Page 195 of Never

Abdul got into the Mercedes. The interior lamps came on automatically, lighting him up for anyone outside to see. Abdul did not know where the switch was and did not have time to search for it. He started the engine. That was an unusual sound in the middle of the night, but it could not be heard from the jihadi compound, which was half a mile away. What about the guard at the pit? Would he hear it? And if he did, would he feel it was something he needed to investigate?

Abdul could only hope not.

He looked at the fuel gauge. The tank was almost empty. He cursed.

He drove the car to the gasoline truck and turned the engine off.

He searched around the dashboard and found the switch that opened the filler cap. Then he jumped out. The interior lights came on again.

The tanker was fitted with a regular gas-station type of hose and nozzle. Abdul put the nozzle into the fuel pipe of the car and squeezed the handle.

Nothing happened.

He squeezed repeatedly with no effect. He guessed it worked only when the tanker’s engine was turning over.

‘Shit,’ he said.

He noted the licence plate of the tanker, returned to the hut, found the keys to the truck, and came back. He climbed into the cab, and the inside lights came on. He started the engine. It came to life with a throaty rumble.

He was no longer inconspicuous. The noise of the big engine would carry to the jihadis’ compound. It would be a distant sound, and might not wake men who were sleeping fast, but someone was sure to notice it within the next few seconds or minutes.

Their first reaction would be puzzlement: who was starting vehicles in the middle of the night? Someone must be about to leave the camp, but why now? One man might wake another, saying: ‘Do you hear that?’ They would not jump to the conclusion that a slave was escaping – it was too unlikely – and they might not even consider the matter urgent, but they would want to find out what was happening, and after a short discussion they would decide to follow the sound to its source.

Abdul jumped down from the cab, returned to the Mercedes, put the nozzle in the filler pipe, and squeezed. The gasoline began to flow.

He kept looking around, scanning through 360 degrees. He listened, too, for the kind of hubbub that might occur if the jihadis were alerted. At any second he might hear shouts and see lights.

When the tank was full, the pump clicked off automatically.

Abdul replaced the filler cap, returned the nozzle to its hook, and drove the car to the gate. Still no one had reacted.

He returned to the tanker and took down the nozzle again. He removed the garotte from around his waist and wound the wire tightly around the handle, fixing it open so that the pump worked constantly and gasoline poured out onto the ground.

He dropped the nozzle. The gasoline ran under the cars, spreading left and right and towards the fence. He ran back to the car.

He opened the gate. It was impossible to do so silently: the whole thing was rusty, and it creaked and groaned as it moved on unlubricated hinges. But Abdul needed only a few more seconds.

A pool of gasoline was spreading through the vehicle park, and the smell filled the air.

He drove the car out through the gate. Ahead of him he could see the moonlit track through the desert.

Leaving the engine running, he raced to the shelter. Kiah was waiting, with Naji in her arms, fast asleep. By her feet was a demijohn of water and three blankets, plus the capacious canvas bag she had had with her since they left Three Palms. It contained everything Naji needed.

Abdul picked up the water and the blankets and ran back to the car, and Kiah followed.

He tossed everything in the back. Kiah put Naji down on the back seat, still wrapped in his blanket. He turned over and put his thumb in his mouth without opening his eyes.

Abdul ran back to the vehicle park, now flooded with gasoline. But he was not yet confident of starting a big enough conflagration. He needed to be sure the jihadis had no way of coming after him, not a single usable vehicle. He picked up the hose and began to spray the vehicles. He soaked the SUVs and the pickup trucks and the gasoline tanker itself.

He saw Kiah leave the car and approach the fence. The gasoline was now spreading under the fence and over the path, and she trod cautiously to avoid it. In a low, urgent voice she said: ‘What are we waiting for?’

‘One more minute.’ Abdul soaked the wooden guard hut with gasoline to destroy the keys.

A male voice called out: ‘What’s that smell?’

It was the guard in the mining section. He had come to the fence and was shining his flashlight at the vehicles. Now it would be only a minute or so before the alarm was given. Abdul dropped the hose. It continued to spurt fuel.

The voice said: ‘Hey, there must be a gasoline leak!’