BAMAKO - Aribert Raphael (red queen ebook TXT) 📗

either the ambassador or James Flaubert. We could try contacting the consul here if you want?”
Hassan had heard everything his friend told him but he was not heeding the comments nor answering the questions. He grabbed the letter from Mohammed’s hand and marched back to his room.
Mohammed hurried after him and stood in the doorway while Hassan packed his suitcase. When he had checked that all of the cupboards and drawers were empty and that he had locked his bag, Hassan said, “Are you coming?”
“Yes, of course I’m coming, where are we going?”
“To Dakar, Mohammed.”
“I gathered that. But, how?”
“We’ll charter a plane, that’s how.”
“Charter a plane! From where?”
“Please stop asking questions and follow me, will you?”
“All right, but first I’ll have to call my daughter, her mother is visiting friends, and…”
“Okay, okay, do it, but be quick about it.” Hassan’s voice was striking.
After a few minutes of excited conversation on the phone, both men walked quietly down the stairs. There was no need to alert the neighbourhood of their hasty departure.
Hassan went to pay his hotel bill and thanked the manager. “If anyone is asking for me just tell people that I can be reached at home over the weekend or at my office on Monday.”
“Thank you, Maitre. Hmm ... may I ask, is everything all right with Madame Kartz?”
“Yes, Monsieur Gerald, everything is fine, just keep her bag safe, she’ll be back next week, I’m sure.”
They drove in separate cars to Hassan’s house. He left his vehicle in the garage and they went together to Mohammed’s home. When they arrived, Mohammed’s daughter was standing on the front porch waiting for him, a suitcase at her feet. She had packed it in a hurry. Mohammed took the girl in his arms and held her for a long time.
Hassan looked at the both of them with misgivings. Wasn’t he selfish, too, to take his friend away from his family and drag him on a journey fraught with trouble? Nevertheless, Hassan couldn’t go back on his plea for Mohammed to accompany him—time was precious. They had to get to Dakar before nightfall. The dices were thrown in the game and their fate was now in Allah’s hands. They drove to the airport in silence—each deep in his own thoughts.
Hassan didn’t know if his friend, Samir, would be available to take them to Dakar. Samir had two aircrafts. He offered commuting for the professionals who needed to go somewhere in a hurry. Saturdays, however, were days he spent with his toys. Tinkering with his and everyone else’s planes was Samir’s idea of relaxation. Some people played golf, Samir played with airplanes—real ones!
Mohammed parked his car near the private airfield, in an area reserved for the prime minister’s staff. He knew that no one would dare steal a vehicle from that lot. They hurried toward the commuter’s lounge still not speaking; both lost in a tangle of uneasiness.
Hassan had calmed down. If there was any future in their relationship, he was not going to spend another moment away from Talya. She meant too much to him now. He was determined to take her away from all this torment and offer his life to her if she wanted him. That was the way of Islam—the way he had been taught. His dedication, his devotion to the first woman he had chosen had to be complete. Even if he were to marry more than once, he would abide by this precept. The guilt he felt earlier was now prominent in his mind. Guilty of not being enough of a man. Sick or not, he had denied a woman he loved the help she needed. He denied her what he practically forced her to accept in the first place. He had realized too late that love was a two way street, he couldn’t just demand and then reject emotions, friendship or even love, at whim. Not only had he offended his God, but the very person he wanted and needed so much.
More mundane thoughts occupied Mohammed’s mind. He felt a little odd at the moment. It was the first time he saw Hassan in such a huff over a woman. Yet, he remembered how he behaved when he first fell in love with his present wife. It was a much more sedate affair than what Hassan and Talya were going through. Nevertheless, he recalled the fervour with which he was expecting to marry. Soon it would be his daughter’s turn. Although she was still young, there were a couple of studs lurking about the house waiting to catch a glimpse of her when she went out. Her mother, he trusted, would soon advise him as to which was the chosen lad. There would be a traditional wedding… Suddenly, Mohammed was shaken out of his reveries.
Hassan was saying, “...I can see Samir over there,” pointing at the back of a man standing on the top rung of a stepladder, and bent half way into a plane’s engine.
“If we’re lucky we could be off in a few minutes.”
“Samir! How is the toy pilot today?”
Surprised, the man spun around and quickly tumbled down the ladder. “My, my, look at what the cat dragged in?” This American expression didn’t suit the tall Arab man advancing toward Mohammed and Hassan. “And, two of them, no less.”
Samir was a Touareg. A voyager of the desert, using modern means of transport, could be one way of describing this handsome nomad. His face was smooth, betraying no sign of age except perhaps for greying hair at the temples. His eyes were kind and watchful, his gaze piercing as that of an eagle.
Hassan introduced Mohammed to his friend. The latter salaamed in a traditional welcoming gesture.
“Monsieur Fade. It is a rare honour for this servant to receive such esteemed visitors in my humble shop. Pray, tell me, how can I serve you on this glorious day?”
“We know this is your day on the ground, Samir,” Hassan replied, somewhat embarrassed, “but we have a friend in distress. She’s in Dakar and we need to get to her before nightfall.”
“Say no more, my friends. A woman in distress, the songs of the desert are chiming in my ears. And who might she be, tell me?”
“She is the one for Hassan,” Mohammed interposed.
At these words, which were divulging his most private thoughts, Hassan turned and glared at Mohammed.
Samir brushed an amused glance by Mohammed before resting his eyes on Hassan. “Allah be praised. I thought I would never see the day.”
Hassan seemed unfazed by Samir’s comments – maybe a little irritated. “Would you take us?”
“Allah is smiling upon your fate, Hassan. I have this camel of the sky”—Samir indicated an airplane partly covered with a tarpaulin—“ready for a Sunday joy-ride that may not happen. It was a reservation that hasn’t been confirmed, so it shall be yours now.”
“We thank you. We shall remember you in our prayers,” Mohammed said, bowing slightly.
The three men pulled the canvas off the designated aircraft.
“This is a turbo-jet. Very nice indeed,” Hassan noted, admiring the plane’s sleek fuselage. “But how long would it take us to get to Dakar with this machine?”
“Let me see now…. Today’s weather conditions are fair. The wind from the West isn’t too strong, head wind you understand…. I should say about four hours.”
“Can’t we do it in three?” Hassan’s frustration had returned.
“No. I know you want to fly on the wings of love but we can’t, not with this méhari”—a rapid courier camel—“not even in the best of conditions, it would be simply impossible.”
“It’ll be fine,” Mohammed cut-in. “Allah will be with us and we will arrive at our destination when we are due to arrive.” He said these words more for Hassan’s benefit than for Samir’s.
After preparing the plane and rolling it out of the hangar with the help from two other attendants, Samir went into the airport terminal to file his flight plans with the control tower and change his clothes.
As soon as he was ready, he went to his aircraft, walked around it, chatted with the engineer standing by, and boarded the plane where Hassan and Mohammed were already awaiting to take off.
Samir was now transformed—no more joking, no more smiles and salaaming. As he sat in the cockpit, he instantly became the captain of his ship. He was in control, at the commands and all business.
57
An hour after take-off, the tension hadn’t left Talya. She had fear on the brain. Knowing she was going to Kedougou instead of Dakar was terrifying. Every minute brought her ever closer to her destination—the mine site. Was her fate to be sealed in the same way as Richard’s had been? Talya needed to do a major cerebral clean-up and find something that could get her back on track, so to speak.
Something eluded her, something important. Why would Hjamal want her in Sabodala? She didn’t want to think of any of the possible answers to that question. She had presumed that every one of her adversaries had something to gain by wanting her in Dakar—not in Sabodala. Was that presumption wrong? If so, why was it wrong? Talya knew Hjamal needed help with his gold-processing plant. She also had a hunch that Rasheed, for the most part, acted of his own accord. He had a lot to hide, of that she was sure. On the other hand, Talya had assumed Savoi ran off to Dakar to meet Hjamal. Was that a fair assumption? As for Rheza she was perhaps a mere pawn on this game board. Of that, Talya wasn’t sure. What about the Dutchman, how did he fit into the picture? What was he doing with the nitro-glycerine? Another question ran in front of the pack. How did Carmine’s money come into play? Was Hjamal also involved in the embezzlement of the funds? Talya was losing ground again. She was not cleaning up, she was adding to the clutter. She needed to stop speculating. While she was racking her poor cerebrum for answers, she noticed Pierre was leaving the cockpit.
He came to sit across from her. “How are you enjoying the flight so far?”
“It’s great actually. Much better than commercial flights, for privacy that is.”
“True, but really, this is not the top of the line. You should see some of the other jets I’ve had the pleasure to fly—they’re something else.”
“Oh, I see. You’re not Monsieur Hjamal’s personal pilot then?”
“Actually, no. The company that owns this aircraft pays my colleague and me. This jet is a bit like a chauffeured limousine. Our company has a contract with Monsieur Hjamal, not with us personally.”
“Well then, you could do almost anything you wish as long as you stayed within the contract’s boundaries?”
Pierre leaned back in the seat, crossed his legs and looked completely at home. “I’m glad you’ve said almost anything, because there are quite a few restrictions to the liberties I could take with this kind of aircraft.”
“For example?”
“Well, the size of it, for one thing, or its ground-speed at landing, for another.