She found Dexter at his desk drinking coffee. Today he was wearing a blue-and-white-striped seersucker suit. In this country of vivid Arab robes and chic French fashion, he was dressed in an American sartorial cliché. On the wall was a photograph of him with a college baseball team, proudly holding up a trophy.
‘I have a meeting with an informant this afternoon,’ she said. ‘Le Grand Marché at two p.m.’
‘Who is it?’
‘A disillusioned terrorist, according to Abdul. He’s calling himself Haroun and he lives across the river in Kousséri.’
‘Reliable?’
‘Nobody knows.’ It was important to manage Dexter’s expectations. He found it hard to forgive unfulfilled promises. ‘We’ll see what he has to say.’
‘It doesn’t sound auspicious.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘The Grand Marché is huge. How will you know each other?’
She touched the scarf at her neck. ‘This is his.’
Dexter shrugged. ‘Give it a try.’
Tamara turned to leave.
Dexter said: ‘I’ve been thinking about Karim.’
She turned back. What now?
Dexter said: ‘He promised to get you a draft of the General’s big speech.’
‘He promised nothing,’ Tamara said firmly. ‘He said he’d see what he could do.’
‘Whatever—’
‘I don’t want to pester him about it. If we let him know that it’s important to us, he may start to think he’d better keep it to himself.’
Dexter said impatiently: ‘If he doesn’t give us information, he’s no use.’
‘I could give him a gentle hint next time I see him.’
Dexter frowned. ‘He’s a big fish.’
Tamara wondered where Dexter was going with this. She said: ‘Yes, he’s a big fish. That’s why I’m so glad I’ve won his trust.’
‘You’ve been in the Agency now for what, five years?’
‘Yes.’
‘And this is your first overseas posting.’
Tamara began to see what he was getting at. She felt angry. ‘What are you trying to say, Dexter?’ she said, not as respectful as she ought to be. ‘Spit it out.’
‘You’re new and naive.’ Her tone had given him an excuse to be harsh. ‘You aren’t experienced enough to run a source as important as Karim, one who has such high-level access.’
You asshole, Tamara thought. She said: ‘I was experienced enough to reel him in.’
‘Not the same thing, of course.’
I should know better than to fence with him, she thought. You never win an argument with your boss. ‘So who will take over from me as Karim’s contact?’
‘I thought I might do it myself.’
So that’s it. You’ll get the credit for my work. Like a professor who publishes a paper based on a discovery by his doctoral student. Classic.
Dexter said: ‘I assume his contact numbers are all in your written reports.’
‘You’ll find everything you need in the computer files.’ Except for a few little things I didn’t write down, such as the number of his wife’s phone, which he carries when he wants to be hard to reach; but fuck you, Dexter, you’re not getting that.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘That’ll be all for now.’
Dismissed, she left his office and went to her desk.
Later that morning she got a message on her phone:
Marrakech Express leaves early tomorrow, back in time for work on Monday. Okay?
Tomorrow was Saturday. They would have forty-eight hours. She replied:
You bet your cute little ass.
She decided she wanted to see Karim one more time. It would be a courtesy to let him know about Dexter’s decision, and for the news to come from her personally. She would give Karim a sugared version, of course. She would have to say she was being shifted to different responsibilities.
She checked her watch. It was coming up to midday. Around this time Karim was often to be found in the International Bar at the Lamy Hotel. She had time to have a drink with him. If she went from the hotel straight to the market she could still get there by two o’clock.
She ordered a car.
She would have preferred to ride. There were thousands of large and small bikes on the broad boulevards of N’Djamena, motorcycles and scooters and mopeds and even the occasional classic Parisian Vélo Solex, a bicycle with a little 50cc engine the size of a concertina fixed over the front wheel. Back in DC she had ridden a Fat Boy, with a low seat and high handlebars and a massive V-twin engine. But it was too ostentatious for Chad. ‘Never attract attention’ was a basic rule of diplomatic and intelligence work. So she had sold it when she was posted here. Perhaps one day she would get another one.