Page 187 of Never

A dead man would remain where he lay until the end of the working day, whereupon the backhoe would be driven out into an area of gravelly sand to dig a grave alongside many others. The man’s co-workers were left to carry out any funeral rites if they wished or, if not, to leave the grave unmarked and the man unremembered.

The guards showed no concern. Abdul assumed they were confident that more slaves would soon arrive to replace the dead.

He had to escape. Otherwise he would end up in that desert graveyard.

Within twenty-four hours of arriving, Abdul had become convinced that the mine was run by Islamic State. It was obviously unlicensed but certainly not informal. The people managing the place were slavers and murderers, but they were also highly competent. There was only one criminal enterprise in North Africa that could achieve this level of organization, and that was ISGS.

Abdul was desperate to flee but he spent several more days gathering crucial data. He calculated the number of jihadis living in the compound, estimated how many rifles they had in total, and guessed at what other armaments they possessed – the shrouded vehicles in the compound looked to him as if they might even be missile launchers.

He discreetly took photographs with his phone, not the cheap one in his pocket but the highly sophisticated device hidden in the sole of his boot, which still had power remaining. He put all the numbers into a document ready to be sent to Tamara as soon as he reached a place where there was connectivity.

He spent a long time thinking about how to escape.

His first decision was not to take Kiah and Naji with him. They would slow him down, perhaps fatally. It would be difficult enough alone. And if he was caught, he would be killed, and they would be too, if they were with him. They were better off waiting here for the rescue team that Tamara would dispatch as soon as she got Abdul’s message.

His yearning for his own freedom was only part of what drove him. He also longed to bring about the destruction of this evil place, to see the guards arrested and the weapons confiscated and the buildings flattened until the whole area went back to being barren desert.

Again and again he thought about just walking away, again and again he rejected the idea. He could navigate by the sun and stars, so he could head north and avoid the danger of going around in a circle, but he did not know where the nearest oasis was. Riding in Hakim’s bus had taught him that it was even difficult to see the road at times. He had no map, and probably there was no map in existence that showed the small oasis villages that saved the lives of people travelling on foot or by camel. All that, and he would be carrying a heavy container of water under the desert sun. The chances of survival were just too poor.

He studied the vehicles going in and out of the camp. Observation was not easy, for he worked in the pit twelve hours every day, and the guards would notice anything more than a glance at passing vehicles. But he could recognize the ones that called regularly. Tankers brought water and gasoline, refrigerated trucks supplied food to the kitchens, pickup trucks left with gold – always accompanied by two guards with rifles – and came back with sundry supplies: blankets, soap and gas for the kitchen fires.

In the late afternoon, he sometimes had the chance to watch the vehicles being searched as they left. The guards did not skimp, he noted. They looked inside empty tanks and underneath tarpaulins. They checked below seats. The looked beneath the vehicles in case someone was clinging to the underbody. A man they caught hiding in a refrigerated food truck was beaten so badly that he died the next day. They knew that one escapee might bring about the destruction of the entire camp – which was exactly what Abdul wanted to do.

As his escape vehicle Abdul picked the candy truck. An enterprising vendor called Yakub had a small business driving from oasis to oasis selling items the villagers could not make for themselves or buy anywhere within a hundred miles. He had the favourite Arab sweets, foot-shaped lollipops and soft chocolate in a tube like toothpaste. He offered comic books featuring Muslim superheroes: Man of Fate, Silver Scorpion, and Buraaq. There were Cleopatra cigarettes, Bic ballpoint pens, batteries and aspirins. His goods were kept in the back of his ancient pickup in locked steel boxes except when he was selling. He sold mainly to the guards, for most of the workers had little or no money. His prices were low and his profits must have been measured in pennies.

The candy truck was examined as carefully as all the rest when leaving, but Abdul had thought of a way to avoid the search.

Yakub always came on Saturday afternoon and left early on Sunday morning. Today was Sunday.

Abdul left the camp at first light, before breakfast was served, not speaking to Kiah. She would be shocked when she realized he had gone, but he could not risk warning her. He took nothing with him but a large plastic bottle of water. It would be an hour or so before the men began work in the pit, and soon after that someone would realize that he was missing.

He hoped Yakub did not decide to leave later than normal today.

Before he had gone more than a few yards he heard a voice say: ‘Hey, you! Come here.’

He noticed the slight lisp, and realized the speaker was Mohammed, who had no front teeth. He groaned inwardly and slouched back. ‘What?’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To take a shit.’

‘Why do you need a bottle of water?’

‘To wash my hands.’

Mohammed grunted and turned away.

Abdul headed towards the men’s latrine area, but as soon as he was out of sight of the camp he changed direction. He followed the road until he came to a junction, marked by a pile of stones but otherwise hardly visible. On close inspection it was possible to see one track heading straight on, back the way Hakim’s bus had come; it went all the way to the border and Chad. Abdul could discern a second track, to the left, heading north, across Libya. He knew from studying maps that it should lead to a paved highway that went all the way to Tripoli. There were few villages to the east, and Abdul was fairly sure Yakub would take the northbound track.

Abdul headed that way, looking for rising ground. Yakub’s pickup would be even slower going uphill. Abdul’s plan was to run after the truck while it was at its lowest speed and leap into the back. Then he would cover his head with his scarf and settle down for a long and uncomfortable ride.

If Jakub happened to look in his mirror at the wrong time, stop the truck and confront Abdul, then Abdul would offer him a choice: a hundred dollars to drive on to the next oasis, or death. But there was never much reason to look in the rear-view mirror while driving in the desert.

Abdul reached the first hill a couple of miles from the camp. Near the top of the rise he found a place where he could hide. The sun was still low in the east and he was able to find shade behind a rock. He drank some water and settled down to wait.

He did not know where Yakub might be going, so he could not plan exactly what he would do when he got there, but he considered possibilities while he waited. He would try to jump out of the truck as soon as the destination appeared in the distance, so that he could walk into the village as if he had no connection with Yakub. He would need to tell a story to explain himself. He could say he had been with a group that had been attacked by jihadis, and he was the only person to escape; or that he had been travelling alone on a camel that had died; or that he was a prospector who had been robbed of his motorcycle and his tools. His Lebanese accent would not be noticed: the desert dwellers spoke their own tribal languages, and those who had Arabic as a second language would not recognize different accents. He would then approach Yakub and beg a lift. He had never bought anything or even spoken to the man, so he was confident that he would not be recognized.

By midday today the jihadis would send out search parties, one to go east towards Chad and another to go north. He would have a good start on them, but to stay ahead he needed a car. He would buy one as soon as he got the chance. And then he would be vulnerable to punctures and other mechanical failures.