The camp was quiet. He looked all around. Nothing moved. Just a little longer, that’s all I need, he thought. He looked up. The moon was bright but it would set in an hour or so. He checked his watch again: one minute to go.
He looked at his victim. I didn’t expect one so fresh-faced, he thought. Young men were quite capable of brutality, of course, and this one had chosen a career of cruelty and violence; but still Abdul wished he did not have to end a life that had hardly begun.
Half a minute. Fifteen seconds. Ten, five, zero. Abdul released his hold and Tahaan fell lifeless to the ground.
Abdul wound the wire lightly around his waist with a loose knot held in place by the wooden handles. He picked up Tahaan’s rifle and slung it across his back. Then he knelt down, manhandled the corpse onto his shoulder, and stood up again.
He walked quickly to the far side of the makhur and dropped the body to the ground up against the wall of the building. There was no way to hide it, but at least it was unobtrusive.
He dropped the rifle beside the corpse. It was no use to him: one shot would wake every jihadi and that would be the end of the escape bid.
He found the door of the makhur. The bar was in place, confirming that there were no jihadis inside, just slaves. That was good. He wanted to avoid any kind of fracas that might make a noise. He had to take Kiah away without alerting the guards, for he had much to do before they could flee.
He listened for a moment. The voices he had heard earlier were silent now. He lifted the bar noiselessly, opened the door, and stepped inside.
There was a smell of unwashed people living close together. The room had no windows and was dimly lit by a single candle. It had six rumpled beds, four of which were occupied by women. They were awake and sitting up – such women kept late hours, he guessed. Four unhappy faces looked at him with apprehension. At first they would assume he was a guard who had come here for sex, he supposed. Then one of them said: ‘Abdul.’
He made out Kiah’s face in the faint light. He spoke to her in French, hoping the other women would not understand. ‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘Quickly, quickly.’ He wanted to get her out before the others realized what was going on, otherwise they might want to escape too.
She leaped from the bed and crossed the room in a trice. She was wearing her clothes, as everyone did in the cold Saharan nights.
One of the women stood up and said: ‘Who are you? What’s happening?’
Abdul looked outside, saw that no one was stirring, and ushered Kiah out. As he did so he heard one of the others say: ‘Take me, too!’ Another said: ‘We can all go!’
He quickly closed the door and barred it. He would have liked to let the women escape but they might have awakened the guards and ruined everything. The door rattled as they tried to open it, but they were too late. He heard cries of despair and hoped they were not loud enough to wake anyone.
In the guards’ compound all was still. He looked into the mining area. There was no torchlight, but he made out the glow of a cigarette. The guard there appeared to be sitting down. Abdul could not tell which way he was looking. This was as safe as it would ever be, he thought. He said to Kiah: ‘Follow me.’
He walked quickly to the chain-link fence and climbed it to the top. He paused there in case she needed help. It was difficult to cling on, for the holes in the wire mesh were only a couple of inches square, and he was not sure he could maintain his grip and pull her up too. He need not have worried. She was agile and strong, and she climbed the fence faster than he had and jumped to the ground on the other side. He followed her down.
He led her into the slave quarters, where they would be less likely to be spotted by guards, and they hurried between the huts and tents towards their shelter.
Abdul wanted to know what had happened to her in the makhur. This was no time for questions, and they needed to remain quiet, but he had to ask. He whispered: ‘Did the tall man visit you?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Thank God.’
He was not satisfied. ‘Did anyone . . .?’
‘No one came, except the towel woman. The other girls said that happens sometimes. When no guards visit they call it a Friday, like a day of no work.’
A weight lifted from Abdul’s mind.
A minute later they reached the shelter.
Abdul whispered: ‘Get blankets and water, and pick up Naji. Settle him to sleep in your arms. Then wait, but be ready to run.’
‘Yes,’ she said calmly. She showed no bewilderment or anxiety. She was cool and resolute. What a woman, he thought.