He heard someone speak to Kiah. The voice was that of a young woman, so it had to be Esma. Kiah shushed her and whispered a reply. The others slept on undisturbed.
Abdul looked around outside. There was no one in sight. He crossed to the vehicle park and peered through the fence. He saw no movement, no sign of the guard, who was undoubtedly in the hut. He climbed over the fence.
When he hit the ground, his left foot landed on something he had not seen, and it made a metallic noise. Kneeling down, he saw that it was an empty oil can. The sound had been the metal buckling under his weight.
He crouched low. He did not know whether the noise of the can could have been heard inside the hut. He waited. There was no sound from the hut, no sign of movement. He waited a minute then stood up.
He had to sneak up on the guard here as he had with Tahaan, and silence him before he could sound the alarm; but this time it would be more difficult. The man was inside the hut, so there was no way to creep up behind him.
The hut might even be locked from the inside. But he thought not. What would be the point?
He walked silently across the car park, zig-zagging between the vehicles. The one-room hut had a small window, so that the guard could watch the cars from the inside, but as Abdul drew nearer, he saw that there was no face in the window.
Approaching at an angle, he could see a rack of labelled keys on a wall: good organization, as he had come to expect. There was a table with a bottle of water and some thick glass tumblers, plus a full ashtray. Also on the table was the guard’s gun, a North Korean Type 68 assault rifle based on the famous Russian Kalashnikov.
Staying a couple of yards back, he moved sideways to widen his view. Right away he saw the guard, and his heart missed a beat. The man was sitting in an upholstered chair with his head thrown back and his mouth open. He was asleep. He had a bushy beard and a turban; Abdul recognized him. His name was Nasir.
Abdul took out the garotte, uncoiled it and made a loop. He calculated that he should be able to throw open the door, enter, and overpower Nasir before the man had time to pick up his weapon – unless Nasir was very quick.
Abdul was about to move to the door when Nasir woke up and looked straight at him.
With a shout of surprise Nasir rose from his chair.
Abdul suffered a moment of shocked paralysis, then he began to improvise. ‘Wake up, my brother!’ he called in Arabic, then he hurried to the door.
It was not locked.
He opened it, saying: ‘The Afghan wants a car.’ He stepped inside.
Nasir stood with his rifle in his hand, staring at Abdul, momentarily confused. ‘In the middle of the night?’ he said blearily. No one with any sense drove at night in the desert.
Abdul said: ‘Look lively, Nasir, you know how impatient he is. Does the Mercedes have a full tank?’
Nasir said: ‘Do I know you?’
That was when Abdul kicked him.
He jumped and then kicked out in mid-air, at the same time rolling over to land on all fours. His drop-kick had won him several contests in his fighting days. Nasir flinched back but he was too slow and, anyway, there was not enough room for him to dodge. Abdul’s heel smashed into Nasir’s nose and mouth.
Nasir gave a cry of shock and pain as he fell back, dropping his rifle. Abdul landed with both feet and both hands on the ground, spun around, and grabbed the gun.
He did not want to fire it. He was not sure how far away the shot might be heard, and he had to avoid waking the jihadis. As Nasir tried to get up, Abdul reversed the rifle and swung it, hitting the side of Nasir’s face, then he lifted it high and brought it down on top of the man’s head with all the strength he could muster. Nasir collapsed unconscious.
Abdul had let the garotte fall to the floor when he drop-kicked Nasir. Now he picked it up, looped it over the man’s head, and strangled him.
He listened as he waited for the silent Nasir to die. The man had cried out, but had anyone heard? It would not matter if a slave or two had been awakened: they would lie still and quiet in their beds, knowing that it was best to do nothing that brought them to the attention of the jihadis. The only other guard anywhere near was the man in the mining area, and Abdul reckoned he could not have heard. But perhaps a patrolling guard might have been within earshot, by bad luck. However, there was no sound of alarm, not yet.
Nasir did not regain consciousness.
Abdul kept up the pressure for five full minutes then removed the garotte and once more tied it around his waist.
Then he looked at the key rack.
The well-organized terrorists had labelled each key and each hook, so that it was easy to find the one required. Abdul first located the gate key. He took it off the hook, stepped over the corpse of Nasir, and left the hut.