They thanked her and went out. In the street Kiah said: ‘Why do we need photographs?’
‘So that we can get you travel papers.’
Kiah had never had papers. Identifying herself at borders had never been part of her plan. Abdul seemed to think she could enter France legally. As far as she knew that was impossible. Otherwise why would anyone pay smugglers?
Abdul said: ‘Tell me your date of birth. And Naji’s.’
She told him and he frowned, memorizing both dates, she guessed.
But there was a worry. She said: ‘Why didn’t you have your photo taken?’
‘I already have papers.’
That was not really her question. ‘When Naji and I go to France . . .’
‘What?’
‘Where will you go?’
The tense look came back. ‘I don’t know.’
This time she pushed him. She felt she had to have an answer. She could not stand the anxiety. ‘Will you come with us?’
But his reply brought her no relief. ‘Inshallah,’ he said. ‘If God wills it.’
*
They had lunch in a café. They ordered beghrir, Moroccan semolina pancakes, drizzled with a sauce of honey and melted butter. Naji loved them.
All through the simple meal, Abdul had a strange feeling that was a bit like the warmth of the sun, something akin to a glass of good wine, and vaguely reminiscent of Mozart. He wondered if it was happiness.
While they were drinking coffee, Kiah said: ‘Are you American?’
She was very smart. ‘What makes you say that?’ he asked.
‘You have a lot of money.’
He wanted to tell her the truth, but at this point it was too dangerous. He had to wait until the mission was over. He said: ‘I need to explain a lot of things to you. Can you wait a bit longer?’
‘Of course.’
He still did not know what the future held, but by the end of today, he hoped to be able to make some decisions.
They returned to the hotel and laid Naji down for his afternoon nap, then Kiah showed Abdul her new clothes. However, when she put on the white bra and panties they both realized they had to make love immediately.
Afterwards he dressed in his new suit. It was time to return to the real world. There was no CIA station in Tripoli, but the French DGSE had an office here, and he had an appointment.
‘I have to go to a meeting,’ he told Kiah.
She looked worried, but accepted his statement without comment.
He said: ‘You’ll be all right here?’
‘Of course.’
‘And if anything should happen, you can phone me.’ He had bought her a phone two days ago and loaded it with the maximum of prepaid time. She had not yet used it.
‘I’ll be fine, don’t worry.’
The hotel had few amenities, but the check-in desk had a small bowl of business cards giving the street address of the place in Arabic script, and Abdul picked up a few on his way out.
He took a taxi downtown. He felt great to be wearing American-style clothes again. It was not even a very good suit, but no one here would know that, and anyway it reminded him that he belonged to the most powerful country in the world.
The cab stopped outside a scruffy office building. On the wall by the entrance was a column of tarnished brass plates, each with a bell-push, a speaker and the engraved name of a business. He found the one marked Entremettier & Cie and pressed the bell. There was no sound from the speaker, but the door opened, and he stepped inside.
He wanted something from this meeting and he was not sure of getting it. He was good at having his own way in a confrontation in the street or the desert, but he was not an office warrior. He had a good chance of achieving what he hoped for, better than 50 per cent, he thought. But if they proved stubborn, there was not much he could do.
Signs guided him to a door on the third floor. He knocked and went in. Tamara and Tab were waiting.
It was a couple of months since he had seen them, and he felt quite moved. Somewhat to his surprise they seemed to feel the same. Tab had tears in his eyes as he shook Abdul’s hand, and Tamara threw her arms around him and hugged him. ‘You were so brave!’ she said.
Also in the room was a man in a tan suit who greeted Abdul formally in French, said his name was Jean-Pierre Malmain, and shook his hand. Abdul presumed he was France’s senior intelligence officer in Libya.
They sat around a table. Tab said: ‘For the record, Abdul, the capture of Hufra was the greatest achievement so far of the campaign against ISGS.’
Tamara added: ‘And as well as closing Hufra down we have acquired a huge file bulging with information on ISGS: names, addresses, rendezvous points, photographs. And we’ve discovered the shocking extent of North Korean support for African terrorism. It’s the biggest intelligence haul in the history of North African jihadism.’