The First Casualty

41

The two men sat at a low table in a small garden enclosed by a high wall. One entrance was from the restaurant itself, the other through a wrought iron gate through which the Flamme de la Paix could be seen. It was early afternoon and the heat of the day was waning as shadows of two towering date palms lengthened. Both men were Arabs, not uncommon in Timbuktu, but not part of the majority, either, although the city’s ancient past as a center of learning and commerce was largely attributable to Arab culture. Both were dressed in the traditional Bedouin garb: Loose-fitting robe or thobe reaching the ankles with large, triangular sleeves that could, and frequently did, conceal weapons. Over these were a striped sort of vest. Each wore a kaffiyeh on his head held by an agal, a strip of hair or fur. Each man had small cup of coffee in front of him.

“The nozzle is fixed.” asked the younger of the two, Abu Bakr ibn Ahmad Bian.

“Alhamdulillah.”

“Alhamdulillah,” echoed the older, larger man.

“All is in readiness, then?”

“Almost all.”

Abu Bakr’s coffee cup stopped somewhere between the tabletop and his lips. “Almost?”

“Our friends in Paris tell us the infidel and three companions departed there last night for Bamako. A survey of rivercraft tells us it is most likely one of the pinasses has been chartered for a trip here by four men from the National Geographic Society.”

“Which you believe to be the infidel Peters.”

A single nod.

“But it takes four days to reach here from Bamako by river. By that time, we will have finished our mission, In shā’ Allāh.”

The older man smiled, though there was little warmth in it. “That is why he is not planning on making the trip by water. That is why I have asked our Tuareg brothers for help, to operate a little south of their usual territory.”

Abu Bakr asked, “They will intercept the infidel?”

“In shā’ Allāh.”