Page 83 of Never

‘Or I could take off my clothes and lie on the bed until you arrive.’

‘I like Plan B.’

‘Oh, boy,’ he said. ‘You got it.’

***

Next morning, Tamara woke up at her apartment in the embassy compound knowing that something had changed. Her relationship with Tab had moved up a gear. He was no longer just a boyfriend. He was more than a lover. They had become a couple, an item. They were going away together. And she had not pushed him into this. It was all his idea.

She lay in bed for a few minutes just enjoying the sensation.

When she got up, she found a message on her phone:

Please get 14 bananas for your grandmother. Thank you – Haroun.

She flashed back to the half-abandoned village on the shore of the shrinking lake, and the intense, dark-skinned Arab with the New Jersey accent who had said: ‘The message will mention a number – eight kilometres, or fifteen dollars – and the number will be the time he wants to meet you, by the twenty-four-hour clock. The place for the first meeting will be Le Grand Marché.’

Tamara was excited, but she told herself not to expect too much. Abdul had not known a lot about Haroun. The man might have access to secrets, but he might not. It was possible he was a shyster who would hit her up for money. She should not get her hopes up.

She showered and dressed and ate a bowl of bran flakes. She put on the scarf Abdul had given her for identification, blue with a distinctive pattern of orange circles. Then she went out into the mild air of the desert morning. It was her favourite time of day in Chad, before the air became dusty and the heat oppressive.

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.’