Abdul got up and stepped outside to see better. Kiah stayed inside with Naji.
A cop took hold of Hakim’s grigri necklace and yanked it hard. The chain broke and the stones fell to the quay. Hakim let out a cry of grief: his magical protection was gone.
The cops laughed as the ornaments bounced on the concrete.
While they were distracted, Hakim dived off the quay into the water and began swimming strongly.
Abdul was surprised that Hakim could swim so well. Not many desert folk could swim at all. Hakim may have learned in Lake Chad.
All the same, his escape bid was hopeless. Where could he go? If he came out of the water onto the quay or the beach he would just be seized again. If he swam out of the harbour he would probably drown in the open sea.
In any case, he was not going to get that far. The two cops in the dinghy went after him. One steered the inflatable boat while the other took out a telescopic steel baton and extended it to its full length. They caught up with Hakim easily, and the cop with the baton lifted it high then hit Hakim’s head with full force.
Hakim’s head went underwater and he changed direction, still swimming fast, but the dinghy followed and the cop hit him again, missing his head but striking his elbow. Blood appeared in the sea water.
Hakim kept struggling, swimming with one arm and trying to keep his head under the surface, but the cop held the baton ready, and as soon as Hakim came up for air the cop hit him again. The officers on the quay cheered and clapped.
Abdul was reminded of a child’s game called Whack-a-Mole.
The cop hit Hakim’s head again, to further cheers.
At last Hakim went limp, and they pulled him out of the water, threw him into the well of the dinghy, and handcuffed him. His left arm looked broken and his head was bleeding.
Abdul went back inside. A brutal man had suffered a brutal beating. It was rough justice.
The prisoners were driven away and crime-scene tape was fixed all around the yacht. More polythene sacks were brought up from below decks – depriving ISGS of millions of dollars, Abdul thought with profound satisfaction. The heavily armed police drifted away and were replaced by detectives and what looked like forensic specialists.
‘We can go,’ Abdul said to Kiah.
They paid for their hot chocolate and returned to the car. As they were driving away Kiah said: ‘You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were there drugs in those plastic bags?’
‘Yes. Cocaine.’
‘Is that why you were on the bus with us, all the way from Lake Chad? Because of that cocaine?’
‘It’s more complicated than that.’
‘Are you going to explain it to me?’
‘Yes. I can now, because it’s over. There’s a lot to tell. Some of it is still secret, but I can share most of it with you. Maybe tonight, after Naji’s gone to sleep. We’ll have plenty of time. And I can answer all your questions.’
‘Good.’
It was getting dark. They drove back to Nice and parked outside their building. Abdul loved the place. There was a bakery on the ground floor, and the smell of new bread and pastries reminded him of his childhood home in Beirut.
Abdul carried Naji up to the apartment. It was small but cosy, with two bedrooms and a living room as well as a kitchen and a bathroom. Kiah had never lived in a place with more than one room, and she thought she was in paradise.
Naji was sleepy, perhaps because of the fresh sea air. Abdul fed him scrambled eggs followed by a banana. Kiah bathed him, put on a clean nappy and his pyjamas. Abdul read him a story about a koala bear called Joey, but Naji was asleep before he got to the end.
Kiah began preparing their supper, sprinkling sesame seeds and sumac on cubes of lamb. They nearly always ate traditional Arab food. They could buy all the ingredients in Nice, usually from Lebanese or Algerian shopkeepers. Abdul sat admiring her grace as she moved about the kitchen.
‘Don’t you want to watch the news?’ she said.
‘No,’ said Abdul contentedly. ‘I don’t want to watch the news.’
*
Qincheng was for political prisoners, who got better treatment than common criminals. The losers in a political conflict were often jailed on trumped-up charges; it was an occupational hazard for members of the Chinese elite. Kai’s cell was only five yards by four but it had a desk and a TV set and a shower.
He was allowed to wear his own clothes, but they had taken away his phone. He felt naked without it. He could not remember the last time he had been without a phone for longer than it took to shower.