her ears, which were remarkably long and stood upright, almost like rabbit ears; and as Abdul stared, mesmerized, he realized this was a creature he had heard of but never seen: a bat-eared fox. She relaxed, understanding that the snorer was not going to wake. Then vixen and pup began to scavenge the ground, noiselessly swallowing scraps of food and licking dirty bowls. After three or four minutes they left as silently as they had arrived.
Soon afterwards, dawn broke.
The migrants got up wearily. Today began their fourth week on the road, and every night was more or less uncomfortable. They rolled up their blankets, drank water, and ate dry bread. There was no water for washing. None of them except Abdul had been raised in houses with hot showers, but just the same they were used to regular washing, and they all found it depressing to be so dirty.
However, Abdul’s spirits lifted as the bus drove away from the gas station. The Toubou must get paid a hefty fee for safe passage of the drugs and migrants, he thought; enough to motivate them to keep their word and hope for another shipment soon, instead of killing everyone and stealing everything.
As the sun rose, they left the mountains behind and entered a vast flat plain. After an hour Abdul realized that the sun had been consistently behind them. He stood up and went to the front of the bus. ‘Why are we heading west?’ he said to Hakim.
‘This is the way to Tripoli,’ said Hakim.
‘But Tripoli is due north of here.’
‘This is the way!’ Hakim repeated angrily.
‘Okay,’ said Abdul, and he returned to his seat.
Kiah said: ‘What was that about?’
‘Nothing,’ Abdul said.
It was not his mission to get to Tripoli, of course. He had to stay with the bus wherever it went. His mission was to identify the people running the smuggling, learn where they hid out, and pass that information to the Agency.
So he shut up, sat back, and waited to see what would happen next.
CHAPTER 19
The incident in the South China Sea could become a crisis, Chang Kai thought, if it was not handled carefully.