Then Mohammed walked into the shelter followed by four guards, two armed with rifles.
Kiah heard Abdul give a grunt of alarm.
Mohammed looked around and his gaze rested on Kiah. He pointed at her without speaking. She stood up and pressed her back against the wall. Naji sensed the fear and began to cry.
Abdul did not leap to Kiah’s defence. He could not have prevailed against five men: they would have shot him without a second thought, Kiah knew. He remained sitting on the ground, watching what was happening with an expressionless face.
Two guards grabbed Kiah, each taking an arm. Their hands hurt her, and she cried out. But the humiliation was worse than the pain.
Esma screamed: ‘Leave her alone!’
They ignored her.
Everyone backed away hastily, not wanting to get involved.
When the guards had Kiah firmly in their grip, Mohammed approached her. He grabbed the neckline of her dress and pulled hard. She cried out and her head jerked forward, then the fabric ripped, revealing the slender chain around her neck and the little silver cross that hung from it.
‘An infidel,’ said Mohammed.
He looked around until he saw Abdul. ‘We will take her to the makhur,’ he said, watching Abdul for a reaction.
Everyone looked at Abdul. They knew he had grown close to Kiah, and they had seen how he had stood up to Hakim and his armed men on the bus. Eventually Wahed, the father of Esma, muttered: ‘What are you going to do?’
Abdul said: ‘Nothing.’
Mohammed seemed to want a response from Abdul. ‘What do you think of that?’ he jeered.
‘A woman is only a woman,’ said Abdul, and he looked away.
After a moment Mohammed gave up. He gestured at the guards and they dragged Kiah out of the shelter. She heard Naji begin to scream.
Kiah did not struggle. They would only hold her harder. She knew she could not escape. They took her to the guards’ compound. The sentry at the gate opened it for them and locked it after them. They took her to the light-blue house they called the makhur, the brothel.
Kiah began to cry.
The door was barred on the outside. They opened it, marched her in, released her, and left.
Kiah wiped her eyes and looked around.
There were six beds in the room, each with curtains that could be drawn for privacy. Three women were there, all dressed in humiliatingly skimpy clothing, Western-style lingerie. They were young and attractive but they looked miserable. The room was lit by candles, but was not in the least romantic.
Kiah said: ‘What will happen to me?’
One of the women said: ‘What do you think? You’re going to be fucked. That’s what this place is for. Don’t worry, it won’t kill you.’
Kiah thought about sex with Salim. At first he had been a bit clumsy and rough, but in a way she did not mind that, for it told her that he had not been with other women, at least not often. And he had been thoughtful and caring: on their honeymoon night he had asked her twice whether it was hurting her. Both times she had said no, although that was not really true. And she had soon learned the joy of giving and taking this pleasure with someone who loved her as she loved him.
And now she had to do it with a stranger who had cruel eyes.
The woman who had spoken was reprimanded by another, who said: ‘Don’t be horrible, Nyla. You were upset when they dragged you in here. You cried for days.’ She turned to Kiah. ‘I’m Sabah. What’s your name, dear?’
‘Kiah.’ She began to sob. She had been separated from her child, her hero had failed to protect her, and now she was going to be raped. She was in despair.
Sabah said: ‘Come and sit by me, and we’ll tell you what you need to know.’
‘All I want to know is how to get out of here.’
There was a moment of silence, then Nyla, the woman who had spoken first, the mean one, said: ‘There’s only one way I know. You leave when you’re dead.’
CHAPTER 27
Abdul’s mind was in a ferment. He had to rescue Kiah and flee from the camp, and he had to do both immediately, but how?
He divided the problem into stages.
First, he had to free Kiah from the makhur.
Second, he had to steal a car.
Third, he had to prevent the jihadis following him and catching him.
Considered like that, the challenge seemed three ways impossible.
He racked his brains. The others went to the cookhouse and got plates of semolina and stewed mutton. Abdul ate nothing and spoke to no one. He lay still, making plans.
The three adjacent compounds that formed one half of the camp were each fenced with stout steel-framed panels of galvanized wire mesh, standard for security barriers. The pit fence also had rolled barbed wire on top of the fencing panels, to discourage both slaves and jihadis who might try to steal gold. But Abdul did not need to get to the pit: Kiah was in the guards’ compound and the cars were in the vehicle park.