Page 31 of Never

‘I’m celebrating al-Bustan with Tabdar Sadoul from the DGSE.’

‘I know him. A steady guy.’ Dexter gave her a hard look. ‘All the same, bear in mind that you have to tell me about any “close and continuing contact” with a foreign national, even an ally.’

‘I know.’

Dexter replied as if she had disagreed with him. ‘It would constitute an unacceptable security risk.’

He enjoyed throwing his weight around. Tamara caught a sympathetic look from Daisy. He badgers her like this too, Tamara thought. She said: ‘Got it.’

He said: ‘I shouldn’t need to remind you of that.’

‘We’re just colleagues, Dexter. Don’t worry.’

‘It’s my job to worry.’ He opened the limousine door. ‘Just remember, close and continuing contact means that one blow job is all right, but not two.’

Daisy said: ‘Dexter!’

He laughed. ‘Get in the car, sweetie.’

As the limo moved away, a dusty silver family sedan pulled out of a parking space and followed: Dexter’s bodyguard.

Tamara got into her own car and gave the driver the address.

There was nothing she could do about Dexter. She might have spoken to Phil Doyle, the officer supervising the Abdul project, who was senior to Dexter; but complaining about your boss to his superiors was not the way to get on in any organization.

N’Djamena had been laid out by French planners, back in the days when it had been called Fort Lamy, and it had marvellously wide Parisian-style boulevards. The car sped to the Hotel Lamy, part of a worldwide American chain. It was the top venue for an elegant evening, but Tamara really preferred local eateries that served spicy African food.

The driver said: ‘Shall I pick you up?’

‘I’ll call,’ said Tamara.

She entered the grand marbled lobby. The place was patronized by the wealthy Chad elite. The country was landlocked and mostly desert, but it had oil. Nevertheless, the people were poor. Chad was one of the most corrupt countries in the world, and all the oil money went to those in power and their friends. They spent some of it here.

A roar of conviviality came from the adjacent International Bar. She went in: you had to pass through the bar to reach the restaurant. Western oil men, cotton brokers and diplomats mingled with Chadian politicians and businessmen. Some of the women were spectacularly well dressed. Such places had died during the pandemic, but this one had recovered and risen to new heights.

She was greeted by a Chadian man of about sixty. ‘Tamara!’ he said. ‘Just the person I wanted to see. How are you?’

His name was Karim and he was very well connected. He was a friend of the General’s, having helped his rise to power. Tamara was cultivating Karim as a source of information from inside the presidential palace. Fortunately, he seemed to have similar intentions towards her.

He wore a lightweight business suit, grey with a faint pin stripe, probably bought in Paris. His yellow silk tie was perfectly knotted and his thinning hair was brilliantined. He kissed her twice on both cheeks, four kisses in all, as if they were members of the same French family. He was a devout Muslim and a happily married man, but he had a harmless tendresse for this self-confident American girl.

‘I’m glad to see you, Karim.’ She had never met his wife, but she said: ‘How is the family?’

‘Splendid, thank you, just marvellous, grandchildren coming along now.’

‘That’s wonderful. You said you were hoping to see me. Is there something I can do for you?’

‘Yes. The General would like to give your ambassador’s wife a gift for her thirtieth birthday. Do you know what kind of perfume she likes?’

Tamara did. ‘Mrs Collinsworth uses Miss Dior.’

‘Ah, perfect. Thank you.’

‘But, Karim, may I say something frankly?’

‘Of course! We are friends, aren’t we?’

‘Mrs Collinsworth is an intellectual with an interest in poetry. She might not be very pleased with a gift of perfume.’