Bonfire (17 page)

That made sense. It explained why we had seen them together meeting at the café. In addition, it helped explain why London had hired us to save Moha from the firing squad. He was an intelligence asset. However, it made me wonder. How had Suleiman Al Bousefi known about us? Had Mahmoud al-Barouni, Moha’s father, set us up on his own or was there more to it?

‘Claudia, what was London’s objective for this mission?’ I said. ‘Was it to save Moha from the firing squad or was it to kill Al Bousefi?’

‘It was both,’ she said. ‘The two objectives were connected. You know that.’

‘…what about Magda? I said. ‘Do you know why we had to bring Magda?’

‘Again, I only know what you know. You were to take her to see her father at the family home for the reason of persuading him to write a constitution and become much more involved politically with the objective of moving Libya towards a federalist state.’ Claudia’s voice was genuine and as far as I could tell, my earlier uncertainty regarding her trustworthiness was wholly unfounded. Had it not been for the fact that events far more important employed my time I may have felt guilty, but I doubt it.

‘So, why doesn’t London want us to save Magda?’ I said. ‘What’s the reason? Do you know?’

‘No, I don’t know,’ Claudia said. She sounded disappointed, but then her voice lifted. ‘There is something, though, which I do know. It’s a piece of intelligence… intelligence to which you not aware and which I’m certain is significant.’

‘What is it?’

‘The target, Suleiman Al Bousefi and Magda Jbara know each other.’

‘How do they know each other?’ I said.

‘Before Magda fled Libya for the safety of Britain Al Bousefi proposed marriage.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘The Chief told me,’ Claudia said.

‘Is it true?’

‘Yes, I believe it is,’ Claudia said. ‘The Islamic extremist and militant leader of the largest group hungry for power in Libya formerly asked Nasser Jbara, a liberal federalist for his daughter’s hand in marriage. It’s romantic, don’t you think?’

Despite my limited knowledge on the subject of “romance”, I was certain that Suleiman Al Bousefi was not the “matinee idol” type. ‘Yes, very romantic,’ I said. I wondered why Nasser Jbara had not told me about his daughter’s suitor, but then I remembered he was unaware Suleiman Al Bousefi was our target. Claudia was right. This information clearly had something to do with why London appeared determined to stop us from finding Magda. I just had to work out what it was. ‘Why didn’t Magda accept Al Bousefi’s proposal?’ I said.

Claudia made a disparaging sound with her tongue and asked rhetorically, ‘Why do you think? Obviously, she didn’t love him.’

‘Oh, yes, obviously,’ I said. I resisted the temptation to say something about the “French” and “love” that Claudia might consider unhelpful. Instead, I asked, ‘What else do you know?’

‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘Hayes, a man like Suleiman Al Bousefi is probably used to getting what he wants even if it means he has to take it by force.’

‘Once this job is complete I have to return to London for the debriefing,’ I said. ‘I’m going to take you out to dinner to that jazz restaurant in Belgravia you like.’

‘…
Brackla
,’ she said. ‘Can I order a bottle of Dom Pérignon, ‘99?’

‘Let’s not go crazy,’ I said. This time, Claudia’s laughter sounded exactly like Bardot. I ended the call. Cakes and Mick were watching me. ‘We must return to the Jbara house and speak to Nasser,’ I said.

‘Why?’ Cakes asked.

‘…because Suleiman Al Bousefi might be a
romantic
,’ I said.

Magda Jbara wondered which of her emotions was the strongest. Was it relief or shock? The relief she felt came from the knowledge her captors, although Islamic extremists, did not pose an immediate threat to her life. The shock came from the fact that their leader was Suleiman Al Bousefi, a man who had abducted her because he wanted her for his wife.

Shiny sweat had formed on Magda’s forehead. The fine droplets decorated her skin like a band of small diamonds. Her hand lifted to the sheen and smeared away the sparkling moisture. It was the desert heat, she thought, although, inside the fortress, the thick sandstone walls and infrequent, narrow windows protected the interior from the afternoon sun and held the temperature down. Magda’s body heat was reacting without control. The stress caused by the man who stood before her inflamed her being. The licking flames of a crackling fire could not have done it better.

She studied his face while her mind fought to arrange the words she must speak. The neatly trimmed beard extenuated his fleshy jowls and the dark close-set eyes sat deep beneath a low brow giving the appearance of a permanent scowl. A plain, dark taqiyah [
taqiyah: cap
] hid his black hair, hair that Magda was certain he coloured to hide the grey and which he always wore neatly brushed. Fleshy lips, set like a bow seemed out of place and gave his mouth a feminine softness that he did not replicate in any other way. Magda had always thought his cold eyes to be cruel and unforgiving. They had not changed.

His hand still gripped her upper arm and the closeness of his body produced a natural pull. Magda sensed the magnetism and a shudder of realism passed across her shoulders, down her back and over her buttocks. His masculinity and powerful presence were not in doubt, but his beliefs and violent actions made any feeling other than dislike, even loathing, impossible for her.
I can never marry this man.

‘The imam prepares and the senior Brotherhood soon will assemble. They come to witness my marriage,’ Suleiman said. ‘For me, it is a great day. For today, at last, I take a wife. Magda Jbara, I have chosen you to give me sons. Yes, it is a great day.’

Magda pushed away the fear that pressed on her lungs and threatened to turn her mute. Gently, slowly, she turned and pulled back her arm. Suleiman released his grip but held his eyes fixed on her face in the way a bird of prey looks at a captured meal.

Be brave… stay strong…
‘Suleiman, before, when you asked my father it was not he who did not desire the union. It was I. I was the one. Suleiman, I am sorry, but I cannot be your wife.’

‘I know it was you,’ Suleiman said. ‘You were frightened. You did not imagine I could be a good husband. You did not imagine we were a good match. Your head is full of liberal ideas and I represent the true Islam. But you will learn.’ His voice was level and deep like a teacher or a prophet bestowing truths, wisdom and understanding. Magda was compelled to remember this man had ordered her violent abduction, had injured her father, had transported her bound and hooded so that he could force her into a marriage she did not want. His “true” Islam meant slavery for women and not the freedom for which she so fervently believed and fought.

‘No, Suleiman, I will not do it,’ Magda said.

‘I can protect you. As my wife, you will be safe. No longer will you have to hide behind the English security service. Think, Magda, you will see your father and brother whenever you want, as often as you want. Would that not make you happy?’ Suleiman Al Bousefi was a clever and persuasive man. He had not progressed so far politically without possessing the natural skills of a convincing liar. Magda considered his words in perhaps the same way a turkey might consider a tribute to Thanksgiving or Christmas.

‘No. My father and brother will understand. They respect my beliefs and support my decisions. Suleiman, I am sorry, but I will not be your wife. As an important man, you must have hundreds of suitable women from who to select the ideal wife. Please, choose one of them.’

‘Yes, you are right. Of course, many other women would make suitable wives. Some of them, even, may be right in every way, but I do not want them. I want you. Why do you think I have waited for your return? I have made my decision. You do not have a say. You
will
be my wife.’

‘I will not,’ Magda said. Any remaining doubt that she may change her mind she fully dispelled with the tone of her voice.

Suleiman paused, his eyes held hers, his chest heaved and then he exhaled slowly through his nose. It made the sound of escaping air. Then, before he spoke, he closed his eyes in momentary contemplation. It was a technique to control his temper. He opened his eyes. ‘I intend to be the next ruler of Libya,’ he said. ‘You understand that don’t you?’ Magda remained silent. She held his gaze. Suleiman breathed deeply once more. ‘I will forge a radical Muslim state,’ he said. ‘And in that state those who oppose my rule, the intellectuals, the liberals, anyone who acts or speaks out against the true Islam I will crush like a cockroach beneath my shoe.’ Magda caged the fear with metaphorical bars of steel forged out of intelligence and bravery. ‘It is not just me. The senior Brotherhood will expect strong and decisive retribution. I cannot guarantee my protection for everyone. Some inevitably will taste the sword of strict Islamic justice. Your father, perhaps, even your brother, Jamaal, may not be safe.’ There it was. Magda felt it like the cut of a blade or the jolt of an electric shock. Suleiman’s threat, despite its cloak, was obvious and it turned Magda’s skin cold.
Marry me or I will have men kill your father and brother.
A flash from her eyes was the only response. It was a reflex action to the barbarous words spoken by a dangerous and vindictive man. Magda remained silent. Anything she said in response to such a threat would only help validate the barbarism, and she could not be certain to hold back her emotional reaction, which flared with the power of a snarling tigress.

Suleiman watched Magda closely for any response. A moment’s blaze of hatred shot from her eyes and then stopped as she controlled her emotions and covered the effect his words must have had. Her silence, he knew, was a demonstration of her intelligence and self-restraint.
She will make me the perfect wife.
He raised his right hand and placed it on Magda’s left breast. The surprise was enough to prevent an immediate reaction. Suleiman squeezed and pushed against the firm resilience. His feminine lips pouted and curled with pleasure and desire. Magda pulled away. Her hand pushed at his and embarrassed indignation coloured her cheeks. Suleiman grinned in wicked enjoyment at the sexual grope and at the chaste reaction from Magda.

‘I will leave you now,’ Suleiman said. ‘Our guests will be arriving and I must ensure all preparations are complete. Consider my words carefully and when I return you can give me your final decision.’

Magda watched Suleiman close the door behind him and then she heard the key turn in the lock. Immediately, her thoughts moved from remembering the feel of Suleiman’s hand on her breast to London and Mr. Hayes.
Had they tracked her location and would they attempt a rescue operation?
In despondent resignation, Magda realised the prospect of London undertaking any kind of rescue was very unlikely. A hurried assessment of the benefits weighed against the risks left Magda with the rationalisation that neither Mr. Hayes nor anyone else would be saving her from the marital grab of Suleiman Al Bousefi.
If I am to escape then I must do it myself.

Ignoring the locked door Magda stared up at the window that she had looked out of it earlier. Standing again on the chair she examined and tested the bars. Hinges allowed the central piece to open, but a lock held it fast and, anyway, the drop to the ground below, inside the courtyard, was too high. Then she remembered the bathroom window.

It, too, had bars that were set inside a hinged casing. Magda tested the metal surround, but unlike the other window, she could not see a lock. Gripping a bar with each hand, she pushed. It was heavy and set tight. Magda pushed again harder. The metal scraped and juddered. She had moved it. The amount was only a fraction, but it was enough to give her hope. She took a breath and with determination fuelling her arms pushed again. Nothing happened. Undeterred she increased her effort. Every muscle strained and finding her forehead pressed against the central bar used that, as well. The bars moved again. Encouraged she maintained her superhuman endeavour even when her arms burned and she felt it was impossible to push any longer. Then, as if it had never been stuck at all, the metal casing came free and the bars swung open on dry, stiff hinges that squealed with displeasure. Hope flooded Magda’s body. Cautiously, she leant out and looked down. Her hope drained away. Despite the nearness of the perimeter wall, which clearly showed the ground level on the other side was much higher, the drop to the ground inside the gap between the building and the wall was too far.

Magda moved back and lowered a deflated head. Seconds passed.
Escape is impossible.
She lifted her eyes and gazed through the open window at the sand and hillocks of grassy reeds that stretched away, undulating without a break to a distant black line and a pale blue sky beyond. As she stared, her eyes dropped to the perimeter wall and she focused on the wide, flat stones that formed the coping. The distance between the window ledge and the top of the wall was only a few feet and the wall was slightly lower.
I can jump that.

The long “wedding” dress was unsuitable attire in which to undertake an acrobatic stunt, but Magda was conscious of time. Suleiman could return any minute. She pulled up the expensive material and rolled it around her hips. The practical effect was to free her legs, but at the same time creating the look of an exotic dancer. At least her slipper-style footwear was suitable for gymnastic leaping.

The window opening was short and the outside ledge had less depth than was comfortable. Magda balanced precariously with her weight back and one hand tightly clasped to the frame. She surveyed the area as far as her line of sight allowed and listened.

At the edge of the compound, away from the front entrance and hidden by the corner of the rear courtyard it was quiet and desolate. A flat breeze stroked Magda’s face and lifted a dust haze from the dune peaks along the brow beyond the wall.

In her mind, Magda pictured making the jump. The visualisation brought her both confidence and apprehension. She rocked a little in preparation and focused intently on the stone slabs that topped the wall while she lifted her chest with long breaths.
I am good at jumping.

Positioning her feet and body, Magda released her grip on the window frame, balanced for a second, and then with determined concentration leapt off the ledge and hung in the air. The landing she made with her right foot was perfect. Her sole slapped the gently curving stone squarely in the centre and stuck. Her left foot caused the trouble. Gravity is an unforgiving force. Magda sensed it and tried hard to lift her foot above the lip of the coping. The effort was not enough. Her toe caught and she stumbled like a hurdler. Outstretched hands went instinctively downwards and her bare shinbone knocked painfully against the unyielding stone. The planted right foot was her only hope, but it slipped under the forward momentum and wiped out any balance that remained. Magda fell headfirst. The wall rushed past as she tumbled and then the ground smacked her back with a jolt. The jarring pain shot through her body and only stopped once she opened her eyes and the realisation that escape was underway brought a tentative smile.

The earth felt soft now that Magda was lying on it. Hitting it at what she decided must have been 100mph made it seem like granite. She rubbed her shinbone reflectively and looked up at the high barricade.
I have to get quickly away.

Hastily Magda unrolled her dress and shook it out so it once again fell to her feet. Sheltered by the wall she reattached the veil and scanned the ground ahead. A few seconds run would take her to the nearest ridge. She listened. The only sound came from the wind as it skated over the dune peaks.

Magda held the dress above her knees and ran. The sandy earth sucked at every footstep as if it never wanted her to leave. She pushed harder and her thigh muscles tightened under the strain. Over the ridge, the steep slope took her by surprise. She slipped and slid on her side until she reached the flatter ground.

Overhead in the sharp blue sky, a bar-tailed lark sang sweetly. Magda crawled to the crest and peered back and what she saw made her shiver. On the roof, behind the parapet, were two men and they both carried big guns. How neither man had seen Magda running she did not know. Both must have been looking in another direction and with the soft ground and the cross wind she must have been soundless. She had been fortunate. From now on, she knew how careful she must be and how important it was to remain hidden at all times.