She was approached by Bashir Fakhoury, a local journalist she had met before. He was bright and challenging, and she was immediately wary. When she asked how he was he said: ‘I’m writing an in-depth piece about the UFDD.’ He was talking about Chad’s main rebel group, whose ambition was to overthrow the General. ‘What’s your take on them?’
No reason why she should not make use of him, she thought. ‘How are they financed, Bashir? Do you know?’
‘A lot comes from Sudan, our friendly neighbour to the east. What do you think of Sudan? Washington surely believes that Sudan has no right to interfere in Chad?’
‘It’s not my job to comment on local politics, Bashir. You know that.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, we’re off the record. As an American, you must be in favour of democracy.’
Nothing was ever truly off the record, Tamara knew. ‘I often think about America’s long, slow road to democracy,’ she said. ‘We had to fight a war to free ourselves from the king, then another war to abolish slavery, and then it took a hundred years of feminism to establish that women are not second-class citizens.’
This was not the kind of thing he was after. ‘Are you saying that Chadian democrats should be patient?’
‘I’m not saying anything of the kind, Bashir. We’re just chatting at a party.’ She nodded in the direction of a blond young American man conversing with a group in confident French. ‘Speak to Drew Sandberg, he’s the press officer.’
‘I’ve talked to Drew. He doesn’t know much. I want the CIA’s opinion.’
‘What’s the CIA?’ said Tamara.
Bashir laughed ruefully, and Tamara turned away.
She immediately saw Tab. He was near the door, shaking hands with Nick. Tab was wearing a black suit tonight, with a gleaming white shirt and cufflinks. His tie was a dark-purple colour with a faint pattern. He looked good enough to eat.
Tamara was not the only one to think so. She noticed several other women surreptitiously staring at Tab. Keep away, ladies, he’s mine, she thought; but of course he was not hers.
He had given her comfort in distress. He had been charming and considerate and deeply sympathetic, but what did that tell her? Only that he was nice. During his trip to Mali he might have developed commitment panic; men did. He might give her the brush-off with some cliché – it was fun while it was fun, let’s leave it at that, I’m not looking for a relationship, or – worst of all – it’s not you, it’s me.
And thinking about that, she realized that she wanted desperately to have a relationship with him and she would be completely devastated if he felt otherwise.
Tamara turned around again, and Tab stood there. His handsome face startled her as he smiled; it was radiant with love and happiness. Her doubts and fears vanished. She suppressed an urge to throw her arms around his neck. ‘Good evening,’ she said formally.
‘What a great dress!’ He looked as if he might be about to kiss her, so she put out her hand, and he shook it instead.
He was still beaming foolishly.
‘How was Mali?’ she said.
‘I missed you.’
‘I’m glad. But stop smiling at me like that. I don’t want people to know that we’ve become . . . close. You’re an intelligence officer of another country. Dexter will kick up a fuss.’
‘I’m just very happy to see you.’
‘And I adore you, but fuck off now, before people begin to notice.’
‘Of course.’ He raised his voice a little. ‘I must congratulate Shirley on her birthday. Excuse me.’ He made a little bow and moved away.
As soon as he had gone Tamara realized she had just said I adore you. Oh, shit, she thought, that was too soon. And he didn’t say it back. He’ll be scared off.
She looked at the beautifully fitting back of his suit jacket and wondered whether she had ruined it all.
Karim came to speak to her, in a new pearl-grey suit with a lavender tie. ‘I’ve heard all about your adventure,’ he said. He was looking at her in a particular way, as if he had never really seen her before. Since the shoot-out at the bridge she had seen a similar expression in other people’s eyes. We thought we knew you, it said, but now we’re not sure.
Tamara said: ‘What have you heard?’
‘That when the US army couldn’t hit anybody, you were the one who shot a terrorist. Is that true?’
‘I had an easy target.’
‘What was your victim doing at the time?’