She thought: Perhaps? Bullshit. He is. I know it.
As they drove back into town on Monday morning, Tab said: ‘Now we have to get ready to pretend we’re not madly in love.’
She smiled. So he was madly in love with her. He had not used that phrase before. She was pleased.
But they now had a problem. Their countries were allies, but had secrets from one another just the same. In principle, there was no CIA rule that forbade her to have a relationship with an officer of the DGSE, and vice versa. In practice, it would blight her career, and probably his too. Unless one of them found another job . . .
She looked up from the paper and saw the ambassador’s secretary, Layan, carrying a tray. ‘Come and join me,’ Tamara said. ‘You don’t usually have time for breakfast.’
‘Nick’s having breakfast at the British embassy,’ Layan explained.
‘What’s he plotting with the Brits?’
‘We think Chad might be furtively doing business with North Korea, selling them oil in violation of sanctions.’ Layan spooned yoghurt over fresh figs. ‘Nick wants the Brits and others to pressure the General to sell his oil elsewhere.’
‘He probably gets a higher price from Pyongyang.’
‘I expect so.’
Tamara showed Layan the newspaper. ‘What do you think this is all about?’
Layan studied the page for a few moments. ‘It’s pretty good,’ she said. ‘For the price of a few hundred pairs of shoes, the General gets the whole nation thinking he’s Santa Claus. A cheap way to win popularity.’
‘Agreed, but why does he need to chase that kind of publicity? He doesn’t need popularity, he has the secret police.’
‘Maybe, up to a point. Being a beloved dictator is probably easier than being a hated dictator.’
‘I guess.’ Tamara was not convinced. ‘I’d better go to work.’ She stood up.
‘Um . . .’
Layan had something on her mind. Tamara waited, standing by her chair.
‘Tamara, would you like to come to my house for dinner? Sample some genuine Chad cooking?’
Tamara was surprised, but pleased. ‘I’d love that,’ she said. It was the first time she had been invited to a Chadian home in N’Djamena. ‘I’m honoured.’
‘Oh, don’t say that. It will be a pleasure for me. How about Wednesday night?’
‘Wednesday is good.’ I’ll go to Tab’s place after, she thought.
‘You know that we don’t eat at a table. We sit on a rug on the floor for dinner.’
‘That’s okay, no problem.’
‘I look forward to it.’
‘I can’t wait!’
Tamara left the canteen and headed for the CIA office.
She was very curious about the General. Why did he suddenly feel the need to work on his image?
The two youngest agents at the station had the chore of reading every newspaper published in N’Djamena and watching every news show on TV, in both French and Arabic. The French expert was Dean Jones, a bright blond-haired kid from Boston; the Arabic speaker was Leila Morcos, a savvy New Yorker with dark hair in a bob. They sat opposite one another, with the day’s papers on the desk between them. Tamara spoke to both. ‘Have you noticed any criticism of the General in any of the media?’
Dean shook his head and Leila said: ‘Nothing.’
‘Even slight hints and murmurs? Something like, “On reflection, this could have been better handled”， or maybe, “It’s a shame this was not foreseen”; that sort of coded remark?’
They both thought harder then repeated their earlier replies. Leila added: ‘But we’ll look out for such comments especially, now that we know you’re interested.’
‘Thanks. I’ve just got a feeling the General is a bit worried about something.’
She sat at her desk. A few minutes later Dexter summoned her and she went into his office. He had his tie pulled loose and his shirt collar unbuttoned, even though the air-conditioning kept the place cool. He probably thought it made him look like Frank Sinatra. ‘About Karim Aziz,’ he said. ‘I think you misjudged him.’
She had no idea what he was talking about. ‘How so?’
‘He’s really not as important or well connected as you imagined.’
‘But—’ She was about to argue then stopped herself. She did not yet know where this was going. She would let him speak, and garner as much data as she could before responding. ‘Go on,’ she said.