The Caliphate, André Gallo [best books to read ever .TXT] 📗

     “You mean bring public attention to the camp and hope that governments and organizations then take action, having been shamed into it?”

     “Right! That would be a start. Let the media do its job, inform the public…”

     He looked up at the sky.

     “Let’s turn around. It looks like those clouds are about to burst open.”

     He steered her toward the hotel at a brisk pace. It started raining. In a few minutes, it would pour. They were now close to the hotel and ran at an easy pace that Steve thought Kella, who had told him that she hated to jog, could sustain.

***

The almost continuous rain and thunder of the night made Kella snuggle closer to Steve under the covers. The weather didn’t improve the following day. They stayed close to the hotel and discovered to their dismay that it offered no Internet access. After breakfast in the restaurant, they each brought a cup of coffee to their room.

     “You told me about Karim and the satellite phone last night. What about Izem?” Kella said.

     “Yes, I think Izem is ready to help. We could use him inside al Kahlil’s group. Since Karim seems to be specializing on those UAVs, having Izem help us from the inside of the fighters’ group would be good. Do you think you can pull rank as a Tuareg queen? The next time you go to Timbuktu.”

     “What do we want him to do?”

     “He already has military experience and Hussein would love to pick him up, I’m sure. He would get paid whatever al Khalil pays plus, later, I think I could talk somebody in the CIA to reward him. Communications will be a problem. Neither of us lives in Mali. And I doubt that Izem knows about computers. That’s something you would have to explore with him. What do you think? Of course, this would be outside of the DGSE as much as it’s outside of the CIA. Your Captain Roger can’t be witting.”

     “With Izem inside the fighters’ group, we should be able to prevent some of al Khalil’s murders. I’ll talk to Izem on my next trip.”

     Steve finished his coffee. “For the first time, I’m beginning to feel that I’m getting some control over events. Until now, we’ve been like corks on the waves.”

     “Do you feel like you’re creating a new intelligence agency?”

     He moved toward the bed. “I’m not that ambitious. But we can’t just sit on our hands and watch the CIA and the DGSE simply monitor this movement that is trying to change the world as we know it thinking it’s getting direct orders from God.”

    Kella moved toward the bed from the other side. “Do we know what we’re doing?”

     Steve reached for her from across the bed. “The biggest mistake intelligence agencies usually make is to not coordinate; to build Chinese walls between each other. Let’s work on that.”

     Lightning lit up the sky. A second later, thunder shook the windows of their room.

37. Brussels: Salim’s Apartment

Tariq walked into Salim’s stylish place on Avenue Louise, an environment more suited to his tastes than the camps in the African Sahel. He noticed a framed painting on the floor leaning against the wall and picked it up: a crowd of villagers around a horseman in the center and huts on the sides.

     “New?” he asked.

     Salim took it from him and said, “Brueghel the Elder.” He disappeared for a moment in a side bedroom and came back empty handed. He motioned for Tariq to sit.

     “We haven’t seen each other for far too long my son, since Gao. I hope you are well and that Allah is watching over you.”

     “He is indeed, my father, he is indeed, Alhamdu’llah. I have been traveling more often: Cairo and Amman to examine operational possibilities there more closely with our Ikhwan Brothers, and to the Kingdom.”

     Salim smiled.

     “Ah yes, Wahhabist Central. Did they agree to augment our funding?”

     “Not enough, but they will after we show that we are the principal players.”

     “What about Israel? Are you in touch with Hamas? In Gaza?”

     “I have sent them a message. We must succeed there. With Allah’s help, I will create a firestorm, a final Armageddon, for the Jews.”

38. DGSE Headquarters

Despite their age difference, Captain Roger was showing a strong personal interest in Kella. He had taken her to lunch one day from the office. They both sat on a banquette against the wall looking toward the center of the room. He’s sitting closer than necessary, she thought.

     “I knew when I first met you that we were going to be friends,” he said. “I love that you were born in North Africa. The Tuaregs, your people, have a great history. To say they were the Lords of the Desert is an understatement. You must be proud. I’ve worked on and in North Africa for a long time. I know that we’re interested in many of the same things. I know the meaning of the tattoo on the back of your hand. I bet that not many people know that you are from noble lineage.”

     Not sure how to respond, she had asked, “Do you speak Tamasheq?”

     “No, but my Arabic is not bad.”

     He had continued in Arabic.

     “I love your eyes. They are beautiful.”

     Squeezing closer, he enumerated what he liked about her body, growing bolder. Over coffee, he had put his hand on hers and suggested they go to a friend’s apartment nearby to which he had the key.

     “I want to show you his collection of Tuareg art objects. I’m sure you’ve never seen anything like them. They are rare and valuable,” he smiled.

     “I don’t think so. Not today, not ever,”